#this is like over a week late of timely but whatever

[madamechrissy]

Brooklyn Baby

art in the banner is by @e0308r on X

pairings - dad's best friend! Satoru x F! reader

summary - you've got the opportunity of a lifetime for an audition for Julliard, your dream, but there's just one problem, the hotel in New York has booked your room and has nothing available. Good news, your dad's best friend Satoru Gojo shows up and offers you to stay in his suite since he's in town on business. But there's two big problems - one, you've wanted him since you can remember, and two, he can't stand how fucking pretty you are. He can't want you - and nothing can come from it - imagine what your dad Suguru would do if anything ever happened between you!? So nothing will happen - right?

warnings- MDNI- taboo tropes, age gap (Satoru is 41, reader is 22) reader is Suguru's daughter, forbidden relationships, obsessive Satoru, mutual pining, sexual tension, explicit smut and light angst- this chap - masturbation (Satoru) a fuck ton of tension, reader having a lifelong crush on him, mentions of past relationships, self loathing as they both want each other, drinking and kissing -WC- 8.3k

This will be three parts! comments/rbs appreciated if you enjoy!

part two>>> (coming soon)

part one

Satoru Gojo has never had his cock twitch from just looking at someone's back, not even your ass - though fuck that was nice - but something about the bare back in the slinky little dress was fucking him mentally. The gentle curve of your spine, a little birth mark along your shoulder blades has him - a man who's in his early forties and very experienced - leaking precum.

The fuck was that?

He clears his mind, blinking a bit then, he's checking into his favorite suite as he does every couple of months for various business events that he has to attend. Running the Gojo corporation is a never ending list of bullshit he's got to do, and events and speeches were just one of the many.

He sighs as he takes in the immaculate bustling lobby, trying to divert his attention from this girl's back and look like some creep when he's literally Satoru Gojo. He brushes his silken white locks back, walking up to the tall counter then with an easy smile, as the three receptionists rush to him, and leave the girl with the pretty spine behind.

"I can wait my turn, no worries ladies." He winks and they all swoon, and when you hear that voice, you know it's him.

"Gojo?" Satoru blinks at the familiar voice, turning to his side to look down at -

Suguru Geto's only daughter.

Fuck.

He swallows just a bit nervous, how does he explain he just leaked pre looking at his best friend's daughter's spine exactly!? About the ways he would have to explain how your instagram photos haunt him at night, and how he can't help but have glimpses of you in your bikini when he cums.

There's a big reason he's avoided Suguru as of late, and that's because he can't handle how beautiful you are - it's like you fucking just do something, and he refuses to accept it or acknowledge it consciously. Now you're smiling up at him, before you come over and hug him tightly around the waist, your breasts pressed against him.

It takes everything not to either shove you off or give in and pick you up and prop you right on this fucking counter. It's some miracle he just pats your back instead - your bare pretty back that he shouldn't touch because it makes it worse.

"Hey sweetheart, what're you doing in town?" He manages to act normal, putting on an easy smile as he sees now your eyes glimmering with tears. "What's wrong?"

"They gave my room away, and I have the audition for Julliard this week! Everything is booked except shit way out of my price range. I don't wanna bug dad about it." He sighs then, remembering Suguru telling him about your opportunity, he'd been so proud every time he watched you play piano.

It's originally why he followed your IG, but whatever happened your junior year of college made you start posting those damn pictures in your bikini or slutty little outfits. He shoves that all back, focusing on your worry, and then eyes one of the receptionists, backing away from you just a bit.

Not like your scent hasn't already filled his senses.

You're important to him, just like Suguru is, and he'll not let his dumb fucking thoughts ruin your opportunities. "Surely there's a room available, I'll pay."

"You can't do that! It's too much." You're a flustered mess, as he flashes that pretty smile of his that makes your tummy clench.

"It's nothing," he pats your head and smiles down at you, and you try to ignore just how fucking good Satoru Gojo looks then. Try to ignore his cologne in your senses, ignore how the man just gets more attractive every fucking year, a little crinkle on the sides of each eye the only lines on his face.

You have been trying to ignore your crush on your dad's best friend for as long as you can remember - fuck they're so close too, and you hoped it was some childhood idolization. But as a twenty two year old woman, it's as bad as fucking day one - worse maybe, when you study the way his hands move as he speaks, long fingers that give you the worst thoughts you wish would go away.

"Nothing at all open but the presidential suite you said?" He asks softly, you're still too close to him, fucking up his senses, as the receptionist frowns, clacking away at her keyboard.

"They just booked the last one online, Mr. Gojo."

"Shit, then..." He eyes you, blue eyes glinting as he takes in your distraught, pretty little face.

He can compose himself, can't he, hasn't he always?

"She'll stay with me, give her a key card," you hug him once more, he's chuckling and pecking a kiss on your head. "You're clingy still, remember you always were."

"Maybe, oh Gojo, thank you! I didn't wanna have to ask dad for money..." You're independent, Satoru loves that about you, Suguru is well to do - not rich like Satoru, but well off. But he's mentioned you never ask for a thing.

"No worries, the room is huge, we won't even be near each other much." He's pressing the button to the elevator soon once you all get checked in, and the silver automatic doors close, leaving you two alone, nothing but the soft sounds of your breaths and stupid elevator music.

And there's just one problem.

Satoru Gojo can't help but picture pressing you against those elevator walls, sinking to his knees and slipping up your slutty black dress, the one where he can so clearly see your breasts rise and fall, a nipple daring to slip out. Can't help but picture fucking you better than surely any of your dumb little college boys could.

He can't think that way.

He hastily tugs off his jacket, laying it over your shoulders as the elevator dings on each floor.

"Thanks, it's a little chilly." You say softly, tugging his jacket close on you, he exhales in a mix of relief and hot desire at how good you look in his armani suit jacket. "You're a life saver, really."

"It's nothing, kid."

"Kid! I'm not a kid." Your pout earns his chuckle, the two of you walk through the halls, decked with cream colored walls and fancy paintings, it's fancier than even you were used to. He presses the card against the hotel door and it opens, and that's when you both realize just how alone you were.

Satoru had been a part of your life for all you can remember, him and your dad would go off on the silliest adventures, and your dad’s other best friend Shoko would watch you at times. You don’t remember your mom that much anymore, she has been gone since you were young, and Satoru and Suguru had always been inseparable, especially since she left.

Satoru had taught you how to swim, Suguru had taught you how to shoot a gun, Satoru taught you how to throw a ball into a hoop, and Suguru taught you how to hit one with a bat. Every time he came to visit during the summers, you’d be so excited, he always had some new gift and an easy smile.

Until you got older.

You remember the first time he brought over one of his girlfriends, she was beautiful, and you’d still been young, hopelessly staring in the mirror at yourself after, wondering if you’d ever be pretty like that. And when he came for your high school graduation with another girl on his arm, when he told you that you looked beautiful and bought you the necklace you still wear today?

You’d been insanely jealous.

You try to explain it away as being eighteen, you were still a baby then, and the crush had been raging. So badly you found yourself comparing every boy you dated to the man Satoru was, and every single one fell hopelessly short. You both get settled, taking in the opulent surroundings, it’s surely big enough he’s right, there’s an entire other room, a kitchen, spacious furniture and beds.

Satoru sets down the luggage, as he eyes you in his suit, and you start taking some of your things out. It’s quiet, the sense of unease filling the two of you as you both busy yourselves, little friendly smiles are the only passages between you as you two live in your own minds.

“You can take a shower first,” he offers softly a bit later, slipping that tie down just a bit to loosen it, and then rolling up his sleeves, revealing those muscled forearms, light blue veins wrapping up them from his wrists. Your mouth goes dry as you look at them, while he slips off his silver rolex, smiling at you a bit. “Do you want me to hog all the hot water instead?”

“Huh? Oh…” you blink a bit, it’s not like you’ve never been with anyone, never seen a man naked, but Satoru’s forearms were taking you the fuck out.

He is effortless with his little movements, he must do this almost every day, freeing himself from the confines of his perfect facade, the buttoned up business man who you’ve never seen in the same suit twice. You’re sure he wears them again, it’s just you haven’t seen him enough to have ever caught it, the only thing you’ve noticed is he wears the same cufflinks.

The ones you saved to buy him when you were in high school, storing up all your extra funds where you worked as a waitress to purchase them for his birthday. You eye them now as you still hold the jacket close, fingers brushing along the bright blue sapphire of one of them. You’d walked by a jeweler in the mall with your friends and thought they matched just one shade of his eyes.

“You still wear these?” You ask softly, his attention goes to your little fingers brushing over the gem carefully, and he nods a bit. “Why? Aren’t they kind of not up to your… standard?”

“They’re my favorite, and they weren’t cheap either,” he walks up then, touching the other one, his nearness fucking your senses. “I remember you buying them, I think it was my thirty-sixth birthday. I was having some existential crisis and they really cheered me up.”

“You, a crisis? No way,” he hums a bit, gently tugging the cuff links out now, one by one, setting them next to his Rolex on a little black glass tray he’d brought along with him, the lights catch them and make them glimmer prismatically. “You were young though, still are.”

“Yeah no, I’ll be forty one in December, yuck.” You laugh with him, shaking your head then.

“That is not ‘yuck’ or old, you and dad are super young. Dad was always like the youngest at any parent event, shit usually the only dad altogether. I remember him going to Moms and Muffins.”

“Yes, you put bows in his hair, he showed me.” You both laugh then, Satoru stands against the dresser, his mind racing then.

He can’t want you like this, and it has to stop, the way he keeps thinking of having you naked and his jacket splayed under you, if you could stop looking at him like that!? Your lips parted, your pretty eyes lidded, making him tortured by the thoughts of fucking you so good they roll back, so good you drool. He’s clenching his hands into fists at the thought, almost twenty years between you.

Maybe if he keeps saying the number, it’ll fucking matter, the fact that he’s never even been with a girl ten years younger, Satoru just wasn’t a man to do that. He enjoyed intellect, experience, someone who got his references and shitty jokes - but the problem was you did check all those boxes. You’ve been kicking his ass at chess since he could remember, you laughed at all his dumb jokes.

You were a brilliant girl with your life ahead of you, you’re right, he’s not ‘old’ but he just is ‘older’ than you. Having already had a divorce and two broken engagements, he also was tired of trying, he’d settled on some regular girls for sex and focused on business fully now. Something a young Satoru who hated his parents and the Gojo name altogether would gasp at.

“You’re not old, you look my age you know.” You break his thoughts up, he chuckles a bit at that, before sucking in a breath, when you walk closer, slipping his jacket off to hand it to him.

“Yeah, genetics and Korean skincare products.” You giggle, as he keeps his eyes affixed on your face, not the strap that’s fallen down the gentle slope of your shoulder, he takes the jacket instead, your fingers brushing against each other for the briefest moment.

“Well, they work, I don’t think you’ve ever changed. I hope I look super hot when I’m your age.”

“You will, you already are beautiful…” He trails off, your eyes meet then, as he realizes what he said, and the tone he said it. He smiles to break the tension. “Thank god you don’t look like your dad.”

“Oh whatever! He’s pretty, you know.”

“Psh, okay.” He rolls his blue eyes, and you both laugh then.

“Thank you, that’s nice of you Satoru.” When you say his first name it’s like testing it, you’ve always called him Gojo, aside from when you made him birthday cards, and you’d write Satoru on them.

“Not being nice, you know you’re a gorgeous girl.” He’s clearing his throat now, looking away as he hangs his jacket up, next to the other suits he’d brought, smoothing it out.

“It’s kinda nice to hear from the Satoru Gojo.”

“Uh huh, flattery will get you everywhere.” He pats your head then, ruffling up your hair, you blow a thick strand off your brow. “You go take a shower.”

“Yeah, thank you again.” You smile and head into the bathroom, finally leaving Satoru to exhale in relief after he glimpses your back again, like pure torture, he’s curious just how the fuck he’ll handle a week alone with you.

Hopefully a room would open up or something by then.

The sounds of hot water pounding on the tiles below fills the room now, mixed with some light singing echoing from the bathroom, he can’t help but smile a bit at how pretty your voice is. If anyone should get into Julliard, it’s surely you, talented and just a natural at everything, the sound fills the room and ignites something in him he’d rather not think of.

Comfy, homey, it’s how you make him feel, and maybe that’s worse than wanting to bend you over the bed, worse than wanting to lift you and slip you against that shower wall. Much, much scarier than the thoughts of filling you up with so much cum your tummy is full of him, watching his fucking cock bulge that tummy as he’d make sure your cunt was ruined for anyone.

No, homey and comfy were worse by far, they were things he absolutely never thought before, even during his marriage - and what a disaster that was. Women all wanted him for his looks, his money, what he could do for them, but no one really knew him deep down, just the facade he’s tired of putting on.

Picturing you naked in the shower is his fucking downfall, picturing your pretty body with water dripping down it, his cock is hard by the mental images, he scowls down at it. He’s just in his slacks now, putting up his dress shirt, luckily this suite always had good hot water and pressure, it’s why it was one of his favorites, and he could surely use a shower.

Jerk off in there to act normal.

He’s like some pathetic teenager around you rather than a grown man, and it irritates him to no end. He hears your singing stop after a bit, as he is typing some notes for tomorrow’s presentation on his laptop, slipping on his glasses to see the screen just a little better, when he sees you from the corner of his eye, wrapped in a soft terry cloth towel.

He almost whimpers at the sight, clenching his teeth together to focus on the screen as you walk out. “Okay I feel a million times better.”

He looks up then, and it’s his downfall, as he has to see the way the towel is tied right at your breasts, pushed up and glistening, skin dewy and flushed from the shower, making him want to kiss every inch. “I bet, the plane ride was a long one.”

“It was, for sure, and then to get a ride to the hotel was hard, I’m not used to a city this big,” you’re adorable with your little pout, your own gaze taking in his bare chest then, like a caress. “I failed my drivers test again by the way.”

“Again? Shit,” he’s snorting in laughter, even as you cross your arms and glare just a bit, you play along with the motions, but your gaze can’t rip itself away from his chiseled body. “Do I gotta teach you?”

“Do you drive anywhere, Gojo?”

“Hush.” You giggle at his own glare, he looks too fucking hot in those glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, his body shifting a bit to face you now.

It’s not like you haven’t seen him shirtless constantly, Satoru had helped you swim after all, and Gojo and your dad were always taking you to the beach. You’d always known how perfect he was, sculpted within an inch of his life, lean defined muscles that begged for your fingertips to brush across them, lines and shadows cast as the bathroom light filters into the now dim room.

You wish you felt bad about how badly you want him, but you only feel bad it can never happen, feel bad he couldn’t have been your first, like you’d dreamed over and over, until you knew it couldn’t happen. It wasn’t like Gojo ever saw you that way, the times you think he looked at you as more than a ‘kid’ you feel it was just your imagination.

You feel this man could fuck, you just feel it.

But no, stuck with losers who couldn’t care less if you cum - in fact, the last guy you fucked asked if you did after not touching you more than a minute and cumming pathetically quick in a condom. You’d smiled and said ‘of course’, making him grin and kiss you all happy, and that’s about the time you just gave up on ever liking sex either, too far in your fucking delusions.

It wasn’t a healthy desire, or okay, but usually with Gojo not seeing you much, and you having moved out of your dad’s, it was better. It was just elusive memories and fantasies that you could lose sight of, you could focus on school and your music, focus on your dream — but part of you wanted him in the front row.

“You’re gonna catch a cold if you don’t dry your hair,” he teases, standing then, you watch how his muscles flex as he moves, with ease, his long legs making strides so close to you now, when he touches your damp strands with a sigh. “Wasn’t there a blow dryer in there?”

“There is, but I needed to grab some clothes first- ah!” Your towel threatens to fall then, you gasp, but Satoru’s got it bunched together in a fist quicker than you can blink, bringing you right against him.

The only sounds in that moment are your breaths, and your heart pounding in your ears, when your eyes lock together, and you see the way they dilate, almost black in that moment. Your own hand comes over his balled fist, when he leans down, and for some insane fucking moment you picture it - a kiss from him, from Satoru Gojo, his glossy lips and how they’d feel.

Something you wrote about in endless diaries, it can never happen, it would never happen, he’s making sure you’re not naked if anything, you have to remember it, have to hold back. You smile nervously then, hoping the shower will explain away the flush of your cheeks in front of him, as you take the towel from his hold, holding it together now.

“Thanks, I’m so sorry…”

“No, it’s fine,” his voice is darker, huskier than you’ve ever heard it, making your thighs press together, still slick from the water, in need. “I’ll go take one now.”

“Yes,” he stomps away quickly, leaving you to catch your breath, looking in the mirror over the dresser at how badly his nearness affected you. Your own eyes are so dilated you can’t see your iris anymore.

Soon, Satoru’s leaning against the tile wall, stroking his cock in the hot shower, his eyes fluttering shut in a mix of self loathing and need. He has had you pop up in his mind the past couple years, when he’s hitting a girl from the back with your hair color, when he’s fucking one in a spoon position, and her tits are about your size, he’s shoved them all away though.

He’s never jerked off to you specifically, but there’s no denying it, he’s jerking his thick, veiny cock to his best friend’s daughter in the other room. He feels filthy, as filthy as the sick thoughts he has, of making sure he fucked you so good you’d never even look at one of your stupid college boys again. Showing you what cumming really is, because he’s sure no one has done it right.

You’d be so pretty full of him, leaking his cum for him to shove it back inside your cunt, fuck he’d stock up on plan bs if he could do it every night, if he could watch it pour from your perfect pussy. He hasn’t even seen it, but he just knows it’s as beautiful as the rest of you is, god even your thighs in that towel had him leaking more pre, so hard it hurts.

His tip, usually a blushing pink, is now a mean red with how badly it’s been stuck in this fucking state, he hisses a bit as he runs his fingers along it. He’s picturing it all, that towel falling at your feet, and him slipping his hands across that dewy skin, sucking on that delicate neck he’d like his hand around. It’s pathetic, really, he is better than this surely, but he can’t not touch it.

He’s jerking it faster, fisting his long, curved cock, when the fucking door opens, and he tenses, glaring into the shower curtain that thankfully covered him. “I forgot my phone in here, sorry Gojo.”

“Ah, no, it’s f-fine…” he’s sick, he’s sure of it, jerking it even while you’re in there, in fact knowing you’re there has him feeling closer to cumming, hoping you don’t notice the sounds of his fist on his cock.

“Is there still hot water?” You tease, swiping a little bit of the condensation left on your phone with a towel, already wearing your little shorts and a crop top.

“Yeah, plenty, you didn’t hog too much.”

“See!”

“You left strands of your hair on the wall though.”

“Shit, it fell out!” He laughs softly, as if he’s not still stroking it, and you sigh a little bit then. “All right, I’ll leave you to it.”

Why do you fucking think of offering to jump right back in there? Why do you hesitate, wondering just how perfect he looks under that spray? You shut the door gently with a click that echoes, resting your back against it and shutting your eyes, sighing.

You’re already so stressed about the Julliard audition, the last thing you need is this pounding in your head, an impossible fantasy.

When you’re snuggled up in the main bed out in the entryway, Satoru comes out with a towel slung on his hips to grab his clothes, you can’t help but eye the white happy trail, the little v cuts on either side of his hips begging for your tongue on them. You tug your blanket up a little bit, avoiding the sight of the tenting in his towel, and how badly you’re curious about it.

“Feel better?” You tease, he smiles and nods a bit, grabbing his boxers then, hesitating as he realizes he didn’t bring shit else to sleep in.

“Much better.” He’s gone back to the bathroom, you’re exhaling and leaned back, head on the plush leather headboard, fingers tapping in the rhythm you’ll practice tomorrow, focusing.

He finds you like that when he’s back out, sitting down on one of the chairs to tap back at his keyboard once more, and your lips are pursed, fingers tapping along the red silk comforters. You’re beautiful like that, lost in your own world, surely composing some masterpiece only you can hear, a beauty that tugs at his chest.

It’d be one thing if you were just hot, but to be truly beautiful seemed one of life's meanest jokes to him.

Your phone rings, your eyes open and you catch sight of him. “Shit, you saw me like that?”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine, ya gonna get that?” You look at your phone on the nightstand, tugging off the covers just to make him hard again.

Do you wear clothes!? Or just scraps?

“It’s dad!” You’re giggling, picking up the phone, legs dangling high off the floor as he tries not to imagine slipping his fingers across them. “Hey dad!”

“Hey sweetie, you didn’t check in with me, how’s my girl?” Your dads voice instantly makes you miss him, you two are as close as you can be, and you wish he could be here, but he’s out of the country stuck right now because of some stupid customs issue with a pet he and his new girlfriend bought.

She was actually cool as fuck, but you don’t know if your dad really will ever get over mom, though you’d love to see him happy.

“Wishing you were here,” you say, hearing him sigh over the phone.

“I know, shit, I think we should be able to fly out in the next couple days but I’ll miss the audition for sure.”

“Ugh! I’m okay though, actually… Satoru is here.”

“Satoru? Shit, put me on speaker,” you bounce up then, making your tits jiggle as you hop down, Satoru almost chokes when you run up and stand right next to him, popping on the speaker. “He’s here!”

“Satoru, what’re you doing there?” Suguru’s voice is friendly, relieved even. Thank god he can’t sense the dumb fucking thoughts in his head.

“I was actually staying here for business, when the hotel booked her room, so I offered her to just stay in the suite with me.”

“He saved me!”

“Psh.” He’s chuckling as you smile, leaning across his table a bit, tank top slipping off your fucking shoulder, as if the straps were mocking him.

He sure couldn’t stare at your tits while he talks to your dad!?

“Thank you, Satoru, I feel so much better that you’re there with her,” he almost laughs at that, because he sure the fuck wouldn’t want himself around, with what’s brewing in his mind. “I worried about her alone in the city.”

“Dad, I'm a big girl now, you know.” You’re pouting too fucking cute, Satoru can’t drag his mind off your plush lips for a moment as Suguru speaks.

“You’re still my little girl, anyway I am glad it worked out. By the time I even get back you’ll be in Julliard!”

“You have too much faith in me,” your voice is quiet now, and Satoru puts his hand over yours, smiling at you, earning your little smile back.

“She’ll kill it.”

“Exactly, see we both believe in you.” You tear up a bit, sniffling now, it’s been months since you saw either of them.

“I miss you so much.”

“Aw, me too baby, I’ll be home soon okay?” You sniffle as Satoru caresses the back of your hand. “Take good care of her for me, Satoru.”

“I will.” You hang up the phone then, the exhaustion of the flight and your self doubt creeping in, Satoru tugs you close then, hugging you gently as you’re between his thighs, and your arms wrap his neck.

“Hey, hey, you’ll do great. He’ll be back soon,” you’re taking several breaths, burying your face against his neck as the tears fall, and his big hand splays the small of your back, so warm and soothing. “It’s okay.”

“I missed you too.” You say it softly, like a secret, making Satoru pause, his hand still gently running up and down your back.

“Missed me, why?” You just shake your head, hugging him tighter, as his blood rushes to places he wishes it fucking wouldn’t. “Miss me teasing you?”

“Maybe I do,” you pull back, and Satoru swipes your tears, streaking down your pretty cheeks. “You haven’t visited in a long time.”

“Yeah, I know…” He can’t admit why, he eyes your tears still falling, your glassy eyes, it’s too intimate then, too close, your lips a breath away. “I guess work got the best of me, and my nasty break up.”

“She was a bitch.” He snorts in laughter then, swiping more tears as you stand there between his long legs, like you belong there. “I didn’t like her.”

“You didn’t, huh? She was pretty bitchy, it took a lot for me to get her out of the house. I think I considered an exterminator.” You both laugh then, before he realizes he’s still cupping your face. “Why didn’t you like her? She played nice pretty well to others.”

“She wasn’t in love with you enough,” he pauses at your observation, tilting his head, the lights catch the lavender hue on his hair that falls over his brow, still a little damp, the scent of shampoo filling your nostrils. “She didn’t look at you enough, notice you enough. So I decided I didn’t like her.”

“I see, you’re pretty observant huh?” You shrug a shoulder, hand on his wrist now, your thumb brushing over the veins that dance along it. “She wasn’t in love with me, more the idea of being a Gojo I suppose.”

“Well I’m glad she’s gone. I haven’t liked any of your girlfriends.” He laughs now, but you’re dead serious.

“None of them? Now that’s silly, some of them weren’t that bad.”

“Hmm, nope they all sucked.” He’s laughing harder, his hands finally falling, but one of them remains in yours, he looks down at it then, at how small your hand is compared to his. “You deserve someone that really loves you.”

“Yeah, well, I think I give up.”

“What now?”

“Yeah, I’m ancient.”

“Shut up!” You shove at him, he’s chuckling more but you’re very serious. “Stop saying that. I won’t be old at forty.”

“No, you won’t be able to drive then either.”

“Excuse me!?” He’s grinning as you smack playfully, until you smile and sniffle a bit. “You’re such a jerk!”

“Thought I deserve all this love, what now?” His hands found their way to your hips, as he leans forward, before he can think about it, and you suck in your breath, your heart hammering as he pulls back, realizing how natural it felt.

“You do, but you also deserve a few smacks.” You stop his hands before they leave your waist, and he stares right at them, before the gaze drifts to your nipples, glaringly apparent in your top. “Satoru…”

“You should get some sleep,” he barely manages to speak, standing then, towering over you. Your head falls back when he brushes a strand back behind your ear, leaning over to press a friendly kiss on your head, the one that you’d die if it slipped lower. “I’ll have a car ready to bring you in the morning, okay?”

“You’re the best, Satoru, thank you.”

You keep saying it - Satoru - like you’re testing it on your tongue, and it’s never ending hell to hear it, but he plasters on a smile, patting your head like he always does and walking into the room off to the side. Thankful for the privacy and distance, he shuts the heavy cream door and rests his head against it.

He can barely handle looking at you, inhaling your scent, feeling your skin against him, but you saying he deserved love fucked him up completely. He swallows that down, grabbing a water out of the little fridge in there, swallowing it in needy gulps, before finally laying in the bed, forcing himself to fall asleep.

*****

“Good morning, sweets,” Satoru’s bright and cheery as he comes inside the room with two bags full of donuts, muffins and treats, along with two cups of coffee in a carrier. He’s already fully dressed in his suit, looking like a million bucks, so pretty with his smile as bright light filters in the floor to ceiling windows. “You need to eat.”

“Oh, thank you so much.” You yawn and stand, stretching just a bit, when he sees your tit is precariously close to falling out. He flushes and averts his eyes, when you bounce over to him. “You’re so sweet!”

“It’s nothing, all included. You need something in your system so you don’t get shaky,” his thoughtfulness chokes you up for a moment, you just stare at him with a muffin hovering in your hand. “Want a different flavor? I can go grab more.”

“No, no it’s… you remember me getting shaky?”

“Yeah, you were shaking insane at that pool party last year because you were silly and didn’t eat, knowing we were out in the sun all day.” He taps your nose, as you giggle and peel the wrapper. “Bad girl.”

Jesus fuck, does he not know what that does!?

You stare at him, he’s smirking just a bit like maybe he does fucking know, but then he gets to sipping on his sweet coffee, sighing as it hits his tastebuds. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“I remember a lot of shit I guess,” he shrugs a broad shoulder, taking a donut and starting to devour the sweets, you can’t help but smile as you nibble on your muffin, and he’s sucking on his thumb to lap up icing. “What is it, brat?”

“Brat!? Hey now,” he’s licking his other finger, your body responds almost violently at the sight, picturing the most obscene fucking things. Like him licking you off him instead. You hastily look away, blushing, god is that all you do around this man now? “No, just how you keep that body perfect and eat more than Goku.”

“No one eats more than Goku,” you giggle again at that, as he laughs softly, now tearing into a chocolate chip muffin. “Genetics and working out I guess.”

“You have won the gene pool, this will go to my hips.”

“Nice hips,” he trails off then, clearing his throat, and your tummy clenches as his eyes dart across your body. “I mean to say… you can eat a muffin, you look great, okay?”

“Thank you, Satoru.” You smile and do just that, taking another bite, as the tension in the suite grows with every fucking breath, until you can’t breathe, not with how he looked at you just now.

It has to be your fantasy brain again, he was probably being nice, he’s always been supportive and sweet, someone you could come to. It’s you who is the problem, who can’t stop thinking of fucking your dad’s best friend, something he would never forgive either of you for. Something that will never happen.

You have a huge opportunity, you have to focus.

“Tell me you brought something like… not as… revealing for this? Or do I need to buy you an outfit?” You laugh a bit then, and his thin brows lower. “I’m serious.”

“Are you saying I dress slutty!?”

“What!? No… just very revealing.”

“Maybe you are old.”

“What now!?” You’re biting your lip to stop laughing as he stands up, and you find your back pressed against the table, his arms on either side of you. “Do I look old to you?”

“No, you’re the one that says it silly! You’re old fashioned.” You shove at his chest and he smirks a bit.

“I am not old fashioned, but you do have something professional, yes? I don’t mind taking you shopping.”

The visions flash then, shopping with Satoru, on his fucking arm, god it’s too much, you look down a bit nervously, at his neck, the tie just a bit askew. You fix it carefully, watching his adam’s apple bob up and down. “I have something professional, I’ll put it on and show you.”

He eases back and you come out a few minutes later, a pretty white dress shirt and a cute little bow tie, along with a black little skirt and suspenders, you look fucking adorable. He can’t help but melt a bit as he sees you do a little twirl, black tights and pretty black heels finishing it off.

“Now that’s perfect, you look…” Beautiful, fucking beautiful. “You look like you’re going to nail this.”

“Yay! Thank you!” You kiss his cheek and smile against it, on your tiptoes, a hand over his jacket, burning his skin. “I’m so nervous.”

“Don’t be, you’re going to do amazing. Are you ready to get going? I have to leave a little early for this meeting and the traffic is terrible here.”

“I’m ready!”

Satoru’s in the back with you on his phone, talking to this person and then that person, negotiating a multi million dollar deal while you’re tapping your fingers, an ear bud in with the three songs on rotation that you’ll be performing. You keep tapping them, shutting your eyes, lips murmuring the notes silently. You don’t realize your thigh is shaking until his huge hand covers it.

“You’re a nervous wreck,” his fingers press gently right above your knee, you’re taking several breaths, eyes locking with his as the car stalls through the heavy traffic, slowing to a crawl. “How much are you gonna jiggle it?”

“A lot,” he’s rolling his eyes now, hand falling off, and you instantly miss its warmth, its presence. “I’m gonna fail it.”

“Don’t go in with that attitude, stop that.” He frowns at you, eyes hiding behind those dark shades, just a hint of blue shimmering as they slip down his straight nose a bit. “You’ll do great.”

“Right…”

You wish Satoru was right.

You’re so nervous, so stuck on your insane desires and thoughts, that you keep missing keys you would never. You’re such a fucking mess, every time you hit a sharp key the sickness sinks in deeper, until you’re fucking it all up. You try to save face, the judges are shocked considering all the references on your lists, all the videos that have gone viral of you.

You can’t perform for shit today, and you’re shaking and sobbing by the end of it, heart sinking as you realize what has happened. Instead of waiting for Satoru, you’re walking blocks until you find the nearest bar, and drinking until you’re a mess, all while you picture the disappointment.

All your life living for this dream, for what. What was any of it for?

A few guys are hitting on you as you sit alone at the bar, you let them buy you drinks, but you don’t speak to them, hardly notice as one of them whispers something in your ear and hands you his info, as another touches your back. You barely remember texting Satoru where you are later on, when he was heading to get you from his meeting.

He’s furious when he does walk into the bar, it’s filled with college people probably partying for the summer, he walks through hoards of them when he sees you, two men on either side of you as you down a shot. You’re not smiling or enjoying yourself, he feels the upset from across the bar, your shoulders slumped when one of them dares to touch your back.

He loses any control he’s had, losing it all for the frustration you’ve just put him through, an enigmatic - ‘i’m getting drunk’ and nothing the fuck else at five pm. He’s stomping right over, clearing his throat and getting the two men’s attention, both trying to shoot their shot at a girl who shouldn’t give them the time of fucking day.

He says your name, and you turn to him, skin flushed and eyes glassy, clearly drunk as fuck. He just hopes you had the good sense to only take drinks from the bartender rather than these creeps, as he snatches you right off the barstool, and you almost lose your balance.

“Who’s this, baby?” One asks, Satoru narrows his eyes at the fuck boy.

“It’s Satoru,” you’re hiccuping then, swaying even though you’re not even moving, about to fall if he doesn’t catch you. “Satoru Gojo.”

“Come have another, we can hit a party,” the other says, and you just bury your face against Satoru’s chest, as he carefully holds you.

“She’s going home.” Satoru’s words ring through your drunk ass brain, he lays a tip for you on the table, snatching up your bag and wrapping an arm around your waist, leading you out into the cool night air.

You’re sobbing when he gets to the sidewalk, concerning him to no fucking end, the sun is setting as he guides you gently into the back of the sleek black car, isntantly grabbing a bottle of water from the cooler installed. He twists it open and tilts your chin up gently.

“Drink some water, yeah?” You shake your head, and he scowls. “I said drink some fucking water.”

“Okay, dad.”

“I’m not your fucking dad,” his voice is clipped and harsh then, your eyes try to focus on his angry, handsome face, he swirls just a bit as you let him put the water to your lips. “Drink.”

You do as he says, swallowing greedily then, body craving anything other than the endless shots you’ve just fed it - nothing but a muffin this morning in your body to soak it up. He sighs as he eyes you, unreadable in his gaze, slipping a thumb over your chin as a little bit falls along your chin, before snapping the cap back on.

“Celebrating like this is dangerous, you could have been taken advantage of by those douche bags.”

“Celebrating!” You’re laughing then, until you’re crying, a whole fucking mess as he watches you, swallowing the tightness in his throat. Celebrating, what a joke that was, he looks at you in concern, brows lowering now, the sky is dimming outside, darkening the seat as you try to breathe, try to focus.

“Will you just tell me what’s wrong, what’s going on?” He asks quietly, you sigh then, looking at him, as he gently cups your face.

“I fucking failed, Satoru.”

“What now!?”

“I fucked up, I ruined it.” You’re sobbing again, he holds you against him, as your hands ball his jacket into your fists, tears soaking the expensive material, he exhales and shakes his head. “I did, I did all of this to just fuck it up, dad’s gonna be so d-dissapointed… and you are…”

“Fuck this, I’ll go demand a redo.”

“You can’t!” You pull back and look up at him, the alcohol warming your body, spreading as he’s right near you. “Satoru they will never.”

“The fuck they won’t, you’ve never seen me negotiate shit, have you?” He raises a brow, you swipe at your tears, lip trembling.

“You can’t just fix it for me.”

“I can give you another chance, okay? I’ll meet with them tomorrow, you’ll find I can be very convincing, yeah?” You sigh then, nodding as he brushes back some of your hair. “You’re a mess, ya know?”

“I know.” He frowns contemplatively, as you lean closer, he can taste the liquor on your breath, as your eyes dart to his lips, and the tension coils in your tummy. “You think you can really talk to them?”

“Of course I can, but you better be ready this time. I’ll come watch you, would that help?” You nod then, so quickly it makes you just a little dizzy. “All right then, just let me work my magic.”

You love him.

Fuck you almost say it, the alcohol threatening to loosen your tongue, but you swallow instead, a hand on his chest, and his own eyes lower, snowy lashes casting shadows over those baby blues, the proximity making you both heat up in that moment. He pulls back just a bit, realizing how precarious the moment is, he needs to comfort you, not fucking kiss you, or worse.

Especially drunk off your ass.

“You need more water-” You’ve pressed your lips on his before he can finish his sentence, too far gone to hold back, to stop the motion, pulling back just a bit to look up at him.

He says nothing, eyes wide, and you would apologize if you cared enough to, if you felt bad enough about it, but in that moment it’s all you want, to kiss him, even if it’s only once. You lean back a bit, you want to form the apology you don’t mean on your lips, form it into words, as it’s so silent in the back of that car, all you can hear is your blood rushing in your ears.

“Sorry,” he scoffs then, eyes narrowing, hand slipping into the nape of your neck, tugging your hair just enough to make your head fall back.

“You’re not sorry, are you?” You smile, you can’t help it, you’re too drunk to lie to him.

“Kind of sorry,” he tightens his hand, tugging at the delicate strands of hair, you’re whining out, the sound fucking him completely. “Satoru…”

“You’re forgetting this, okay?” You nod then, understanding him, when he slams his lips on yours, the release so fucking good he can’t stand it, drinking in your cries as your arms wrap his neck.

He’s lost then, letting himself have one moment, where he devours your mouth with his practiced tongue, where his other hand slips up your thigh, up your hip, to your ribcage, brushing right under your breasts. You’re clinging to him, closer and closer, until you’re straddling him, even as he shoves at your hips, you roll them, whining out when you feel him.

“Fuck, you’re a brat…” he’s huffing, biting back a moan as he feels your heat, soaking wet even against your tights, pressing you down for just a moment to torture himself, kissing you deeper, hungrier. It’s messy and desperate, you’re kissing him sloppy, saliva dripping, as you roll your hips against him.

“Please…” He wants to give you it, fuck he wants you to have all of him, but he yanks you off him, holding you up by your hips, kissing you one more time.

“No more, you’re drunk and… this is a terrible fucking idea.” He sits you right next to him, you’re dizzy and breathless. “Forget that happened.”

“Right, sure Satoru.” You glare at him, he glares right back, leaning over and hating himself, he wanted to rip your fucking tights at the crotch, slip his fingers inside your wet cunt, stretch you out on him.

Shit that can never, ever happen.

“You’re upset and drunk, and I’m fucking stupid.”

“You’re not-”

“Drink.” He orders, and you do just that, he’s back to being caring and distant, as you ache for him, more and more as the water sobers you up just a bit.

He’s helping you up into bed later, he puts your hair up off your neck carefully in a pony tail, he makes you eat food that he orders. The alcohol has lost its effects mostly as you lay in bed, and he’s typing over on his laptop, the glasses looking unfairly handsome on his face as you study him.

“Will you really help me get another chance?” You ask softly, his eyes catch you across the room.

“Of course I will, but it’ll be up to you to show them what you can do, show them how good you are. Okay?” You nod then, snuggling against the pillow, eyes drifting shut, neither of you mention the kiss, neither of you breathe a word even close to insinuating it happened.

“Thank you, Satoru. Good night.” You murmur, he sighs, nodding then.

“Good night.” His clicking of the keys drifts you off to sleep, the vivid images behind your eyes of him overtaking your mind, wondering if it was all some fucking drunk fever dream.

But it wasn’t.

When later he closes the laptop and brushes your hair back, studying you for a moment, he tries to make a promise to himself - that it will never happen again, he’ll never let his control slip like that. Even if all he can think of now is slipping into bed next to you and holding you against him, he shoves it all down, going back to his room, and staring at the ceiling.

What had he been thinking?

He can’t feel this way.

He shuts his eyes, failing to sleep as he knows you’re in the next room, while you dream the filthiest things about your dad’s best friend.

tags- @valentinegab3 @vinnababy @sakisworld @satorupied @lolliibunny @coralbae @lnette04 @delightfulstay @zephyairies @flowerymenendez @yomama2089 @chocoyanchan @hargun-s @ic-slxt @lovelytwixx @lily-bisque @sirencholia @etosh0e @yesdere @luciferlikesducks @frankoceanfan9911 @sukunaslilsocks @dientesdefresa @maah-sama @amesenseii @lem-hhn @keiiate @ttrinity @monster-effer @coffinboy666 @neliislost @thequeenofcurses @inzanekillian @gojoswaterbottle @melotter @buckturd @artbligh @msniks @shibataimu @macchianikato @neohoestechnology @levislug @trsh-kitty @satsattoru @erisfayred @gh0stgirl333 @silverfangmarks @smashlyn89 @hwngez

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: daddy kink, explicit sexual content

The world slows down. 

Everything outside the house fades to the background. His job, your job, the noise in between. Outside of checking in on Gaz and Mara and taking care of Duchess, he keeps himself laser focused. On you. 

He gets your words back a few days after the robbery happens. They’re slow. Heavy. Weighed down by the chaos and pain in your mind, gaze bottomless and bleak, every time he stares into your eyes his chest hurts like he’s taken a fist to the sternum. You croak a question just past sunrise after sleeping for twelve hours. 

“How long was I out?” You’re blinking, trying to clear the dried tears from your lashes, brow furrowed, and he smiles for the first time in a week, savoring the sound of your voice before ignoring your question. 

“Hi sweetheart.” 

“Hi daddy.” You whisper on an exhale, and press your face to the crux of his neck and shoulder. He bites his tongue. Doesn’t tell you how happy he is you’re talking, doesn’t say anything about being relieved. He gives you time for this moment and nothing else. The warmth of your breath tickles his bare skin. “Thank you.” 

“You don’t have to thank me for anything.” He kisses the top of your head, mindlessly rubbing circles into your body, your shoulders, your back, any place in between. “Taking care of you is like breathing. You’re mine.” You dot your lips onto his jaw and burrow yourself into his body, your home, the place where you’ll always belong. 

Recovery from trauma is climbing a mountain, not running an easy, asphalt paved marathon. There are rocks and scrambles and lost maps. It’s not something laid out perfectly before you, it’s not something you can easily see. It’s hard and grueling and miserable. 

You take it on the chin though, and he’s so proud of you. Proud every time you come out of therapy with a nervous and slightly relieved smile, proud every time he catches you leaning over a mixing bowl at home and humming. All the changes hurtle towards you like a meteor crashing to earth, and while you stumble and fall, he’s always there to pull you back up. 

“I can’t believe we sold out again.” He raises his eyebrows. 

“It’s been happening for weeks baby. People love what you do, what you make.” 

“I know but it’s um.. it’s a little crazy right?” You’ve quit your job. You tried but couldn’t make it through the front doors, and he didn’t push you. It works out in his favor, after all. So you decided to do something else. An out of home bakery where you take orders at your own pace and make special occasion cakes or baskets of pastries, both savory and sweet. You have a consistent stall at the local farmer’s market, where you sell small things and loaves of bread, sweet rolls and whatever else you’ve picked for that day. Mara handles everything, the website, the payments, the deliveries, and you focus on the thing you love. It’s only been up and running for a few weeks, but word of mouth has already spread, and your social media accounts have thousands of followers. The waitlist for your weekly sourdough loaves that you sell at the farmers market is long, and the stand always has a line and sells out. They all wait their turn to fill brown paper bags with whatever you’re selling, each one folded over and stamped proudly with the name of your business. 

Raspberry Girl. 

“No. It’s not crazy.” He lightly traces the slope of your hip, dipping his thumb beneath the waistband of your shorts. “You’re talented. The bakery,” he slips the elastic of your panties to the side, “was so popular because of you.” You suck in a sharp breath when he slides his thumb down your seam. He’s not surprised you’re already wet. He’s been so careful lately, on edge about pushing you too far when your brain, your heart is still trying to process what happened, but it’s been hard. You’ve been asking. 

And tonight, he’s decided you’ll have it. 

He pulls your hand to his groin over his sweatpants, molding your palm to his cock, heat straining beneath the fabric. You whimper. 

“Gonna be daddy’s good girl and take his cock?” Your eyes lock, and you nod. “Words baby.” 

“Y-yes daddy.” He rolls you onto your back, snaking a hand between your knees and gently pulling them apart after he strips you down. You’re swollen and dripping, toes curling when he circles your clit and presses two fingers inside you. He’s done what he can, but you’re still so tight, and he kicks the last of his boxers off without losing his pace, still between your thighs. Your fingers twist the sheets. Nerves. He reads it so easily, every expression, every single blink and twitch guiding him, telling him everything he needs to know. 

“It’s okay.” He nips at your jaw, covering your body with his for a moment, flattening your hand over his heart. “I’m right here.” 

“I kn-know.” He shifts, his elbow rests above your head, wild need screaming inside his bones, his blood, begging him to claim you, pump you full, fill you up. He flicks your clit, and your nails lightly scratch over his chest as you shive with the stimulation. 

“Does that feel good?” 

“Y-yeah.” The rhythm syncs, your hips and his hand moving together, and at the last second, he pulls away. “Wait!” His chuckle rings nearly sinister, and he taps your clit, the contact just barely there, enough to drive you crazy. 

“Keep your legs open baby, nice and wide.” The head of his cock, already leaking, sits at your opening, and he slowly pushes it in, not even an inch, rocking back and forth. You whimper, but stay anchored to the bed, position steady even though you’re trembling with shaky breaths. “Good girl, stay just like that.” He gives you more, taut skin stretching to take him, muscles tensing and relaxing as he rubs your clit, slows his strokes. “I have you,” he murmurs, taking a second to drop his lips to yours, “I’ve got you sweet girl.” When you calm, he sinks deeper. 

“Oh fuck,” you reach for him, gripping his arms with a strength he didn’t know you had. “I- ah-” 

“Halfway there baby girl, you can take it.” He’s never had an issue with control, but watching his cock disappear inside your body has his balls already tightening, stomach clenching. 

He gives you time to adjust. He’s slow and careful, holding you on the edge of an orgasm as he picks up speed, working himself in, your cries and moans filling the room. Your clit throbs under his touch, and knows you’re desperate. 

“It’s too- too much daddy, I c-can’t.” He kisses you slowly, gently murmuring in your ear, holding you tight, soothing you while still working his way inside your body even though you're clawing at his back and he knows he'll wear your marks tomorrow.

“Shh, I know, I know. Almost there baby.” 

“N-no, I…” He steals your words by finally fully seating himself, swallowed all the way to the root, his hips against yours. Your legs go stiff. “Oh my god-” 

“Fuck.” It’s nearly inaudible, grunted garbage hoarse and scraping his throat as he clamps down for control. He moves one of your legs to get a better look, pushing it back to your chest, throbbing inside you as he savors your groan. He’s shoved up against your cervix, walls strangling him, scorching and wet, everything he dreamed of, but better. Perfect. Like you always are. Your lower lip trembles, and he folds over to kiss you again, the movement allowing him to  push farther as he swallows your whimper. This is where he stays as he starts to roll his hips, painstakingly slow, watching your expression twist in half pain, half pleasure, gasping. 

“Too big, it’s… you’re too big.” His mouth is tender on yours, lulling you calm, controlling your breath until it’s normal and you’re relaxed, legs limp and loose. He experiments with a harder thrust, and your back arches, pussy spasming around him. He groans, presses down on your stomach above your mound. 

“You’re stuffed full of me baby. D’you feel it? Is that daddy’s cock in your belly so deep?” He’s fucking you now, earnestly, pushing and pulling while still rubbing your clit. 

“Ah, ah, y-yeah I f-feel it I feel…” Tears wet your cheeks, shining in the low light of the evening, sunset casting a summers glow through the windows. The sight of them is like a lightning bolt down his spine. 

“My sweet girl,” he keeps you close, holds you, soaks it all in like it’s the last moment he’ll ever have. “Sweet baby girl, taking daddy’s cock so well.” You’re dangerously close to coming, cunt clenching and trying to milk him, and while he’d love to edge you until you break apart, he’s too close himself. He puts more pressure on your clit, rubbing the bud in circles as you shake. “Do you want to come?” 

“Yes! Please, plea-sepleaseplease daddy,” the tears continue and he licks them up, salt slicking his tongue. You babble your plea, half coherent, dangling on the cusp while he’s hanging on by a thread. 

“Go ahead,” he chokes, unbridled and raw instinct rising to the top, pushing its way out, and his hips meet yours harshly. “Come for me sweetheart. Come all over your daddy’s fat cock.” You explode, strangle him, bones going from limp to rigid and back again, screams turned to whimpers as he fucks you through it, too rough, too much, his release right behind you. Your eyes go wide when he floods your pussy with cum, brows knitted, and he smiles against your cheek, soaking it all in. This claim, this knowledge that he’s first, he’s last, he’s only. His forever. 

He indulges in the after. You’re swollen and already sore as he anticipated, emotions boiling over, fresh tears lining your lashes. It’s a lot, he knows, so much to take it, to learn, and he holds you through the rollercoaster, the up and down until you’re calm and ready for your bath, which he just barely manages as you’re falling asleep, head in his hand, unable to hold yourself up. 

“Ow,” you hiss at the cloth between your legs with a playful, exhausted glare. He kisses your forehead. 

“I know baby, I’m sorry. Be still for me.” You sigh, trying to fight the battle of sleep and terribly losing. “It’s okay sweet girl, you can close your eyes. I’ve got you.” He thinks you’re already there, stolen away by dreams when a whisper drifts free from your lips.

“I love you.” His heart clenches. 

“I love you too.” 

[seronamin]

in a gentle lullaby

Falling asleep next to a demon has to be a risky gamble, but you're too tired to even question the chance they'll take your soul and feed it Gwi-Ma (or whatever that Demon King is called).

cw fluff, sleepy reader, unedited

The sound of JINU's awkward shuffling and muttering lyrics under his breath lulled you to sleep, along with the buildup of sleep deprivation from pulling all-nighters during the week. He'd been stressing the importance of the next song the boy band had to perform, urging you for choreography that had to be flawless with his lyrics. By the time he noticed you were asleep—when he really turned around to inquire about a part of the song he kept messing up on when dancing—he was too late to even bother waking you up; instead, he just strolled over to the desk you were hunched over.

At first glance, you looked comfortable despite your cheek pressed against a small spiral notebook, leaving indents in your face. But it was easy to notice the small discomfort from the object. There was a slight crease between your eyebrows, almost like you were squinting at something in your dream.

JINU could only sigh, gently lifting your head up to slip the notebook out of the way, laying your head back on the desk. His fingers drummed against the ink-stained paper, peering at your face again. The discomfort doesn't disappear from your face like he hoped.

He opts to move you again when he realizes that your pain was only growing from the position, coaxing your frame to sit up so he can gracefully pick you up. As he transfers you to his bed, you nuzzle your face into his neck.

Warm air fans his skin, leaving a red flame in its wake.

JINU only wished you knew what crazy things you did to him, his arms trembling as he forced himself to lie you down on his bed with a burning face.

If there's one thing to know about ABBY, is that he loves to flex his abs to anyone and everyone in sight. So when he asks (correction: demands) you lie on his back so he can prove that his muscles are all that, you simply just do as he asks. At the same time, you eye his phone that he barely knew how to use up until a week ago, which was already recording.

With the realization that this was most definitely going on his socials, you face your head the other direction from the pointing lens and scroll away on your phone with heavy eyes.

The magenta-haired demon only angles a smirk to the camera and begins his demonstration of aggressive pushups. The cool air produced by how swiftly ABBY does his pushups feels nice against your skin. A yawn slipped past your lips, feeling your eyes fluttered close to soak in the quick breezes of cold air.

The moment you closed your eyes was the when you slipped out of consciousness.

It took ABBY 57 more pushups later to realize you were asleep, soundless snoring catching his sensitive demon ears. He lowered his body to the floor, blinking in mock confusion at what was happening above him.

Looking back at the camera, he smugly smiled and mouthed a few words at his phone, which faltered when he felt you stir and nearly fall off of him. He scrambled to keep you steady so you wouldn't hurt yourself.

Aren't they so cute?

When night hits, the stars are the first thing ROMANCE notices. So whenever Gwi-Ma doesn't call forth him to be at his beckon, he lies on the rooftop of the suite his boy band owns, staring up into the midnight sky.

And when he meets you, he forces you to join him on his nighttime endeavors.

When night falls once more, your nighttime ritual begins, but you're without ROMANCE this time. You wait a good 30 minutes for him to join you before realizing it was one of those nights. A night when he wouldn't be back until a couple of hours.

The stars don't shine as brightly when you watch them alone, you think. When you're with him, he tells you stories he creates based on the patterns he connects with the stars. He forms his own constellations, writing their own stories to tell.

Your favorite to listen to was the one about who liked to sing, with the stars forming a jagged treble clef. But you never seemed to remember what happened next without ROMANCE telling you the story.

So you wait on the roof for him to return from his summoning.

ROMANCE returns 4 hours later after his rehearsal, rushing to the roof to see if his stars were waiting for him.

There, littering the sky, were the glowing balls of gas in the distance, making him smile. He tilts his head down to see you sprawled out on the roof, a small pillow resting beneath your head.

He sits next to you, tucking you into his side, rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

And his favorite star is just in arm's reach.

MYSTERY didn't like going outside; in fact, he dreaded it. So when you forced him onto the sheltered balcony, he couldn't help but hiss at you. It reeked outside, but you pouted and sat outside under the covered balcony as rain poured aggressively.

He watched from a window. You inched your chair closer to the railing, sticking a hand out to feel the cold water against your skin.

A scowl takes over his covered features, the fringe of his hair hiding the glare. Upset that you choose to remain outside over staying dry inside with him. But he refused to argue with you or drag you back inside. You looked peaceful out there that he couldn't help but let the scowl collapse a few minutes after making the face.

Still, he can't help but intently watch you, just in case anything were to happen to you. MYSTERY stays close by always, just in case.

So he notices when you begin to lean against the railing. He watches as your eyes flutter closed contentedly, drawing closer to the sound of the patter of the rain. Most importantly, he watches your chest slows down, breathing becoming lighter and less present.

He can't help but frown at watching you drift off into sleep.

The closer you lean into the railing to slumber, the more the rainwater redirects and dampens your clothes and skin. MYSTERY remembers reading somewhere that humans get sick because of the rain.

And he doesn't want you to get sick.

With much reluctance, he leaves the comfort of his place at the window seal. He moves to the door of the balcony, hit with the moist air and sick smell of rainwater.

He wrinkles his nose from the feeling and smell, like dirt at the bottom of his shoe.

He inches closer to you, pulling you gently but quickly away from the railing and bringing you inside to his spot at the window.

He retrieves new clothes for you and lets you sleep on his chest as he watches the rain from behind the glass protection.

In exchange for letting BABY mess around on your phone, he graciously allows you to lie on his chest while he doomscrolls through every form of social media you have. Although you complained at the beginning, he had his own phone to mess around with, you gave in fairly quickly without much coercion needed.

Together, you both watched as he scrolled through your Instagram first, going through your reels, then over to your followers. You peer at his face carefully, noting every twitch in his face that appears when he scrolls downwards to read the next caption or username. At one point, BABY finds himself watching a guy pretending to be a vampire, going around and biting random people on the streets of America.

His eyes squint at the absurdity of the reel, looking at you as if to ask 'WTF is this??' but says nothing. Not because he doesn't have anything to say, but because he decides to stay quiet for the sake of your sleeping face.

He doesn't even notice that you fell asleep hours ago amidst his doomscrolling journey. Your breathing was so steady and soft that it sounded the same when you were awake and asleep.

The most polite thing he does all day, for you specifically, is lower the volume of the reels. Your face noticeably softens much more, a small smile tugging at your face as you bury yourself deeper into his sweater.

BABY feels his lips tug upwards.

That doesn't stop him from pressing the plus button at the bottom of the screen and snapping a picture of your sleeping form with him smirking at the camera with his other hand threaded in your hair.

By the time you wake up a few hours later, with BABY still awake and still going through every app on your phone, the post reaches 300K likes alone.

Captioned: All yours, all mine.

[silverquillsideas]

GOD. this scene. I just need to talk about this scene.

Chi Cheng takes a drunk Suo Wei to his home, not suo wei's room at the clinic, but his own personal sanctuary. He clearly wanted to spend the night with SW, not to sleep with him, but just to take care of him. He's so gentle with SW, taking off his shoes, kneeling down and talking so softly, asking if he's okay, if he's drunk.

and suo wei, even though he's quite drunk, isn't completely unaware of what's happening. he sees what chi cheng is doing for him, sees the care in his eyes and the gentleness of his actions, and he asks an honest, vulnerable question, "why are you so nice to me?" because for all his rough moods and brash manners and biting words, chi cheng has been nothing but nice to him till now, in so many ways.

and this time, when all his walls are lowered, and his guards aren't up anymore, suo wei's subconscious, his heart, that has already caught upto what his logical side isn't prepared to acknowledge yet- gives in. he grabs chi cheng by the front of his shirt and he initiates the kiss-

well, almost a kiss.... because of course, yue yue, with her perfectly infuriating timing, interrupts with a call.

when the call ends, chi cheng comes back to inform him that yue yue, his girlfriend, is coming over, and doesn't elaborate more. but suo wei gets the silent message- he needs to disappear before that happens. and the look that suo wei gives chi cheng is devastating.

that subtle mix of longing and betrayal, laced with anger and frustration and hurt- because while suo wei is mad at chi cheng, at this whole messy circumstance, he is mad at himself too- because just for once, he'd let himself be vulnerable, let himself indulge in this little moment. For just once, he thought he had chi cheng all for himself. and that's why the rude awakening hurts for him even more. (props to zi yu for nailing the heck out of this scene, this single look hit me like a punch to the gut)

he gets up to leave and chi cheng's face here. god. he knows he has hurt suo wei badly, even though suo wei never protests, never says a single word to stake his claim.

so he grabs suo wei for one last hug, before they have to part ways, and he says "I'll surely pay back, what I owe you."

and that's such an interesting choice of words, because he isn't talking about any monetary exchanges at all (because up until now, it was he who paid suo wei those absurd sums of money as part of their little games, gifted a shit ton of stuff to SW just to make him smile), but no. he's talking about the emotional debt that he owes- the debt of gratitude and respect and time that he owes suo wei- for all the times when his hands were tied by his family's expectations and he has had to blow off and sideline suo wei in favor of being at his girlfriend's side, at her beck and call.

and suo wei understands him, even if he's still hurting from it- from being cast aside yet again, being reminded that his and chi cheng's relationship- whatever convoluted, messy thing had grown between them over weeks- their feelings and emotions, was something to be hidden, something that will never be approved by chi cheng's family.

and then he leaves- still inebriated, stumbling in his steps, hurting and all alone, late in the night. and what's worse, chi cheng watches him leave, and for once, he's powerless to stop it.

this last shot of chi cheng is equally devastating, because he's framed behind the blinds of the window like the bars of a cage- and the metaphor is clear, that no matter how much chi cheng schemes and plans, he's still bound by his family's power, who are manipulating him at every step of the way, to get him to behave exactly how they want.

chi cheng was powerless to choose the boy he loved that night, and it was incredible to see the fallout of something seemingly so little and ordinary on the surface gut us all like a knife wound 😭

[syluses]

HEART WANTS WHAT IT WANTS

𓍯𓂃 PART THREE (3) of the stepdad! sylus x reader series

(3) LOVE ON THE BRAIN

𓍯𓂃 CONTENT: stepdad! sylus therefore step/pseudocest, eventual smut, nsfw, dubcon, slowburn, yandere undertones, all characters are 18+ (mc is presently 23; sylus is in early forties), possessive & yandere behaviors, age difference, daddy kink, unreliable narrator, drinking, non-evol au, modern au, lowkey enemies to lovers, lots of (sexual) tension, loss of virginity, emotional breakdowns, some angst, some fluff, a lil bit of everything; tags will be added as story progresses— but know the story is relatively triggering

𓍯𓂃 SIDENOTE: hi guys sorry for the wait :,) this one’s a lil bit of a slower chapter imo but it’s still super important to the story. the next part or two might also be a lil ‘slow’ by some definition, but it’ll build onto itself do not fear. shoutout to the anon who gave me that song rec btw bc i was listening to it throughout writing this chapter 🫰 amazing taste. anyway without further ado.…. please enjoy :,) ALSO thank u sm for the support thus far!! i’m so happy yall seem to be liking it!! 🥹 if there’s any typos no there ain’t; i might come back to edit a lil later :,) [art credit: @/chimmyming on twitter/X]

He comes like a flashbang into your life.

And to preface this: you get it, alright? that your mother misses your late father, she’s not doing half as well as she used to be and she technically can be considered single, open for the dating market. This is a trying time for you both. God as your witness, you’ve been slipping down the slope while she’s been putting her nose to the grindstone; there’s no shortage of struggle for you both since your dad died- but finally, it’s settling in for her.

The loneliness.

The need for something- someone- more.

And you somewhat bitterly suppose you just don’t qualify, do you?

It was an inevitable thing.

Away from the metaphorical sand you buried your head in, deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time before a new man walked into her life- some actually half-decent, upstanding suitor- and flipped your world off its feet.

It wasn’t a maybe. Not a what if, either.

It was a when.

…Call it naivety on your end or just sheer stupidity, though, your sixteen-year-old brain having a lapse in judgement, but for whatever reason, you didn’t think that when would come.

You prayed against it. Childish or not, whether it can be considered a secret little attempt to sabotage your mother’s possible, budding relationships you had no proof of but suspected all the same (you recognize her perfume; not the rich cologne lingering on her blouse when she finally comes back from work)- you’d hoped she’d keep off from it, anyway.

From, you know,…

The whole ‘falling in love’ thing…

You’re not so deluded to believe it’s infidelity, her quietly seeking out another man outside of your father whole years after he’s passed (anyhow, you’re sure the legal side of it, the paperwork, doesn’t hold up the same), but that doesn’t ease the blow that is the idea of it.

Sure. He’s gone. That much is clear to you…The days pass- weeks, two years- and it’s almost like your life has reached a stopover, waiting for him to come back. I mean, sometimes, it’s almost like he was never even there.

…But at night, when darkness comes with its unbroken silence, you lie there and your heart thinks of him. Wherever you remember him, it hurts.

And yeah, maybe your mother seems growingly eager to leave your father behind… to truly make him a thing of the past even in memory- the final thing you have left of him. But you’re not so chummy with the silent suggestion of joining her there.

You don’t want that ‘when’ to come. Desperately, you don’t.

Oh, but it does.

Out of the blue like a comet from the sky, blindsiding you.

Swinging through the door, chuckling at something she’s said over her shoulder, you think, but the amusement on his face is almost too bare, too shadowed, to tell from where you sit.

You jolt in your chair.

The microwave, droning on, beeps, signaling your frozen dinner’s finally thawed out. But while it draws the attention of your drunken mother- otherwise distracted by the stranger she leads inside your little apartment- your growling stomach becomes the furthest thing from your mind in the moment.

Apparently, the stranger— tall, broad-shouldered, all suave with his sidepart and tailored leather jacket draped behind him like a cape— couldn’t care less for what’s cooking, either.

He doesn’t take his shoes off.

For that, you’re grateful, observing him with a reasonable sum of doubt as he lingers by the entry: It means he doesn’t have plans to stay long.

Which is good, because if he did, you think with a morsel of unease, your brow slowly creasing, you might’ve had to consider grabbing the broom and brushing him out.

The con is that he does wipe them off on the mat, though. Evidently, he plans to step deeper in.

His eyes, a ruby red, sharp as a hawk tracking prey, find yours from where you sit at the table, caught unawares as you scramble to hide your bare legs under your shirt, and he raises a subtle, curious brow at the observation.

“Oh,” he cocks his head, the front door- your front door- clicking behind him as he swiftly fixes his slight surprise into a cool, inscrutable mask.

“What a surprise. Your daughter, I presume?”

Distantly, in your head, a warning bell chimes.

…O-Or maybe it’s just the microwave, but—

Your mom turns it off, “Oh, honey,” in lieu of a greeting, she says, giggling as she walks over and sets her purse down on the tiny, round table you sit at.

Her work blouse is at least intact: you’ll give her that much. But her shift ended four hours ago and by the looks of it, she’s forgotten that promise to stop by the store on her way home- clearly occupied with something else- and in any case, you can’t really say the same for the stranger…

Dapper as he is— what with his perfect posture and urban get-up, the image of dashingly handsome, debonair, imposing (yet somehow just a touch weathered, too, however that may fit)- just to list a few traits off the bat— his top buttons are undone.

His hair, a natural silver all the way through, is almost imperceptibly disheveled. And maybe those things could be reasoned for or go unnoticed- to the untrained eye, they would- but you’re a little too paranoid, on alert as this asshole saunters into your house like it’s his, to miss the outlying factors.

The most damning of them all:

The wine-red smear of lipstick on his neck, only half concealed by his collar.

Your heart shudders in your chest.

And this is scary, this is nerve-wracking, yes, suddenly being force-fed the reason behind all the late nights your mother spent out, the whiffs of man on her clothes and the inexplicably giddy mood she’s been in lately- oh, it’s a million negative adjectives all packed in one- but when he strides forward, confident like you wouldn’t believe, and extends a hand for you to shake-?

You wonder if it’s fury, rising above anything else, that broils in your gut and makes accepting it an all but impossible task.

“Sylus,” he purrs as introduction.

And to be honest, that’s what this feels like in the most grandiose, pervasive of ways: the bad guy being introduced.

It’s true that you caught fragments of him: the vestigial notes of bergamot and vanilla that follow after your mother like some ghostly haunting; the odd lifts in her mood as of late; the phonecalls she gets at night that she always dismisses, but not without a thick swallow and a darting look your way before letting it ring— hell, you’ve even heard whispers within her friend circle of some dishy man dropping by her work building, nonchalant with a bouquet of flowers in tow—

Actually being face-to-face with him, literal inches apart, is freshly alarming.

Meeting him is something cinematic and new. Like a chord in the soundtrack dips; a note lowering to introduce the villain as one of the keys shake.

And perhaps comparing the scene, this man, to a movie isn’t so bad a coping mechanism, because yes, as the surround-sound kicks in and he’s all you can hear- that rich voice of velvet and bass to boot- the room going dark as you tunnel in on him before you— it feels like none of it is even real.

The kitchen blurs. The tiles on the wall smearing into one another, fuzzing together in a way that doesn’t resemble the home you know.

Bergamot, subtle but carrying a little bit of a punch, floods your system and inundates you. Vanilla lays the base for it, as sweet-smelling as nectar.

It settles in your lungs like congestion.

Truffle wrap. Marble and stone. The banister: meant to be sturdy.

It is.

He must be within the same age pool as your mom, yet when his penetrating stare briefly shifts over to her (if you didn’t know any better, amused at your reluctance to accept him)- and he grins that damned grin— he looks young again.

You’re actually almost fooled into believing he’s a gentleman.

There’s nothing… inherently wrong with him, you suppose. But none of that, him seeming apparently decent, matters- not when you’d already decided you’d stay loyal to your dad no matter what. N-Not when-

Not when something is wailing in your subconscious, parting cars in its path. Like a siren in the night shaking you awake to tell you something is terribly, terribly wrong. A wildfire. A disaster.

You quietly wonder if being in places he doesn’t belong gives him a confidence boost, or if he’s just impossibly tone deaf to the environment as it whispers in his ear, ‘you shouldn’t be here.’

All the while, something- mystical in nature, almost, like an angel or devil on your shoulder (it could be either)- is whispering to you, too.

Faintly, that voice in your head, deathly-quiet, says stop. Stop this. Nip it in the bud before it—

This is overwhelming. All of it.

You’re mortified and unsure of yourself; a mite betrayed, even, as you toss a cursory glance to your mom who watches on with a look of both expectance and worry, chewing away at her bottom lip.

It’s a little humorous, the faint concern made ten times more obvious in her half drunken state, as she puts herself on standby.

You can’t help but wonder what face you’re making now. If it’s one of shock, anger, or fear. Or an ugly amalgamation of the three— that’s possible, too.

Truthfully, you’re just as hard pressed to distinguish what you’re feeling: unsure of your next reaction. If anything, you might appreciate if she chooses to step forward and help you figure out just what the hell is happening, whether that means by extraction or a gentle hand on your shoulder to help steady you as he tells you his name.

Two minutes ago, you were waiting for your frozen dinner to thaw (really just a block of something half edible, but with the milk gone, you can’t make your routine cereal), thinking you were in the clear to lounge around with panties and a baggy shirt with your mother out God knows where. Now, you’re looking dead-on at what is perhaps your worst nightmare as the kitchen, not so comfortable anymore, fizzles to nothingness around you.

From this close, he’s… Leonine, that’s a pretty good word for him. As elegant and cocksure, relaxed, as a king of nature.

He doesn’t worry about what he will eat tomorrow: his sheer presence is dominating enough to have it served on a silver platter for him. Something about him just tells you so.

But he’s… beautiful in a way, too, you’ll concede that much (and only that much). Said with the best of intents, he reminds you of some prized thing from an antique shop, lacquered and pretty but weathered all the same.

You can’t imagine all the zeroes on his price tag, but he’s definitely an expensive thing. Part of you wonders what the hell he’s doing with your mother: you don’t come from wealth, so if he has any desire to romance her, it’s not for material gain.

…An admittedly endearing revelation. But it doesn’t quite placate you.

You can see the slight scruff of his chin, the faint wrinkles settling into his angular features. The harsh fluorescence of your kitchen isn’t the most flattering of lights, but he fairs surprisingly well under it regardless.

It’s obvious he takes good care of himself. And it’s also clear to you that he knows his worth- but considering the air of snugness around him, and your flowering dislike for him, you can’t help but wonder if he overestimates it.

The guy is a complete fucking stranger. You know him about as far as you can throw him.

A few beats of silence pass on. Each more unbearable than the last as you wordlessly drink the stranger in, his brow lifting with what you can only assume to be the stirrings of a challenge as he waits for you to take his much larger hand in yours.

Your uncertain gaze- made wide at the unwanted suddenness of it all- flits down to that hand. Despite the many jewels and glittering things that adorn his long, svelte fingers, though, there’s a lack of a wedding ring.

You allow yourself to deflate just a tiny bit at the observation.

It’s good to know he doesn’t have a wife and kids waiting at home for him, you sarcastically guess, while your mom guns for him as they sit unawares.

Still. You don’t know this man. You don’t- you don’t know what he’s doing with your mother (but don’t you?).

And he’s…

Perhaps draconian, actually, is the best descriptor.

Parting your lips in a silent breath, trying and failing to provide a simple hello to the guest or your nervous mother to the side, spectating it all, you’re at a bit of a loss for words when your subconscious realizes it’s presented with the quiet comparison of an animal or a devil for the guy— and no in between.

Sweetie, hey- Are… Are you able to talk? It’s… Important.

I… have some news. Not the good kind. Find somewhere to sit down and breathe.

…Breathe, you remind yourself. Yes. Just…

Just breathe.

Yet, his cologne- that citrusy spritz he wears like a coat, a smell you’re so unexplainably sensitive to for some reason, with its treacly vanilla undertones- is all you can breathe.

“Honey,” a thin, yet encouraging voice, your mom’s, calls out, and then her hand does settle on your shoulder as she sidles up to your chair hesitantly. “Say hi to him?”

You blink, lashes fluttering.

…And his stupid hand is still there, outstretched and waiting.

✦

You’ll give him credit for this:

Sylus, at the first opportunity to ditch his bratty, seething stepdaughter after his wife- his only real obligation to her- passes— doesn’t take it.

He had every chance to kick you to the curb now that your mother’s out of the picture. And to be honest, he has every reason, every right, to give you the boot. You’ve only been a complete bitch to him for the last seven years you’ve known him. Not to the point of ball-breaking, not quite, you were only a teenager after all, but it wasn’t extremely far off from that either.

Sylus, by his own volition, stays.

Moreover, he invites you into his home. And yes, you know it’s technically yours, too, but the circumstances of your filling out the rest of your youth under his roof weren’t the prettiest, and you weren’t the most… pleasant of persons to be around. Let alone live with.

Yet every stolen, curious glance he takes of you and the gentle, half smirks in passing- brushing your shoulder like it’s the most casual thing ever, like you never left- is a reminder in its own that this is your place, too. Whether you believe it or not is irrelevant.

If your stepfather’s aim is to reassure you, it’s working.

Slowly but surely.

Four days into the visit, you let go of much of your resistance and let yourself simply… breathe.

The past is the past, and, capable of rational thought, you’d do well to leave it behind. Let bygones be bygones and forgive both yourself and the people around you for former hurts of former times.

It’s called maturing, you quietly decide at the door one early morning, having been all but hauled out of bed, bidding the twins adieu as they hover at the porch.

This little resolve you let bud in your heart and grow is what compels you to wrap your arms around them when they hug you, embracing them back as Kieran mopes in your ear and Luke reminds it’s only for a few days.

It’s not as much to comfort you as it is to comfort himself and his brother.

You’re well aware of this, but keep quiet on the matter; you’re too sleepy to be in the mood to tease him for it, but mentally pocket it for a later time anyway.

Occupying any sort of space with the twins guarantees that you’ll need a decent deck of comebacks on standby. You’ve been adding to yours.

This short business trip of theirs isn’t some long, drawn-out pilgrimage taken to distant lands, despite their theatrics- it’s not even obligatory- but you know very well how eager the boys are to please their father, and if working a few days at one of the subsidiary companies to better the career he gave them will make him preen, then they’ll do it. Gladly.

You wouldn’t call either of them homebodies, per se… but wherever their father is, so is their heart. It’s only natural they’d want to make him proud. You know that.

You understand why they’re going, you do…

It’s just…

Over Luke’s shoulder, your eyes meet Sylus’s only briefly, but a second is all you need to read his emotions.

Propped against the threshold with folded arms and a spark of amusement that’s only slightly obvious, he watches them sandwich you in a big hug.

If it hasn’t been made clear yet— yes, they’ll miss you.

“Oh, so dramatic,” their father comments, not with any shortage of entertainment. You think if he could, he would’ve prepared a bowl of popcorn for this- but while he’s certainly tickled by the sight, there’s something else in his stare as he divvies it between you three, gathered in a tangle of arms and suitcases, that he won’t admit aloud.

Pride, maybe…?

Satisfaction?

Or… Content. That’s the closest word.

You hope Sylus doesn’t see the slight fluster left on you by his flippant remark. Untucking your chin from one of the boys’ shoulders as you stand upright and pat their backs respectively.

“A-Alright, boys, that’s enough.”

“Say it back,” Luke chirps, “say you’ll miss us!”

Sighing, you roll your eyes. “I just said I did-“

“But do it louder! We’ll be gone for three whole days!”

“Yeah! Don’t you love us, sis?! Will you really just stand there unaffected as we turn our backs and go?”

If unaffected means arms crossed, shivering in freezing temperatures with the faintest of frowns on your face, some inner piece of you experiencing a quiet, unanticipated ache at their departure, then yes- by all means, you’re unaffected.

You purse your lips, snipping back with only half the bite, “If you keep pushing it, I’ll email the firm specifically and tell them to keep you dummies there for longer.”

A deep, languid chuckle answers back; like a slowed song with reverb, it hits differently.

Considering your newfound efforts to squash the beef between you both- even if it was only one-sided- you don’t ignore him out of bitterness, but the slight unease is still something you can’t quite shake, so you momentarily survey the porch below (anything but him, stood somewhere behind you), and sniff.

I mean, it’s reasonable to be a little awkward, isn’t it…? You’ve spent all your adult years clinging onto the straws of a grudge your teenage self kept for him- and back then, you were only fiercer, more vocal, in your stance taken against your new stepfamily.

So yeah, while it’s safe to say the worst of that metaphorical storm has blown over, the debris is still absolutely there: the ruined bits you have to cautiously step across and just- try to overlook.

Too low for anyone to hear, you softly sigh.

Just as you determined to make peace with him, though, you tranquilly think to yourself, you’ll too learn how to navigate the aftermath of that silently-signed treaty.

Of course, that awkward feeling in the air, not powerful enough to take precedence in your mind, but niggling all the same, is only temporary.

Two weeks.

“Geez, sis,” Kieran snickers, Luke grinning ear to ear at your other side, the duo forming a flank, “someone woke up on the wrong side of bed, huh?”

“You’ll be late, you two,” a lilting voice from behind chimes in, effectively putting an end to the antics.

You don’t bother looking behind, but the twins’ focus shifts over your head before they slump their backs and sigh, conceding.

Hmph. Theatrical as always.

“Yeah, yeah, we got it, dad! We’re going!”

Rewrapping your robe, you offer a longanimous exhale when Kieran’s lanky arm unfurls from you, the boys finally stepping away for the car. The thin cotton does little to ward off the December cold, its roots digging bone-deep within seconds of lingering on the porch, and underneath it, your tanktop and panties offer not an iota of warmth, either- but you weren’t about to wave them goodbye half-naked, so the robe does its part to cover you.

Within a few minutes, you’ll be curled up in your bed anyway, allowed to revisit the sleep you’d been so rudely pulled from.

Piling into the car, they holler to you, and with a smile you can’t quite fight off, you shake your head at them all the while.

The engine grumbles to life. The idiots they are, they give it a few gratuitous revs (to impress you? God only knows their end goal) and then the gate is opening for them as they peel off.

Dummies.

And then it’s just you and him.

You and Sylus.

You and… your stepfather.

A hand, broad and big but warm- oh so reluctant- places itself on your shoulder, circling the blade reassuringly with its thumb. To your immense surprise, you manage to keep from flinching beneath it, but just barely.

Still. If that’s not progress, you don’t know what is.

With an only somewhat visible shiver, you turn around and face him as he shifts sideways to the door, his chin trained your way as he offers a slight, deliberate smirk. Something like encouragement is used as its subtext.

His hand leaves as quickly as it came, slipping away. Its imprint of warmth slowly fades, too.

He opens the door wide, gesturing with a nonchalant little nod, “Ready to go in?” In flannel pajamas, bare foot, he doesn’t even shiver.

Vacillating, you spare one last look behind you, out to the courtyard with its sprawling, greyed lawn and erected fences, and watch the stillness. It’s a sight worthy of your admiration.

A flurry— the first of the season— begins to fall.

You breathe out. A cloud of white whisks from your lips and blends into nothingness. It’s pretty in the way that it doesn’t last for long.

And it’s freezing but it’s… strange. How this one cold winter develops this way of thawing you out.

Returning to the man in front of you, waiting patiently, you nod, dipping your head on the way past him. Bundling yourself tighter. “Yeah.”

✦

Not long after midday, you’re a fraction through one of your new books- but you decide to put it down.

It’s for a couple different reasons. One of them being that it’s not gotten good yet- the plot moving at a snail’s speed, the protagonist not interesting enough to even remember the name of- and you figure the chapter you’re closing out on now is a good breaking point. The main one, though, is that you’re awfully bored and this house, despite holding not the best of memories, has lots to offer.

When it comes to fun— exploring its labyrinthine rooms, utilizing its many services and amenities (like a personal chef, for instance, or a home theater and gym)— there’s no shortage of things to do.

It’s just with an ounce of unease that you realize those fun opportunities, however, are only half the appeal without the twins.

Annoying, troublesome, experts at exaggeration and being thorns in your side— yes, they’re all of that and then some. But if we’re listing all their shining traits right now, then for the record, ‘fun’ must be one of them.

And yeah, okay, their absence is starting to kick in just a little bit. But it’s not a big deal. I mean, what’s it matter if they’re gone for a few days? You’ll blink and it’ll be over.

They’ll be back. You’ll greet them at the door after they veer into the driveway, waiting there just as you did when waving them goodbye, and Sylus will be chuckling behind you in that rich, unruffled way he does as they herd you inside and divulge their journey.

Heaving a sigh, you toss your book aside on the dormer window and relocate to your bed.

You belly flop on it before rolling on your back to stare at the ceiling.

For only a moment, you close your eyes and let yourself be barraged by the thoughts you’d been blocking out; the unique responsibilities and aches.

You intake an unsteady, deep breath and attempt to manage them all one at a time— but they don’t stand in single-file, eager to attack you from every angle all at once.

The dress for the funeral…

Looking through your mother’s old things…

And then everything that comes afterward of that, too. Whatever that might entail.

As ambivalent as the future may seem, an abstract thing veiled behind fog and uncertainty, you ruefully suppose not wanting it to come won’t stop it from doing just that.

And then of course, there’s the whole booking your flight thing… leaving this place for, if you’re being realistic, probably the last fucking time and then—

Have you even asked Sylus who’s giving the eulogy?

“No,” you mumble before rolling on your stomach again, legs and arms splayed on the bed like a starfish.

God help you. Half of you is expecting for the twins, just as irksome as they are entertaining, to come bursting through your door at any moment and save you from the woes of having nothing to do. To be fair, sitting around and doing absolutely nothing is better than some things- like work, namely (you don’t want to imagine the stack of papers that’s building on your desk during your leave)- but as you quietly ponder the week and a half ahead, you start to worry it’ll be uneventful from start to finish.

Well, as uneventful that a trip begotten by a funeral can be, anyway.

Maybe it’s being wishful- sickeningly optimistic in a situation with no one silver lining- but you’d like to hope you can at least squeeze out some enjoyment during your stay.

As sheepish as you are to admit it, the twins were a staple in that halfbaked idea.

But now they’re gone. For three days. And God only knows why it was so simple a decision for them to make, leaving you behind when right now, realistically speaking, your little screwed up family should be huddling together now more than ever, but—

(‘Why was it simple?’ Well, why do you think…? Because you’ve been so coldly pushing them away and they finally took the hint and-)

You get up and leave your room, traipsing down the hallway. You can’t find it in you to care, right now, about who you might bump into while the house is left to two people and a whole lot of ice.

Sylus is probably in his study, anyway. Assuming he even is in the home right now, but with the long laundry list of errands and contractual deals that require his flowery, hasty signature to be secured, you doubt he spends too much of his time here on weekdays.

As you walk through the stretching halls, you trace the walls with a finger, bored.

You’re stopped in your tracks by a picture- just one of the many lavish decorations- and tilt your head up to stare at it in its entirety.

It’s a big thing; a large, elaborate wooden frame without dust.

Five portraits stare back at you. But you- squished between the cheerful twins, stood before your mother and stepfather who join in a kiss behind your head, smiling lips smushed together as he holds back her veil- don’t don the same delighted expression.

Maybe it’s immature of you, but as the lingering, subtle whisps of something citrusy waft by, you do offer a slight huff of amusement at the image. It’s just so comically awful, nailed to the wall in a frame so stupidly opulent it’s like some boast against poor people— a should-be perfect wedding photo marred by the bitterness oozing off the stepdaughter.

Alright, to be fair, you’re not outright scowling or anything, but the smile you plaster on is so clearly fake it’s hard not to laugh at it—

“She looked like you, you know.”

You must jump five feet into the air.

He adds, raising one wryly amused brow, “Somewhat.”

Startled, you turn to find him staring not at the picture he presumably references- but you.

Your brow furrows slightly, and then he does glance over to the frame as you hover your hand over your heart, clutching your invisible pearls in a moment of deja vu.

A soft sigh. Is this how you’ll be seeing him now…? Every time you happen to bump into your stepfather- evidently not the best at evading him- does it mean you’ll be caught off guard as he stands there, unbothered, before apologizing?

Except, this time he doesn’t. He’s content pretending not to notice your shudder- your fear of him. Ruby-red hues drifting off as his jaw imperceptibly tightens.

Murmuring under his breath as he surveys the illustration almost quizzically, “But wasn’t… quite you.”

Ah, right- the wedding photo. Your mother. You resemble her— That’s what he’s getting at here.

“Y-Yeah…” You mumble back. You don’t have much to offer him, but it’s better than ignoring him: the thing you recently decided you wouldn’t be doing on this trip.

Slowly, you close your mouth. You do a quick once-over of him, and then look back towards the hanging memory.

There’s a certain silence that occurs between you both, then. Simultaneous to it- is a weight dropping in your heart, slowly descending the longer you reminisce on the familiar woman’s profile.

Not only has the stepdaughter’s scornful face been immortalized, but so has your dead mother’s.

It’s in a moment of weakness, perhaps, that you reach out to trail her jaw, pondering the past as it sweeps you up in its nostalgic current.

Your mind is less focused on acting cool and indifferent in front of your stepfather and more on the parent that has been ripped away from you- now stood before you in an intricate frame along a dark wall. So maybe later you might regret showing your belly to him, but right now, you really can’t find it in you to care.

You told yourself the past is the past.

Now, all there’s left to do is commit.

“She looked… so happy,” you’re surprised to realize the voice filling your ears is your own, gravelly from disuse, barely audible. Part of you debates feeling embarrassed, but quickly erases the idea because you don’t think your stepfather would have any real intent to ridicule you, least of all right now.

Your younger self has always been fairly good at believing everyone around you is a sworn enemy, out to get you behind your back, but your stepfather is…

Family, a little voice in the back of your head supplies. And you’re puzzled at the lack of backlash it receives this time around.

You start to wonder if he’s heard, the quiet sprawling for just a touch too long, self-consciousness a breath away as something, his attention, you think, bores into the back of your head, but then he hums and you’re at ease again.

“She was so happy,” he agrees. “We both were.”

Sylus, from the corner of his eye, watches.

Some gear turns in the very back of your skull and begs to ask the question of just what he’s doing here right now; the master bedroom- now his alone, you realize with an unbidden squeeze of your heart- is on the other wing of the house. During the daytime, he’s typically downstairs, anyway.

But you suppose that’s besides the point.

Your eyes flutter down, and then your hand follows. Ghosting along the photo in one sweeping motion before you turn just halfway to face him.

You’re making headway on squashing your beef with him, oh definitely, but there’s a sort of intimacy that comes with standing front-to-front, and right now, you think that’d be overwhelming and weird for the both of you.

He’s not… used to you being exactly nice to him, anyway, or open. Or agreeable. Or- or anything, really. For your teen years, you erected a wall in between you both and actively refused to let anyone scale it— and after you moved out, you weren’t so hellbent on keeping him away, sure, not half as immature and bratty as you had been, but the distance was absolutely still there. Just quieter.

No longer screamed, but rather implied.

For a while, you’d even wondered if he’d agreed upon it. If he threw in the metaphorical towel on building a relationship with you; defeated and exasperated. But you guess he’s a multimillionaire for a reason— it requires dogged ambition- drive- to reach those heights, after all— and you’ve sometimes wondered if meeting Sylus was like an immovable object going head to head with an unstoppable force.

For your part, you’re not so used to this, either. Kind of giving into this… paternal subtext to your nonexistent connection.

It’s odd. New, as it creeps in on you, slowly dialing up the temperature. Though the way it plants its seed is too gradual to make you want to dig it out from the dirt right away.

It’s a foreign thing, yes— when your eyes meet his, an inscrutable, glittering red, and a ribbon of warmth unfurls in your aching chest as you quietly realize he’s there for you, that in this tragedy, you’re not alone— but it’s not… bad, per se.

Not like you’d always imagined it’d be, anyway.

I mean, back then you didn’t even want to imagine it, but now—

Two weeks, your nagging subconscious reminds, and then you’ll be gone. Your… family (the pest-like, ever plotting twins; Sylus, even, the persistent but gentle stepfather you’d kept on hold indefinitely) will become just a speck in the distance as it grows behind you. And then….

And then you’ll be alone. And that was what you wanted, wasn’t it?

But maybe if you had just- not been so fucking stubborn and bent on making a point to your mother, if you had just visited a little more, then maybe by some stretch of inagination you could’ve done something to-

Your soul sinks in your chest. The feeling of regret, terrible and distinct, rips you a new one as you try not to wilt in the silence. But Sylus’s eyes are warm, softening into a pass of concern as he drops his folded arms.

Business-oriented, arrogant, competitive, bound and determined. You and the world have seen each of those facets of him, but the gentler side is one that the latter doesn’t own access to.

When Sylus’s fingers twitch, his arm nearly reaching out to you as he visibly vacillates, you feel a strange flash of endearment towards him.

Your mother saw this side of him all the time, you inwardly consider. Because that’s who he reserved it most for.

Sylus assigned things to one of two categories: his family, and then everything else.

And you- you infuriating, lovely little dragon of a daughter- fell to the former.

There’s all kinds of uncertainty swirling in his eyes, but he settles for a soft clear of his throat, looking you over. The gloss in your stare, the one that hangs over your lashes and refuses to fall as if permanently suspended there, makes him open his mouth, but before he can say anything, you undercut his words.

“What are you doing here?”

You ask. Not in a demanding way: you’re just eager to distract you both from your impending waterworks.

You wonder if he knows; what’s running through his head as you stand there and fidget with the hem of your shirt, rapidly blinking to keep the tears at bay. You don’t remember giving them permission to come, but here they are, knocking.

His brow raises by the faintest tick, and then he smiles an easy, slight smile. Dipping his hands in his pockets to rest.

“The twins forgot something on their journey, it seems. They texted me to grab it for them. So,” he says, giving a loose shrug with one shoulder, looking down the hallway past you, tone as mocking yet sincere as ever, “Here I am, letting myself be treated like some poor… errand boy.”

“Oh.”

Poor is… certainly not the word you’d select for him, but…

He finishes, eyes catching yours in a second of boldness, “I’ll mail it out to the firm. They’ll receive it no later than this evening.”

You give a small nod, looking down to his chest because it offers a convenient escape to his penetrating, sharp stare, and frankly, if you’re getting emotional at some old picture on the wall- then you need the respite.

You rub your forearm, “Well, I’ll just be going now.”

“Where to?” A tiny twitch of his lip tells you he spoke too soon. His chest swells out. Your eyes jump to his.

“If you need a car, you can use any of the ones in the garage,” he remedies. You blanche. “Just point, and I’ll give you the keys-“

“Oh, no, no, no,” you chuckle suddenly, shaking your head. Sylus pauses, quirking one brow as he tilts his chin by a fraction, interest and maybe even a little bit of mirth reshaping his face at your change in demeanor.

“I didn’t mean I was going out,” you quickly add, “Realistically, I probably would’ve just went downstairs and ate something... Or brought a snack out to the sunroom.”

He frowns. “The sunroom might be a bit cold, though.”

“I know. I- I just wanna see how it looks after all this time.”

To your surprise, Sylus lets out a smooth, somewhat short chuckle. At your confusion, he elaborates, “This place is still the same, Kitten,” he chides in a harmless, rather loving tone, “All that’s different is that you’re here.”

…And that this time around, your mother isn’t.

Yet Sylus, as if clueless to the glaring elephant in the room, smirks and doesn’t mention it. And truthfully, you’re grateful for that. Just- you have your questions, those little segments of his short account over the phone that you want to pick apart and scrutinize- but all of that is for later. An indefinite later... Right now is too soon.

You’re hardly keeping your feelings in check as is: you don’t need to pile further revelations of your mother’s death onto the plate. In any case, as much as a gritty, inward part of you would like to know every scrap of information possible- at the end of the day, it’d be unnecessary.

Your mother died the way she did. And all attempts or methods of probing for more context, you fear, would only do more harm than good.

“I guess it still feels the same,” you mumble out an agreement, peering down the corridor towards the stairs, his figure standing tall and unruffled to your side. “All the decorations are the same.”

“Exactly,” he hums, “and the sunroom is no different. You wouldn’t want to… catch a cold on your vacation, would you?”

Vacation is a funny word for it, but you won’t shoot him for being optimistic. You’d honestly benefit from following his example.

You snort softly, sheepishly looking down, “I won’t catch a cold. It can’t be that bad. Besides,” you lift your chin, meeting his gaze- wholly transfixed on you, a glimmering, fascinated red- “Back at my apartment, the AC and heating is usually broken, so… I’m used to arctic temperatures.”

You try to joke, but he doesn’t laugh at it. In fact, his lighthearted smirk ebbs into a thin line as he parts his mouth and furrows his brow at you. Your breath hitches slightly.

The tears that had been beading at your eyes are gone, but now a sense of uncertainty replaces them in your chest.

He unstuffs his hands from either of his pockets. “That’s nothing to brag about,” he croaks.

Your lashes flutter, ears perking under his uneven timber. You… don’t often hear that voice come from him.

He swiftly recorrects himself, saying in a lighter but just as firm tone, “You should take care of yourself. Have you… been well, by the way? How is it back at your old place?” Sylus lowly ventures, before one half of his mouth quirks up playfully.

He leans his back against the wall, localizing his attention fully to you. Not paying the smallest of glances to the large, idyllic photo you stand in front of.

“I wonder,” he starts, “What a day in the life looks like in your shoes.”

A beat of silence passes. In that time, you realize it’s not just a spoken fragment of his thoughts, but a question. You answer accordingly.

Not without a look down the hall, though, silently wishing to exit the conversation as it begins to drag on.

The sunroom, for as cold as it’s advertised, sounds better and better.

You don’t quite laugh, but by some standard it might be considered one. “Well, it’s not really anything interesting. Obviously, it’s not as glamorous as like, you guys here,” you say, “but I’m fine where I am.”

Physically, fine. Although, the level of content you hold inwardly is a bit of a different story.

You’ll keep that on its shelf. Right now, it’s better where it is: in the dark; in the quiet.

Safe with you.

Sylus simply says, “You… shouldn’t settle for less,” impossibly careful with his choice of words, albeit you don’t fully know why.

“I-I’m not,” you jump to justify. You have a growing inkling that this conversation is going nowhere, and you don’t exactly like small talk, so you aim to wrap this up.

“I work hard at my job, but-“

But what? you still don’t wanna die in a cubicle during your mundane 9-5 job? Hmph. Yeah, get in line behind literally everyone else.

Not everybody has the same luxury that Sylus does, though: he’ll die without regrets, knowing he secured riches for his next thousand generations, but you can’t really say the same. That is… assuming you branch off from the Qins and separate yourself from that golden heritage. Which-

You are. You will. These two weeks will either fly by or slug by, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’ll be bidding the boys farewell one last time.

You’ll do the right, reasonable thing, excuse yourself from the metaphorical table that is your stepfamily (who, if you’re being honest, are probably done with you deep down but are too nice- sympathetic in this dark time- to say something), and go back home. To that shitty, cramped apartment with its broken utilities and cracks in the ceiling. To that cubicle; to all the paperwork on your desk amounting to a miniature Tower of Babel.

You’ll go back to the loneliness and uncertainty.

Yet it will just be even colder, then. Knowing that palatial house on the hills, once a backup plan of sorts- a final failsafe if your humble little life you’d been trying to make for yourself collapsed- is no longer an option.

Because the one precious thread tying you to it—

Snapped.

“I work hard at my job,” you try anew, inexplicably having trouble meeting his eyes. “I always strive for better, just- I know how to be content with what I have, you know?”

It’s not meant as a jab towards him, you swear it’s not, albeit your way of going about it could use a little bit of work. Considering you’ve been making all sorts of revolutionary improvements on this trip, though, you don’t think adjusting your tone should be too big of an issue.

At any rate- you’re not about to start this big discussion with your stepfather on career paths and how satisfied you are with yours, though, and that’s where this seems to be headed.

You gesture down the hall with a shoulder and smile if only to be polite.

“But anyway, I think I’ll-“

“You know,” Sylus starts, glancing up to you expectantly, and it’s only right then that you realize he’d been looking at the floor- or, more accurately, your legs- while mulling over something, silent. His words are measured, slow; his hues more obsidian than ruby in the dimly-lit corridor. The vibrant twinkle of scarlet is still there, but a shadow pours over his brow. His slight crow’s feet can be spotted.

He’s pushing forty one now, but it’s strange- how you look at him and don’t notice the age. He’s as virile and manly as ever. In his prime, you’d say.

Silently, you wonder in a breath if all men are like wine in the way that they age, or if your stepfather was a result of a fluke.

I mean, you’re aware that he takes good care of himself. Those boxing sessions he does on the side in the home gym certainly do their part to keep him physically afloat, and his chef only uses ingredients of the highest quality— but still…

It’s not wrong to make the comment that he’s a bit of a genetic jewel.

You remind yourself to tune back into his words, straightening your spine slightly.

Yes, you can acknowledge- in absolutely no weird way, mind you- that your stepfather is an attractive guy. There’s no science to it: he just… is. Your mother certainty knew it; all her gossiping friends, too. You’re not so taken by an old grudge to pretend Sylus’s charm isn’t universal.

“Don’t… take this the wrong way, I don’t mean to be pushy,” he drawls, the image of casual. There’s a wisp of hesitance in his eyes, though. You don’t miss it. “But if you ever want to try your hand at my company,” he leaves the suggestion open-ended, although there’s nothing you need further clarity on.

You laugh nervously, ignoring the inward part of you that perks a little at the offer.

“Ah, no, I… already have a job back at my place. And I think the commute would be a nightmare,” A commute is a bit of an understatement— if you were to hop aboard your stepfather’s panel, you’d actually have to move back out to Linkon or, perhaps more conveniently, just live out of your old bedroom already here.

But for so many reasons, working for Sylus just… isn’t a great idea.

Besides- he’s just being nice to you, anyway. The four of you are in a hard time right now.

You’ve never gotten along well with Sylus, sure, and he’s well-acquainted with your abrasive exterior, but he’s never been half as immature as your younger self in regards to sympathy, so of course he’s trying to make you feel better— you’re his veritable stepdaughter, after all. There’s not many better ways to do that than to offer you an extremely lucrative job that he knows you’ll ultimately decline— meaning he’ll take no loss.

He’s just being polite… Which makes you a smidgen more uncomfortable to acknowledge your bumpy past with him. Here he is with the twins, flying you out and making efforts to comfort you in his own roundabout way after his wife’s died- no doubt dealing with that loss as well- and you’re still trying to fully commit to ‘new beginnings’ and all.

He’s just a man at the end of the day, you realize right then, a pang of guilt fattening your heart. He fell in love with your mother; so much so that he was willing to put up with her insufferable, brat of a child for years on end.

And you were- well, for lack of a better word you were a bitch.

And yeah there’s a million justifications you can make for it, but the point of the matter right now is that you feel bad. You feel like such an intruder, a nuisance, a burden now weighing on his, Luke’s, and Kieran’s shoulders, and-

Sylus shrugs like there’s nothing on them. Glances down to rub his forefinger and thumb together. Dripping nonchalance right from the pores.

“Suit yourself.” He says smoothly, taking your rejection no different than a duck would with water off its wings. “But Sweetie,” he states, eyes clashing with yours as if to add emphasis to whatever he’ll say, “The opportunity will always be up in the air for you. Do you understand?”

Oh, the emphasis is there, alright.

You swallow. “O-Okay.”

“See you, then.”

And then he’s breezing past before you can even clumsily dismiss yourself. Tall and broad and gone.

His heady cologne remains in a subtle draft and then that, too, disappears.

R-Right, you blink, sighing out a big breath you didn’t realize you were holding all along.

The sunroom.

✦

His large hand, extended like an offering, slightly falters when he understands you don’t have a lick of desire to shake it.

Maybe you’re a bit hangry, yes, and you’ll admit that probably does no favors for your current mood as this ridiculous scene unfolds before you- but all these emotions that bud inside you now, flowering no different than weeds, entangling themselves as they expand- are very much valid and real.

You’re still positively pissed and confused and above all, hurt that she’s been going behind your back and flirting around without so much as telling you.

See, of course you had your ideas and creeping little doubts— it was hard not to what with the way her schedule was warping in front of your eyes, how she seemed just a pinch happier than usual, giddy, almost— but being faced with the truth of it all in its real, physical form is a different matter entirely.

And-

And how she could do this to you? after- after what happened with your father?

Well, you just don’t fucking know.

But she’s doing it to you right now, anxiously peering at you from your side, and she’s smiling.

A beat of silence occurs, loud and tedious.

His hand stays out, dangling like a modifier, and it’s like the sumptuous asshole knows you’ll change your mind and backtrack or something: as if that’s all he’s used to, people parting like the Red Sea and bowing for him without question.

…Audacious: you’ll admit that much. But you’ll give him no more credit than that, as kind of backhanded as it is.

Time slows. In reality, no more than two seconds must’ve passed, but as the eyes of your mother drill into your profile both in a mash of expectance and worry, and your heart lodges in your throat, it feels like you’re stuck in a time capsule.

You’ve been standing here too long. This enigmatic, admittedly dashing stranger (Sylus, your mind- seemingly having shut off in the moment to lend your senses full control- helpfully contributes) has been in your home too long and—

Mentally, you scold yourself for visibly balking. You steel yourself against him and school your expression.

This is your house.

He won’t make you feel like an outsider in it.

The silver-haired man, with the scruff on his chin and the punch of whiskey underlining his fancy-shmancy cologne, with his sharp red eyes, drops his hand back to his side and actually laughs at your blatant rejection of him.

“Very hospitable, I see. I like that,” he tosses behind his broad shoulder to your somewhat mortified mother as he, egregiously enough, goes to take his shoes off at the door, a hand in his pocket. “Your kid is as bold as you are, honey.”

Honey?

…Honey?

You grow a mite afraid in that moment, internally struggling to pinpoint just what degree of involvement this awful yet handsome guy has with your mother.

How deep into this little… fling of theirs are they, anyway?

She opens her mouth, looks at you, then closes it. Blustering out a laughing apology, she leaves your side and flutters over to him. You don’t know if you’re thankful for the reprieve, the momentary alone time to your own thoughts, or unbelievably hurt as you watch her take his jacket and hang it in the coat closet, happy to do it despite the turmoil hidden beneath all her inebriated twirling.

On the inside, your world is fracturing down the middle, drifting apart steadily like the planes of Pangaea— but this stupid awful guy just shrugs out a kink in his neck, turning back to your mother (who’s only slightly embraced on your account) to swoop down and thank her with a peck to the lips.

The rest of your weak appetite for microwaved dinner flies out the window.

And in your undies and that old beloved tee of your late father’s, you take the chance while they’re distracted to hop off the chair and fly up the steps.

For everyone’s sake, you hope the guy— Sylus, your mind so helpfully provides as you sob into your pillows— is only temporary.

♡ tags: @leftpoetrymoon @valhalla-soulstealer @gingybimby @crowsandapples @novthirty @mcdepressed290 @jadeloverxd @satansdaughter123 @blitziwitch @luminaaaz @eialovescats @noliniodeaes @dramaticalsachan @loudhologramturtle @softiepeachess @reni502 @datfangirl @lilyalone @thatsbunnysmind @lioria @floooring @babyx91 @rosie279 @calistaxoxo24 @kingheinrey @msturi2u @theplaid-wearingmoose @blueseachelle @themonotonysyndrome @crazyartist0001-blog @librarydame @deathlycrow @whdhjfjvjvjfjdhsj @terriblesoup @floofycookie @sdlyoongi @hikaakox @melba1982 @crimsonsylus @miuangel @ravynstreasure @corvo-core ✦ ask to be added to the taglist! just make sure you have an age in your bio (17+) ✨ hopefully i got everyone down lol :,)

[moonybyte]

A british woman died literally days ago (on 18th June 2025) because she had come into contact with a stray dog in Morocco, and when she went to the hospital as she showed symptoms, they tried and failed to save her. [source]

In August 2024 got 11 puppies (as in, WEEKS OLD) euthanized in Colorado because ONE puppy of the litter had proved to have contracted rabies. Owners of the litter mates tried to defy repossession or argue for quarantine. EVERY single litter mate got collected and put down. All of them. A second one was proven positive, the other ten died uselessly because there was no other way to be sure. On top did over 100 people (including foster families, shelter staff and vets) get checked for exposure, with over 30 being treated due to exposure risk. [source]

Five people died of rabies in 2021 alone, three of them because they vehemently rejected the vaccine, only to succumb to the illness (the other two had a immune system issue and the last one was mid-flight back to the US and didn't make it in time). Relevant to understand that number is that between 2009 and 2018, there had been 25 cases of confirmed rabies in humans (not deaths, but cases). Less than 3 confirmed infections per year for a decade, and then five DEATHS within one year in 2021. [source]

Rabies is very much an active threat (especially if people or their animals travel to asia, but there are plenty of western and african countries with infections/deaths documented as recent as 2022 [source]), and ignoring the threat of it is like looking down the barrel of a pistol and asking the guy holding it to shoot it, certain that your eye will win the battle against a bullet.

I absolutely agree that owners denying their pet the vaccine should watch videos. There are many many on Youtube (watch at own risk, they're horrifying: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]), of animals in middle to late stages, both pets and wild and those beasts are pitiful and terrifying to observe. You know you look death in the face as you watch them. They walk in circles, they twitch and jerk, they fall over again and again and finally just lie down to die. Their entire brain just succumbs to the virus, and whatever is left does the bare minimum to keep those animals moving. And you can tell. Anyone saying no to the vaccine should have to watch videos like that for an hour and then sign a paper on which they say that exactly that happening to their pet is acceptable, and that they will allow authorities to kill their pet on sight on the slightest assumption that they are infected, just so other animals will not have to suffer that fate because of one idiot's arrogance.

I think if you try to wiggle out of getting your dog vaccinated for rabies due to your own anti-vax beliefs, you should be forced to watch footage of a dog succumbing to rabies and the pathological process of taking brain tissue from a suspected canine rabies victim. I really think treating these people with kid gloves is not working and they need to viscerally see what the consequences of their actions can be.

[slutsenpai]

ブルーロック ⊹˚˖୧ forget-me-not ◞♡ kunigami rensuke, itoshi sae, chigiri hyōma, mikage reo

angst about the blue lock boys forgetting your anniversary, based on this request ↬ tysm nonnie !! I really ate with the reo part, not gonna lie :3

request summary. reader plans a special date & she gets all dressed up, makes the reservation, waits patiently at the restaurant … but he never shows. minutes turn into hours, and eventually the staff tells her they’re closing. she heads out, and it starts pouring rain. she didn’t bring an umbrella, so she walks home soaked — dress ruined, makeup running, heart shattered. and when she gets home, she finds him there — and the second he sees her all drenched and quiet, it hits him. he completely forgot. no message, no excuse … and now he has to face the guilt of leaving her alone on a night that meant everything to her.

content. angst, sae being manipulative, mentions of alcohol, implied sex, characters are in their 20s !!

⊹˚˖୧ rensuke

“baby?” rensuke called as he walked into your bedroom, worried when you didn't rush to the door to greet him. you hadn't seen him in a few days because he was away at a training camp, and he hadn't heard from you all night.

you were still awake but hardly, turning and throwing him the meanest glare he had ever seen from your pretty eyes. you had cried all of the energy out of your system.

“why're you all dressed up, babe? and your makeup—” his weight dipped the mattress, leaning over to touch your face softly, where all of your black eyeliner and mascara ran messy tracks down your flushed cheeks.

“fuck off,” you shrugged his hand away. you were too tired and dejected to confront him.

“what happened? did someone—”

all you could do was laugh. had he always been this stupid?

he tried to touch you again, this time your shoulder, but you still smacked him away. you looked gorgeous, despite your ruined makeup and messy bedhead. all dolled up, still in your little dress that you had worn for him. it wasn't until he noticed the necklace you were wearing that he realized what he had done — it was his gift to you from your first anniversary last year, on this exact day.

“fuck ... fuck.” he groaned, hiding his face in his hands. it was his friend's birthday today, and he didn't even think twice when agreeing to the plans since it was the last day of camp with them. he wasn't paying attention to the number date, just the day of the week. god, he was so fucking stupid.

“baby, I am so fucking sorry. and I know that sorry won't cut it for this, just... fuck. I can't believe I would ever do that to you, you mean everything to me, I'm...”

you just let him talk, not really listening. your lack of acknowledgement was making him panic. “how can I make it up to you?”

“you can't, rennie.”

he sighed, desperately wanting to touch you. “I'll do anything for you, baby doll. any present, anywhere you wanna go, anything. I'll spend the next year making up for it, and I’m gonna spoil the hell out of you for the next one, and every one after that. I'll fucking grovel at your feet if you want me to. I am so fucking sorry.”

“you think we’re gonna last another year?”

“d-don’t say shit like that. of course we are. I love you.”

you just sighed in response, not feeling up to saying it back.

“I know it’s late, baby, but take a bath with me. I wanna hold you, and clean up that pretty face of yours. and tomorrow, we’re going to the spa, okay? and whatever restaurant you want. we’ll go shopping all next week on my off days, and—”

“enough. just let me sleep.”

he pouted, but didn’t give in. he got up to run the bath, then came back to finally scoop you up in his arms, holding you close. you let him have his way. you were too tired and honestly, he did seem very apologetic. you’d give him a chance to make up for it.

⊹˚˖୧ sae

you were on the couch when he came over, using his key to open the door as you drowned your sorrows in some really good sake. you rolled your eyes and giggled when he walked over to you, his intense gaze already cold and scrutinizing. his eyes softened the slightest when he saw that you were all dressed up.

“you look cute, angel. what's the occasion? I came over because you wouldn't answer—”

“what's the occasion?” you spat back at him, a challenging and dangerous smile on your glossy lips. “you fucking tell me, handsome.”

he sat next to you on the couch, finally able to see that you had cried all of your pretty makeup off. he gently played with your hair and you let him, throwing back a long drink straight from the bottle.

he thought for a moment before checking the date on his phone, then clicking it off and setting it on the coffee table. he was aware that your anniversary was coming up, but his soccer schedule was insanely busy. “two years.” he responded, listless and unapologetic.

“yeah. too bad it won't last any longer. fucking waste.” you told him. you had really been thinking it over. not even just tonight after he did this, but the past few weeks. you loved sae more than anything, but you were so tired of how fucking selfish he could be.

“don’t be a stupid girl, angel dove.” he said softly, running his spread palm down your back, slowly rubbing up and down.

“you do things that piss me off all of the time, and I always get over it.” as if you'd ever do something like this.

“I'm still jetlagged from that flight and I slept all day. I'm sorry, my love. it won't happen again.”

“yeah, it won't happen again because—”

he gave you a stare so mean that it made your blood freeze over and your heart skipped a beat. “don't finish that sentence, love. you're mine.”

“n-no,” you stammered, unable to even say that one word with any sort of confidence.

“yeah, you're mine.” his hand was on your waist now, and you could feel his blunt nails start to dig in the slightest. you straightened your back, averting your gaze from his. neither of you relented your words so he leaned in, his eyes half-lidded and hungry. he eyed you like prey, those gorgeous long lashes framing something deadly and cruel.

he didn't even have to kiss you because you gave in first, you missed him so much and you loved him. he tasted so sweet and he was usually so good to you, and you needed him. he guided you onto his lap, his hands were possessive in how they roamed your body but he was gentle, as if you’d break or flee if he pushed too hard, too fast.

he pulled away for a quick breath, whispering, “admit it.”

“I-I’m yours, sae.” god, you were so down bad for him.

“good girl. we'll go out to dinner tomorrow, okay? I promise that I’ll make up for it. and I'm tired as hell but I gotta fuck that brattiness out of you, so you’re coming with me to bed.”

“because I got mad that you forgot our anniversary?”

“nah, for acting like you were gonna leave me. as if.”

⊹˚˖୧ hyōma

you had actually cried all of the tears out of your body at this point. you took a bubble bath in your big tub, curled up into yourself and listening to the saddest songs that you could find.

chigiri opened the bathroom door, humming to himself, smiling when he saw you. he had missed you so much, but the fact that you refused to look at him gave him pause. he thought at first that your makeup was messed up from the bath, but it was obvious that you had been crying. your dress was discarded on the floor, completely soaked from your rainy walk home.

you still didn’t say anything, and he gently plucked your airpods out, placing them back in their case on the side on the tub. “hi, angel, missed you.” he leaned in to kiss your forehead and you backed away.

“what’s wrong, pretty girl?”

you stared at him, lips pouted and brows drawn. “you really don’t know?”

and then it hit him. he jumped up from where he was sitting on the tub, his eyes going wide in shock. “holy shit, I’m so sorry, my phone died on the flight and I passed out on the ride home, I didn’t even know what day it was.”

“really? your phone died? and you didn’t charge it?”

he shook his head, sitting back down on the tub ledge. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. you know how it is, the team arranges our accommodations down to the T, so I just hopped in the car from the plane. I was still half-asleep.”

“you’re so fucking irresponsible, hyo.”

he frowned, knowing that you were right.

“I’m sorry … look at me, angel baby.” he reached out and gently took your chin in his fingertips, turning your face to his. “you’re my everything. I’m sorry that I let soccer come before you, especially on today, of all days. I’m so fucking grateful that you’re my girl .. you know that you’re perfect, right? I fucked up so bad this time.” he looked as if he were about to cry, his gorgeous cerise eyes that you loved so much were sad and glistening with tears. how could you ever stay upset with him?

you leaned into his touch as he rested his hand on your cheek, softly cradling you. “come here.” you whispered and he undressed in seconds, wanting nothing more than to take you in his arms and cover you in apologetic little kisses all across your body.

you laid down on his chest, unable to stop your tears again. it broke his heart, and he pressed small kisses all over your face, saying “I’m sorry” in between each one.

“your favorite ramen place is open twenty-four hours, right?”

“I don’t wanna go.” you whined, resting your face in his neck as he rubbed your back.

“fuck, okay … I’ll plan something for tomorrow; I’m gonna call in sick for training the next couple of days. I’ll fix it, I promise. I love you.”

“… love you too, hyo.”

⊹˚˖୧ reo

you were stunned. reo and nagi hardly drink alcohol, but the night before your anniversary, he gets plastered and ends up in a city multiple hours away? you were already at the restaurant — your favorite high end sushi bar that was nearly impossible for a normal person to get a reservation at (you called it in yourself and didn’t use reo’s connections because you wanted to surprise him).

you wanted to scream. you should’ve left, but you gathered yourself as best you could and sat at the table — the prettiest girl in the city, all alone.

reo called you a couple of minutes later, over and over again but you didn’t have anything to say to him, so you ignored his calls. he also texted you repeatedly before finally giving up because he knew that he wouldn’t get anything out of you. he had fucked up. you finally sent him one message with the restaurant’s location — “I’m here having dinner.”

you stayed there by yourself, desperately hoping that reo would walk up to your table at any second; hug you from behind and kiss the top of your head, rub your shoulders as he took in the soft scent of your perfume. all dressed up for you with a big smile on his handsome face, the prettiest boy that's ever existed. the server picked up what was going on, and he was incredibly gentle and patient with you the entire night. reo never showed.

⋯

it was pouring rain on your walk home, but you honestly didn’t care. you stumbled into your apartment that you shared with reo, trailing rainwater all through the pristine hardwood floors, ripping your platform heels off and going straight to the freezer to stuff your face with mochi.

reo came home just a couple minutes after you, and you absolutely broke down in tears once you saw him. he was out of breath, soaking in rain himself because he sprinted home from the train station.

you didn’t talk for a few minutes, just ugly crying into his chest as he held you close and whispered apologies into your neck.

“I’m so sorry, baby, please don’t fucking leave me.” he begged, not wanting to physically let you go here and now because he was fucking terrified that you’d run and never come back.

“you broke my heart, reo.” was all that you finally managed to say, looking into his pretty lilac eyes that you usually found so much comfort in.

he held your face with both of his hands, and he was so, so much bigger than you. he hated himself right now, for doing this to you. how you were so fucking gorgeous, that you dressed up all for him, how you were the most important thing to him in his entire life and he was the one who did this to you. pretty, glimmering eyes and wet mascara on long lashes. his sweet, precious girl.

“listen, baby. we’re gonna go out for dinner every night for the next year, okay? and you’re coming with me on all of my soccer trips, and I’m taking off all this week, and we’re doing whatever the fuck you want. anything you could possibly want. and I’m buying you a new car. anything for you, I’m so fucking sorry, sweet girl, my angel girl.”

“I don’t want things, reo, I just want you. I fucking need you.” you cried, and his heart physically ached.

“you have me, baby, m’not fucking going anywhere ever again, not ever, I’m so sorry. and I need you, too.” he told you, and he meant every single word.

you sniffled up at him and he gently wiped the tears off of your pretty face. “‘n we’re not eating out every night, that’s so unhealthy,” you mumbled, pressing your face into his warm, toned chest. he laughed, kissing the top of your head.

“yeah? I’m eating you out every night,” he giggled.

“reo!” you whined, pouting up at him and he kissed your lips this time, softly sighing against your mouth.

“then you’re at least letting me cook for you when we don’t go out, okay?”

“okay.”

the air between you was lighter now, and reo almost felt like he could breathe again.

“I’m sorry, and I love you so much.”

“I love you, reo.”

you didn’t know why, but you wanted to fuck him so bad right now, even after everything. the emotions were just too much, and he always made you feel so good.

and he did make you feel so good later that night, fucking hell. he had something to prove; worshipping you and making you feel truly loved. he had already ruined all other men for you, but tonight was something else entirely. every single one of his touches was reverent and purposeful, treating you like the perfect goddess that you are.

you loved each other too much; it was going to be okay. :)

⟢ @slutsenpai ⟣ // masterlist // navigation

notes. thank u for patiently waiting for this ! it took me a while to write and was way longer than I had intended lol. I’m happy with it, but writing it did make me sad :( hope u enjoyed & I’m planning on writing some fun smutty stuff soon ! likes, reblogs & comments much appreciated!◞♡ do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my writing anywhere for any reason

[militarywifesvt]

I've been in love with woozi angst lately can you write something about when they broke up because he prioritised his work over reader and they both were hurting but didn't dare to talk to eachother until woozi released a breakup song and said at an award ceremony that the song is dedicated to someone and he wishes that person would forgive him ( he's referring to reader ) and then all the seventeen members text reader to come back to him because he's been crying ever since she left and you show up at his door in the middle of the night with a dramatic confession and they get back together . Sorry if this is too detailed 🥲 can you please make it longer too ? Thanksss ❤️❤️

Destiny (LJH)

Pairing : Lee jihoon x reader

Genre : angst with a happy ending

Summary : You and jihoon broke up months ago , but when he released that heart wrenching song and cried during his speech , you knew you had to make things right before it's too late .

Warnings : breakup , crying , depression , two curse words ( asshole , fu€king )

( I'm not a producer so the lyrics might not be that good please be nice 😃 )

Enjoy 💋

2 months ago

The mood was tense . You've been thinking about this for hours , trying to pluck up the courage and go to his studio . This has been going on for a long time now . Jihoon promised a movie night today but like usual , he never showed up . Just like how he didn't show up for your date at a restaurant 2 weeks ago saying that he had work to do . Just like how you ended up going to the cinema alone because he was too busy to spare a few hours for you . You understood , of course . But this also started affecting your relationship . You wanted to talk about it with him and maybe solve the problem . So , you did what you had to do . You walked out of the house and headed towards his studio . You didn't even know what you'll say , but what you knew is that you needed to fix whatever this is . You arrived , didn't even bother to knock . And without hesitation , you said with a serious look and crossed arms .

" We need to talk . "

At first , jihoon was taken aback . He looked at you for a second too long trying to process what you just said . Then , he sighed and looked back at his laptop . You stood near the door refusing to sit down , waiting for an answer hoping it's an apology or yet another reason . Only for him to say with a cold , unbothered tone

" Can we not do this now ? I have to finish this ."

" No . We're doing this now , I can't keep coming second to your music . You probably forgot about this like always , but we were supposed to have a date today . I understand that this is your career , but I can't keep doing this . I can't just keep waiting for you while you don't even bother to spare a few hours for a movie or even a few minutes for a call . I can't tell you to leave your music , so I'll leave instead . "

The tears were already forming in your eyes and your voice started to crack . Jihoon stood up from his seat . He didn't say anything . Didn't fight for you , as if he doesn't care . You didn't wait for an answer . You just walked out with whatever pride you had left and closed the door behind you .

He didn't chase after you .

And you didn't look back .

Present day

The months after you left were quiet . Not the calm , soothing kind of quiet . But the painful kind . The kind that made the studio feel colder , the guitar heavier , the lyrics emptier . Everything just wasn't the same . Jihoon looked okay . But behind the camera , he wasn't . His members noticed it , of course . How he stays later than usual in his studio . How he skips meals more often now . How he can't focus anymore and is always zoned out . How even his music , the only thing that makes him feel alive , the thing that he always runs to , his passion , felt like something he was forced to do . His members always checked on him , asking if he was okay and taking turns visiting him at the studio . But nothing seemed to work . You were everywhere . In the lyrics he wrote , in the melodies he made , in the chords he played without thinking . He didn't delete your number but didn't open your chats either . Your name just sat there , like a memory , like a wound he refused to bandage . He kept on trying to convince himself that he made the right decision . He had work . He had members and fans that depend on him . He had a dream to chase . But what's the point of success if the person he wanted to succeed for wasn't here with him ? He was so caught up in his work , trying to make you happy and proud , that he forgot about your own happiness . That thought haunted him since you left . It wasn't until one night at 3:45 am . He was alone in the studio once again thinking about you . The memory of you falling asleep on the couch behind him and waiting for him to finish , your laughs echoing as he adjusted reverb settings . With glassy eyes and an unfocused mind , he let himself feel how it was like being loved by you . He didn't cry , not really . But his throat tightened . And that night , for the first time in a long time , he opened a blank project file and started writing . No planning , no thinking , just emotions . The lyrics came first , raw , poetic , and quietly devastating . It described what he couldn't say on that day you left . He didn't try to make the song perfect . He just made it true . The verses weren't grand and flashy , just his raw feelings .

" you waited with no complaints , while I kept building walls "

" I kept saying 'soon' thinking you will last , but while I was away , you left so fast "

The chorus hit like a silent cry

" Now there's a silence I can't quite explain "

" oh my destiny , I let go of you for a harmony "

" if I had to go back , I'd leave the door open "

These parts always caught his breath during rehearsal . He has been singing in front of thousands of people for ten years . But this time felt different . For the first time in a decade , he's nervous to go on stage , thinking that you might be watching this from somewhere . He barely made it to the end of the song without crying . But the claps of the fans got him . He bowed before leaving the stage and running to the bathroom , afraid that someone might see him crying . He quickly wiped his tears before stepping out and taking a seat in the crowd , waiting for the award ceremony to start . The lights were blinding . The cheers were so loud . All of that didn't affect jihoon . He stood frozen in his seat as the host announced the winner . He didn't wait for a win or an award , he just wanted a chance to say what he couldn't that day .

" my destiny , please come back "

(omg the lyrics are so cringe please don't say anything)

" And the award for 'Song of the year's goes to .... SEVENTEEN's WOOZI for "destiny" congratulations! "

Applause erupted , screams got louder , his members stood up and clapped the hardest , proud of their producer . Dino was already tearing up . But jihoon ? He could barely move . He slowly made his way to the stage , like his legs weren't connected to his body . The award felt so precious in his hands , but it wasn't what made his tears fall . He held the mic with his other hand , then looked down .

" Um...thank you...for this . Honestly , I didn't expect to win . This song wasn't even supposed to come out . But it was written for someone . Someone I failed to keep . Someone who loved me when I didn't even deserve to be loved . Someone who waited for me for years . Someone I hurt . I don't think she'll be seeing this but ," he looked down for a second too long , not even trying to hide his tears anymore . The room shifted , the audience started murmuring and the members froze in their seats , looking at jihoon with glassy eyes .

" I'm sorry for what I have done , truly . I hope one day you'll forgive me . And um...oh my god , I shouldn't be saying this but , I miss you , a lot . "

He had more to say , but his tears betrayed him . He couldn't continue . So he just bowed and left backstage .

Lucky for you , you were actually watching . He didn't know that you were also hurting . You didn't delete his number either . You looked at his pictures in your camera roll almost everyday , drowning in your memories together . You couldn't concentrate on anything either . But you didn't have the courage to say anything . Your life didn't feel the same . You missed his presence , the late nights at his studio , being the first person to listen to his songs . You missed what you had with him . And that thought gnawed down at you .

You couldn't stop the tears from falling after you heard his speech . And what got you is the inside jokes between you and him that were hidden in the lyrics . You sobbed uncontrollably , holding your heart that was once shattered into pieces . You sat in your room , looking at the ceiling , replaying what you said that day . What caught you off guard is a message . It was not the message that shocked you , but who it was from .

3+ messages from Boo seungkwan , Choi seungcheol , Lee seokmin

You quickly wiped your tears and opened the message .

What could they possibly want at this hour ?

Boo seungkwan : Noona , I know I'm in no place to say this but whatever woozi hyung said or did that day , I'm sure he didn't mean it .

Choi seungcheol : he's been a crying mess since you left . You need to come back .

Lee seokmin : fix whatever happened between you two . You and I both know you can't live without him and he can't live without you either .

Seokmin was right , you can't live without jihoon . But you can't just ignore how you were treated and run back to him . But he wrote a whole song to show you how sorry he is . Your mind is a mess right now . You need to decide what to do before it's too late . If not now , then it's never . You did what you actually had to do this time and ran to his house . Yes , you sprinted to his house in the middle of the night in the pouring rain without an umbrella . Was it worth it ? Hell yeah .

You hesitated when you first knocked at his door , you didn't know what you were gonna say . But fixing this is the priority . Jihoon didn't expect anyone at this hour and nobody came to his house without notice before . Unless it's...

He froze where he stood , thinking whether he should open it or not . But he did it anyway . He saw you standing there , drenched from the rain . You obviously got skinnier and he noticed the dark circles around your eyes . He didn't know what to do at that moment , so he looked down . You knew he won't talk anytime soon , so you said what you wanted to say .

" You should know that- "

" I'm sorry . "

You couldn't even process what he said before he continued

" I never apologized once when I treated you like that . I wanted to make you proud . I wanted to make you happy that I forgot about what mattered to you . I only cared about my job and I'll admit that it wasn't fair .You probably won't forgive me , but I just wanted to say that it's okay if you don't because I understa-"

You couldn't just watch him blame himself . Something in you snapped , and you hit him in the chest .

" Who do you think you are to talk about yourself like that ? I didn't leave because of your job . I left because I thought I didn't matter to you . That day when I left the studio , you didn't even bother to go after me . That fu€king hurt , man .Then I heard that song . That damn song . And that speech made me cry , you asshole ."

You hit him again . And again . All while sobbing under the rain .

Jihoon took a step closer , barefoot , tired

" I didn't know how to ask you to stay when I kept giving you reasons to leave . You were the only thing that mattered to me , you still are . "

You also took a step forward , looking at him with glassy eyes , hoping to see the truth in his eyes .

" I'm still waiting . "

" I'll spend the rest of my life making up for it . " He said before pulling you by the waist for a hug . He didn't care about the rain , didn't care about the fact that he might get sick . And you didn't either .

And suddenly , nothing felt heavy anymore . Jihoon learned how to make time for you and how to make you feel loved . His career thrived even more after that . Because now he got his muse back , everything felt better than before .

Taglist : @cscstrap @alien0n3arth @syluslittlecrows @cheolliesvt @my-neurodivergent-world

[froggibus]

— Don't Impress Me Much - DC Boys

Includes: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Wally West

Genre: fluff

Summary: he's trying his best to win you over, the only problem? you're oblivious

late upload this week! i had a really busy time with work & then got busy preparing for canada day! <3 hope everyone has a great day! also this is like, day 1 of me trying to get better at writing slice of life, so bear with me here ^^

Dick Grayson:

From the outside, it doesn’t seem like Dick is trying very hard to win you over. He treats you with kindness, flirts until you’re a flustered mess and randomly brings you coffee at work. In your mind, these are all normal things for the man.

However, the amount of work that goes into his unabated flirting with you is what really shows his closest friends just how much he wants you. You throw Dick entirely off of his game, and the Titans and his brothers find it hilarious.

He blushes more around you, he has to force his hands to stop shaking when he hands you your coffee—he works twice as hard to get your attention than he ever has for anyone else. And the worst part? You don’t seem to notice.

Eventually, Dick comes to his senses and finally invites you out to a proper dinner, and you find yourself blinking slowly at him. His invitation comes as a major ‘oh’ moment for you and you realize: while Dick might be friendly with everyone, he only wants you.

Jason Todd:

Jason tries to win you over by mentioning the small details he remembers about you.

He doesn’t make a big show of it, there’s no boastful attitude behind it. It’s just him showing you he cares, remembering your favorite colour and that you love the rain and what your oddly specific coffee order is. 

It’s not something he goes out of his way to do for anyone else. He didn’t even do it intentionally at first, he just suddenly found himself bringing you coffee at work and listening to your favorite songs.

His family notices immediately but it takes you a little longer to catch on. Honestly, it takes Jason a little while to catch on too—he hasn’t felt this way in so long. 

Jason doesn’t waste time asking you out when he does sort through his feelings, though. Within a day he’s bringing you your favorite flowers and asking you out, and suddenly all those little details turned into something big.

Tim Drake:

When Tim is in love, he’ll do whatever he can to make your life easier, even if that means making his own harder.

Anything you need becomes his new project and honestly, he takes on more than he can handle. He’ll never tell you that, though. All you see is the wonderful things he does for you—the way he has Alfred teach him to sew to fix your favorite jeans, how he rewrites your notes for you when you’re researching something. 

In typical Tim fashion, he’ll lose sleep over it too. He just wants to help you, even if that means a couple nights of little to no sleep.

You notice he likes you before he can even confess to it. It’s when he hands you back your newly fixed jeans, embroidered with a red robin, that it finally clicks for you. Tim isn’t just doing this in a friendly way.

You let him confess on his own terms which happens after a particularly long all-nighter spent reading your favorite book. He’s half-delirious from the lack of sleep but it comes out sweet all the same.

Wally West:

Wally always shows off when you’re around. He wants you to see how helpful he is and how great he can provide for you, even if you don’t always notice. 

The thing he shows off the most is his speed. You love hearing his Flash stories and Wally takes full advantage. He’ll reenact entire fights for you, play clips of it on Youtube and even describe what was going through his head. 

He also pays every time you go out, no matter what it is. The only time he lets you pay is if you absolutely insist on it, but it’ll be a tough fight. You take him with you to the drugstore late at night to get Benadryl once and he insists on paying. 

To everyone around, it’s clear he’s crushing and wants to show off. You on the other hand are completely oblivious.

In the end, his showboating gets him nowhere and Wally is forced to tell you to your face. He almost laughs at how shocked you are—didn’t you notice how hard he was trying?

thanks for reading! have a fantastic day <3

masterlist | dc masterlist

[dollgxtz]

AN: Just some random cute thoughts I have about girldad!Sylus teaching his daughter new languages....

Word Count: 902

I feel like no one talks about how Sylus being a polyglot (someone who knows multiple languages) would definitely bleed into his family dynamic. No doubt he'd want his daughter to be just as efficient in other languages as he is.

He starts early. When she’s still a baby, barely lifting her head, he greets her in different languages as he lifts her from the crib. His voice is low and tender, laced with sleepiness. It becomes a small ritual, one he never misses no matter how late he’s been up the night before.

“早安，小宝贝。” (“Good morning, little one.”) “Guten Morgen, kleine.” (“Morning, little one.”) “Bonjour, mon trésor.” (“Hello, sweetheart.”)

Sometimes he speaks softly as he dresses her, reciting simple rhymes or counting aloud in whatever language suits the morning. Other times he hums songs passed down through dialects he’s rarely had the chance to share. He knows she doesn’t understand the words yet, not fully—but that’s never the point. He wants the cadence to settle into her bones, the rhythm to anchor itself in her memory. He wants her to hear the world differently, to recognize meaning in sounds beyond her native tongue.

He almost thinks it doesn’t stick, not really. But then, one quiet morning, just a few weeks shy of her turning fourteen months old, she crawls into his lap while he’s sitting on the couch, tugging at his shirt for attention.

She looks up at him with sleepy eyes, presses a hand to his chest, and says, clear as anything: "Ciao papà!" ("Hi daddy!")

For a moment, Sylus doesn’t move. He just stares at her, stunned into silence, as if she’s managed to strike him speechless in the one language he hadn’t expected to hear back so soon. And then, he laughs—soft and full—and pulls her close, muttering “bene, bene...("good, good")” against her hair.

And this continues as she grows. He’ll speak to her in English often enough, during storytime, or when she falls and needs reassurance, but just as easily, he’ll switch gears mid-conversation. One moment he’s tying her shoelaces, the next he’s asking in fluent Italian, "Cosa vuoi mangiare, piccola?" (What do you want to eat, little one?)

She furrows her brow, thinking hard, stumbling over her words, sometimes answering in a mix of three different languages at once. Other days she’ll stare at him blankly before shrugging and replying in English, frustrated. There are moments you worry. You read the articles. You ask the pediatrician. The prevalent speech delay when she turns two and doesn't seem to want to talk at all some days, common in multilingual children, sits like a stone in your chest. But Sylus never looks concerned.

"Let her sort it out," he says calmly, watching her chew her breakfast while muttering the days of the week in French under her breath. "As long as she understands, that's all that matters."

And eventually, he’s right. The words come easier. By the time she’s two and a half, she answers his questions in full sentences.

“Quiero uvas, papa.” (“I want grapes, daddy.”) “S’il te plaît, donne-moi le livre.” (“Please, give me the book.”) “Ich habe fertig!” (“I've finished!”)

Sylus beams every time, pride tucked into his smirk, like he knew all along that she’d get there. She's his smart little girl after all, he never doubted her abilities for a second.

You once overhear her talking to Mephisto, alternating between Mandarin and Russian with no hesitation. When you ask her what she’s saying, she blinks at you and says simply, “He seems to understand when I say it like that.”

Sylus just chuckles and says, “Silly girl.”

She even starts using her newfound abilities to keep little secrets between her and Sylus. It becomes a game, one they both relish, a subtle rebellion wrapped in giggles and clever looks. It’s not uncommon now—you’ll all be walking through the park, the sun warm on your shoulders, the gravel crunching underfoot, birdsong dancing above you—and she’ll suddenly burst out with something rapid and gleeful in Portuguese, her eyes locked on Sylus.

"Olha, pai! Ali está ele! Aquele pássaro parece o Mefisto!"

("Look, Dad! There he is! That bird looks like Mephisto!")

Her words are fast, her voice a high-pitched burst of glee. You pause mid-step, eyebrows raised, trying to decode the sentence. But before you can ask, Sylus responds just as fluently, and just as fast. He doesn’t hesitate, like he’s been waiting for it. The two of them dissolve into laughter, the kind that makes your chest ache in the best way—full and unguarded.

You stand there with your hands on your hips, narrowing your eyes in playful suspicion. "What did she say?"

Sylus shrugs with a smirk that says he’ll never give it up. "Nothing important."

Your daughter clings to his leg, clearly trying to stifle another giggle, and you shake your head with a mock sigh, even as you smile. You catch snippets sometimes, hear the familiar cadence of their secret code whispered between bites of lunch or exchanged from across a room. Sometimes it’s teasing, sometimes it’s curiosity, and sometimes it’s just them reaffirming what they both already know—that they have their own little world between them.

Some fathers teach their kids how to ride a bike. Sylus teaches his kid how to command a room in three dialects! ꒰ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ꒱

[jareaufiles]

WARDROBE THEFT • o.benson

PAIRING: olivia benson x female reader

PREMISE: Olivia comes home after a long day to find you wearing her old academy shirt, and the simple sight of you wrapped in her clothes reminds her just how much you belong — sparking a quiet, tender moment of possessive love and cozy domestic warmth.

WARNINGS: established relationship | domestic fluff | soft possessiveness | post-long-shift comfort

WORD COUNT: 1.1K

masterlists

It was one of those days where Olivia’s entire body ached. Not from anything dramatic, just the endless, low-grade, soul-deep exhaustion that came from too many hours on the clock and too much human ugliness crammed into one shift. Every case felt heavier lately. Every corner of the city a little meaner. She could feel it in her shoulders, tight and sore beneath her leather jacket as she climbed the stairs to your apartment.

Her apartment, technically, but you were there so often now, it felt ridiculous to call it that. It hadn’t felt like just hers in months. The space had softened in small, imperceptible ways since you. The lights were warmer. The fridge wasn’t empty. There was a ridiculous soft pink throw blanket she never would’ve picked for herself draped over the back of the couch, and her bedroom smelled faintly like your vanilla lotion. Every time she noticed those things, it settled something in her she didn’t realize was restless.

She fumbled with her keys and nudged the door open, already pulling in a breath to tell you she was home and froze when she caught sight of you.

Curled up on her couch like you belonged there. Which, okay, you kind of did at this point. Bare legs tucked under you, hair messy, a pint of ice cream balanced on your thigh, spoon halfway to your mouth as you watched some awful crime doc on TV with the volume too low to actually hear. And the thing that made Olivia’s stomach flip wasn’t any of that. It was what you were wearing.

Her academy t-shirt.

Not just any shirt. Her old, faded, seen-better-days academy shirt, the one she’d dragged through training and hung onto ever since. The one she hadn’t been able to find for weeks. Now here it was, hanging off one of your shoulders, hem brushing your thighs, the collar stretched from years of wear and now probably from you tugging at it in your sleep.

Olivia just… stood there for a second. Let herself take you in. God, you were so effortlessly beautiful in the soft light of the apartment. The quiet hum of the city outside, the flicker of a candle you’d lit on the windowsill, your face soft with whatever case was playing on screen. Her chest tightened in that good, terrifying way it always did when it hit her just how easy it was to love you.

She finally stepped inside, setting down the bag of takeout and shrugging out of her jacket. Poured herself a glass of wine one-handed, eyes never fully leaving you, a little smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"You know that’s mine, right?" she teased, her voice low and warm as she leaned a hip against the counter.

You glanced over at her, all wide eyes and the start of a grin tugging at your lips. "What is?"

She nodded toward you, the wine glass gesturing vaguely in your direction. "That shirt. My academy one. The one I’ve been searching for like a lunatic."

You looked down at yourself like you were just realizing it, then back up with a shameless smile. "Oh. Thought it was ours."

Olivia laughed under her breath, setting down her glass and crossing the room to you. She dropped onto the couch beside you, the sofa dipping beneath her weight as she tugged you effortlessly into her lap.

Your legs draped across hers, your ice cream abandoned on the coffee table, your hair brushing her jaw as you settled against her like you’d been waiting for her all day.

"You’ve got a whole collection of my clothes by now," she murmured, one hand warm and steady on the back of your thigh, the other slipping beneath the hem of the shirt to splay across your lower back. "I’m starting to think you’re running some kind of con."

"Maybe," you hummed, leaning in to kiss the corner of her mouth. "But you haven’t stopped me."

"I like it," she admitted, quieter this time, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I like seeing you in my stuff. Makes it obvious you’re mine."

There it was again.

That offhand, unguarded tenderness she only ever let slip when she was exhausted and half-distracted by you being too close. It made your stomach flutter, the kind of warmth that crept up your spine and settled somewhere behind your ribs.

"You say that like it isn’t already obvious," you murmured against her neck, nuzzling closer.

"Mmm." Olivia grinned and ran her fingers up your back, enjoying how easily you melted into her. "I need it to be obvious to everyone."

You laughed, the sound soft and a little breathless as she kissed your cheek, then your jaw, then the sensitive spot behind your ear that always made you shiver.

"God, you’re ridiculous."

"And yet, here you are," she murmured, pulling back to look at you properly, her thumb brushing along your cheekbone. "Stealing my shirts, my hoodies… don’t think I haven’t noticed my leather jacket’s been hanging in your closet for the last week."

"Okay, to be fair," you grinned, "that jacket basically begged me to wear it."

Olivia snorted, shaking her head as she leaned in to kiss you again, slow and sweet and lingering like she wasn’t in any rush to be anywhere but right here.

After a minute, you broke the kiss, forehead resting against hers. "I’m keeping this one, by the way."

She sighed like it was a burden but smiled, her hand tracing lazy circles on your lower back. "I figured."

"And probably your jacket next."

"You’re relentless," Olivia groaned, though she didn’t let you go.

"You love it," you grinned, tipping your head to kiss her jaw.

"I do," she murmured, soft and serious, like it slipped out before she could stop it. And maybe she didn’t want to.

Neither of you said much after that. The crime doc droned on in the background, the vanilla candle flickered, and Olivia held you a little tighter than usual, like something in her had finally, finally let go of the day.

Eventually, she let out a contented sigh and pressed another kiss to your hair. "One day," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, "I’m gonna marry you. And then you can have a legal claim to my wardrobe."

You smiled against her throat, your fingers curling into the fabric of the shirt. "Can’t wait, Liv."

And for the first time all day, Olivia felt warm in a way the city never managed. Because you were here, and you were hers, and no matter how ugly the world outside got, she’d always have this.

She’d always have you.

[coolwyous]

oh, you thought i forgot about hockey!daddy dani? 🤭🤭🤭 the dittoverse daddies universe expands!

daniela was the one who the team was most in disbelief about being a good parent, and for GOOD reason. megan was always going to be a decent parent and lara was made for this whole parenting shit, but retired frat boy daniela seemed like a less than ideal candidate to raise a child. the team loves dani through all her flaws but as soon as she posted the "welcome to the world baby avanzini!" everyone was losing their shit. dani's kid is the youngest in the group but not by much!

esmeralda had a ton of health issues as a baby, but reader never doubted that dani would be ready to step up, which she absolutely did. dani spent every waking moment at the hospital, arguing w doctors to make sure they were doing everything they were supposed to, sleeping nightly next to the hospital bed, making sure your guys' baby never needed anything. megan and lara would switch off bringing you guys food but never once did daniela complain about a single thing. as soon as she became a parent it truly took over her— everything in her life revolves around protecting your guys' daughter.

dani & reader got divorced shortly after esme's second bday, so currently dani has 50/50 shared custody of her precious little baby girl. she is def not beating the annoying fuckass bd allegations bc even though you and dani haven't been together for like almost 4 years she always talks about wanting u back, complimenting you during custody swaps, if you ask for pics of esme on your off week you can 100% bet dani will include herself in every single photo. annoying ass 🙄

esme gets WHATEVER she wants at daddy's house, literally has never been told no in her whole life by that woman!! esme likes hello kitty? dani is buying her a hello kitty stuffie bigger than herself. esme points once to a bluey shirt? dani is buying her 3 sets of bluey snow jackets and gets a matching sled so they can go sled in the backyard. esme waddles into the living room asking dani to stay up late watching movies ("i know it's my bedtime but can we please stay up and watch a movie together?") dani immediately drops everything she's doing to curl up on the couch with her baby girl. dani doesn't look at it as spoiling her, i think she truly looks at it as wanting to make sure her daughter feels seen and taken care of every waking moment!! like she's never going to get these baby years back so she's gonna make the most of them

(luckily, esme is the sweetest, most laid back kid ever— so well-behaved and inquisitive, such a rule follower and insanely nervous around most other kids tbh. daniela is literally her best friend and dani would probably say the same they are so obsessed w each other it's sickening! esme cries every time you and dani have to swap which you try not to take personally but then dani is saying some fuck shit about wanting her family back together and u need to leave asap before she keeps running her mouth...)

dani would TRULY move mountains for her little angel. esme got hearing aids shortly after turning 2 and dani forced megan and lara's famlilies to come take sign language classes with her just to make sure if esme needed anything, the whole village would be ready to help her. she never uses it as a flex either, it's 100% something she did dotingly to make her daughter's life easier, esme loves switching to sign language w her when her ears get fatigued and dani is SO cute and expressive, her exaggerated faces as esme tells her about her day in sign, the two of them in a world of their own. esme also speaks spanish and dani loves to flex that her daughter is trilingual!

dani treats esme like a tiny adult and this has made esme super mature for her age! no baby talk here no sir. but the flip side is that dani does not believe in kids meals, will literally order herself two steak dinners, one for her one for her daughter, bone app the teeth <3 only the BEST for her tiny princess truly has spoiled that child since day 1 lmao

keeps a giant framed picture of esme on her desk in the coach's office at the university <3 AND reader's dad is still coaching, lowkey gets kinda awkward some days like imagine working w ur ex-father-in-law yikes...... the team gets scared bc dani is now the head coach and her + coach y/ln will butt heads like CRAZY some days and take it out on the team w some insane drills, but on the days that dani brings esme to work they're both cordial as possible bc they don't want esme to see them bickering <3 the hockey girls all fawn over esme and coach y/ln is like "that little girl is the only good thing that came out of you getting involved with my daughter, i warned her from the start" and dani just rolls her eyes and bites her tongue!

dani never wanted esme to get into hockey, she was similar to lara in that sense of wanting her kids to just explore whatever they loved, but it was megan who insisted on teaching esme how to skate and as soon as esme picked up a stick, she kept begging to go back to auntie megan's house and keep playing hockey in the backyard! once megan started coaching the kid's league, she offered to train esme and dani PANICKED bc this was the first time she ever felt like she'd have to say no to her baby girl..... esme is so tiny and delicate, has always been smaller than other kids her age, wears glasses and has these sparkly purple hearing aids like that tiny girl is literally daniela's whole world...... the idea of her on the ice w these bigger kids would make dani absolutely sick to her stomach

dani calls you later that night to explain her panic, and you don't want to entertain your ex-wife any longer than you must but you appreciate how thoughtful she is about looping you in w your daughter.... you have to remind her that "sheltering esme isn't going to do her any favors, and if esme is anything like either of us then she's just gonna find a way to sneak around if she wants it bad enough" and you hear dani laugh on the other side of the phone. you both take a second, smiling, reminiscing about how you met.... and then you hear your precious daughter's voice on the other end "is that mami? did she say i can play?" and your heart bursts in your chest..... dani lets out a quiet sigh, "of course we're gonna let you play, mi amor, papi just needed a reminder from mami of how determined you are, you'll be amazing. say goodnight to mami," and lets esme blow you a kiss through the phone..... you're annoyed but dani's voice is so familiar, "good night, mami," she teases you and you can already tell she's got that damn smirk.... "good night, daniela," you roll your eyes and hang up.

dani gets lowkey emotional sometimes that her daughter isn't going to grow up w all her grandparents since dani still isn't in contact w her parents, but she does a good job of hiding it. megan and lara can sense it though, and that's why even when it's not dani's custody week they're constantly inviting her to hang out w their families, to give her that sense of found family and remind her that she's loved <333

even though dani is an AMAZING influence on her own daughter, the moment someone else's kids come into the picture she is back to her old hellion ways. taught megan's kids how to shotgun coca cola cans and now they race to see who can do it faster (josie always wins and max throws up each time,) taught yunjin & chaewon's boys a bunch of swear words in spanish so they can cuss without getting in trouble, is constantly feeding lara's twins things they're not supposed to be eating and then dropping them off at dance practice all amped up on sugar singing profane music much to lara's horror <3 auntie dani is adored by all the hockey babies but the parents still complain in the gc about what a horrible influence she is <333 nobody understands how she ended up with the sweetest, most well-behaved kid out of the group!

[pullmecloseman]

Honor & Duty — SUNDRESSES

Honor & Duty chapter — SUNDRESSES

Bob Floyd x reader

summary: What was supposed to be a fun week in paradise quickly becomes something more when two quiet souls are thrown into close quarters. As the days unfold—from lazy mornings and town adventures to wedding prep and late-night confessions—tension simmers, walls begin to crack, and unexpected connections start to bloom.

It’s just one week. But sometimes, that’s all it takes to change everything.

word count: 3.9k

A/N: if you guys would please give me feedback and tell me what you would like to see in future chapters it would mean the world to me!! Sorry it’s so short i didn’t have any good ideas 🥲

join the taglist for this fic!!

MAUI, COFFEE & CHECKLISTS, A TOAST, SUNDRESSES

The faint rustling of linen was the first thing you noticed. The morning light was soft through the sheer curtains, casting quiet shadows that danced along the floor. You blinked slowly, adjusting to the haze of daylight slipping through the window, the memory of last night’s dinner and everything unspoken lingering in your chest like a weight you hadn’t quite learned how to carry.

Across the room, Bob was still asleep. Or at least, he looked like he was. His arm was curled up under his pillow, hair a little messy, lashes casting long shadows across his cheekbone. He looked peaceful like this. Untouched. Real.

Your bed felt cold by comparison. The space between the two of you—the literal, physical space—felt wider than it had the night before. Like you’d both been orbiting around something neither of you wanted to name.

You rolled onto your back slowly, letting your eyes trace the wooden beams of the ceiling, the soft swirl of the ceiling fan overhead. Your heart still hadn’t settled. Maybe it was the way his hand had brushed yours. Maybe it was the silence that stretched too long before he’d pulled away.

Maybe it was the way you didn’t want to look away when he stepped out of the bathroom without a shirt. You blew out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over your eyes. It was too early for this. Too early to be spiraling over something that technically wasn’t even a thing. Not really.

Bob stirred just slightly, one hand twitching as he rolled over, now facing you. He didn’t open his eyes, but you heard him mutter something soft, barely audible. “Morning,” you said quietly, unsure if you were waking him or just acknowledging him. His eyes cracked open, bleary and slow. “What time is it?”

You reached for your phone on the nightstand. “Almost eight.” He grunted softly, stretching until his shirt rode up just a little over his stomach. You looked away. “We don’t have anything till lunch,” he said, voice still thick with sleep. “Exploring town today, right?” “Yeah. Phoenix wanted to hit the boutiques and some coffee place Bradley keeps hyping up.” Bob nodded, rolling onto his back with a sigh. “Gonna be a long day.” There was a quiet pause before you added, “You okay with that?” He turned his head to look at you. “What do you mean?” You shrugged. “Spending all day with the group. Luca. Dress shops. You.” His expression shifted subtly—something unreadable flickering behind his glasses as he sat up slowly. “I’m fine,” he said after a second. “Are you?” You bit your lip. “I think so.”

Bob’s gaze lingered, but he didn’t press. Instead, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, scratching the back of his neck as he padded barefoot across the room to his duffel. You watched him go, taking in the familiar line of his shoulders, the way his movements always felt careful. Controlled. He pulled out a t-shirt and tugged it over his head in one smooth motion. You hated how easily he could settle back into normal, how quickly he masked whatever had been simmering between you both the night before. “Breakfast?” he asked, turning toward you now, blinking away the last of his sleep.

“Yeah,” you said, dragging yourself out of bed. “Let’s go.”

You didn’t talk much as you both got ready. The quiet was companionable, but it carried a weight beneath it. Bob moved around the room with that same quiet efficiency, brushing his teeth, folding the towel he'd used, tucking the corner of the bed in after smoothing out the covers. It was everything you’d come to know about him—how he never left things undone, never let something stay in disarray. You were the one who broke the silence this time.

“I think Phoenix said there’s a farmers market near the town square.” Bob glanced over from where he was tying his sneakers. “With coffee?” You smiled. “Of course with coffee. You think Bradley would survive otherwise?” A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Good point.”

He stood and reached for the key card from the dresser, slipping it into his pocket before glancing at you again. His voice was softer now. “You look nice.” Your heart caught a little off guard. You hadn’t done much—just a light sundress, hair pulled back in a clip, some sunscreen and lip balm. But the way he said it, the quiet honesty of it, sent a flutter down your spine. “Thanks,” you murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair back from your cheek. “You too.” And you meant it. He wore the most basic thing—grey t-shirt, olive shorts, a pair of black sunglasses tucked into the collar—but somehow he still looked like the only calm in a storm. Unassuming, steady. And something about that made it hard to breathe.

When you stepped out of the room and into the sunshine, the rest of the resort was already humming with the soft buzz of activity. Guests were heading toward the beach with towels and woven bags, the scent of morning pastries wafting from the poolside café. You spotted Natasha first. She was at a patio table under one of the massive palm umbrellas, sipping what looked like an iced coffee and scrolling through something on her phone. Jake and Bradley were with her, arguing about what counted as a *real* breakfast.

Bob gave you a look that said, here we go, and you both walked over.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Jake said without even looking up. “Was beginning to think baby-on-board here overslept on purpose.”

“You say that like you weren’t the last one to the beach yesterday,” Bob replied evenly, pulling out a chair. Jake grinned. “That was strategic. I made an entrance.” “More like you were hungover,” Bradley muttered into his coffee. “Allegedly,” Jake said, lifting his cup in salute.

You sat beside Phoenix, who bumped her shoulder against yours in greeting. “Morning, Sweetie.” You narrowed your eyes. “Still calling me that, huh?” “Forever,” she said cheerfully, handing you a spare menu. “Luca’s grabbing breakfast wraps. You’re lucky. I told him your coffee order and everything.” You raised a brow. “Why do I feel like that’s a setup?” “Because it is,” she said sweetly. “Also because you made that face when he called you bambina last night.” Bob looked over at you then, a flicker of something in his gaze. You could tell he was listening, even if he didn’t say anything.

“Phoenix,” you said carefully, “remind me again why you’re not letting me elope with your brother instead?” She smiled, all teeth. “Because I love you and I need you to suffer with me for the rest of the week.” Just then, Luca appeared behind you, balancing a cardboard tray full of iced coffees and foil-wrapped sandwiches. “Buongiorno, ladies,” he said smoothly, setting the tray down with a flourish. “I bring offerings.” “Did you flirt with the barista again?” Natasha asked, unimpressed. “Only a little,” Luca said innocently, handing you your coffee first. “She had a nice smile.” You accepted it with a half-smile of your own, your fingers brushing his. “Thanks. For the coffee.”

“Anything for you,” he said with a grin that was both charming and a little too practiced. From across the table, Bob said nothing, but you didn’t miss the way he unwrapped his sandwich a little too slowly. Or how he kept his eyes focused on his plate for a little too long. You sipped your drink and leaned back in your chair, pretending not to notice. But you felt it—that shift in the air. The way the lightness suddenly felt like it had something heavier underneath it.

The breakfast lasted longer than expected.

At some point, Javy and Mickey joined, dragging Payback with them. The table became a chorus of voices and laughter, stories from deployments being retold with more exaggeration each time, Jake trying to talk his way into a second coffee without getting up, and Natasha pretending to be over all of it while laughing harder than anyone else.

Luca was right at home in the mix. He didn’t know the full depth of your squad’s history, but he was quick with a quip and kept up easily, leaning into the group’s energy. Every so often, you caught him looking at you—just a flicker, a smile, a soft comment about your laugh or the way you rolled your eyes at Jake.

And Bob… was quiet.

Not cold. Just quieter than usual. His hands stayed busy, fingers slowly rolling the edge of his napkin or adjusting his sunglasses, but his gaze drifted too often toward you. Especially when you were talking to Luca. You noticed, even if you didn’t let on. Eventually, Phoenix stood and stretched, declaring, “We are not sitting here all morning. You people promised me town, shaved ice, and some vaguely irresponsible purchases.” Rooster raised his cup. “To vague irresponsibility.” Jake clinked his glass against Bradley’s. “Finally, something we agree on.”

You all stood, gathering your things and splitting the check. The resort had shuttles available, but the walk into town was only about fifteen minutes and the group decided unanimously that they’d rather take the long way. It was warm, but not oppressive. A breeze moved through the trees, the scent of hibiscus and salt lingering in the air as the group made their way down the coastal path into the main stretch of shops and markets.nBob walked beside you, close enough that your arms almost brushed. “You’ve been quiet,” you said, not looking at him. He hesitated, then offered a faint smile. “Just taking it in.” “Taking in Luca calling me bella ragazza every five minutes?”

His jaw flexed almost imperceptibly, but he kept his eyes on the road ahead. “It’s not my business.” That stung more than it should have. You didn’t respond. Instead, you stepped ahead to catch up with Phoenix and Mickey, letting the space between you and Bob stretch just slightly wider.

Town was lively. Wednesday meant fresh produce stalls, woven baskets, local jewelry, and shops selling breezy dresses on spinning racks out front. Bradley made a beeline for a fruit stand and somehow ended up with an entire bag of mangoes. Coyote was arguing over the quality of pineapples with the vendor. Payback had disappeared with Jake in search of fresh malasadas.

You and Natasha drifted toward one of the boutiques near the end of the street. It was small and airy, filled with island light and racks of sundresses, linen jumpsuits, and swimsuit coverups. You were both browsing idly when she held up a hanger.

“Oh,” she said, eyes lighting up. “You have to try this.” You looked up. It was a pale blue halter-style dress, short, with a soft ruffled hem and a neckline that dipped just enough to toe the line between flirty and a little too much. You raised an eyebrow. “That would barely pass Navy dress code.” “Exactly,” Natasha said, already pulling you toward the changing rooms. “I’m not going to wear it to the wedding.” “No, but maybe to the bachelorette.” You laughed, but took it. “You’re evil.” She winked. “Try it on and meet me in front.”

You slipped into the changing room and, to your surprise, the dress fit like it had been made for you. It clung in the right places, light and soft, the skirt brushing the top of your thighs. You stared at yourself in the mirror a little longer than necessary, smoothing it down before stepping outside. Natasha was already out there in a sleek green number, but when she saw you, she let out a low whistle. “Okay, Sweetie,” she said. “Look at you.” You laughed under your breath, but then you heard another voice.

“Damn.”

You turned to find Luca leaning in the shop doorway, arms folded across his chest, a grin spreading wide across his face. “That’s dangerous,” he said. You raised an eyebrow. “You’re not supposed to be spying on the changing rooms, perv.” “I wasn’t spying. Just passing by,” he said innocently. “But I’m glad I did.” His eyes scanned the dress slowly, then flicked up to yours. “You’re going to break a few hearts wearing that.” You gave him a look that was supposed to be disapproving but probably wasn’t very convincing. “Careful. You’re treading dangerously close to full cheeseball.”

He leaned just a bit closer. “You like cheese. Admit it.” You were about to reply when a second voice cut in. “Hey.” Bob. His tone was light, casual. But there was a tightness in his eyes when he saw you. His gaze dropped to the dress, and for a second, he didn’t say anything else. Just took you in. You felt it—his breath catching, the way his hand fidgeted near his pocket. “Oh,” you said, suddenly very aware of the hemline. “It’s not for the wedding or anything. Natasha made me try it.” Bob’s eyes met yours again, and something flickered there. “It looks good.” You smiled, unsure. “Yeah?” “Yeah,” he said simply. Luca clapped a hand on Bob’s shoulder with a little too much enthusiasm. “You agree, then. She’s going to cause trouble in that.” Bob’s smile tightened. “She always causes trouble.”

You wanted to say something. To laugh it off. But there was something about the way Bob looked at you—like he was trying to stay neutral and failing—that made your pulse quicken. You glanced down at the dress again, then at Natasha. “I’m buying it.” Nat smirked. “Damn right you are.”

The afternoon sun dipped lower, softening the edges of the town as the Dagger Squad regrouped near the shuttle. Bags in hand, some souvenirs poking out, the earlier easy laughter had settled into a comfortable quiet, punctuated by playful nudges and half-smiles. Jake stretched, cracking his knuckles. “Alright, enough shopping for one day. Who’s up for a quick beach break before dinner?” Mickey grinned. “I’m game. Maybe Rooster can finally school Hangman in volleyball.”

Rooster rolled his eyes but smiled. “We’ll see.” You stood close to Bob, whose usual steady presence felt more taut today, especially whenever Luca was nearby. Luca’s teasing smirk hadn’t faded since earlier, and you caught him giving you a knowing look that made Bob’s jaw clench subtly.

Luca caught your eye and shot a quick wink. “Still rocking that short dress, huh? Not many can pull that off like you.” You smiled, a flicker of warmth toward him despite the tension. “Yeah, it’s definitely a crowd-pleaser.” Bob’s eyes flicked to you sharply, then to Luca, the silent charge between them unmistakable. He folded his arms, quiet but taut, the undercurrent of protectiveness settling in his posture.

Phoenix stepped in smoothly, breaking the moment. “Sun’s setting. Let’s move before we miss dinner. I want to hear all the shopping war stories.”

The group started toward the shuttle, voices rising in light chatter and laughter again, but you caught Bob’s lingering glance, full of things unsaid. Luca’s easy smile in response felt like a challenge — playful on the surface, but loaded underneath. The day had shifted something between you all, and you knew the calm was just the quiet before the storm.

taglist: @yagurlannastasia , @funkyfable

[camficdiner]

[1.3] [2.16 and age gap] [3.4] [4.3]

☕️ Cams Fic Diner – Order 068

🍒:thank you for your trust, your vision, and your obsession with tension so thick it aches — this one’s for you, with every slow burn and whispered name

💬: “Soft Launch”

✨description and prompts

• character: Luke Hughes

• prompt: he finds your anonymous fan account and becomes obsessed with figuring out who you are — age gap, corruption kink, and first time

• type: smut + slow tension + digital obsession

• wc: 1.4k

✨🛼🍒🧁

You never meant for it to become something serious.

The account started off as a joke — a private, anonymous space where you could post whatever you wanted without judgement. No name, no face, just a burner profile you created on a whim during a quiet night in your dorm. It was supposed to be harmless, a place to scream into the void about hockey boys with too-pretty hands and too-dangerous smiles.

Specifically, one hockey boy.

Luke Hughes wasn’t even your “type,” not really. Too quiet. Too clean. Too good for you.

And yet…

You watched his games religiously. Saved slow-motion clips of his edgework like they were poetry. Wrote captions that were half thirst, half confessional:

“he skates like the ice owes him something.”

“the hands. the jawline. the little smirk after a hit. why is no one studying him in a lab.”

“if he ever looked at me like that, I would simply perish.”

It was unhinged, but it was yours. You never tagged him. Never used hashtags. You figured no one would ever find it — especially not him.

But late one night, as Luke scrolled through a tagged story from a fan account, something caught his eye.

It wasn’t the video — a regular warmup clip, blurry and recycled from a week-old game. It was the caption: familiar in tone, specific in rhythm, so sharp and oddly sweet it made him laugh out loud in the dark.

“#43 needs to be studied. Or arrested. I’m free Thursday either way.”

The username was unfamiliar. Private. No mutuals. But something about it tugged at him — a strange little echo of someone who paid attention. Really paid attention.

He requested to follow.

And when you accepted the next morning, he didn’t engage. No likes. No comments. Not even a DM.

Instead, he read.

Every post.

Every caption.

Every whispered thought you’d thrown into the void, thinking no one — especially not him — would ever see it.

And the more he read, the more intrigued he became. Not because you were obsessed, but because you noticed the things most people missed. The way his left glove always took a second longer to adjust. How he chewed the inside of his cheek on the bench when the score was close. The fact that his mouthguard was always half hanging out — like it had something to say.

You mentioned a tattoo once — small, tucked just under your collarbone, with the words “shoot your shot.”

Luke screenshotted the story.

And showed it to Jack.

“She’s anonymous,” he said, low and serious. “But I want to find her.”

Quinn rolled his eyes. Jack laughed. But Luke meant it.

Over the next few weeks, he followed the trail like a puzzle. Watched your posts for clues — coffee shop backgrounds, campus lectures, offhand comments about late-night study sessions. Eventually, he narrowed it down to a few possible schools. A few events. A few faces.

And then came the Bauer event.

It wasn’t supposed to be anything big — just a promotional thing, press, a few photos, some brand reps. Luke was halfway through a conversation with someone from the PR team when he saw you across the room.

You were wearing a simple black top, one side slipping slightly from your shoulder, revealing the soft curve of your collarbone.

And there it was.

The ink. Small, neat, right where you’d said it would be.

“shoot your shot.”

You didn’t notice him at first. You were focused on the display table, sipping from a plastic cup, fidgeting with a charm on your bracelet. You were even prettier than he imagined — not in a polished, high-glamour way, but in the real, alive way of someone who didn’t know they were being watched.

He didn’t hesitate.

He walked straight across the room, dodging cameras and small talk, and stopped a breath away from you.

“Didn’t think I’d find you so easily,” he murmured.

You blinked, startled. Your mouth parted in a soft gasp as you registered who was standing in front of you.

Luke Hughes. Right here. Looking at you like he’d been looking for a long, long time.

And then, quietly:

“You gonna let me see the rest of the tattoo, or do I have to earn it?”

You choked on your drink.

⸻

You don’t make it to the couch.

Luke’s apartment is dim and warm, lit only by the amber glow of the hallway lamp and the soft sound of your nervous breathing. You’re in his jersey — he offered it without a word, and you slipped it on without thinking, the hem brushing your thighs like permission.

He kisses you like he’s trying to memorize you. Not rushed, not sloppy — just sure. One hand cups your jaw, the other rests low on your back, anchoring you to him as his mouth parts against yours, slow and coaxing, deepening only when you sigh into him.

“Still nervous?” he whispers, lips brushing your cheek.

You nod.

His eyes soften. “Me too.”

He undresses you with quiet reverence — not like he’s claiming something, but like he’s being trusted with it. His hands slide over your skin as if he’s searching for every soft place to touch, every inch that makes you sigh, every spot that makes your eyes flutter shut.

When he drops to his knees, there’s no hesitation.

He kisses your inner thigh. Then again, higher. His fingers spread you gently and he looks up, voice low and steady.

“If you want me to stop, say it.”

You shake your head, breathless. “Don’t stop.”

His tongue is slow at first, teasing. Just a flick, a taste. Then deeper, flatter, hungrier. He moans into you like he can’t help it, gripping your hips as your knees tremble.

“You’re so fucking sweet,” he groans. “So wet for me already.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair. Your thighs tighten. He licks until your hips jerk, until your eyes roll back, until you’re gasping his name like you’ll never say anything else again.

And when you finally come — with his mouth buried against you, sucking through your cries — he stays there. Kissing you softly through the aftershocks, whispering, “Good girl. You did so good.”

You don’t realize how badly you want him until he lies back and lets you straddle him. Until your hands, still trembling, push his shirt up. Until you kiss your way down his chest and feel him twitch under your touch.

“You don’t have to,” he says, voice tight, but you just shake your head.

“I want to.”

When you take him into your mouth — slow, careful, clumsy at first — he groans, deep and low, his head tipping back against the pillows.

“Fuck, baby. Just like that…”

His hands grip the sheets. His voice breaks when you flatten your tongue and take more of him. When you moan around him. When you look up with wide eyes and swollen lips and he nearly falls apart.

“Gonna lose it if you keep—shit—”

When he finishes, it’s with your name on his lips and your hand on his chest, and he pulls you up to kiss you again like it’s the only thing keeping him sane.

He flips you gently, hovers above, and slides into you slow.

So slow.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs.

You don’t. You just cling to him. Let him move. Let him guide you. Let yourself fall.

And when you both come, trembling and panting and wrecked, he holds you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“You’re mine now,” he whispers against your collarbone, “and I’m never letting you hide again.”

⸻

[laurfilijames]

Eyes On You

Part 1

Pairing: Detective Charlie Waldo x female reader

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Swearing. Stalking. Mentions of assault and rape. Vomiting.

Summary: Your whole world turns upside down when you begin to feel like you're being followed, but no one is taking you seriously until the handsome man you ran into earlier in the week turns out to be a detective who does. As the threat escalates and your suspicions of being stalked turn into reality, he steps in to protect you.

A/N: I'm still incredibly proud of this story and have decided to post it on here instead of only having it available on AO3, thanks to the incredible support I've been receiving here lately 💗

*Please note you do not have to have watched Last Looks in order to enjoy this fic and that the reader is not given any physical descriptions aside from having hair despite photo used in moodboard.

---

It was nothing, you told yourself, letting out a deep breath as you put your foot on the gas to gently accelerate after the stoplight turned from red to green, doing your best to believe that having seen the same black pickup truck for the third time this week was just a coincidence. But L.A. was a big city, and having seen this truck near your house, work and the grocery store was starting to make your mind race.

The windows were all blacked out and the truck was lifted, making it easy for you to pick it out amongst all the other vehicles wherever you went, but you hadn’t ever been close enough to get the license plate.

You reminded yourself that you were strong, working out at the gym four times a week, and were always aware of your surroundings wherever you went and whatever you did; years of living alone and constant warnings from your Dad to never let your guard down making you cautious and untrusting and not ready to take any shit from anyone, but something about this didn't sit right in your gut.

You heard on the news and from multiple friends that someone had been assaulting women in your neighbourhood, having even raped and nearly killed one, so your alertness was more heightened than usual, and ever since you noticed this truck repeatedly, you found yourself looking over your shoulder constantly.

“Hey!” Stacy called, grabbing your arm at the same time, making you jump and whip around with your fists ready to throw a hit, only to realize it was your best friend.

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

“Were you going to punch me? What the hell is wrong with you?” she laughed, looking you over with concern as you worked to settle your heart rate.

You covered your face with your hands, shaking your head. “Fuck I’m sorry! It’s just–”

“What?” she asked, the worry in her voice genuine.

“No, it’s nothing, sorry. I’m fine, I promise.”

“Okay…well at least I know better than to sneak up on you again! Come on, I’m desperate for a coffee, I’ve been sleeping like shit lately.”

You took a deep breath as you hit the lock button on your keyfob, glancing up and down the street you were parallel parked on for any more signs of the black truck before following Stacy across the road to the cafe.

It was still prominent on your mind as you ordered your coffee and found an empty table outside on the patio, but the warm, morning sun was comforting on your face and you felt the tension in your shoulders melt away.

Spending time with Stacy always helped you feel better about anything too, her bubbly personality and ability to put you at ease working the same as it always did even though the topic of the serial attacks came up in your conversation.

“Just be careful, please? There’s so many fucking creeps around…” you muttered, glaring at a man who eye-fucked both of you as he passed by on the sidewalk.

“Oh, don’t worry, Jackson threatens to murder anyone who looks at me wrong. That guy–” she thumbed to the scumbag over her shoulder, “would be buried six feet under already if he was here.”

You laughed into your mug, shaking your head, only to take notice of the next person walking into the cafe over the rim of your drink.

You practically choked on your coffee, quickly grabbing a napkin to wipe your mouth as Stacy followed your stare and pivoted in her chair, her confusion quickly switching to a look of approval.

“Holy shit, that’s hot.”

You simply nodded in response, your eyes still locked on the tall man with the confident walk, his short, blond hair and bright blue eyes captivating even from where you sat. The way his pants hugged his ass didn't go unnoticed, highlighted by how his dress shirt was tucked into them, and you were able to tell he worked out, your mind wandering to filthy images of his toned body despite his professional attire.

“Well, looks like you need a refill,” Stacy prompted, basically pushing you from your chair and ushering you inside. “And I’ll take a muffin!”

You tucked your hair behind your ear as you entered the line, just one person between you and this gorgeous man, the sound of his voice as he ordered a large, black coffee to go making you clench.

He tipped the barista and thanked them with a smile, turning to leave when he took notice of you, his smile growing bigger as he tilted his head curiously at you.

You licked your lips before returning his smile, your heart pounding in your chest as a wave of heat flushed over you from head to toe.

When he finally walked away, you placed your order, remembering a muffin for Stacy, and glanced toward the exit one more time where you caught him taking one last look over his shoulder before stepping through the door.

It was dark by the time you left the gym, the absence of the sun making your sweat cool your skin even faster, but when you caught the black truck parked at the end of the lot out of the corner of your eye, an icy shiver ran down your spine.

You stopped in your tracks, taking a good look at it, and did your best to continue to walk as calmly as you could to your car, not wanting to make it seem like you were scared shitless.

Your hand shook as you unlocked your door and got in, the click of the lock engaging loud in your ears after you quickly hit the button, the engine starting with a low rumble.

It was too far away to see the plate, and when you reversed out of your spot, you dared yourself to drive close enough to it to check.

Your phone was on your lap with the camera already open and ready to snap a photo, but as soon as you approached, the truck took off and peeled out of the parking lot, too quick for you to do anything.

“Fuck!” you hissed, disappointed that you still didn’t have anything concrete on this creep who you now were absolutely certain was following you.

You tapped your steering wheel, deciding what your next move was, and drove down the road toward another gym, wanting to sign up somewhere different considering this person knew where you were working out on top of everything else you did.

Charlie leaned back in his chair as he read over a report, sighing out as he pursed his lips, trying to concentrate on what he was reading, but the conversation at the desk behind him was distracting his focus.

He paused, moving the pages down toward his lap as he glared over at the two detectives talking, and then held them back up to his sightline again, shaking his head.

Willing himself to ignore them, he reread the same paragraph for the third time before slamming the pages down on his desk.

“Alright, that’s enough. How the fuck don’t you knuckleheads have a lead on this creep?” he barked, standing from his chair.

The two detectives looked at him with shocked expressions, the one opening and then closing his mouth again when he had nothing to say.

“Huh?” he asked, raising his arms before letting them fall at his side. “Come on, this guy’s been out on the loose for…what? Three weeks now? And more women are reporting assaults. What the fuck are you doing?”

“There’s just no hard evidence…”

“Whenever we think we have someone, it comes up empty.”

Charlie laughed and shook his head, turning back to his desk. “Jesus Christ. L.A’s finest, everyone.”

“Take it easy, Waldo.”

The stern warning came from behind, making Charlie turn around to face the Chief.

He nodded and cast his eyes back to the stacks of paperwork on his desk, accepting that he couldn’t press it any further, given it wasn’t even his case.

It was something you always did anyway – double checking every lock on your doors – but lately it had become obsessive, and as you made your way up your stairs to go to bed, you stopped midway and trotted back down, checking the front door before you quickly scooted through to the kitchen to check the patio door that led to the backyard.

The lights were already turned off inside and out, and as you passed by the kitchen window over the sink to get to the patio door, you swore you saw a figure standing in your yard.

You stopped, swallowing the lump in your throat, your eyes darting to the door to see that it was in fact locked, but it gave you no relief. You kept your stare fixed on the shadowy resemblance of a man as you blindly felt behind you, your hand finally finding the knife block where you pulled your sharpest one from it.

The buzz of your phone in your other hand made you yelp, startling you so much that it fumbled out of your fingers and fell to the floor, and by the time you picked it up and answered it, hearing Stacy’s voice on the other end, the figure you swore you saw was gone.

“Are you okay?” she immediately asked, hearing the panic in your ‘hello’.

“Uhhh…yeah, I think? Fuck, I don’t know. I– I think I just saw someone standing in my backyard…” you explained, moving through your house to every window, checking if you were able to see anything else.

“Are you serious? Do you want me to come over? I can get Jackson to send one of the guys–”

“No, no, I’ll be fine, I think this whole thing just has me so freaked out that I’m seeing things,” you assured, both for her and yourself.

“You’re really worrying me,” Stacy admitted on the other end, and you felt tears sting at your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be okay,” you swore, willing yourself to believe it. “Did you call for something?” you asked, changing the subject as you still loomed in the dark, staring out your living room window beside the curtains.

“Oh, yeah! You’re going to that new gym right? Did you want to meet tomorrow when you're done? I’ll be in the area after work.”

“Yeah, that’d be great, I can get a post-workout cocktail,” you joked, but you knew with how you were feeling lately you would need more than just endorphins to take the edge off.

You ended your call with Stacy, continuing to survey the front of your house, and after another minute, decided you were being ridiculous and put the knife away, pushing down all your fear as you finally went to bed.

At first you weren’t sure if it was in your dream or not, but your eyes flashed open, hearing another dull bang that made your heart stop.

You held your breath and kept still, waiting to hear it again, and when you did, you bolted out of bed and reached for your phone on your nightstand, dialling 9-1, just needing to hit another 1 if necessary as you crept to the doorway.

With nothing to defend yourself with, you decided to flick on as many lights as you could in hopes alerting whoever was trying to do whatever would spook and leave, and when you didn’t hear anything else after a few minutes, you allowed yourself to finally break down and sob.

It was close to three in the morning when you finally composed yourself enough to get in your car and drive to the police station, deciding to file a report.

“So, you believe you’re being followed?” the officer repeated, making you let out an exasperated sigh.

“Yes!”

“But, you don’t have a plate on the truck you keep seeing, or any idea who this person could be?”

You shook your head, feeling equally embarrassed and frustrated that this cop didn’t seem to be taking you seriously.

“No…”

“Well, Miss, I’m afraid all we can do is take this down until something else comes up.”

“Or until I’m the next one walking in here bloodied and bruised, or worse!” you snapped, rubbing your hand over your head.

The officer sighed and gave you a pitied look. “Is there somewhere else you can stay in the meantime?”

You nodded and accepted defeat, cursing yourself for even bothering coming there in the first place, and turned to walk out.

“Miss, give us a call if you notice anything else,” he advised loudly through the plexiglass partition.

“Yeah, if I’m not dead!” you quipped, half tempted to give him the finger as you left through the automatic doors.

Starting at the new gym was kind of refreshing, seeing a new set of faces each time you were there, and feeling a sense of ease that there was a high chance whoever was stalking you didn’t know you had switched.

You were on the stairmaster, aimlessly scrolling through a used car website, feeling half-tempted to trade your car in for something different as a dramatic precaution, when you glanced up to see a face that wasn’t yet familiar, but had been wanting to see again.

The gorgeous guy from the cafe was walking through to the change room, a duffle bag in his hand, and you watched as he waved to a friend and greeted him, clasping hands with the guy cooling down on the treadmill as he passed.

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow, Martinez,” he said, and as he noticed you, his smile faded slightly to something more amused.

His blue eyes were mesmerizing, and you had to be careful to remember to move your feet at the correct pace, worried you would miss a step and trip on the machine that kept revolving under you.

You swear you moaned when he gave the subtlest of nods as he walked by you, a sort of appeased look playing on his perfect face, and you were certain he was liking what he saw.

Your time doing cardio after your workout ended up being twice as long as usual, unable to peel yourself away as you looked out on Hot Guy moving around on the floor as he went through his routine, continuing to step aimlessly as if you were in a trance. Watching his muscles flex and work beneath his sweat-soaked t-shirt was captivating, and if someone asked you your name right now you probably wouldn't be able to answer correctly.

Losing sight of him through the machines, you decided you'd had enough and finally hit the red button, the belt slowing to a stop that brought you back down to the floor. You grabbed your towel and stepped off, going to get the spray bottle of disinfectant when your shaky legs caused you to stumble, sending you crashing into someone walking by.

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry!” you blurted, righting yourself by gripping their forearm and twisting to see who you were embarrassing yourself in front of.

Hot Guy.

His blue eyes sparkled and the lines surrounding them all scrunched up as his bright smile reached them.

“It’s fine, I'm happy I was here,” he chuckled, his voice as seductive as you remembered it being.

Realizing you were still holding onto him, you quickly let go, smoothing your hand over your hair as you tried to collect yourself.

“Again, I'm sorry!” you repeated, knowing you must look like a complete idiot, but nothing about his body language or expression indicated that's what he thought of you.

“It's all good,” he assured, giving you that same amused look you'd seen twice now that made you feel like you were on fire.

You went to turn away, wanting to get to the change room and spare yourself another scene when you felt his hand gently touch your elbow.

“Don't forget this.” He held your water bottle in his other hand that you had completely forgotten about, and you couldn't help but notice how small it looked with his fingers wrapped around it.

“Oh, thanks,” you stuttered, taking it from him.

“No problem. Have a good day.” He sent you off with a wink, and everything in you prayed the universe would push you two together again.

A couple of days had passed and things seemed to have quieted down; no sign of that black truck or any indication you had a stalker, but you weren't trusting it, that sick feeling washing over you every time you just about managed to forget about it.

You had been to the gym twice since running into Hot Guy there, hoping you would again but with no luck, and it almost made you laugh at how badly you were wanting to see one man while praying a different one would leave you alone and unharmed.

You had just finished cleaning up the kitchen after making yourself dinner, eating as soon as you got home from work with the plan to go to the gym as soon as possible before losing motivation and daylight that helped you feel more comfortable leaving the house, when your phone vibrated with a text. Then another. And another.

You unlocked your screen, seeing an unfamiliar number, and opened the message to reveal three photos of you, each of which looked like they were snapped today.

Your heart fell into your gut, your hands shaking as a sharp gasp shot from your mouth.

One was of you at work through a window, captured from what had to be the park beside the building. You opened the second one and zoomed in, seeing a view of yourself getting into your car that morning, the shot taken from just down the street, but it was the third one that made you run to the sink and throw up, the simple, yet effective picture of your living room from the viewpoint of your couch where you sat each night letting you know this guy had made it into your house while you were at work.

Taking nothing with you other than your phone and your purse, you bolted out the door and locked it quickly, like it even mattered, and ran to your car, hardly able to think but knowing you needed to get to the police station.

The precinct was only five minutes away, but the drive felt like an eternity, your panic not settling a bit as you drove in a daze without really concentrating on how you even got there.

“Okay, but he was in my house!” you stressed, the urgency of your situation clearly not getting through to the second officer you were now speaking to.

“And you're sure you locked the door when you left?”

“Oh my god,” you muttered under your breath. “Yes. Why is no one taking this seriously? This guy knows where I work, and now has broken into my fucking house!”

“Okay, Miss, I understand, I–”

“What's going on here?”

When the man was cut off by someone else, you looked up from where you had hung your head in your hands, shocked to see Hot Guy in a suit standing behind the other officer.

Your face must've done a very obvious switch from defeated to happily surprised, because he smiled at you curiously, giving you a wave.

“Hey.”

“Uhh, hi,” you replied, blinking in shock.

“It's fine, Waldo, I've got it–”

“I'm being stalked,” you interrupted, Hot Guy focused on you anyway rather than the officer beside him. “And it seems no one is doing anything about it. He broke into my house today…”

You passed your phone through the small opening in the protective glass for him to take, once again distracted by his hands as he scrolled through the photos you were sent.

“I’ll take this case over, Rogers. Roger?” he quipped, a smile tugging at his lips as he found his own play on the man's name humourous.

You found yourself smiling too, watching this ‘Waldo’ hold his gaze on Rogers as he handed the folder with your report in it over to him.

“Waldo, you've got enough on your plate, man.”

“It's fine, something needs to be done.”

His eyes were now fixed on you as he was speaking, and you swore you were about to say you were fine when he asked, “Are you alright?”

“Umm,” you paused, trying to find a word that could accurately sum up how you felt. “Terrified, honestly.”

“Yeah, rightfully so,” he sympathized, a genuinity in his voice.

You looked at him curiously, the shock of seeing him again a distraction from everything that was happening.

“I'm starting to think you're the one stalking me,” you joked, surprising yourself at making light of your situation, blaming the adrenaline and frenzy of it all.

Waldo huffed and raised his eyebrows, a smirk tugging at his perfectly pink lips.

“We do keep running into each other, don't we?”

You grinned before biting your lip, trying to collect yourself, completely unsure what to say next and feeling thankful when he spoke again.

“Well, unfortunately I don't have much time for extracurriculars, let alone stalking someone, and that's definitely not a way I'd be letting a beautiful woman know I’m interested in her.”

His smile remained and it reached his eyes, and for a second you thought how you might not mind having someone break into your house if they looked like him.

Before anymore inappropriate thoughts crossed your mind or came out of your mouth, you straightened yourself and let out a deep breath.

“So, what do I do now?” you asked, remembering the gravity of your problem and why you were there.

“I'll have to come by to take a look around and go over everything with you. Now, if that's okay?”

You nodded, “Of course, the sooner the better.”

Waldo escorted you out to the parking lot, wanting to look at your car first before going to your house.

“You haven't noticed anything with your car?” he asked, kneeling beside the front driver's side wheel as he swept his hand around the inner fender.

You shook your head, trying to recall anything unusual.

“No. And I did check for a tracker but couldn't find anything.”

He hummed, moving to the next wheel where he checked all around it the same way.

After going over most of the car and coming up with nothing, you thought he was finished but laughed when he laid on the filthy ground beside it and started to shimmy his body as far under it as he could.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Making sure there isn't a tracker…” he mumbled, his tone a bit blunt and obvious.

He grunted a couple of times, still trying to reach and search every nook and cranny, his long legs the only part of him showing, and you couldn't help but notice how well his dress pants fit him and how this position accentuated what was a large bulge between them.

Waldo crawled back out, his shirt covered in dirt, and held up a small, black device in his grease-stained hand, a satisfied look on his face.

“Holy shit,” you breathed, stunned.

“I'm gonna run this in for evidence, and then we can go,” he explained. “Don't leave without me, you're not going anywhere alone.”

The authority in his command made you squirm where you stood, the insane mix of arousal and fear making you dizzy, the prospect of this man being the one to protect you causing you to hope he would look after you in more ways than one.

---

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[tomatette]

inspired by this post by @toobusybeingdelulu

Going home

All that was left of Billy's body was a pile of ash in a glorified tin can. Not even because the government hadn’t wanted anyone to mess with his remains. The real reason was actually pretty mundane: cremation was a lot cheaper, and Neil refused to spend anything more than the barest minimum on his failure of a son.

So the urn was lowered into the earth, and a few shovels of dirt later, Hawkins, Indiana, was ready to go back to the daily grind.

Max hated it. She hated it more than anything.

Billy and she ... Look, it had been complicated. They were horrible to each other, and there were days when she had, in fact, wished for him to disappear. To be gone.

But then, when her wish came true, she realized that it wasn’t at all what she wanted. And she wished she could take it all back—to undo all the things that went wrong between them.

Because maybe, just maybe, they could have been real siblings. Real brother and sister.

And even though they never had the chance to come into existence, she mourned them. Mourned the people they could have been.

It was too late now. Repentance was a useless thing. It didn’t help the living, it didn’t bring back the dead. Knowing that didn’t stop her though.

*

Three years later and everyone was moving forward. One after the other, they left Hawkins. Nancy and Jonathan first, then Robin and finally Steve too. Neil only waited for a month after the funeral to get out of Dodge (and good riddance!). Now Max and the party were in their senior year of high school and soon they would all be leaving too.

They would all get out of Hawkins one way or the other. Everyone but Billy. Billy who hated this shitty little town, who’d had plans to get back home to California. Who would have hated the idea of being buried here of all places. It was so utterly unfair, it took Max’s breath away just thinking about it.

*

Neil had sold what was left of the Camaro to the local junkyard. The next day Max went there and pleaded with the owner not to scrap it. Under tears she promised she’d somehow scrape together the money to buy it back. The guy - Gus - took pity on her and helped her fix up the badly beat-up half-burnt car without ever asking even a penny. 

At first Max really had no idea what she was doing. She had just turned fifteen and her only experience with cars was sitting in the back or passenger seat and holding on for dear life while Billy cut the corners like there was no tomorrow. And the camaro was pretty much a wreck. So she just sat down in the corner of the junkyard’s shop and helplessly stared at the car Billy had loved so much.

Gus showed her. The man was a gentle giant. He looked like he could lift a car with one hand, but he never raised his voice. Not even when she dropped a wrench on his foot.

It took a while, but she got better at it. She spent a lot of time on the junkyard. So much so that the guys started complaining because she wouldn’t hang out with them anymore. They didn’t understand. They couldn’t. To them Billy was just the jerk who had beat Steve, threatened Lucas and treated all of them - Max included - like shit. And he was. But he also was so much more than that. And he couldn’t really blame the guys for not seeing what she saw. For not knowing what she knew. But a small part of her did. The same part that also blamed herself for not trying hard enough to help Billy. To save him.

She started to help Gus in the shop and in exchange he didn’t charge her for the parts she needed to fix the Camaro. Which probably were worth a lot more than whatever work she was doing, but she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

It was a week before her seventeenth birthday when the Camaro’s engine finally roared to life again, and Max desperately wished everything were as easy to fix as that. Gus’ birthday gift to her was giving the Camaro a new paint job. She burst into tears the day she came over after school and saw it. The car looked as good as new. The same way she had looked when Billy first brought her home.

Darlene, Billy had called her. Now she was her’s and Max figured that Billy would prefer that over having his baby girl end up as scrap metal. Probably. He loved that damned car, but he was also very possessive of her, so she couldn’t say for sure.

She could only hope he would approve.

She desperately hoped he did. 

*

It caused quite the commotion when she turned up to school with Darlene for the first time. Three years might have been enough for people to forget about Billy, but apparently not his car.

*

The night of her graduation she left the party early and drove Darlene to the cemetery where Billy rested. She got a flashlight and a shovel from the trunk and started digging in front of the headstone that said ‘Gone but not forgotten’ until the pan hit something metallic.

The urn.

Gingerly, she picked it from the hole in the ground and placed it on the grass next to her. Then she filled the hole with dirt and covered it with a sod of grass. No one would know she’d even been there.

“C’mon.” She got up, dusted the dirt off her jeans and took the urn. “We have a long way ahead of us, Billy.”

*

It took them almost a week to cross the country to reach the Pacific, Billy in the passenger seat, Max behind the wheel, an eclectic mix of Billy’s favorite bands blasting from the speakers. Darlene never gave her any troubles. She ate the miles like she was starving for it, and Max possibly fell in love with her a little more.

When they arrived in San Diego, she let the windows down and breathed in the hot, salty air that used to be home to her. Cali wasn’t quite home anymore, not after spending all of her teenage years in Hawkins. But Billy had never belonged there. And all he’d ever wanted was to leave. 

“We made it,” she announced, a bittersweet smile curling her lips. “You’re back.”

*

Max got them a room in a cute little bed and breakfast place right at the oceanfront. She put Billy’s urn on the window sill, undressed down to her top and undies and went to bed, utterly exhausted.

She slept for ten hours straight.

*

The soft pink and orange glow of dawn caressed her face when she woke up early the following morning. She skipped breakfast even though she hadn’t eaten the night before and was ravenous. But that had to wait for a little while longer.

She dressed quickly and snatched Billy from the window sill, hugging him to her chest when she left the house.

The morning was nice and balmy. There was a light breeze coming in from the mountains, playing with her hair.

It was perfect.

“Come, big bro, not much longer.” She crossed the street and went down to the beach that was still empty but would soon be crowded. When she reached the waterfront she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

It was time.

Absurdly, she felt sad, having to let Billy go. She had lost him a long time ago. This was just making things right and giving him what he wanted and deserved.

Tears slid down her face when she opened the urn and upended the contents into her free hand. The wind immediately caught some of the ashes, carrying them out, out, out over the waves towards the horizon where the sun slowly set the sky on fire.

Max dropped the now empty urn and had to clamp down on the instinct to cover her hand up to try and keep some parts of Billy with her. Instead she raised both her hands into the air and gently tilted them, so that the wind could take the remaining ashes.

“Godspeed,” she whispered, wiping her eyes and cheeks with the back of her hand. “Be free, Billy.”

She would always miss him. She really would. But now he was at least back where he belonged.

Billy Hargrove had finally come home.