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audisive · 10 months ago

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♪ BROOKLYN BABY. (💌) – previous part

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: the 141 believes the scot now.

tags: fluff, romance, soft!simon, you're basically their mom atp lol, bickering, there's a bet between gaz n soap, gaz secretly wants you shh, ooc characters, not proofread, price being the gentleman he is, he's seriously just watching everything unfold

It's not always that Ghost is willing to let the 141 stay at his house for their traditions – which is just drinking beer and watching sports, really. In fact, he's always said something about his place being empty, so they always settled on someone else's. They stop asking after a year, and in turn, he stops having reasons.

It's not until Soap pops the question again when everyone else's houses are unavailable for a variety of reasons, his being that he left his faucet on and now his shitty apartment is flooded. You can only imagine the suspicion and shock when Ghost agrees (or, rather, simply grunts).

The drive is long, nothing short of 5 hours, and Soap spends the better half of it bickering with either Gaz or Ghost. He falls asleep by the next half, and when he awakes, he gawks at the lovely looking house before their car. There's two stories to it, a balcony, a front porch, and there's no doubt that there's a backyard.

Contrary to popular belief, no, it is not all black or plain at all. It's all equally surprising to them. The Brit isn't the type to care about the appearance and state of a house, usually. They do envision him in a mostly empty apartment with only a bed and a bathroom, though.

There's a delicate touch to where a rough man lives; the smell is almost heavenly when they enter the house. It's homely, the scent of newly washed sheets and lingering smell of food; there's a cat perched on the living room table that Ghost scratches the head of lovingly in a way that's so casual and natural. It's like they're at the gates of–

"Simon!" Heaven's bells ring in their ears, luring them into the doorway of the living room, and the sound of feet padding against the cold floor. There comes a soft-looking thing running into Ghost's arms, completely engulfing you.

You only notice the three familiar faces of your boyfriend's team members – though you know he considers them family if anything – when you pull away. An angel clad in only a cami top, shorts, and Simon's hand around your waist, you turn to look at the group with a surprised look on your pretty – Soap thinks that God, you're so pretty – face. "Oh, hi," you smile sweetly, obviously awkward at the silence and the staring.

"It's been a while," Ever the gentleman, the gruff voice is the first to speak up with your name uttered, the only who's actually met you – John Price. Soap is too enamored with the way you hold yourself and the fact that, holy fuck, even your name's pretty. Gaz raises a brow at the captain's greeting.

You smile once more – a genuine one now. "Nice to see you again, John."

"'S rude to stare, Johnny." Simon speaks out, a smirk under the mask. "Please excuse him, miss," Gaz adds, this beautiful man, and offers a charming smile.

"You must be Gaz," you hold your hand out, "it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine," Kyle forgets that a hand could be this soft and gentle, "and please, call me Kyle." He barely stops himself from turning your hand in his to kiss the back of it like one should to a lady so fair; his lieutenant has good taste in women, he'll give him that. And when you're out of the area, Soap is sure to rub it in Gaz's face. I told ye so! LT wis hidin' somethin' from us. A pretty something, that is. You don't miss the way he slips a twenty-dollar bill into the Scottish man's hand.

"Glad tae meet ye," Soap finally says, winking. "Understand why he wis hidin' a bonnie lass like ye from us." There's a mischievous glint in his eye, almost naturally so.

"A'm hurt, LT, but whit can I do? After all, we're just a couple o' brutes, arenae we?"

Simon watches in amusement, "you'll live." Soap is quick to move to your side as you lead the small group of hulking men through your shared home after that.

Simon is visibly more relaxed with you around. He's comfortable, that much is a given, with the way he's taking up most of the thankfully large couch with his manspreading. So is the 141. They're pampered like spoiled children (or pets, really) through the whole day.

Instead of just beer and faucet water, they're offered a variety of drinks in the kitchen that's enough to be considered a private bar. Instead of an empty belly unhealthily stuffed with beer and a mix of mediocre takeout, they're met with warm homecooked meals. They lose track of time quickly; the night falls by the time they've tired themselves out, and they've had not one, but two meals thanks to you.

(They're sure to commend your cooking skills and think of how lucky this tall brute of a man is blessed with a woman so soft and pliant and wonderful and– while Price is the one to be the most grateful, Soap compliments you the most. "A can practically taste the love." You laugh in turn.)

Gaz is the first to speak after a meal so lovely, they could simply just sleep on the floor comfortably and wake to the same smell of home. "It's a bit late, love, we should probably go."

"Thank you for having us," Price smiles down at you kindly.

"Ye've been lovely, bonnie." He wants to stay some more.

"Wait," you stop them, looking up at Simon for further approval. He's already looking at you with a reassuring brush of his thumb on the side of your hip and a nod. You turn your eyes back at them. "It's already late, you three should stay the night. We have enough room for everyone."

There comes, "we don't wanna intrude," then, "we can take care of ourselves, it's alright."

"Please, I insist." Your smile brightens, "I'll even cook breakfast before you leave."

The mohawk moves with a sigh, "now tha's just no' fair, lass. How are we gonna say no tae that?" You giggle. Only then do they find themselves tucked away in the guest room, and boy, you were right when you said it could fit them all if not more.

On the way to the bathroom in the late hours of the night, Soap catches a glimpse of light through the crack of your bedroom door to see his oh-so strong lieutenant, vulnerable in your arms. There's something natural about the way you cradle the large man and kiss his hair like it's part of your DNA, like you're programmed to do that 'cause Soap thinks you're simply unreal.

He's proud of his lieutenant, this lucky bastard. He turns another blind eye once more, but he's paid in full with another fulfilling meal by the morning.

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thelostconsultant · 5 months ago

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Puppy love

pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

summary: During his karting days, you were one of his opponents, but outside the track he was just a stupid boy who fell in love with a pretty girl. Now, after all those years, you meet again in the paddock, and he doesn't want you to leave.

note: Yes, Jos is an asshole in this (too).

“Have you seen who jumped in to do the interviews?” Charles asked with a wicked smile when he stopped next to his rival after the race. Max hadn’t really paid attention to these details until now, but now that he was informed there was something he should probably know, he looked around to see where the reporter was. “I haven’t talked to her since your dad ruined her career. But she seems truly happy now.”

That’s when his eyes fell on you, the girl who had been haunting him in his dreams for long years, the one who was glowing while talking to the cameraman. He wanted to object, he wanted to say “my dad didn’t ruin her career, she just decided to quit,” but the way you had left certainly hinted at a possible connection between the two events. Because his father’s outburst took place a week before he found out you weren’t coming back to race, and you didn’t even try to contact him ever again.

What made it real hard was the fact he knew you were left heartbroken, and it wasn’t racing that you missed. His mother called your parents to ask them about you, and they said you had been crying in your room for days, but when the option for a call from Max came up, they were quick to shut it down. They said it would be easier for you to move on if he didn’t show up in your life again, and he couldn’t help but blame himself for everything that happened.

If he hadn’t fallen in love with you, if he hadn’t met you on a vacation, if his father hadn’t found out he loved someone, maybe you would still be racing. He remembered your bright smile that was present even after a tough race, and your good mood that was often highly contagious. The boys you raced against loved you dearly, mostly because you brought a different energy into their little boys’ club.

“Max, you’re next,” he was told all of a sudden.

He wasn't ready to face you, but there was no escape. What he had to do now was force a smile on his face and act like he was talking to someone else, someone whose presence didn't affect him half as much as yours did. But the moment he stopped in front of you and noticed a strange glint in your eyes, he had to focus on breathing in and out while you asked your first question.

After the camera was turned off, he cautiously watched you to see if you were planning to approach him, or if you seemed open to the possibility of him doing that. When you looked at him with a smile and said goodbye to the cameraman, he walked over to you with his hand folded behind his back.

“It's nice to see you here,” he said with a small, cautious smile. You nodded, but Max could see behind the cheerful look on your face, he could tell you were tense. “If I'm bothering you, just say it.”

You took a deep breath, and soon your smile changed, and it was now showing a lot more sadness. “It's been a while, that's all. Talking to you in person brings back different memories,” you admitted.

“Good or bad ones?”

Following a shrug, you folded your arms over your chest and looked down at your shoes. “Compared to the ones that come back when I see you or Charles on TV? Bad,” you finally replied.

Max gulped upon hearing this, feeling guilty despite knowing he had done nothing wrong, that whatever happened back in the day was the result of a series of decisions made by your parents. If it was up to him, he would have kept in touch with you, doing his best to see where this puppy love would lead the two of you. Maybe you would have broken up after he got into F1, maybe you would be married by now. It was a question he had no answer to.

The best he could do now was trying to make you understand this, making you see that he wanted to fix things now, even if you would be nothing more than friends. Sure, he had no idea how much you had changed over the years, but he knew there was only one way to find out. “I know it means very little after all these years, but I’m sorry,” he said to break the deafening silence.

You nodded, then to his surprise, took a step closer to him. “I know it wasn’t your fault. My parents told me what happened exactly eventually.”

He watched you closely, trying to figure out if you were interested in a proper conversation, maybe later in private. But before he could speak up, Charles walked over to the two of you and wrapped an arm around your shoulder with a big smile on his face. “It’s been so long,” he said happily, earning a shy smile and a barely visible shake of your head from you.

Max bit the inside of his cheek, annoyed by the sudden appearance of the Ferrari driver, but the main problem was a vivid memory from his childhood. While him and Charles had gone for blood on the track and didn’t have the best relationship off it either, you and the Monegasque were on very good terms, with you even visiting him and his family in his home. It didn’t bother him until his brain finally caught up with his feelings and he realized he had a crush on you, because then he felt intense jealousy every time his rival laid a finger on you, even if it was nothing more than a friendly pat on the shoulder.

You then suddenly moved to give him a hug, and seeing the way Charles wrapped his arms around you made his blood boil, even if he knew deep down that he had no right to be jealous. But it was painfully obvious that the two of you were talking to each other, keeping your voices down as much as you could in the noise around you, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it was all about.

Then he finally let go of you and said goodbye, although the two of you agreed to have dinner in Italy next week to catch up. Max took a deep breath and thought about what to say, but before he could come up with anything, an official came over to drag him to the cooldown room, so all he could do was apologize and say goodbye, wishing he could see you again next week. According to Charles you were supposed to be there in Monza, which meant he would have the chance to talk to you.

To properly talk to you and possibly find out more about your life after you quit racing.

He knew in the cooldown room they were supposed to talk about the race, but all he could think about was asking Charles what you talked about, what was so secretive that no one else could hear it? So, in the end he didn’t say much, he just watched the recap of the race and discussed what he saw if it was standing out. Even while standing on the podium, his eyes scanned the crowd under them, trying to find you as if he was playing Where’s Wally?

On the way home, he spent his time browsing your social media accounts, and he couldn’t help but wonder why he had never checked them. On X, you were posting about F1 news, commenting on them as a journalist, while on Instagram you focused on sharing more personal posts, like photos of your holiday, your hobbies, or yourself in the paddock. There had been so many of those, how come he hadn’t met you before?

Having a glimpse into your life felt so nice that he hadn’t realized he had scrolled back a few years. Well, not until it turned out he accidentally liked a few of your old photos. If you hadn’t seen the notifications, he wouldn’t have noticed that. But you saw them and weren’t shy to send him a DM about it.

The next few days passed with him regularly checking his DMs to see if you wrote to him again, if you changed your mind and decided to have dinner with him, but there was nothing, so he was forced to wait for the perfect opportunity to talk to you in the paddock in Italy. How he would find you in the flurry of people was a mystery, although he had a fleeting idea that maybe their PR team could help him get a hold of you. Not like that could work, a request like this would certainly give them a stroke, assuming he was planning to give a random interview.

His heart skipped a beat when he noticed you at the press conference, talking to some of the drivers behind the cameras. Your eyes were shining brightly, your smile lit up the room around you, and Max felt like he had been taken back to his childhood when all the boys at their karting races swarmed around you to get a scrap of your attention. But those were hormone-driven teenagers, while these guys were grown men, many of them in serious relationships, so he knew it wasn’t entirely the same situation.

This time Max made sure he could stick around after the interviews, hoping to get a hold of you once you were done. He approached you after everyone left and you decided to chat with someone from the crew. He cleared his throat nervously, subconsciously expecting you to yell at him, to tell him to leave you alone. But your poker face was perfect, because you turned to him with a kind smile and acted like you were ready to have a pleasant chat with him. The crew member left you alone, so only the two of you were left there.

“You either don’t understand the word no, or you just learned to completely ignore it because you always get what you want,” you said with a sigh, the smile long gone by now.

He let the last part of the comment go past his ear, instead he just took a deep breath and began to massage the back of his neck. “Can’t we have a pleasant conversation? Just put everything aside, forget about our shared past, and let’s treat this as a chance for a fresh start.”

You watched him with a thoughtful hum for a while, then nodded. “All right. What would you like to talk about?” you asked with a curious look in your eyes.

“Us.”

“There’s no such thing as us.”

“Too bad, because that’s exactly what I want,” he was quick to inform you, mentally kicking himself for being this straightforward, even if it was true. Because he wanted to see if you would be interested in the 2.0 version of your relationship, the chance to see how your young love would work out in your adult lives. “Are you seeing anyone?”

For a moment you hesitated, but then you shook your head. “No. I don’t really have the time for that,” you replied honestly. Before Max could speak up again, though, you began to talk once more. “But I’m a reporter here, dating a driver would be… unethical. I can’t play favorites,” you explained.

Max took a quick look around, then gently placed a hand on your cheek. “We can figure that out later. Let’s focus on step one, which is going on a first date. Tonight? We can turn to room service to help us out if you don’t want to meet somewhere public,” he told you.

“So you want me all to yourself in your hotel room?” you asked with a teasing smile.

He was sure as hell he blushed, because the idea of what you were suggesting hadn’t occurred to him. Having you alone in his hotel room wasn’t something he consciously planned out, he only wanted to meet you somewhere away from the curious eyes. “It’s not like that,” he told you defensively.

“I know, don’t worry. Send me the when and where,” you said as you patted his shoulder. “See you later, Max.”

Nodding, he watched as you walked away from him. He didn’t say a word–no, he couldn’t say a word. His brain was too busy replaying the way his name rolled off your tongue, that sweet, soft tone of your voice as you said goodbye. With his mind still lost in a pink haze, he returned to their motorhome to gather his things and call it a day. He couldn’t wait to meet you, that was all he could focus on.

A few hours later he was sitting on the edge of his bed, his foot nervously tapping on the floor while he waited. You could be here any minute, and waiting was the worst part. Well, maybe the conversation wouldn’t be that much better, but he could still hope for the best. So when half an hour later there was a knock on his door, his lips curled into a wide smile and he rushed over there to let you in.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was held up in the media center,” you apologized the moment the door closed behind you.

Max had to take a deep breath to calm himself. You being close to him again brought back feelings he thought he had long forgotten, and he wanted to give you a kiss, a soft kiss to test the waters with you. But he had to behave, he had no idea where the two of you were standing right now. “It’s okay, don’t worry. So, dinner?” he asked after a short break, giving you a smile.

Food seemed to get you in the mood to chat, because as the two of you enjoyed the various dishes he ordered, you started to tell him about your life after everything that had happened back then. You finished high school like a normal kid, went to college to study journalism, and you managed to get jobs at various places that were related to motorsports, especially F1. That was your dream, to once work with this world, but you were quick to clarify knowing he made it here didn’t give you the idea.

He tried to hide the cocky smirk that wanted to show up on his face, because he was sure what you said weren’t true. A voice in the back of his mind told him you wanted to see him again, that you wanted to get back what had been taken from the two of you all those years ago. After all, why wouldn’t he think that? It didn’t take much convincing to get you to meet him tonight. And if he was delusional? At least it was a nice thought.

It was then his turn to talk, so he told you stories that you had probably never heard, about himself, about the grid, about everything, really. If you asked questions about his family, you focused on his sister and mother, but you were mostly interested in his cats and hobbies. As you told him, you couldn’t understand how he ended up being such a cat dad, but it certainly suited him.

“Charles said he doesn’t get murderous thoughts about you several times a day lately,” you suddenly noted with a short laugh.

Clearing his throat, Max tilted his head to the side. “You talked to him?” he asked casually.

You nodded and took another bite of your pasta. “Yeah, we had dinner yesterday. I remember how the two of you were back then, I was wondering what the situation was now,” you said with a shrug.

A wide grin crept on his face upon hearing this. “So you asked him about me.”

“It was just one question, don’t get too cocky,” you pointed out with a roll of your eyes. “But I’m glad you kinda get along now. It’s nice to see that.”

Max flashed a smile at you, then returned his attention to his dinner. For a while you both ate in silence, but then you got rid of the plates and he found himself wondering what to do next. So he just looked down at his hand and moved it closer to yours, letting his little finger brush against yours as if you were back in your teenage years. You let out a laugh when you noticed, and you looked at him with a kind smile. You weren’t as cold as you had been earlier today, now you seemed to have warmed up to him, ready to give him a chance to show you what he wanted.

So, he took a deep breath and leaned in to kiss you, cautiously moving his lips against yours to make sure he didn’t scare you away. It took you a few seconds, but you eventually eased into the kiss, one of your hands even moving up to his face to keep him close. He couldn’t hold back a quiet chuckle that drew a questioning hum out of you. Max shook his head, then he dived in to kiss you again, but at the same time he let his hand wander under your shirt, even though he could have expected what happened next.

Because you pulled away and pushed his hand away from your body. “Stop, don’t… I shouldn’t even be here, I should just go, and–”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t do this, don’t push me away. I’m sorry. If you want to slow down, that’s exactly what we’re gonna do, okay?” he asked you, his voice desperate. For a minute or two you remained completely silent, you were just watching him with doe eyes, as if you were trying to process what just happened. “Please, just stay,” he said quietly.

You hesitantly took his hand and gulped loudly as you gathered your thoughts. “Listen, it’s complicated. I already told you, I shouldn’t date drivers, but,” you began, but fell silent without finishing the sentence.

Max cupped your face and rested his forehead against yours. “One step at a time, all right? We’ll figure out if this could even work between us, then we’ll decide how to move on,” he said with a soft smile. When you nodded, he kissed your nose. “Good. Do you want to stay with me and cuddle a little, or would you rather go?”

“We just cuddle, right?” you asked with a thin voice. When he nodded, you let out a soft sigh. “Okay, just for a little while, then I’ll leave.”

But you didn’t leave. The next morning he woke up to you sleeping soundly with your head on his chest, snoring softly while you were lost in your dream world. Max couldn’t stop grinning, he was way too excited and happy to keep a straight face. It felt so nice, so natural, that he wondered how long you would be against it. You clearly wanted this as much as he did, but if you needed time, he was willing to give it to you.

As you lay there, he remembered that vacation all those years ago, when your parents not-so-accidentally bumped into his mom. His first date in a local cinema, watching a movie that was dubbed and neither of you could fully understand it. His first kiss in that movie theater with a girl that was special enough to catch his attention. The way you fell asleep with your head on his shoulder one night when your parents talked a little too long in a restaurant on the beach.

And he was hell-bent on going back to that town to experience everything again as adults. All he needed was you softening enough to let him take care of you in front of the whole world.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

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zhelin-thames · 12 days ago

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The night was calm—eerily so, by Amity Park’s usual standards. Danny Fenton, better known to the ghostly underworld as Danny Phantom, leaned against the brick wall of an alley, munching on a cold burger. His patrol had been uneventful for once, and he was planning to call it a night when the sound of footsteps echoed down the street.

Danny didn’t need ghost sense to know someone was watching him. The footsteps were light, precise, and purposeful—not the aimless shuffling of a drunk or the hesitant steps of a passerby. Whoever it was, they were skilled. His eyes flicked toward the shadows, but he kept his posture casual.

And then the kid stepped into the light.

“Train me,” the boy said, his voice even and steady, though his face betrayed a hint of nervousness.

Danny blinked at him. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen, dressed in black from head to toe with a hood shadowing most of his face. But it wasn’t just his age that gave Danny pause. It was the look in his eyes—sharp, cold, and determined. This kid was on a mission.

“No,” Danny replied flatly, taking another bite of his burger. He’d seen this kind of determination before—he’d been this kind of determination before—and he wasn’t about to let this kid follow in his footsteps. The vigilante life wasn’t just dangerous; it was a one-way ticket to pain, loss, and an early grave. Danny had survived by the skin of his teeth, but he wasn’t about to play Russian roulette with someone else’s life.

The kid didn’t flinch. “Train me.”

Danny sighed. “No.”

He turned and began walking away, hoping the kid would get the hint, but of course, he didn’t. The boy followed him like a shadow, his footsteps silent but deliberate.

“Train me.”

Danny stopped and turned to face him. “You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”

The kid shook his head. Danny could respect that kind of persistence, even if it was annoying. Still, there was no way he was getting roped into this.

“Look, kid, I don’t know who you are or what you think you’re doing, but trust me, you don’t want this life.”

“Yes, I do,” the boy said firmly. “I’ve trained for years. I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah?” Danny raised an eyebrow. “And what’s your plan when things go sideways? When you’re outnumbered, outgunned, and one mistake away from getting yourself killed? You think martial arts and stubbornness are gonna save you?”

The boy didn’t answer, but his jaw tightened, and Danny could see the frustration simmering beneath the surface. He sighed again, running a hand through his hair.

“Fine,” he said, crossing his arms. “But we’re doing it my way, got it? First rule: what’s your name?”

The boy straightened, his back rigid with pride. “I am Bruce Wayne.”

Danny froze. Wayne. As in the Wayne family. The rich, fancy folks who owned half the buildings in Gotham. He stared at the kid, suddenly understanding why he was so serious—and why he’d probably been trained in martial arts since he could walk.

“Alright, rule number one,” Danny said, recovering quickly. “When you’re in your vigilante identity, you don’t give people your real name. You need to keep your identities separate. Got it?”

Bruce frowned, clearly not understanding the importance of this, but he nodded.

“Good. Now again—what’s your name?”

The boy hesitated, his brows furrowing as he considered the question. Finally, he squared his shoulders and said, “Batman.”

Danny blinked. Then he blinked again. The kid’s tone was serious—so serious that Danny might have actually been intimidated if not for the fact that his voice cracked halfway through the word.

Danny bit his lip, struggling to hold back a laugh. “Alright, Batsy,” he said, the nickname slipping out before he could stop himself. “Rule number two: no vigilante-ing until you’re twenty. Teenage vigilantes get killed. They make dumb mistakes, and trust me, I know. I was a teenage vigilante, and let me tell you, it’s not worth the risk.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “What? No! I need to protect Gotham. I can’t wait four more years to do that!”

It was the first time Danny had heard any real emotion in his voice. The boy’s face softened, just for a moment, and Danny could see the weight of the world pressing down on his narrow shoulders. He wanted to argue, to convince Danny that he was ready, but Danny shook his head.

“Nope,” he said firmly. “You wait until you’re out of the ‘teen’ range, or I don’t train you. End of discussion. And rule number three, which is kind of an extension of rule number one: don’t give out personal information in your vigilante identity. I know you’re sixteen now, and I wasn’t even trying to get that info out of you.”

Bruce’s lips pressed into a thin line, and a low growl escaped his throat. Danny couldn’t help but think he sounded like a cranky puppy.

“Fine,” Bruce muttered, clearly realizing he wasn’t going to win this argument. But Danny could tell he was already filing everything away, committing the rules to memory. The kid was smart, no doubt about that.

“Good,” Danny said with a grin. “Training starts tomorrow, Baby Bat. Meet me at Nasty Burger. Civvies only.”

Years later, Bruce Wayne stood in the Batcave, his head pounding as he argued with a pint-sized acrobat perched on the Batcomputer.

Bruce opened his mouth to argue, but Danny was already walking away, his laughter echoing down the alley.

“Dick,” Bruce said, his voice low and measured, “you’re not going out there. You’re nine. You wait until you’re twenty, and that’s final.”

Dick Grayson crossed his arms, his small face twisted into a defiant scowl. “But you didn’t wait until you were twenty!”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s different.”

“No, it’s not!”

Bruce groaned. He was starting to understand how Danny must have felt all those years ago.

Meanwhile, in Amity Park, Danny Fenton paused mid-bite of his burger. A strange sensation washed over him—a tingling at the back of his mind that he hadn’t felt in years.

“I don’t know where or why,” Danny muttered, narrowing his eyes at the distance, “but I just know Baby Bat is doing something dumb again. And I don’t like it.”

It had been years since Danny Fenton had reluctantly taken on a certain sixteen-year-old Bruce Wayne as a trainee. The so-called Baby Bat had been stubborn, determined, and relentless in his pursuit of justice—even if Danny had been equally stubborn in making sure the kid didn’t get himself killed before he turned twenty.

Now, years later, Bruce Wayne had turned into Batman—the Batman. The name was spoken in hushed tones across the criminal underworld and was plastered on the news every other week. Danny couldn’t help but feel proud… and maybe a little exasperated.

He’d done his job. Bruce was alive, competent, and running Gotham like a pro. Danny had thought his days of worrying about Baby Bat were long behind him.

But that thought was obliterated the moment Bruce reached out through a very specific secure channel.

Danny leaned back on the couch in his apartment, half-listening to an old horror movie playing in the background while munching on chips. His ghostly senses were quiet, and for once, life was calm.

That’s when the Bat-symbol flashed on his computer screen.

He groaned loudly, almost spilling his chips. “I knew it. I freaking knew it. I should’ve ignored this brat the first time he said ‘Train me.’”

Reluctantly, Danny got up and opened the line. The face staring back at him was unmistakable—Bruce Wayne, older now, with sharper angles and a jawline that could probably cut glass. Despite the years, Danny immediately recognized the faint glint of determination (and maybe stubbornness) in his eyes. Some things never changed.

“Bruce,” Danny drawled, leaning against his desk. “What do you want now? Did you break something? Or someone? Or are you just here to tell me about how Gotham still sucks?”

“Danny,” Bruce said, his voice as grave as ever. “I need your help.”

Danny squinted at him, skeptical. “Help? With what? You’re literally Batman now. What could you possibly need from me?”

Bruce hesitated for a moment, and Danny almost laughed. He’s nervous. What the hell is going on?

Finally, Bruce spoke. “It’s my family.”

Danny blinked. “Your… family?”

“They’re... difficult,” Bruce admitted begrudgingly, and Danny couldn’t stop himself from laughing. He laughed so hard he had to clutch his sides, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“You? You, the most difficult person I’ve ever met, are complaining about difficult family members?” Danny wheezed. “Oh, this is rich.”

Bruce didn’t look amused. “Danny.”

“Alright, alright,” Danny said, wiping his eyes. “What’s the deal? You’ve got Alfred, right? Let him handle it.”

“This is different,” Bruce said, and Danny could hear the faintest edge of discomfort in his voice. “You’ll see when you get here.”

And with that, the line cut out.

Danny stared at the blank screen for a moment before sighing. “I swear, if he’s gotten himself in over his head again…”

Danny arrived at Wayne Manor via ghost portal the next evening, stepping out of the swirling green vortex in his Phantom form. The grandeur of the place hit him immediately—it was just as ridiculous as he remembered.

He floated down into the Batcave, landing silently behind Bruce, who was reviewing a crime map on the massive Batcomputer.

“Alright, Batsy,” Danny said, his voice echoing in the cave. “What’s the big deal?”

Bruce didn’t even turn. “They’re here.”

Danny was about to ask who when he heard a series of rapid footsteps and loud voices approaching from the tunnels.

“—I told you to stop touching my stuff, Todd!”

“Like I care, Drake!”

“You’re both insufferable,” another voice cut in, colder and sharper.

“Guys, please!” someone else chimed in, clearly exasperated.

And then they were there—a collection of teenagers and young adults, each looking like they belonged in their own action movie.

Danny blinked. “Bruce,” he said slowly, turning to face him. “Why do you have an army of kids?”

Bruce sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose as his children assembled in front of Danny.

“Danny, meet my… family.”

The first to step forward was the oldest—a grinning man in his twenties with an acrobat’s grace and bright, mischievous blue eyes. “Dick Grayson,” he said, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Danny shook it, eyeing him warily. “The original Robin, huh? Bruce talks about you sometimes. Says you’re the ‘good one.’”

Dick smirked. “Good to know I’m still the favorite.”

“Only because you don’t give me headaches,” Bruce muttered.

The next kid to step forward was a young man with a white streak in his dark hair, a leather jacket, and an air of barely-restrained chaos. He didn’t offer a handshake.

“Jason Todd,” he said, his voice rough. “And you’re the guy who taught Bruce how to nag, huh?”

Danny snorted. “And you’re the one who probably causes most of his headaches.”

Jason smirked. “Damn right.”

The third was a lanky teen with sharp eyes and a smartphone glued to his hand. “Tim Drake,” he said, not looking up from the screen.

“You’re the tech guy, I’m guessing?” Danny said.

Tim nodded distractedly. “You could say that.”

Next was a young boy, no older than ten, with a scowl that could probably scare grown men. He crossed his arms and glared at Danny.

“Damian Wayne,” he said. “Biological son.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “Ah, the little terror Bruce never shut up about.”

Damian bristled. “I am no terror—”

“Yes, you are,” everyone said in unison.

Danny turned to Bruce, his arms crossed. “So… what do you need my help with? Because it looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

Bruce sighed heavily. “They don’t listen to me. Half the time, they’re arguing. The other half, they’re trying to outsmart each other—or me.”

“And?” Danny prompted.

“And,” Bruce said reluctantly, “I thought you could help… mediate.”

Danny blinked. Then he started laughing again. “You want me to babysit your army of vigilantes?”

“It’s not babysitting,” Bruce growled.

But it absolutely was.

Over the next few days, Danny found himself in the middle of Bat-family antics. Whether it was Jason and Tim bickering over whose tech was better, Dick trying to wrangle everyone for a “team-building exercise,” or Damian threatening to fight literally everyone, Danny was beginning to realize why Bruce looked so perpetually exhausted.

But for all the chaos, there was a sense of family here that Danny couldn’t help but admire. It reminded him of his own ragtag group back in Amity—Sam, Tucker, Jazz, even Vlad in a weird way.

Eventually, Danny pulled Bruce aside. “You know,” he said, “for all your complaining, you’ve built something pretty amazing here. They’re not just your team—they’re your family.”

Bruce looked at his kids, a rare flicker of softness crossing his face. “I know,” he said quietly.

Danny grinned. “Well, you’re still a pain in the ass, but I think you’ve done alright, Batsy.”

And so, Danny’s unexpected reunion with Bruce turned into a week-long crash course in dealing with the next generation of vigilantes. By the time he left, he was exhausted—but also a little proud.

As he stepped back through his portal, he shook his head with a smile.

“Baby Bat really did grow up, huh?”

Somewhere in the Batcave, Bruce smirked.

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snifferish · 11 months ago

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Never in my life did I think that re-tweeting resources for SA, and supporting victims would be considered problematic or performative.

I should not have to bare this, but I'm going to tell just one of my stories, because I need you to understand where I'm coming from. TW // Sexual Harassment

When I was 15, I had my wisdom teeth removed. I wanted to avoid using the pain medication they prescribed. I struggle a lot with sensory issues, medications and substances made it worse.

However, my surgery was for impacted teeth, and only two days in one of my stitches fell out. I was in so much pain, and couldn't eat solids w/ out pain for up to three weeks.

So, a week into my recovery, one of my friends invites me to their house. They were having our friend group over, it was just a little bonfire get together kinda thing. I took my pain meds a few hours prior, and only half a dose, but I was out of it to some degree, and somehow still in pain.

I was sitting on a lawn chair outside, when one of my close friends came over and asked to sit on my lap. Honestly, I said yes at first, because this was my childhood friend, someone I trusted, and I thought our relationship was incredibly platonic. Then he started to shift/grind about in my lap, and I started to feel things of theirs I did not want to. They made a noise that deeply unsettled me, and I told him to get off, they didn't. It was only when I told them that he accidently triggered the emergency call shortcut on my phone (it was in the pocket of the lawn chair, yes they were moving that much and I was moving trying to push him off) that he finally got up.

I was bewildered, and a bit confused, and also embarrassed that my phone nearly called 911. I claimed I wasn't feeling well, and went home early.

That was the first time someone touched me in a remotely sexual way, but I didn't dare to label it until I talked to my therapist. It made me dwell on a lot of experiences with this person as well. How obsessed they were with being taller than me, how often they'd grab me and force me to see if they were stronger than me. At the time, I was in a friend group of predominately non-men, and they were all friends with this person.

However, when I told them about this, when I expressed the discomfort it brought me. I was brushed off. "He's just like that!" oh "He probably didn't mean it" etc.

I didn't feel comfortable in the same room as this person. My friends would continue to invite them to hang outs. One of my other friends told everyone about what happened without my permission. I started having breakdowns in my classes with him. I had panic attacks all the time. I felt as if I had to continue this façade of being nice to him, or else I would lose my friends of years and years.

I was happy when covid started, because for the first time I had breathing room, but by then so much of my trust was dismantled.

Due to my friends association with this person, and the fact that not being their friend excluded me. I eventually got over it, and told myself I'd grown past it.

Three months ago, this same person admitted to me they hold extreme grudges against me, that they projected their "mommy issues" on to me, and quite literally said the words, "Yeah yeah, you're a woman who's outspoken and challenged me and that bothers me yeah yeah." in regards to that. They said it with sarcasm, like it was something they knew, and their mother was reminding them for the 12th time.

I bring this all up, not to make you feel guilty, but to discuss the harm of not supporting victims, not listening to them. It puts them in a position of isolation, and in a position to potentially be hurt again.

So yeah, I'm gonna be a little upset when people say I'm being "performative" about supporting victims of sexual harassment and SA. I'm not doing this because it benefits me, in fact it's caused a lot of backlash, horrible dms, and very triggering memories.

I'm doing it because I was once not heard, and i've sat with Caiti behind the scenes for months watching her lose passion for something she loved (content creation).

I didn't do this because I'm secretly sniveling behind the scenes tapping my fingers praying on peoples downfall. I'm not a Disney villain dude lmfao.

Honestly, this narrative that is being pushed, that people are doing it "because it benefits them" is quite ironic, considering most of the people talked about within the last 72 hours were under Wilbur's weird ass apology doing just that.

I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. I hate how people are okay with this narrative, the misogynist undertones of it. I've seen people admit that they didn't like me or my friends the entire time, while simultaneously "calling us out" about this, so I ask you,

Are you calling us? Because it benefits your motives? Your feelings?

#snifferish #tw sa mention

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heartowan · 2 months ago

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★ WINTER VISITOR : red hood x reader!

( cuss words ) ──────────────── ★

* im not from america so i have absolutely nooo idea how much is -20°c in fahrenheit im sorry 😭 *

You used to enjoy winter so much more when you were a kid. The snow, the warm clothes, the atmosphere, your mom's hot chocolate... everything was so perfect back then. Now, though, you didn't like it as much.

Not because you grew up to be an insufferable grump, but things weren't as easy. At 9, you didn't have to walk on snowy streets from campus to work to your house in a -20°C weather. Freezing your ass used to be fun when it was voluntary.

But, fortunately, the holidays were already coming, so you wouldn't have any more classes during these few weeks, and you'd also get a few breaks from your job at the bookstore. Finally, some rest.

That's what you thought when you approached your porch, pulling out the keys to open the door in a practiced movement, but you stopped when your eyes caught a glimpse of something red. Then you walked a little closer, and you were able to make out the shape of someone sitting down with their legs stretched, hand cluching their side, a weird helmet on their head and a little cropped brown jacket... what a weird combination.

You knew that helmet, though. You lived in his area, after all.

"Can I help you?" Anyone, literally, anyone, would advise you to not speak to him and simply go find some place else to crash for the night until he went away. The thing is, you wouldn't listen anyway.

He raised his head in your direction, the white eyes of that creepy/fucking weird helmet staring at you, sizing you up and probably judging the fact that you were wearing green tights and red shoes. But, hey, who even was he to judge your style choices?

"Actually, yeah." He said, and even with the modulator distorting his voice, you could hear the hoarsness and the faint tireness. "I'm fucked up over here, I'm not sure I can walk anymore."

You furrowed your eyebrows at that and reached for the phone in your pocket. Carefully, you crouched down beside him and turned on the torch to be able to see his wound better. "Let me see." You said, urging him to take his hand away.

He revealed the wound to you, and God, it was nasty. A bloody and very bumpy gash started from the left side of his abdomen to a little bit before the height of his shoulder blade. Absolutely disgusting. Whoever did that was probably trying to split him in half.

"Oh, my God." You mumbled, your eyes widened at the sight.

"Yeah." He added, nodding his head in understanding to your shock. "Can you at least let me in to... I don't know? Clean it up? It just starts bleeding more if I walk, and I don't wanna get an infection."

What kind of stupid fucking little dumbo would let a stranger dressed like that into their house, especially in Gotham?

"Yeah, come on in." You said, your eyebrows furrowing even more at your own brainlessness. They were almost knitted together like a unibrow.

★...

He sat down on your couch like his body weighted tons, and you noticed how his wound did an odd ripple movement. It just got weirder.

"I have a first aid kit in my bathroom." You said, stripping off your coat and your jacket. "I'll go get it. Do you need anything else?" He just shook his head, and you quickly disappeared into the little hallway.

Red Hood used this moment to look around your house, trying to distract himself from the pain and dizziness. He took in how your walls weren't white, but some kind of eggshell color and there was a green wall too, that one covered in framed paintings, pictures and many posters, as well as some hanging plants.

There were just so many plants. Your couch was more comfortable than his bad, and you had a fluffy mat at the center of the living room, between the couch and your bookshelves, which were full of books he could barely recognize in the dim light.

Oh, yes, the lamps. You had little lamps everywhere and one big lamp beside the couch, but they were all warm and barely even illuminated a thing. They made the room very cozy, though.It was so homey, and it looked like you. If he saw you randomly on the street and for some reason he decided to guess what your house looked like from the inside, that would be it. Maybe not as many lamps, but still.

"Okay, I'm back." You walked out of the little hall in hurried steps, a little red box in your hands. You kneeled close to him on the couch. "Fuck, the lights." You mumbled, and he though your annoyed tone was funny, so he smiled a little under his helmet.

After switching on the big, white light, you kneeled again and gently moved the ripped fabric of his shirt away from the cut. He was staining your couch with blood, but you decided not to care at that moment. With some gauze and saline solution, you cleaned the whole thing up, the sides, and what you could reach of the insides, then, you sprayed some antiseptic on it.

"This is disgusting, but I don't think you'll need stitches." You murmured, not looking at him. Your eyes were focused on the wound. "At least not on the whole thing."

"I can manage." It was all he said.

"I'm gonna patch it up so it isn't exposed." He simply nodded at that, and you started covering the extension of the gash with the little pieces of gauze you had, and then, you secured them with some adhesive tape. "All done."

He stayed there for at least forty minutes, and you noticed how he seemed to have fallen asleep at some point. Maybe he was too tired. You didn't care, but you let him rest anyway.

When he woke up from his nap, you had changed outfits into something more comfortable than the jeans you wore before. A pair of gray sweatpants and a very soft brown hoodie on top of your black Iron Man t-shirt.

"You want some tea?" You offered, looking down at him as he seemed to access the situation — probably forgot what the hell had happened for a second.

"Yeah... yeah. What is it?" He mumbled, his distorted voice sounding groggy. You smiled faintly at that.

"It's peach and ginger." You said. "I like it."

You poured a small amount of it in a little mug you had. It was one of your favorites, with little leaves painted all over it.

"I put honey on it, tastes better." You handed him the mug. And then it hit you... how the hell was he gonna drink the tea with that weird ass helmet on? "How do you- oh."

He shut you up when he removed the helmet after one little click at the back of it.

"You wear a mask under your helmet?" You arched one eyebrow, and he chuckled at your reaction.

"It's for the effect." He said and took a sip of the tea. "Very sweet."

You took a moment to look at the exposed parts of his face. He had a few scars all over it, a sharp jaw and slightly plumpy lips, which were rosy from drinking the tea. He also had flushed cheeks, probably from the cold and a seemingly straight nose. You couldn't really tell the shape from that distance.

"Thanks for taking care of that... and for te tea. And for letting me nap on your couch." He said, looking up at you.

His voice sounded so melodic now without the modulator. It was just slightly raspy, not absurdly deep, but not even a little bit high, and just so much more easy on the ears than you'd ever expect Red Hood's voice to be.

"You're leaving?" You asked in a slightly exasperated tone that surprised both of you and put your own mug down. "You sure you're gonna be alright?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Don't worry." He shook his head, waving his hand as if to say it wasn't a big deal. You just shrugged at that.

He put his mug down, it was almost empty. So he liked the tea. With his helmet in hand and walking a little more stable than before, he offered you a small smile before stepping over to your door.

"Bye." He murmured. "Thanks again."

You stood there after he left, in your living room, with the big light on, staring at the door. What an unusual night. Your eyes drifted back to the blood stain on your couch, and you groaned internally at the fact that you were the one that was gonna have to clean that.

That only reinforced your belief that vigilantes only brought more and more trouble.

☆

first part here !!

#jason todd #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #winter #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #dc comics #sorry for any mistakes #i didn't proofread this

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amethxxt · 8 months ago

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i'm ranting about descendants again and this is a long one

Alright, I talked a little bit about this on twitter literally yesterday (https://x.com/amethxxt/status/1798768561613361458) but I wanted to do it here too, so here we are!!

I think everyone has seen these pictures by now. It's from Descendants new book "The World of Auradon: Royals & Villains".

Now, at first, I got really excited (in a way, I still am) because it'll probably give me more material to use in my fics. Also, Uma looks absolutely stunning, so I immediately began reading her page and... Well, it's not the nicest things, right?

Like I said on twitter, I can't be the only one who sees the majorly different ways they talk about Uma and Mal.

With Mal, they start saying she's a "confident natural leader", and like- no, she's not, far from it.

I think the best version we got from Mal was on D1. She was such a good character and that's when I think the writers succeded the most with her - I believe it was hard to find someone who actively disliked or simply hated her.

When D2 came out, things went slightly downhill. Mal's inner conflict of not being the picture perfect Lady of the Court and feeling that the odd one out because she wasn't doing well in Auradon when compared to her friends is very realistic.

The pressure that she was feeling to be perfect and all the new things that came with being the King's girlfriend makes you understand why she was so anxious and wanted to leave. Now, I think we should all understand that this makes Mal a very insecure person.

She's insecure, she's flawed and runs away the first chance she gets because everything becomes too much. And if they wrote her like that, how is she a confident natural leader?

When the Core Four and Ben go after her, it's when things begin to change. Mal has a few moments in this movie: running away and leaving just a note to her best friend, claiming Dizzy was going to be fine when Evie felt sorry about leaving a child in the abusive place they all grew up in, betraying Uma's trust. Yeah.

I'm gonna make it very clear that I really like Mal as a character. I criticize her a lot because the writers started putting her in a pedestal, overpowering her and trying to erase anything that could be seen as bad.

Why would they have Mal apologize for using a love spell on Ben when they make such a cute couple and would be endgame anyways?

It gets worse in D3. I remember watching them announce that Hades was Mal's father and being like "No fucking way" because you want this girl to be not only half-fairy but a half-god?? Was this the only way to have his ember in the story?

Well, I think we got used to that plot after a while, but then - Oh, Mal's also Lady of the Court, she'll be a part of the decisions that concern the Isle of the Lost and a voice for the other VKs.

Yes, Mal is "a confident natural leader" who turns her back on her people and comes up to the idea of closing the Barrier for good to protect Auradon citizens.

Why do they refuse to bring up the fact that it was her idea?? Nevermind the fact that her and Ben weren't married yet, she was not the Queen and had absolutely no power to make that decision. They make Ben so useless, a King with no voice because he's not the main character, right?

So she makes a decision that's not up to her and proceeds to lie to all of her friends, makes empty promisses to both Celia and Uma, and when shit hits the fan, nothing happens.

Having Evie confront her about it is one of my favorite scenes, but what are the consequences? I understand that it was the final movie, but it's so rushed that makes everyone else feel out of character.

Mal and Evie can be the best of friends, but you can't tell me Mal would be like "I was wrong, I have to be a voice for everyone and I shouldn't have lied" and Evie would be just "Ok, perf".

And what about the opposite? When Mal betrays Uma for probably the third time, Uma has no trouble forgiving her? Of course they don't mention what happens in the books, they don't mention Mal trying to hurt Evie (or even get her killed lol) and they don't mention the "shrimpy" incident with Uma.

They don't talk about Mal's wrong doings the same way they talk about Uma.

Uma, according to the new book, is a "confident and resourceful VK with a major mean streak". Sorry, Uma has a mean streak? I don't think so. What Disney and Descendants keep doing is use the definition of a villain for a character who's an antagonist.

Villains have malicious intentions, they are evil. You're gonna tell me the girl who simply wants for all the children to get off the Isle, a place they were forced to live in along with murderers and other criminals, some of those who happened to be their parents, all while surviving off of the garbage that came from Auradon, is the evil one?

That is not to say Uma doesn't make mistakes or does bad things. Mal and Uma have the common point of using a love spell on Ben, which is awful and should be acknowledged as that, but they only do it in Uma's case.

"When Mal and her friends successfully freed Ben, Uma took it one step further by putting Ben under a magic love spell" x "She [Mal] used spells to mess with other students, to convince Ben that he loved her, and to change herself in order to fit in as Ben's girlfriend. But once she realized she needed to ditch the spell book and learn to survive without magic, she was able to become the queen she was always meant to be"

Those... are not the same to me. They detail every thing Uma does during D2, making it clear that using a love spell was worse than the previous actions of kidnapping him, but with Mal it almost feels like they excuse her actions because, eventually, she learned that magic wasn't the way to become who she was meant to be.

Also, what do you mean Mal felt guilty about the other VKs who were left behind? Mal didn't even look sad when her and Evie were leaving Dizzy behind! Evie was the one to come up with the idea to bring more children to Auradon, and when that magically turned into the VK Day (my arch-nemesis plotline along with Merlin Academy), she didn't look worried at all that it would them so long to free all the kids if they were going to pick 4 each time.

And again, her idea to close the Barrier for good (with no way in or out) would mean that eventually, everyone left in the Isle would die. I know it's Disney, and they would never make that happen, but if you're not going in to even leave your trash there (aka their food source), yeah, they're all dying.

Now, with Uma, they point out how she wanted to escape and get revenge on Mal, but like...... not really? Of course she mentions in D2 how she wants Mal's new turf and tries to make a deal with her to leave with her crew, but when she's actually free and we get into D3, it's been months (I think) and while Auradon's scared she's going to do something, we find out Uma spent all that time looking for a hole in the Barrier to get the kids out.

When she makes another deal to help Mal, all she asks for is the guarantee that every kid who wants to leave the Isle is able to do so. Who breaks that promise? The "villain" with the major mean streak or the confident natural leader?

I'm not saying that Mal is real villain, because she's really not. But she's far from how they describe her and if you're gonna tell me she's a natural leader, I better not see her bringing down the Barrier, letting both the kids and villains out, and acting like it's the right thing to do.

VK Day wasn't the answer to free the innocents, but bringing down the Barrier isn't it either! Mal doesn't "help convice Auradon citizens to accept all VKs into Auradon Prep" she just decides to do that lol

And again, that decision is not up to her, she had no legal right to do it. She was just Lady of the Court and nothing else.

Like I said on twitter, Disney and Descendants like Uma because she's a fan favorite, she was one since they announced her as a character. But they insist on the idea that Auradon changed her for the better, as if she was never someone who fought for what was right. She's not perfect either, but they can't write about her in a way that makes her look better than Mal.

How did Mal stop her at the end of D2? Mal didn't do anything, they were fighting, Ben made a speech, Uma turned around and left. That was it.

How did Auradon transform her? Of course they are implying that because of Rise of Red and her becoming the new principal, and even though this plot still kinda confuses me, it still seems like all the wants is for Auradon to be a fair place that doesn't discriminate against anyone.

I now this is getting too long, but I really like ranting about descendants. It's my comfort franchise but there's so many things wrong with it lol

And I also know I'm probably looking too deep into it, but I don't think I'm the only one who sees the ways Disney has always treated Uma and Mal differently.

I want to get this book and see if there's anything else about them. I really wished Disney and Descendants treated Uma better, though.

#disney descendants #descendants #descendants mal #descendants 2 #descendants 3 #uma descendants #descendants rise of red #rise of red #descendants ben #descendants evie

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k-pepp · 1 year ago

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With the final season of YR coming up, I’ve been thinking about Wille’s journey again. Because he’s 16, we won’t know if he actually chooses to renounce his title or remain in his role as future king, but I have a feeling this season will give us an indication which way it will go. So, before we get any type of confirmation, I want to get my current thoughts out. I’m aware that a lot of YR Tumblr skews toward King Wilhelm so my pro-renounce post might not resonate with anyone and that’s ok. I just want to put all my thoughts together before S3 comes along with something that totally blows all my opinions and assumptions out of the water 🙂 I understand the idea of wanting Wille to be King because he could be such a great leader. He is kind and compassionate and can be good at taking charge. BUT just because a person could be good at something, doesn’t mean they should be forced to do it. My number one reason for being in favor of Renouncing his Title is the sheer fact that Wille doesn’t want to be King. He doesn’t want the title. He doesn’t want that life. Wille has been shown a multitude of times talking about how he struggles with the duties that come with being a prince. Whether it’s with Erik:

Or August:

Or Boris:

(honestly, this boy will spill his guts to anyone who is willing to even half listen to him. My god. I’m so glad they gave this poor kid a therapist) He's also talked about how he feels trapped in this position. For him, to renounce the throne would be freedom. Freedom to live a life he actually wants.

Even the mere idea of staying in his current position makes him physically ill.

Some people take the end of episode 2x06 to mean he’s moved beyond all that and accepted his role as the future king. I didn’t personally see it that way. I saw it as a combination of a few things. 1) When come face-to-face with it, he just couldn’t let August give the speech (But the fact that he was initially willing to let someone who distributed revenge porn against him become king really speaks to how much he definitely doesn’t want that position) 2) He didn’t want Simon to have to compromise his happiness and give in to a situation he didn’t actually want 3) He didn’t want to hide anymore. He wanted to be himself. Wille is a person who craves authenticity. Which brings me to a bigger point… Life as the Crown Prince / King is inherently inauthentic. One of the main pro-King arguments is that he would blaze his own trail and do things his way. But how? Being a member of the royal family is a job. The basic responsibilities of that job are to do things like diplomatic visits, hosting events, being part of photo ops, schmoozing with people… pretty much all things having to do with putting on a public persona. It’s great that he could be himself in the sense that he would be the first queer Crown Prince / King, but the baseline duties he would have to fulfill are still inherently inauthentic. And I don’t know how he would “do it his way” aside from just not doing it. He hates putting on fake smiles

the photo ops

the schmoozing with people

Erik even told Wille, the way to get through that stuff is to just pretend to be someone else.

We know he’s capable of doing it. We saw how charming he could be at Parents Day weekend. But that was because he wanted to sit with Simon and impress Simon’s mom. Other than that lunch, he mostly hid in his room. And it goes back to my original point. Just because someone may be good at something doesn’t mean they should be forced to do it. (And yes, even if he walked away from the line of succession, he could still have familial obligations, but it wouldn’t be anywhere near the level of what is expected now) At this point, Wille is only continuing as Crown Prince because of a commitment to his family. Mainly Erik.

He doesn’t want to let him down or feel like he’s betraying his legacy. To Wille, Erik was perfect. We only saw two full conversations between them and in both conversations, Erik was telling Wille to get his act together because “it’s not that hard”.

That quote is probably something he told Wille a lot. So much that Wille later regurgitates it to Boris. Three different times.

Going on to say that Erik could handle everything easily.

Based on the fact that Erik was going to Boris, he probably wasn’t managing everything with ease. But in Wille’s perception, he was. Wille is basically chasing a ghost. Self-imposed pressure of unattainable perfection. He bears a guilt that pushes him to want to be someone he thinks Erik would be proud of. The problem with that is, Erik was a monarchist. Maybe he struggled a bit (which is why he went to Boris), but based on the things he would say to Wille, he backed the monarchy / family completely.

Ultimately, I just want Wille to be happy. Maybe S3 will completely change my outlook and I’ll root for him to become king because that’s what he wants. But right now, I think he only wants it out of a sense of obligation to Erik. And honestly…maybe my most controversial opinion…if he did stay in his position because of Erik, he probably wouldn’t change that much within the institution. I mean, he couldn’t change much even if he wanted to. He wouldn’t be allowed to do big things without the consent of the Swedish parliament and maybe a public referendum. And I doubt he’d even have the capability to make small changes. As already pointed out by @piebingo in this great post, Kristina didn’t actually want August to be next in line. But she was overruled. The Royal Court has a lot of power and making any sort of reforms or independent decisions is not that simple. Especially within an establishment that relies on keeping everything exactly the same. But even if that weren’t true. Even if Wille could snap his fingers and make all these huge changes… part of me doesn’t think he would. I know a lot of the folks who are pro-King Wilhelm want him to become the king just so he can completely destroy it from within. But to me, in Wille’s eyes there would be no bigger betrayal to Erik’s legacy than Wille burning the institution to the ground. And if he wants to live up to Erik’s legacy. Not betray him. Not let him down. He will act as he thinks Erik would act. If Wille becomes king because of Erik, he’ll maintain the establishment because of Erik. And he would be miserable doing it. Miserable and without Simon. Yes, my other controversial opinion. If Wille stayed as king, Wilmon wouldn’t make it. Simon is described to us as a socialist. One of his introductory scenes is him calling the monarchy the country’s biggest welfare scammers. I can’t imagine Simon giving up his musical dreams to join an institution that he hates. I also can’t imagine Wille letting him do that. That was such a big part of Wille’s growth in Season 2. Wille wouldn’t let Simon sacrifice his happiness for the sake of his own happiness (being with Simon). Even if Simon didn’t end up pursuing something in music, he made it clear in his talk with Rosh and Ayub that he wants to work hard to make something of himself.

I mean, look at him. Look at this sweet baby angel’s face when he’s told he has an opportunity that will open doors to his future. I can’t imagine him giving up his ambitions or autonomy to become prince consort. Having to live every day under royal rules and protocols. Maybe he would. I personally can’t see it. And finally, I know a main reason people like the idea of King Wille is because we like the idea of a queer king. But as much as we all want queer representation; I don’t think it should be anybody’s responsibility to be the political representation that people want to see. Wille shouldn’t be in a position he hates because he’s queer. A queer person living their life and getting out of a toxic situation is also good representation. A person can’t fix the problem by becoming part of it. Having him be the face of an institution that’s been about exploitation and oppression isn’t going to solve it. It's always been said by Lisa and Edvin that Wille’s problem is not that he’s queer. It’s that he’s a prince. Everything about what’s making him unhappy is about him being prince / the future king. Him walking away from his title would be about him escaping a future that would make him miserable. Personally, that’s what I’m hoping for.

#I’m sure all of this will be useless when S3 comes out #Since Wille is only 16 it’s pretty useless now 😅#But I’m happy to finally have these S1 and S2 thoughts out of my head #young royals #pro (eventual) abdication

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parksunghoonism · 3 months ago

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rant about @/drunkhazed.

If you haven’t seen yet, a writer—a real person—on this app, here, in this godforsaken place, posted a teaser to a fanfiction she was writing that would be about the k-pop group Enhypen. Now, you may be wondering, ‘Well, what’s so wrong with a teaser?’ What’s wrong about the teaser is the fact that the fanfiction was quote ‘inspired’ by the real life case of Lyle and Erik Menendez.

Yes. About the two brothers who went through emotional and sexual abuse by their own father. Yes. About the two brothers that while being traumatized, their own mother stood by and did nothing to protect her own children.

This person says in their most recent post: “My original plot was based around 1 member only, but after watching documentaries about the case, I was inspired to make this a story about brothers.”

So, what you’re saying is, you fucking knew about the case beforehand, and yet still chose to start writing the fic. So, what you’re saying is, even after gaining more knowledge about the case, you again still chose to continue to start writing the fic, and in doing so, chose to even develop it more.

Oh, and another thing, this person also says: “I am behind the brothers 10,000% personally, and hope for their peace.”

Now, someone explain to me this, because maybe I’m a little stupid, maybe I’m the one who just can’t understand and I’m simply being a judgmental prick. But, why would someone write a fanfiction inspired by the trauma of people who they say they hope for peace for? Because you’re actively using their past to write fanfiction about more real people.

Currently, the brothers, Lyle and Erik Menendez, are 56 and 53 years old. They were first arrested back in 1990 when they were 21 and 18 years old. That means, the brothers have spent damn near half of their lives as criminals, and they were going to die as criminals after they were given a life sentence.

Finally, in the replies of this post, this person had told another commenter under a reply—of which I cannot see, because the original poster removed it: “There is nothing else to be said.” With this ‘😐’ emoji added at the end.

Yes, there is.

Why do claim to ‘apologize’ when you remove replies? Why do you claim to ‘apologize’ when you’re going to delete the post? Why do you claim to ‘apologize’ when half of the replies in which people are rightfully calling you out, you have removed? Why do you claim to apologize when you are later going to delete the said ‘apology’? You’re not apologetic, you’re doing damage control.

Moving on, how is people seeing your face relevant to the fact that you’re trying to apologize about something? I seriously don’t get that, and I doubt that needed to be said, unless you were trying to gain some sort of sympathy from other people.

My final point, and quote: “Everything else being thrown in, is truly just slanderous, and hate to say—bullying.”

Now, what I am about to say, is going to be a tad vulgar, so, if you don’t like that, I apologize, but, I am incredibly upset at the time that I am writing this.

Nobody, in their right god damn mind, gives an actual fuck if you feel like you’re being bullied, when you were fully aware of what you were doing, when you decided to write your shitty-ass ‘work.’ You, yes you, chose to continue to write your stupid fucking fanfiction, even after you had learned more about the case of Lyle and Erik Menendez.

Because while you’re talking out of your ass on the internet, those two poor men have to sleep in a disgusting cell, while their families beg and plead for their release.

You knew what you were doing. You just did not care. And that, makes you an absolute pathetic excuse of a human being in my eyes.

— Have a nice day everyone. ❤️

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen niki #enhypen jungwon #enhypen sunoo #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen jake #enhypen jay #enhypen heeseung

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wanderlust-in-my-soul · 1 month ago

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Currently Watching - January

aka The Masterlist

Because I love a good little list - in alphabetical order! 😊

Regularly updated during the month, latest update 31.01.2025

A little link to my favorite bl-tropes-collection 💙

gif-requests are open, but you'll need to have some patience🌼

Here you can find all of my gifs.

At the end you can have a look at what we can expect in January with a MDL link and a link for a trailer (if avaible).

This is guaranteed to contain spoilers!

1. Eternal Butler 🇹🇼 (5/12)

I really don't like this one that much. Why am I still here? The plot is hiding, the acting is playing catch with the writing. Some emotions are shining through and yet this feels very muh bland.

2. Futtara Doshaburi 🇯🇵 (4/7)

My intention was to talk about what a nice social study this show is. How the lack of sex can make you feel this insecure and lost and that the missing communication is not helping. I wanted to talk about how much Nakarai is longing for some physical touch, some love, not just sex and how this situation is slowly eating him up. And then there was the preview and my mind went "oh." Just "oh". See you next week.

3. I'll Turn Back This Time 🇨🇳 (2/6)

Okay, just time travel this time. Cut the step brothers. I enjoyed this episode and Shen Nan building a connection with Gu Shi Wen. I still don't understand the time travel and the changes that been made because of it, but I hope we get a little more information in the future.

4. Ossan's Love Thailand 🇹🇭 (4/12)

What in the Luigi is happening here? This series is really challenging me. The only thing I kinda like is Mix's acting and the soundtrack. The OST is so funny. The show? Not so much. It is really difficult to watch. Just not my humor.

5. Sangmin Dinneaw 🇹🇭 (5/8)

This series is such a rollercoaster. One moment they are sweet and innocent and the other second they are eating each other! And everyone beside the main couple is just pure chaos. I watch it only half, because I can't watch most of the cringe scenes. And now I am kinda curious what Sangmin's secret is.

6. Study Group 🇰🇷 (4/10)

I like the study group. They are all such characters. And I really enjoy the fight-scenes. So the study group is finally complete and now they are fighting evil bastards? I guess. And I am here for it. But I am so sorry Cha WooMin. Ever since Weak Hero Class 1 I can't like you. You hurt me too much! And now you're a villain again? Damn!

7. ThamePo Heart That Skips A Beat 🇹🇭 (8/13)

Oh you mother of all slow burn! This is pure torture for them and for us! And I love every bits of it! So we finally get Jun telling his intentions (I was right, yeah!) and Thame showed again why he is the greenest flags of them all! He is such a fair player and a loyal friend, who wouldn't sacrifice one or the other, but wants Po to make the decision. Only Jun already knew that Po already likes Thame (and like everyone else knows too). I didn't like the fact that Jun told Thame and Po about their mutual crush, but without him, let's be honest, they would still just stare at each other. And yes, I was screaming at my screen "Just kiss already", but this is such a delightful torture of a slow burn! Really delicious! And we got some hand holding. But Thame... your idea putting Po's hand in your pocket and nobody will know is just dumb. But they hold hands! AHHHHH! And next week... AHHHHHH!

8. The Heart Killers 🇹🇭 (10/12)

Joong really delivered in this episode. His single tears were so good. Fadel breaking down and allowing Style to comfort him, to protect him, to love every side of him was indeed beautiful. The series is not good, but this episode was quite good. But Mama being the bad guy here. Who was surprised? Be honest.

9. Word of Honor 🇨🇳 (25/36)

Yes, I kept watching. Well, this will take me a while to finish, I fear.

10. Your Sky 🇹🇭 (11/12)

The question for me this episode was: Why do you think Rak can't have a happy family and someone who cares about him with Fah? Why do you think he needs a woman for that? The father really annoyed me with his I don't want to talk about it attitude. He is just worried? He wouldn't be worried if Fah was a woman. I understand where they were coming from with this plot line, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. What I still love about this series is the communication, especially between the mains. And that Rak didn't sacrifice his relationship in the end, but he stood by his man and so did Fah. I love them!

Finished in January

Series

Miseinen: Mijukuna Oretachi wa Bukiyo ni Shinkochu 🇯🇵

Somewhere along the way I lost interest. I don't like the trope of noble idiocy and that kinda ruins my wish to continue the series. And while it might fit into the narrative, I still don't like it. And so I didn't like the ending. Well, the ending itself was okay and it felt real. Coming out to the friends and family would have not fit the plot. I liked that about the series. Overall a strong start, a mediocre middle and a weaker ending. I give it a 7 out of 10.

See Your Love 🇹🇼

I went into this without any expectations. And damn, I am so happy I could binge this one. I loved it! They are so cute. The height difference is adorable! The story might came a little bit short, but but the characters and their developments and relationships made this series really enjoyable. I love how enthusiastic Yang Zixiang learned sign language. You could see, that this was important for him. The depiction of disability was good and well performed. The side-couple is the only thing that was not for me. I give it a strong 9,5 out of 10.

Fourever You Project 🇹🇭

I just binged this one. I started for Johan and North and I stayed for them. And for the others beside Hill and Ter. I adore Pond. I loved him in 180 Degree Longitude Passes Through Us. But this series was not for him. He and Earth have no chemistry together. Perhaps I don't like the typecast of Earth. Most of the times his characters annoy me and he isn't allowed to play an adult. And with Pond there was no spark on my screen. Other with Maxky and Bas. Their characters were goo. The chemistry was good. Their story was good and not that cliche-loaded as HillTer's was. I want to know what is going on with the other two, Tonfah and Arthit. The plot was a college bl. Plain, good ol' college bl. Nothing more nothing less. I admit I skipped most of Hill and Ter's scenes after Johan and North got the lead. I give it a 7 out of 10.

Movie

Short Film

Dropped in January

Looking forward to in January

The Boy Next World - Trailer (Jan 5th)

Ossan's Love - Trailer (Jan 6th)

Call Me by No-Name (Jan 10th)

Impression of Youth (Jan 15th)

The Paradise Of Thornes - Trailer (Jan 22nd)

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no-gorms · 1 month ago

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Bit of a thought exercise with this one! (also on ao3)

Steve/Tony, established friends-with-benefits that stays that way, no romance but... something else?

It’s not that late, so Steve is still awake when Tony finally decides to come to bed. Lately Steve’s been reading before going to sleep, and today he’s managed to get through fourteen pages before Tony crawls under the covers and reaches for him, a sneaky pair of hands copping a feel through Steve’s shirt.

“Tony,” Steve says.

“Oh, someone’s had a day,” Tony says wryly. “What’s up?”

Steve puts the bookmark in place and sets the book aside. “Don’t you think this is… ridiculous?”

“Specificity is your friend.”

“Me and you. This.” Steve feels the frown settle on his face, not that that’s ever been able to deter Tony significantly. Steve carefully pulls Tony’s hand out from where he’s been trying to get past the waistband of his shorts, though he does give Tony a kiss – quick but filthy enough to make Tony hum hopefully.

“Sure,” Tony says, licking his lips once Steve’s drawn back. “If you want to call that ridiculous, by all means.”

“Should we get married?” Steve asks.

There’s a half-second of uncomprehending silence, and then Tony flings himself backwards with a shriek, falling away from Steve and almost tumbling off the bed completely if Steve’s reflexes weren’t fast enough to catch Tony’s knee before he goes over. Steve pulls Tony back into place, and returns Tony’s perfectly understandable grimace with as much dignity as he can muster.

“Take another shot at me, why don’t you,” Tony says. “The Accords weren’t enough for you?”

“Just think about it properly for a minute,” Steve says. “And don’t bring up the Accords in bed. We agreed.”

“I doubt that agreement counts if you’re gonna bring up marriage, what the fuck. This is just sex! We agreed it’s just sex, and we’re not even exclusive.”

“We did shake on that, sure,” Steve says, “but when’s the last time you slept with someone who isn’t me?”

Tony’s mouth hangs open for a moment. “You’re… right here, so… it’s… easier?”

“Plus the sex has been very good.”

“Wow, you can bounce a coin off that ego of yours.”

“Tony, focus.” Steve sees Tony’s mouth open on another derailing statement and, accustomed to this, barrels on with, “We have sex regularly, but we also live together. Yes, we keep our own separate living spaces, but that’s just good sense. We have had each other’s backs through some of the worst moments of our lives. We are the last of the original Avengers who are still doing this full time and because of that rely on each other more than we ever have before.”

“That’s just inertia.”

“This morning you sat with me for an hour while I was working out because you wanted to tell me about that quantum processor which you know I barely understand the science of.”

“Because you’re a good listener,” Tony says defensively.

“And you, as strange as it may sound, have provided me with structure and purpose,” Steve says. “The fact is, that we’ve been doing this for long enough—”

“No, it hasn’t,” Tony scoffs. “We only… after the… it was when the…”

Steve looks at him patiently. He’s had a whole day and then some to process the fact that now rattling around Tony’s skull, so he understands the shock and dismay that’s rising on Tony’s face. Time just flies, and it’s not like they meant for what should’ve been a simple matter of blowing off steam to evolve into a form of domesticity that has just the slightest veneer of plausible deniability. Sure, this is all just about Avengers business, and keeping the team together, and protecting the planet, etc. etc.

Pretty sure that protecting the planet has nothing to do with how Steve can and has gone to Tony who’d held him silently whenever Steve got upset when thinking about the past, or how Tony has admitted to Steve under the cover of night his deepest fears of failure and paranoia about his own mind.

“It’s been almost three years,” Tony says distantly. “This is the longest relationship I’ve ever had, and it’s not even a proper relationship.”

“Yes, so marriage will provide some new benefits—”

“But… I don’t love you.”

“So what? I don’t love you either,” Steve says with a shrug. “But it’s not like I care about looking for anything else. I trust you, I’m comfortable with you. I think you’re great to spend time with, and I know I can always turn to you with a problem. I like you, Tony, and maybe that’s all it needs to be.”

“You’d be fine spending the rest of your life with me?” Tony says dubiously.

“Of course,” Steve says. “And if we’re married we can’t testify against each other, and you’ll have certain spousal rights – I especially want to talk about what’ll happen to my body if I die before you, because Ross has been making some noise about how much of my blood is US property—”

“Oh,” Tony says, a sudden small smile tugging at his mouth, “that’s what got you thinking about this.”

“Among other things. I do care about you a great deal, though. I hope you know that.”

“I do,” Tony sighs. “Ditto, unfortunately.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Steve grins when Tony snorts in surprise. “You don’t have to answer now. Take some time to think about it—”

“Weddings are not my scene.” Tony scrunches his face. “I don’t think?”

“We can just go to court and get the papers signed. In and out, efficient. If you’re interested, that is.”

Tony stares at Steve dubiously. But he’s also clearly thinking about it, and seems to be offended at himself for taking it seriously.

“It will stop – or at least slow down – people making passes at you,” Tony says thoughtfully. “That really annoys you.”

“That’s a much smaller reason for it, but sure.” Steve considers. “Are you completely distracted now, or do you still want to fool around? I know you can multitask.”

Tony startles, then laughs. “Yeah, I can do that. C’mere.” He grabs the back of Steve’s neck and Steve goes easily, tipping them over into the mattress with Tony warm and pliant underneath him.

Steve has no doubt that Tony will have a full list of pros and cons by tomorrow that they’ll debate over breakfast and likely lunch and maybe dinner, though no matter what Tony decides, it’ll be the right choice.

#scaramouche writes superhusbands fic #stevetony #happy new year!

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restinslices · 1 year ago

Note

I don’t know if I requested this already but how do you think the Lin Kuei bros would react when each of them got their first gf?

It’s 5am but I’m avoiding sleep cause sleep paralysis been kicking my ass recently so here we are. I didn’t know if you were imagining a certain age or how detailed you wanted it so they’re all at different ages

Bi-Han

Bi-Han doesn't have that much experience when it comes to dating even if he's the oldest brother

Growing up he was taught to mainly focus on his clan since he'd be the next Grandmaster so naturally dating is something that was at the back of his mind

When he got his first girlfriend he'd probably be older. So he's mature when it comes to handling himself but he's not mature when it comes to romantic relationships

I think the first week would be the hardest because he's both nonchalant but also worried if that makes sense

Nonchalant because he doesn't physically show any emotion besides disdain but also worry because whenever he hears about new relationships, people are always so giddy. They're glowing. They're jumping up and down and are cuddled next to their partner all the time.

Bi-Han though? He doesn't do any of that. He's not sure what he should do and since he doesn't know, it makes him worry that maybe he made the wrong choice. Maybe he took the bit of affection you gave him and ran with it and it went outta hand

After that first week though, he still wants to be with and around you so he starts to relax and realize he just reacts differently to things

Some things he would struggle with since this is his first relationship. He'd struggle with the idea of being around his partner so often. Does he enjoy your presence? Yeah. But he also wants a lot of alone time

Idk how long his first relationship would last. He gives me both “we're in this forever” and “forever isn't realistic” vibes.

I honestly don't think he'd change much, which probably has a lot to do with the fact that he's a grown man. He's past all the intense teenage emotions.

I don't even think his partner would notice a difference tbh. He trails behind you more but besides that, he still acts like your friend Bi-Han which isn't necessarily a bad thing

Because it's his first relationship, I don't see him initiating things like physical touch that much. I think his partner would have to either ask or hint at it

Cutsey things just don't come naturally to him.

Is he happy about his first relationship? Absolutely. He just doesn't see the big deal with certain things like hand holding or other romantic expectations. Honestly I can see that being the cause of his first relationship ending depending on who it is but if it's someone that's on the same wavelength or understands lack of affection doesn't mean lack of love then I could see it lasting forever.

Kuai Liang

Kuai Liang was probably the first to start dating

Does he have responsibilities? Yes. But that wouldn't stop him from experiencing certain things, even if he had to do it sneakily.

He was a young teenager when he finally got his first girlfriend. She was apart of a nearby clan and although he was told many times not to focus on women, he couldn't help it.

It was a simple friendship but it turned into something more. A secret relationship no one could know about

I think Kuai Liang would be happy to finally have a girlfriend. It's something else in his life that gives him happiness besides his family.

Also this is a teenager so he's geeked as fuck. He tries to appear all calm and cool but it wouldn't really work

Would always try to sneak away to see her. He wants to spend as much time with her as he can. Half of it is because he's a teenager, half of it is because he genuinely likes her.

I also think he likes exchanging gifts. It gave them both something to remember the other bye

As a young boy, he wants to tell everyone but because of circumstances, he can’t. Besides that though I just honestly think he’s happy waking up everyday knowing he’ll see her even if it’s only for a few minutes.

She was a break for him. He's always the mediator between Bi-Han and Tomas. He always had to train hard so he could assist Bi-Han when he became grandmaster. When he was with her he was relaxed.

Enjoys the company that comes with having a partner, even if a lot of the times he's too busy to see her

He knows he doesn’t know much about relationships, but that’s ok. Life’s a journey and he’s willing to learn and communicate for this girl

Considering it says “first relationship”, that means it doesn't last

I think the reason would be they eventually get caught. His dad has a tighter leash on him and she's sent to a different area her clan occupies

He wouldn't take this well but there's really nothing he can do

Takes him awhile to get over even if it was some silly teenage romance according to others.

Tomas Vrbada

Tomas gets into his first relationship in his late teens to early twenties

I can see him telling Kuai Liang immediately and asking for advice

I can see it being a friends to lovers kind of thing. She's an earthrealmer in the know about all the realms and stuff and knows Madam Bo. Tomas is easy to like so they become friends then he asks her out on accident

Tomas, like Kuai Liang, would be happy to have a significant other. He'd like having a girlfriend because this is his person. He became a Lin Kuei because the grandmaster felt shame about his clan murdering Tomas’ family. To Tomas, that's not him actually wanting him. It's guilt

Having a girlfriend though means she's with him because she loves him. She actually likes him and chose him.

Very proud boyfriend. He’s surprised he has someone to call his and thinks she’s everything

He's younger so he's not really confident which I think would show. He constantly wants to be around her out of insecurity. He's worried that she'd leave and find someone else

He thinks he’s not good enough for anything

Can we blame him? He has Bi-Han constantly making him feel shitty. Sure he’s not the only reason Tomas is insecure but he’s not helping

He's also paranoid about anyone else he loves being hurt. People get hurt, he understands that but he cannot say goodbye to someone else prematurely. Especially someone that makes him so happy

Since it's his first relationship, he doesn't know how to properly communicate these feelings

He genuinely likes this person and wants to be something serious. The problem is all this hovering and worry could cause problems in the relationship and lead to it ending.

His solution would be trying to change himself

Letting go is not something he wants to do. This person makes him happy so why should he? He could definitely change and do better.

And since this is his first relationship, he’s nervous something like this won’t happen again.

Unfortunately for him you can’t get rid of insecurities easily and you have to love yourself before loving anyone else

You'd expect him to have the longest lasting relationship but he probably wouldn't. The relationship wouldn't end with harsh feelings but he'd still be upset by it and it'd encourage him to work on himself

I promise you Kuai Liang is my favorite brother. Idk how Bi-Han got around 440 words and him and Tomas got around 380- I also plan on writing angst after I eventually go to sleep so tune in

#bi han x y/n #bi han x reader #bi han sub zero #bi han mk1 #bi han headcanons #kuai liang x reader #kuai liang x y/n #kuai liang scorpion #kuai liang headcanons #kuai liang mk1 #tomas vrbada x reader #tomas vrbada x y/n #tomas vrbada smoke #tomas vrbada headcanons #tomas vrbada mk1 #mk1 2023 #mk1

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cambria-writes · 8 months ago

Text

welcome to the very final chapter of honey and the hatchet! 🎉 it quite literally took eight whole entire years to get here, but i finally made it!

big thank you to everyone who's stuck around, read and flooded my notes with likes and shares this story around. i cannot express in any language i know how significant and meaningful that is.

for those who might be wondering, i used these photos of a suite at the macarthur to kind of situate myself.

...also sorry for kind of maybe edging you at the end there lol anyways enjoy!

pairing: patrick jane x named reader/ofc word count: 4,883 rating: A for adult content, MDNI warnings: smut, wearing, i know nothing about opera, PiV, unprotected sex, mild dom/sub, sir kink, neck grabbing but no choking, hair pulling if you squint, mentions of planned murders, relatively minor injuries (jane might have a cracked rib it's probably find), confession, the L word, this was not proofread and i'm almost sorry, please let me know if I should take anything else!

previousmasterlist

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕹𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓: ℭ𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔷𝔞

Several Months Later

An opera house. A fucking opera house is where you end up spending Christmas Eve. It’s not something that a lot of people would get upset about, normally, and you know this. That’s why you’ve schooled your face into an expression that’s more rich, entitled boredom than resentful impatience.

But you’re in a box for a fancy show, wearing a dress that definitely costs more just to look at than your apartment likely does in a whole calendar year, and there’s free alcohol. Not that you’ve been indulging up until now, but it’s nice to know that there’s expensive, free booze for when you will be able to pay attention to literally anything else.

Right now, your eyes are half-heartedly trailing around the stage, eventually halting at the Sopranist singing her heart out. You can’t make out the lyrics at all—never could, with how broad and loud the voices are in operatic compositions, nevermind the insane acoustics of this place—but the sound of the song feels appropriate. A slow build that keeps on building despite several fake-outs that make you believe you’re finally out of this eternal musical waiting.

Conveniently, it’s when the Sopranist pauses for a quick breath that you hear it. The drag of a foot against an old velvet rug. You whip your fan open and feign interest in the elaborate emotional display the singer is putting on. You’re not worried; you know you look like every other bored twenty-something in this place.

Patrick had personally made sure of that.

“Enjoying yourself?” A woman asks, her deep, airy voice drifting around you as she moves to sit down to your left, French accent heavy in her words. She flips open a small hand fan with a short “thwap” before turning her attention to you.

Madame Jonquière is someone whose gaze feels heavy. Patrick hadn’t told you much about her. Just that she was at Stonewall and that he owed her a favour. Didn’t mention what the favour was for, and you didn’t bother prying any further. Madame Joncquière’s eyes go down to your hands for a second before meeting yours again. She smiles politely and inclines her head expectantly. You realize you haven’t answered yet.

“Sorry, yes,” you reply quickly. Clear your throat before looking back at the stage. “I can’t understand most of it but it sounds lovely. Thank you for letting me accompany you tonight.”

Madame Joncquière swings open a hand fan with a muted ‘fwap’ before fanning herself. “Oh no, thank you for your presence tonight!” she exclaims quietly, leaning forward closer to you. You grin and leave over. “No one ever wants to come to the opera house with me anymore. They all think it’s boring!”

You laugh quietly along with her. Madame Joncquière leans back into her chair and fixes her gaze to the stage. You appreciate the space she’s leaving you. Despite the fact that she knows damn well that you’re here to make sure she doesn’t get assassinated, she seems to be taking everything in good stride.

You watch his back as he carefully pours a drink out of a shaker. You have no idea what prompted him to pick you up at 11:30AM for cocktail hour. On a Wednesday. In the empty, closed bar of some man who happened to also owe him a favour. You hadn’t expected an explanation. But Patrick had kept silent the whole car ride. It hadn’t been uncomfortable, but the whole time you can’t help but feel like you’re being psychologically edged. You can only refrain from asking the slew of questions floating in your head for so long.

A highball glass filled with some strange red-purple liquid swirling enticingly inside it. The colours almost make the ice look like it’s sparkling. You’re dazzled for a second before looking up at Patrick.

“One Purple Haze for our esteemed guest,” he says, dramatically, with a flourish and a bow. You laugh quietly before picking up the highball. Hold the glass up to the light to watch the colours mingle.

“It’s definitely nice to look at.” Distracted, you don’t notice Patrick walking out from behind the island to stand behind you. You don’t flinch when his cold hands part your hair to slide down your neck and rest on your shoulders. “Am I really expected to drink this before lunch? I haven’t even had breakfast.”

“I did tell you to get up early last night,” Patrick says, voice low, by your ear. “Sounds like someone snoozed their alarm four too many times.”

You don’t answer. You instead try to see how quickly you can down the purple haze that was handed to you. Hoping to maybe inherit some of its own haze. You only stop when you’ve gulped down half.

“It’s a bad one, by the way,” Patrick adds, pressing a soft kiss at your temple before moving away. He sits on the stool next to you, slotting his knees between yours. “You’re supposed to pour the liqueur last to let it settle at the bottom. It isn’t supposed to swirl like that.”

You hum in understanding a look at the glass in the light again. “Shame, it looks nice this way.” Bring the glass back to your mouth for another sip. “Why am I getting a lesson in mixology today?”

“You’re going to the opera,” he starts, and you chug the rest of the drink before bracing yourself for another briefing. “And I’m going to need you to remember to order this, and how it’s supposed to be made.”

You frown. “Okay, so if I get it and it’s well made that means… what?”

Patrick smirks. Your stomach flips, entirely unaided by his hands running up your thighs. “It means I might have gotten… held up.”

“And this is… bad?”

Patrick hums and leans in, brushes his nose against your jaw. “If you consider first degree murder ‘bad’ then yes, it would be quite bad.”

You scoff at the blazé tone he takes, but it’s half-hearted. His fingers are working their way up your loose shorts toward your hips.

“It might be a bad idea to sip at something that might have been poisoned.”

Ah, so this was it.

Patrick hadn’t kept you in the loop for the entirety of this particular… situation. Not only because Madame J had gone to see him directly rather than the CBI, for reasons that hadn’t been obvious at the time, but because this seemed to be a personal slight. You’d kindly asked to be kept at an arm’s length for it all; solving murders had been one thing, but actively trying to prevent one felt beyond you.

You put your hands over his to halt their movement. Patrick immediately pulled back, brows furrowed in concern.

“I feel like too much hinges on me here,” you say quietly, pointedly staring at your knees. You can see the veins starting to honeycomb on your hands. Your fingertips feel cold and stiff.

“You don’t have to,” Patrick answers, just as quietly, pulling one of his hands back to run down your face, brushing your cheekbone with his thumb. “I can bully Rigsby into it.”

You can’t help but laugh a little. He’d probably love the chance to go out at the opera with someone who also wants to be there.

“How long do I have to think about it?”

“Only until Saturday,” Patrick answers, and you can hear the apology in his voice. The last-minute nature of this annoys you–it only gives you three days, including today, to decide whether or not you want to be the final hurdle.

“I’ll sleep on it and let you know tomorrow.”

The evening goes well enough. You still can’t understand much of what’s being sung, but you enjoy the performance. The drama and emotion in the acting, while singing, is something that’s at least legitimately interesting to watch.

You occasionally look over the audience as well. Your perch from the box gives you a fantastic vantage point to see most everyone in the hall. The hairs at the back of your neck have been raising every now and then. Same feeling as you get being observed in the dark. But every time you try to scan the crowd, everyone’s either facing the stage or canted forward in somnolence.

You hear a knock at the door of your box before the door opens. This is it, you think. You’d ordered drinks just as you were coming back from the intermission. You take a quick look at the dainty gold watch Patrick had wrapped around your wrist earlier in the evening. It’s been… fifteen minutes. Which seems like an awful long time to prepare a purple haze and a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.

You don’t bother turning at all until you hear the serving tray being gently placed on the table between you and Madame J. You note, with no small amount of relief, that your purple haze muddled to absolute fuck and back. Perfectly safe to drink then.

Your server speaks up just as you notice, reaching for your glass, that there’s quite a spill on the tray.

“Au plaisir, mesdames.”

A thrill runs up your spine. Madame Joncquière looks up while you slowly wrap your fingers around the cool glass. She almost makes a joyful exclamation, but seems to stop halfway through taking in a breath for you. Keep your eyes on your drink while you listen to retreating footsteps, muted on carpet, until you hear the door open and close again.

Madame J’s hand lands softly on your shoulder to give it a squeeze.

“How wonderful of Monsieur Jane to come look in on us himself!” she says to you, barely above a whisper. “Shall we cheers to that then, chérie?”

Your heart still thrums in your chest from the thrill of it all. You raise your glass along with her, but just before knocking it against Madame J’s, you draw your hands back.

“Would you mind indulging me?” you ask quietly, trying to control the smirk threatening to take over your expression.

Madame Joncquière clearly sees the scheming glint in your eyes and doesn’t hide her grin. It’s toothy, like a fox. And you feel like a peer, having caught a rabbit dead to rights.

“Absolument! What would you like?” She leans in closer over the small end table between you.

You carefully move to grab her wine glass and press your glass to her palm. She beams and immediately gets your meaning. You link arms together, giggling quietly as you try not to spill your respective drinks.

“Cheers to yet another wonderful night on this train wreck of a planet,” you say, tilting the wine glass to clink against the highball.

“I’ll drink to that!”

No sooner has the wine touched your lips, you hear a small commotion in the audience. Not enough to interrupt the show, but not something that won’t be noticed.

The wine is bitter and sour on your tongue and you don’t bother to school your expression into something tame. Madam J laughs quietly behind her fan and offers your drink back. You hastily hand her back her awful wine and nurse your significantly sweeter cocktail.

The rest of the evening is blessedly uneventful. Patrick doesn’t make another appearance, but you don’t expect him to. You were surprised that he showed up personally in the first place. At the end of the show, after having another attendant–a real one, this time–slips you both back into your coats. Opens the door and thanks you for your patronage and only closes the door behind you once you’re most of the way down the hallway. Madame J links your arms together as you walk, chittering away about the singers’ performance.

Once you reach the lobby, excuses herself for a moment to make a phone call. You make your way over to a plush lounge chair by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows and take a seat. It’s fairly early, for a Sunday evening, so you pass the time people watching. Your phone vibrates in your coat pocket just as you see Madame Joncquière making her way over to you. Quickly look at your phone notification.

‘Have her drop you off here,’ followed by an address and a room number. You don’t have time to respond back and ask where the fuck that is before Madame J extends her hand out to you.

“I’ve been instructed to provide transportation for you, chère,” she says as you accept her hand to stand. “You’re alright to give my driver your address, yes?”

Your body doesn’t seem to know if it should be excited or apprehensive. You acquiesce to Madame J after a second. Once you do actually enter her car–a vintage Cadillac with the classic wings–and let the driver know where to drop you off, she practically begins vibrating in her seat next to you.

“Oh, please, you have to tell me who you’re meeting there!” she says, eagerly reaching for and grabbing your hands. The question must be written on your face because she laughs giddily. “Ma belle, the MacArthur is a veritable oasis in Sacramento. If you’re going there and you don’t know this, someone is very eager to make sure you enjoy yourself.”

This time the excitement wins over; you can feel your face heating up and you’re not entirely sure what your face is doing. You struggle to come up with something to say to that–what do you say to that?--but Madame Joncquière giggles some more and pats your thigh.

“So it’s Monsieur Jane, after all? What a man. I wonder who he conned into letting him stay there tonight.”

“Probably someone else who owes him a favour,” you mutter. Your cheeks hurt from trying not to smile too widely.

“That would be a pretty sizeable favour to cash in on for leisure.” Her tone says she’s just thinking out loud, but you think you understand what Madame J’s trying to say.

Awful big favour to cash in on one woman. Must be a special one.

You try not to think too much about it.

The general manager meets you at the car. You wouldn’t have known he was the general manager if Madame Joncquière hadn’t turned into a gossipy 14 year old girl at the sight of him exiting the hotel doors. He opens the car door for you and helps you out with a hand.

“Lovely to have you, Ms Benraft. I’m Stephen Crawford, General Manager,” he introduces himself, taking a moment to lean forward to address Madam J. “Always a pleasure, Madame. Your friend will be in good hands with us.”

“Always a pleasure, Monsieur Crawford. Have a wonderful night, chérie,” she finishes while addressing you, tossing a wink. “À la prochaine!”

The general manager understands his cue to close the door, and the Cadillac slowly pulls away.

You’re guided through the main building, where Stephen explains the history of the hotel and its various accommodations, all of which go into one ear and out the other. You’re taking directly to your lodgings, and the general manager assures you that all amenities have been accounted for, including a late dinner and, in his words, “a small wardrobe in anticipation of whatever you would find comfortable”.

You’re starting to understand why Madame Joncquière reacted the way that she did. Patrick has treated you to luxuries before–dinners, various events, even a trip out of the country–but none of it felt quite this… decadent. Almost overindulgent, actually.

It truly feels like being spoiled rotten, and you’re still not sure how you feel about it.

Stephen hands you a very intricate key and steps back to wish you a good night, and that the front desk is available 24/7 should there ever be anything you need. You thank him and wait until he’s out of sight before turning back to the door.

Your blood feels like it’s effervescing in your veins.

You consider knocking first, but decide to just let yourself into the room. You’re expected, after all, so it shouldn’t really matter, right?

The first thing you notice is the fireplace. Then, the plush chairs, then the bed, then the bay window. The lighting is dim; only two lamps lit and the faint glow from the electric fireplace. The last thing you register is the sound of a shower running.

You carefully close the door behind you and shrug your coat off, throw it in the direct of one of the chairs to your right. Walking further in, you spot a desk in a took to the left of the door with a chair conveniently pulled out. You carefully sit down to remove your shoes. Beautiful as they are and however aesthetically pleasant it was to have them match your dress, you’re happy to have them off. Carefully massage the soles of your feet, rotate your ankles, before leaning back in the chair.

This is lovely. You almost feel like you’re in one of those secluded little getaway suites in Bali or something. The vibes certainly match, even if late December weather is a bit too chilly. If you actually just let yourself enjoy everything for a second, and stop worrying about what it cost, this is just very nice.

Maybe you’re starting to feel a little less spoiled and a little more pampered.

You’ve half dozed off by the time you feel warm hands on your shoulders. You sleepily hum, content, and sit up a little straighter. Stifle a yawn behind your hand and hear Patrick chuckle behind you.

“Have fun?”

You groan as you stretch. “Mm, would’ve been more fun withou–”

You cut yourself off after turning around and actually lay eyes on Patrick’s face. His lower lip is split on his left, and there’s a cut above the brow on the same side that you immediately know was from getting decked in the face. There’s also a disconcertingly large bruise on his left side, above his ribs, and you can’t fathom what would have caused that.

“Oh my–shit, are you okay? What happened?”

You get halfway to standing up before Patrick gently presses you back down onto the chair. “Nothing too bad, I promise,” he answers, almost cajoling. Well, he’s breathing fine, from what you can see and hear. And he doesn’t seem like someone who got stabbed, you don’t think.

You still let the fingers of your left hand glide over the bruise. Patrick does a decent enough job to hide the wince, but it’s still there.

“Can I at least know what caused this one?” “Fire extinguisher.”

The words take a second to sink in before you start laughing. The image in your mind is absolutely far more cartoonish than what actually happened, for sure, but after an entire night of holding your breath, you can feel the tension start draining from your shoulders.

You turn back to face away from Patrick, and he resumes kneading the stress out of your traps and your neck. Thumbs dig into your neck on either side of your spine. It feels heavenly. Your breath catches when a shudder runs up your spine. There’s a heat that flares at the base of your spine when you feel his fingers gently wrap and brace against the sides of your throat.

“You did well tonight,” Patrick whispers into your hair. Takes a moment to brush your hair away before pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck.

You temper the rising, bubbling pride. “I didn’t even have to do anything.”

You can feel his laughter at the back of your neck. Hands slide down your arms before you feel him resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“Switching your drinks was a clever idea.” You feel Patrick pulling away, squeak in surprise when he grabs the sides of the chair to spin you around. Crouches in front of your–and only now do you realize that he’s only got a towel around his waist, which parts dangerously wide as he lowers himself. “Made it a lot easier to catch our guy.”

Whatever tension in our shoulders Patrick hasn’t been able to dispel and disperse with his hands just… vanished. It had been a relief, initially, to know that Madame was safe and sound and not at risk of dying a slow, horrible, poisoned death. For the past 48 hours, it’s been a struggle to reign in your mind. You could barely sleep at night just for trying to distract yourself from what would happen if you didn’t pay well enough attention.

Patrick runs his hands over your thighs, up to your hips, tapping twice with his thumbs.

“I’m here,” you say airily, shaking off your thoughts to look Patrick in the eyes. “Just basked in the fact that it’s over now.” Lift a hand up to his face and gently smoothing your thumb below the cut at his brow. “Starting to wonder if I should have been worrying about you this whole time, instead.”

“Probably should have,” Patrick shrugs, and there’s a thrill that runs through you when you think, Of course I should have, of course you’d be getting yourself in some kind of mess.

He doesn’t say anything else when he stands back up and extends a hand out to help you to your feet. You feel silly for it, but you giggle when he makes you twirl, puling you back in with a hand at your waist.

“Love the dress,” Patrick says, dipping in for a peck on the lips. “Where’d you get it?”

You scoff to compensate for the blood rushing to your face. “Some absolute scamp made me wear it tonight.”

Leading you into a slow, gentle sway by the fireplace, he puts on a show of looking offended. You laugh lightly at the exaggeration, but clear your throat once his expression settles.

“I suppose the scamp should take it back, then,” he answers, voice low as the hand that held yours skips over ribs and moves up your back.

You tilt your head when he begins to place opened-mouthed kisses down your neck. You let him pull your zipper down but otherwise don’t help him. Not that he needs much help; once the zipper stops, nearly at the very bottom of your spine, the top of your dress simply crumples away, taking the rest down with it.

Patrick takes a moment to pull back, hands smoothing down your upper arms as he takes a look at you. There’s a very self-content smirk on his face when he takes stock of the lacey, racy lingerie you’re wearing. A hand reaches down and tugs at your garter before letting it snap back into place.

God, the way he looks at you with such open, raw hunger continues to do things to you that you hadn’t known anyone was capable of. Until him.

“Even happier to see someone can follow instructions,” Patrick comments, sounding every part like the cat that got the cream. Both hands both over your hips, up your ribs, thumbs tracing the underside of your breasts.

Patrick leans in, lips barely brushing against yours. “Think you can keep following instructions?”

You sigh shakily at his tone. “Yes, sir.”

You can feel his chest vibrate with his rumble of appreciation. He doesn’t speak when he tugs you along to bed. Doesn’t need to tell you what to do when he sits, tossing the towel from his waist in the general direction of the sitting area, leaning against the headboard. You dutifully install yourself on his lap, slowly settling your weight over his thighs.

With two hands firmly on your rear, Patrick pulls you in as close as he can. Thrusts his hips up as he does so. Just the heat of his erection, throbbing against your damp underwear, has you moaning behind tightly sealed lips.

“That’s it,” Patrick encourages when you begin to rut against him without prompting. “Take what you want, I’ll give you the rest.” The rest of his sentence is almost unintelligible as he takes turns between kissing and nipping at your breasts. The bra is a pathetic excuse for fabric, and you understand why he had you wear this particular set; it almost feels as though there’s nothing at all between your skin and the wet heat of his mouth.

It doesn’t take long before you have to brace yourself against Patrick’s shoulders, and soon after that you find yourself whining as you toss your head back. The friction and heat are both wonderful in their own respect, but the angle is wrong, and it’s not nearly enough.

You’re ravenous, and Patrick is a meal that loves to hold himself out of reach just a bit past long enough.

“Use your words,” he breathes into your collarbones, one hand moving us to massage at one of your breasts while the other moves lower. Down past the delicate lace waist of your panties, thumb teasing around your clit.

“Fuck,” you choke out, unable to keep yourself from grinding down harder and faster in the hopes that something will change.

“Not quite enough words,” Patrick quips, and you growl, annoyed. Bring your head back forward and do your best to maintain eye contact.

It still feels embarrassing, even now. To say it out loud.

You’re learning to accept that… maybe you’re just. A little bit into that.

“Please, sir,” you start, clearing your throat and swallowing thickly. “I would very much like you to fuck me, please.”

Patrick practically purrs, satisfied. This part, too, is well rehearsed. You muster just enough self control to raise your hips. Enough room so he can pull his cock forward. Enough for you to gather saliva in your mouth and let it dribble down. Over Patrick’s hand, and over his cock.

He groans with the feeling of it as you exhaled in something you think might be awe. His eyes are close and head tilted back. He looks debauched, you think, but not quite enough.

“Can I–can I touch, sir?” you pants, hands already raised by the sides of his head.

“Can’t say no when you ask so nicely,” he breathes out. You immediately run your hands through his hair, digging your fingertips into his scalp. He moans, a drawn-out thing that has your cunt clenching in a desperate way.

A shudder like electricity shoots through you when you feel Patrick simply pulling aside the gusset of your underwear before lining himself up with your entrance. He takes a second–during which you whine in complaint–to get a hand at the back of your head, fisting the hair there just enough to get your attention. Look down at him with impatient, hooded eyes.

“You’ll forgive the terrible timing,” he starts, sounding about as breathless as you’re sure you currently do. “But there’s been something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“You’re right,” you groan, leaning your head forward to rest against his. “It’s terrible ti–”

Your sentence is blissfully interrupting when Patrick thrusts up into you. Not quite hilting himself, but damn well near it. You’re not sure what you would call the sound that cracked its way out of your throat. He groans in unison with you, and you’re not sure who’d trying to pull who in closer.

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes out, one hand guiding your hips to slowly move against him, the other smoothing the hair at the back of your head. “I love you.”

You keen, a quick, sharp pitched sound. Push yourself just far away to look him in the eyes. Takes him a second to build enough composure back off to raise his head and look at you straight on.

He’s been unguarded before, sure, but not like this. There’s something swirling in your chest and low in your abdomen. Something heavy, heady.

“Christ,” you exhale, lifting your hips before slamming them back down. Your sharp inhale catches in your throat and Patrick bites back another groan. “Worst timing. Other women would question your motives.”

“Mmh, good thing you aren’t any other woman.” The end of his sentence is punctuated by a particularly sharp thrust upward. You can feel the tip of his cock just brushing against your cervix, and the jolt it sends through has you grinding down back in turn.

Patrick winds his arms around your back and presses your against his chest. You feel him bracing his feet against the mattress, immediately move to grab the edge tof he headboard. Feel him chuckle under you, flinch when you feel teeth against one of your nipples through the sparse lace.

“Fortunate that I love you too, then.”

You don’t get to properly register the sound you hear bubbling up from the back of Patrick’s throat before he thrusts back up into you. Sets a pace that might’ve been brutal, but even in the haze of oxytocin in your brain you can recognize that this is relief.

A man that’s been alone and snarling at and against the world for so many years just… just told you he loves you.

When you feel a hand make its way around your throat, you take the cue.

It’s a tomorrow problem.

Tonight you can just feel, and bask in several jobs well done.

Tag List

@fucklife-or-me @mamacakeishereforfun @newavenger @yearningforsappho @natsukee @piper570 @rikuisthesweetestboy @berry-blink @wandabillywrites @leftovers-and-headrubs @pauphs @gamingfeline @racoonkitty @dogmatic255

#honey and the hatchet #the mentalist fanfiction #patrick jane x reader #patrick jane x original female character #patrick jane x ofc #patrick jane smut #this has been so long coming #genuinely thank you to everyone who's offered any kind of support #special shoutout to everyone who's liked all the updates #even when you have no fucking idea what the mentalist is lmao #you're some real fuckin MVPs thank you

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