#and the drivers don’t even care about it

[faithsotherhouseofchaos]

I don’t even know if it’s a request but I’ve been thinking about Pato crushing on or dating an autistic driver reader who he doesn’t realize is autistic but he still happily does things to help and make her feel comfortable

-💙🩵

It’s easy when it’s you||Pato O’ward x fem!Autistic!reader

Word count—654

The paddock was alive with noise—engines roaring in the background, team radios buzzing, and the general hum of race day chaos. You liked to stay on the fringes, close enough to soak in the energy but far enough to avoid being overwhelmed.

Today was no different. You had your favorite pair of noise-canceling headphones on, a small buffer between you and the world, as you studied the data on your tablet.

“Hey, you planning on giving away all the secrets before the race?”

You startled slightly at the familiar voice, turning to see Pato standing nearby, his signature grin in full force.

“I don’t think my data is that valuable,” you replied, the corners of your mouth quivering despite yourself.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he teased, leaning casually against the barrier. “Besides, you’re the only one around here who makes sense half the time.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks but quickly brushed it off. Pato had a way of making everyone feel at ease, but his attention always felt a little… different when it was on you.

It started with small things. Pato would always make sure to ask if you wanted to join the group after races, but he never pushed when you declined. If you sat alone during a particularly loud debrief, he’d pass by and drop off a bottle of water without a word, his presence calming without being intrusive.

One day, you found him crouched next to your chair, holding out a bag of your favorite snacks.

“I noticed you don’t always eat much during the post-race chaos,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “Figured this might help.”

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned. “You… noticed that?”

He shrugged, his easygoing demeanor masking what felt like genuine care. “Yeah, I notice a lot of things.”

The moment everything shifted came after a particularly grueling weekend. You’d been caught off guard by a sudden schedule change, and the resulting chaos had left you overstimulated and barely holding it together.

You’d retreated to a quiet corner, your breathing uneven as you tried to ground yourself. The hum of fluorescent lights felt too loud, the texture of your fireproof suit too scratchy.

“Hey.”

You looked up to see Pato crouching in front of you, his brow furrowed with concern.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, though your voice betrayed the opposite.

He didn’t argue. Instead, he set down a small item in front of you—a soft, squishy stress ball in the shape of a car.

“Thought you might like this,” he said gently.

You stared at it, then at him. “How did you—”

“You seemed off earlier,” he said with a small shrug. “I figured maybe this could help. If not, we can just sit here for a while.”

Your throat tightened. It wasn’t just that he’d noticed—it was that he’d cared enough to do something about it without making a big deal of it.

“I’m autistic,” you blurted out, the words slipping past your lips before you could second-guess yourself.

Pato blinked, then nodded slowly. “Okay. What does that mean for you?”

You hesitated, unsure how much to share. “It means I get overwhelmed sometimes. By noise, changes, people… everything.”

“Got it,” he said, his tone casual but warm. “So, how can I help? Besides this little guy,” he added, gesturing to the stress ball with a grin.

Your chest loosened, the weight of the moment lifting. “This is a good start.”

From then on, Pato made it his mission to quietly support you in ways that felt almost effortless. He learned to spot the signs of your discomfort before you even said a word, offering subtle solutions that never felt patronizing. And when you finally worked up the courage to tell him how much it all meant to you, he simply smiled and said, “It’s easy when it’s you.”

[judesdrabbles]

The Cure (part II)

On a snowy afternoon, your car had broken down after a therapy session with your psychiatrist. Perhaps this was the perfect moment for him to get to know you better.

word count: 1.4K

PART 1 / PART 3

Warnings: obsessive tendencies, yandere behavior, misuse of power position

A few weeks have passed since your first appointment. Every week you step into his office, and every week, Vincent finds himself wanting more.

Why only once a week? Why not twice? Or thrice? Surely, you’d benefit from more frequent therapy sessions. Therapy was about consistency, after all. And he wouldn’t mind. Not for you, at least.

The thought gnawed at him. The thought of you. Was this professionalism? He never really cared for his patients, he didn’t care about their troubles. Their feelings were merely a two-piece puzzle for him to solve. So easy. His fingers tap rhythmically on the polished wood of his desk, a soft tune for his thoughts. His eyes flicked to the pens- his anchors- arranged in their precise formation. A neat straight line. It was perfect. Controlled.

But it wasn’t enough. When you weren’t here, the silence became unbearable. He could straighten the pens over and over again, or he could iron his suit thrice a day until every seam and every thread was laying flat and obedient beneath the iron’s weight, but it was not enough. He needed more. He needed to see you.

Even as he worked, his thoughts circled back to you. You weren’t like the bleak wallpaper in his office like he thought you would be; you were not unremarkable. You were new. A breath of fresh air.

It was just professional interest, of course. It had to be. At least, that’s what he told himself.

And then, on one snowy afternoon in the dead of winter, it seemed like his silent prayers had been answered.

You returned to his office after your session, cheeks flushed from the cold. He looked up from his desk, surprised at your reappearance.

‘Um.. Doctor, I’m sorry to bother you,’ You say hesitantly and brush the snowflakes from your hair. This was embarrassing. It was already late and the man probably just wanted to go home. ‘You.. wouldn’t happen to know anything about cars, would you?’

Vincent rose from his chair, his lips curling into a polite smile. Fate had given him another chance to be near you. ‘Cars?’ He shook his head softly. ‘I’m afraid I’m not much of a mechanic, but I can certainly take a look. It might be something simple.’

He stepped around his desk, gesturing to the hallway. You let out a small sigh and smile. ‘Thank you, I’d appreciate it. It’s just-..’ You hesitated, glancing back at him as he walked. ‘The engine wouldn’t start, and I don’t really know what to do out here. I mean, it’s not like I can just walk home in this weather.’

Vincent’s chest tightened at the thought of you stranded and alone in this weather. The snow had been relentless all day, piling high up on the streets outside his office. It was as though the world had conspired with him to keep you here, within reach.

‘Of course.’ He said, his tone calm as always. ‘Let’s see what we’re dealing with.’

The cold hit you both sharply as the two of you stepped outside. Vincent’s polished shoes crunched against the fresh snow and you cross your arms against the cold as you look at your car in the parking lot. Frost was creeping up on the edges of the windows.

‘Do you have the keys?’ Vincent asks, turning to you. You quickly nod and hand them over, your fingers brushing against each other briefly. It was enough to send a jolt up his spine.

Vincent slips into the drivers seat, turning the key. The engine groaned, sputtered .. and then fell silent. Again, and again, and again. He pressed his lips into a thin line as he exited the car.

‘It’s not catching. It could be the battery.’ He says, glancing over at you. Your cheeks were rosy. You groan.

‘Figures. The one time I don’t have jumper cables in the car..’

Vincent paused, his mind working quickly. ‘No matter. Why don’t you come back inside while I call for assistance? No use in freezing out here, hm?’

Your shoulders relax slightly. ‘Thank you, I’m so sorry for the trouble, though.’

‘It’s no trouble at all.’ He responds, his voice smooth. Almost too smooth.

Inside, the warmth of his office was a nice contrast to the piercing cold outside. He gestured for you to sit on the couch, noticing the way you hesitated before sitting down on the leather.

It was perfect, Vincent thought. It was an opportunity, wasn’t it? An opportunity to get to know you better, to peel back another layer. To keep you here, with him, just a little longer.

‘Would you like something to drink? Tea? Coffee?’ He asks. His gaze lingers.

‘Oh, uh.. Tea would be nice. Thank you.’ You answer.

You were on the edge of the couch, one foot nervously tapping against the floor. The whole situation felt surreal. Your car breaking down, being stuck here with your new psychiatrist- it was something out of a bad sitcom. The meticulous order of everything in this room didn’t seem to help; like his weird tendency to keep straightening the pens on his desk, or that he always sat so perfectly still, like every movement was rehearsed. Like he was an actor.

After a while, Vincent returns, handing you the cup of tea. He made the tea just right- not too hot, a little bit of honey. No milk. The way he imagined you might prefer it. Would you notice the care he had taken?

He hoped so.

The steam of the tea curled around your face as you warm your hands with the cup. Vincent sat down across from you with his own. He seemed to relax more.

‘I called the tow truck for you. They’ll be here in a bit, the snow is kind of keeping them occupied.’

‘Thanks, doctor.’ You softly say, taking a sip from your tea. It was slightly sweet. Was it honey? ‘You really didn’t have to do that. I’m keeping you late.’

Vincent chuckled and waved his hand dismissively. If only you knew. Even if you had asked him to stay here the whole day and night, he wouldn’t mind. Not for you.

‘You’re not keeping me. I don’t mind at all.’

It was quiet in his office for a while. You watch the soft snowflakes fall down on the road next to his office. It was actually quite cozy. You decide to spark up conversation.

‘Your office is always so neat.’ You gesture around. ‘I often feel like I’m trespassing every time I walk in here with my muddy shoes.’

Vincent’s lips twitch into a smile. To be fair, he hated it when his patients stained his floor. When they mess up what he so perfectly cleaned. But he could bear it with you.

‘If you hint at your shoes that have been making my floor wet with snow, it’s fine.’ His eyes glance to your wet sneakers. ‘I suppose I do have a tendency to .. keep things in order. Keep them clean. It helps me think clearly.’

You chuckle. ‘Life is messy. Isn’t that what therapy is all about, doctor? That everything can’t be perfect all the time?’

His eyebrows raise. You were probing. Cheeky.

‘Poking around, are we? Very well. You are absolutely right, of course.’ He admits, placing his cup of tea down on the side table beside him. ‘But you’ll be surprised how much I can tolerate, giving the right circumstances. Even when I like things neat.’

‘You must think I’m a mess, then.’ You blurt out.

Vincent gaze lingers on you. ‘I don’t think so, Y/N. I really enjoy your company.’ He smiles. ‘This space becomes more meaningful whenever you’re here.’

The way he said that made your stomach flip- not necessarily in a good way. You focus on the tea in your hands, swirling it around the cup. There was something disarming about this conversation. Like he was trying to draw you closer without you realizing it.

‘You’re kind to say that.’

Vincent grins. He was scared he had overstepped a bit. But you seemed to accept it. If there was one thing he was besides a tad bit obsessed, it was patient. He would play the waiting game for as long as he sees fit. Reel you in. Really see you. Know you.

Outside, the sound of tires crunching trough the snow signaled the arrival of the tow truck. Disappointment flickered across Vincent’s face. ‘It seems your detour is over, Y/N.’

Later that night, he sat on the couch, on the same spot you had been sitting. He was softly brushing the edge of the tea cup you had left behind, deep in thought.

Next week felt too far away.

[hanniebaeee]

The Wedding Heist

Danceracha x fem!reader

Warnings: some threats

Genre: Best friends to lovers?, fluff, angst

Summary: Your parents are forcing you to marry a man you don't love or even begin to think of a life partner. You're being kept locked at your home, and your best friends (well, it's obviously more than friendship here) are planning a wedding heist - stealing the bride on the wedding day!

a/n: Also from a dream I had 🤭 Also I don't hate Yeonjun (or me) - just a character in the story !!

The smell of something burning filled the boys’ apartment, but Minho barely noticed as he stabbed furiously at the wok with his spatula. Two other pots boiled on the stove, one very close to spilling over.

But he didn’t seem to care. If he didn't keep moving, he was pretty sure he’d implode.

In the living room, Felix was a mess - blotchy tear-streaked cheeks, and brownie crumbs everywhere. He sat cross-legged on the sofa with a giant plate of brownies in his lap, sobbing as he shoveled the treat into his mouth.

“I j-just don’t understand!” he wailed, crumbs spraying everywhere. “Why isn’t she texting back?!”

“She obviously doesn’t have her phone, Yongbok,” Minho said, his shoulders sagged under his own misery. “Her parents must have taken it just to make sure we can’t talk to her.”

Felix’s face crumpled. He let out another sob and crammed another brownie into his mouth.

“W-We’re supposed to protect her! But we're just sitting here and letting her suffer! What if she thinks we don’t care?”

Across the room, Hyunjin was perched on the window sill, staring into the night like a lovesick Victorian poet. He hadn’t spoken in days, his brooding silence actually starting to make the atmosphere even more miserable - if that was even possible.

His hair was unkempt and dark circles shadowed his eyes - he has done nothing but mourn your absence from his life.

Minho side-eyed him while poking furiously at his chicken.

“Alright, broody. That's enough. Both of you, stop. This isn't doing us any good!” he snapped, and Hyunjin hopped off the window sill, glaring at Minho. 

“You think I’m sulking? She’s getting married - to some random asshole who doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her - and you’re over there making soup!”

“It’s a stir-fry,” Minho deadpanned. 

“She’s probably crying herself to sleep, and you’re stir-frying?” Hyunjin hissed. “We should be doing something! Not standing around like idiots while Yeonjun gets to -”

Felix burst into fresh sobs at the name.

“Don’t say his name! Please!” He said, hiccupping through the tears. “He doesn’t deserve her. He doesn't…What if she's moved on? What if -”

Hyunjin whirled around, facing Felix, taking two steps towards him. 

“Don’t you dare.” His voice was low and he sounded so furious, Felix looked terrified. “Don’t you dare question how she feels. She loves us. She’s just… stuck. You know that.”

Minho groaned, tossing his spatula onto the counter.

“Okay, this won't do. Hyunjin, stop scaring him. And Felix, you know her better than anyone.” He said, glaring at both of them. “We’re not sitting around and crying anymore.”

“We’re going to…going to stop the wedding, then?” Hyunjin asked, his eyes moving from Minho to Felix.

Felix sat up straight, brownie crumbs falling down his sweater.

“Ok, so we find out where she’s being kept, get her out of there, and make sure her parents know they can’t control her anymore.” Minho offered, and Felix just looked at Minho and Hyunjin with wide eyes, his mouth falling open. 

“Alright, but we need to be smart about this. Her parents are probably watching her like hawks.” Hyunjin added. 

“Let's do it then.” Felix said, finally putting the plate away and brushing the crumbs off him. 

The car was parked a safe distance from your family manor. Everything was so silent, but the tension inside felt like a blaring alarm.

Hyunjin sat in the driver’s seat, staring at the security guards patrolling your front yard. Felix was watching from the back, and he already looked so discouraged, it was sad. Minho, on the other hand, looked like he was about to start breathing fire.

“This is ridiculous,” Minho spat. “What do they think she’s going to do? Tunnel out of the house with a spoon?”

“M-Maybe they think we’re going to rescue her…” Felix hiccupped, his red-rimmed eyes peeking out from under his sleeve.

Hyunjin gripped the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles turned white.

“We can’t even get close to her,” Felix choked out. “She’s right there, and we can’t do anything! What if she thinks -”

“She’s not going to think anything,” Hyunjin said softly, but there was a shadow of doubt in his voice.

He looked back at the house, the corners of his mouth tightening. Minho, however, wasn’t having any of it. He slammed his fist against the dashboard, startling both of them.

“No. No way. We’re not giving up. If we can’t get her out now, we’ll do it when it matters most.”

“What do you mean?” Felix blinked at him, sniffling. 

“The wedding. If they want to lock her up until she says ‘I do,’ fine. Let them think they’ve won. But when she’s at that venue? She’s ours.” Minho said, his jaw clenching. 

“You’re saying we crash the wedding?” Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, completely invested in this plan. 

“No,” Minho said, a devilish smirk forming on his lips. “We steal the bride. We’ll take her someplace where she can actually be happy.”

---

Back at their apartment, the boys huddled around the coffee table, a hand drawn map of the wedding venue (courtesy Hyunjin) spread out in front of them. Minho was pointing at various parts of the map with a chopstick like a general planning a siege.

“Felix,” Minho began. “Your job is the most important. You’re going to sneak into her dressing room and get her out. I hope you're good at climbing because -”

“I’ll climb whatever you need me to climb!” Felix interrupted, looking determined.

Minho gave him a half-smile.

“Well, you'd climb in through her window for now,” he said. “While you’re doing that, I’ll create a distraction to draw security away from her side of the venue. Fire alarms, and maybe some smoke bombs -”

“Smoke bombs?” Hyunjin cut in, looking suspicious. 

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to,” Minho shot back, smirking. “Anyway, while we’re at it, Hyunjin will have the car ready and waiting.”

“I can handle that.” Hyunjin said, arms crossed and leaning back. “But what about after we get her out? They’ll chase us.” 

“Let them,” Minho said. “She's an adult. She can easily make a police complaint about being kept locked in, and maybe get a restraining order or something.”

Felix bounced in his seat, as he said, “This is gonna work. I know it will! She’ll see us, and she’ll know we’re there for her.”

Hyunjin gave a small smile and said, “She’ll know.”

It was the day of your wedding, and you were sitting in the dressing room, suffocating in the layers of white silk and lace - waiting for your death sentence. The pressure in your chest grew with every passing second. This was so wrong. This whole thing was. 

You stood in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection with terror. The dress was stunning, yes. But it didn’t feel like it belonged to you. Not when you had no say in it. 

Memories of last night surfaced and you felt extremely nauseated. You'd begged Yeonjun to reconsider this insanity. You’d pleaded with him, told him how you didn't want this.

But his response had been one that you'd never forget. 

He'd sneered at you and grabbed your chin so harshly as he said, “You’ll learn to be grateful for this. I’m going to teach you your place. And when I'm done, no one's gonna want you again. Especially those losers you call your friends.”

You felt your stomach churn. You weren’t afraid of him - no, not really - but you couldn’t deny the power he held over you. 

The power your own parents had bestowed upon him. Because they thought it was ok for him to threaten you into submission. 

And that terrified you.

More than anything, the thought that you'd never see Felix, Minho or Hyunjin ever again - that crushed you. There wasn't a night that you didn't cry over how much you missed them. They meant the world to you.

You walked towards the giant window, gazing out while considering climbing out. You wondered if that was actually feasible when suddenly, a face appeared just in front of you.

A very familiar, and very attractive, face.

“Felix?” you gasped, your heart leaping into your throat as you quickly grabbed his arm helping him through the open window.

He was dressed in a white suit that made him look like the literal definition of an angel sent to save you. His eyes were wide, and he looked like he was ready to weep.

“Oh my god, baby…” Felix whispered, and you barely had time to process this before he was pulling you into an hug.

The sob that escaped you was strangled and pained. You wrapped your arms around him, clutching him like he would disappear any minute.

You weren't even sure if you were hallucinating from hunger and exhaustion or if he was actually here. What helped was his scent - he smelled like vanilla and something spicy. And more than anything, he felt like home.

“Oh my god, Lixie, what are you doing here?” you asked breathlessly, tears streaming down your face.

“I’m here to take you home, of course,” he said softly, cupping your cheeks and brushing his lips against your forehead before moving to kiss you full on the lips - deep and slow. This was your first time kissing him, honestly, it sent shivers down your spine. You could feel his heart racing against yours, and his hands slipped down to your waist, holding you tight against him.

Felix was here. And he was taking you away.

He pulled back, his eyes taking in your wedding dress and a soft smile grazed his face as he said, “You’re so beautiful,”

You could see the lust burning in his eyes, a hunger that he was trying so hard to suppress. But there was no time to indulge in it now.

“Come on,” Felix whispered, taking your hand gently and guiding you toward the door. When he opened it, you gasped loudly, because you saw Minho stalking towards you and Felix with a smug grin on his face. 

“Minho!” you said, as your heart pounding in your chest. He was so damn sexy in his suit, his expression a perfect mix of arrogance and affection.

He didn’t even give you a chance to react before he was pulling you into his arms, wrapping his arms tightly around you.

“You're not getting married today, sweetheart,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear.

You blinked at him as you tried to take this all in. You were sure your life was over till about five minutes ago. You were scared to even hope, because at this moment, you had a lot of it flowing through you. 

You glanced around, looking for Hyunjin. But you don't have time to ask where he was, because at the exact moment a shrill sound fills the area.

A fire alarm. The wail echoed down the hall, and you could hear a soft hiss of smoke drifting from somewhere in the building. There were people running towards the source of the sound and the smoke filling the area.

“Minho…” you said, your voice almost incredulous, “Did you set off the fire alarm?”

“Would you prefer I hadn’t?” Minho teased, and Felix chuckled softly behind you.

You didn’t have time to process what was happening before Minho was pulling you in for a kiss of his own. And the look he gave you promised you something safe and beautiful you couldn't have dared to dream of until a few minutes ago. 

“We're taking you away from all this,” Minho said, breaking the kiss. “You belong with us.”

As if on cue, you heard the door swing open from the other side, and Yeonjun’s voice cut through the air like a knife.

“What the hell is going on?!” he bellowed, his face twisting in rage. “Where is Y/N?!”

The three of you ran. It was an absolute pain to run in that damn dress (which you thought was why Yeonjun wanted you to wear it in the first place - so you can't run away from him). And those heels - you kicked them off and Felix quickly lifts the front part of your dress a bit so you weren't tripping on it. 

And you ran.

Minho pushed open the door and you could hear Yeonjun’s loud voice even through the fire alarm. And the three of you raced down the steps, and there. 

Leaning against a sleek black car was Hyunjin.

Your heart skipped a beat. He looked even more stunning than usual in his suit. But it wasn’t just his looks that made you shiver - no. 

It was the way he stepped forward, grabbing you by the hand and pulling you into his chest. And again, he stole your breath away (like he always did) by kissing you. 

Hyunjin kissed you right in front of Yeonjun, and the kiss was rough and desperate, like he’d been waiting for this moment forever.

Yeonjun stood frozen for a moment, as the wedding guests and your family surrounded him. Obviously, there wasn't much he could do anymore. His perfect reputation was at risk here.

Hyunjin pulled back, his hand still gripping your waist as he gave Yeonjun a cold glare. And then taking your hand in his, he slipped your engagement ring off your finger, and tossed it towards Yeonjun, who looked like a volcano ready to explode. 

“Not today, you loser,” Hyunjin said with a smirk, watching as the ring tumbled through the air and landed at Yeonjun’s feet with a soft clink. “Not my girl.”

You were frozen, your heart racing as Minho and Felix joined you and Hyunjin, keeping you well shielded from your parents’ glare. But no one said anything.

Not a word.

Felix squeezed your hand, and Minho patted your shoulder as he watched you gaze at your parents who didn't look apologetic at all. Hyunjin pressed a soft kiss on your temple before leading you toward the car. 

And as Hyunjin opened the car door and grinned at you, you knew. It wasn’t just the end of a wedding - it was the beginning of your life, your new life, with your three beautiful boys. It was complicated, yes. But one thing you knew for sure was that they'd never let you shed a tear again.

And hell, you couldn't wait for whatever this was because you were finally with your boys. 

Divider - @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @satosugu4l

[typicalopposite]

🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼 Which isn't much of a surprise I guess. ;) Also congrats! You deserve every single follower and all the love, because you're one of the kindest and best people ever!

LP!! NO YOU ARE! 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 you have no ideas how much that means me, thank you! Here you go!!! 500+ words for Look What Love Has Done To Me ch. 11

🫶🫶🫶🫶

Tommy loads everything— that he has probably spent way too much money on— into the back of his truck. (He knows he could have spent ten times the amount and he wouldn’t have really cared… It’s for the twins’ birthday.) He stares at the bags filled with table cloths, party hats, paper plates, streamers, plus so much more, and it really starts to hit him… he has been a papa— Evan has been a daddy— for a whole year. He sees the bag with the two number one candles in it and that does enough heartstring tugging he needs to pull out his phone and call his husband. 

“I was just thinking about you,” Evan laughs, answering the call. 

“Are you at the station?”

“Y- Yeah… are you— is everything okay?” 

Tommy wipes his eyes and climbs into the driver seat. “I just need to see you…” he says softly. 

Evan is waiting for him outside the 118 when he pulls up and parks; his arms opening to him before he’s even out of the truck. Tommy practically melts into Evan’s embrace. They go inside for more privacy. “Talk to me,” Evan says as he shuts the door behind them. It has taken time… but Tommy has finally begun coming straight to Evan with his feelings. 

“It’s so stupid,” he says, as Evan pulls him back into his arms— Tommy rests his head against Evan’s shoulder. 

Tender lips press kisses to his temple and gentle hands rub circles into his back. “Now that’s not true,” he says. 

“You don’t even know what it is,” Tommy quips back. 

“Hmm… doesn’t matter. I know it’s not stupid. But still tell me, please?”

“Just… a lot hit me at one time, I guess,” Tommy whispers, thinking about the bag with the candles. “There’s so much going on… Our babies are really about to be one!” He can feel tears welling up again, and sighs; he can feel Evan smile against his temple, and it helps. “And— And now you’re captain…“ 

“W- Well… I’m not really captain,” Evan quickly corrects. Bobby is recovering from a minor injury— not work related, although Tommy is sure he wishes it was. (He took a baby head to the nose effectively breaking it, and lightly traumatizing both twins in the process— he is currently trying to win them back over, by babysitting them while Tommy got his shopping taken care of.) This is the very first time he has chosen Evan as acting Captain— Tommy knows what this means to him. Plus—

“Not yet, you mean…” Tommy says proudly; he turns to press a kiss to Evan’s cheek. Bobby has dropped more than a few hints that he is truly ready to retire. Tommy knows he is letting Evan get the feel of the responsibility… he knows that Bobby knows Evan is ready. 

“You really think so?” 

“I’m sure of it,” Tommy says with another kiss. 

Evan hums against his lips, holding him tight. “Might be a family of five by then.” He pulls back and gives Tommy a knowing look and Tommy thinks about the bag again. Dropped in it, along with the candles, is a multipack box of pregnancy test strips. 

Make me Write <3

[valyrfia]

"but that multi-millionaire rich white man with extremely questionable morals"

How nice of you to say this about Charles when you spend so much time defending and supporting Max Verstappen. The same guy whose girlfriend is freaking Kelly Piquet, who is a bolsonaro supporter, and defended her shitty homophobic and racist father, among many other things. I'm not even going to get in the whole issue of him defending Nelson Piquet and happily bringing him to the Brazil paddock.

lol girl I’m under no pretences as to who these people are, KP is the one wag I’ve publicly denounced time and time again despite me trying my best to keep wag talk lighthearted on here, so nice try trying to get a “gotcha!” moment with me at that. I will defend Max and Charles if it’s about racing or their careers, otherwise leave those rich men to the wolves for all I care. I will guarantee you that you and I have a lot more in common in terms of what we deem morally acceptable than the people raised and living in those batshit insane delusional rich circles. I just don’t understand why you’re all so desperate to move goalposts to catch me slacking in morality when most of the grid has had their questionable moments (Charles and Max both refusing to take the knee comes to mind, if we’re going to play it like that), and it’s not uncommon knowledge that most drivers openly engage in boys club/locker room type behaviour behind closed doors.

TLDR: I am not your enemy. Charles Leclerc 2025 WDC at the cost of the on-track murder of the 19 others? I avert my eyes and celebrate the bells ringing in Maranello. But I’m also under no pretenses. My total support of his racing career does not translate to a celebrity idolisation off the track that becomes going and sending other people who light candles at every Catholic Church they enter for a Ferrari WDC accusations about being a “fake fan”.

[umathurwin]

you're the treasure, dive down deeper still

jj maybank x f!reader; nsfw 18+

Summary: Y/N just wants one evening to herself in a bar, alone. Is that so much to ask?

Well, for JJ, it is.

tags, warnings, and more on ao3!

“Come here often?”

She cringed. It wasn’t like she didn’t expect people to talk to her; it’s a Kook bar, and most of them were massive extroverts, but she still wasn’t in the mood to make any conversation. Y/N pasted on the not-very-apologetic “sorry, not interested” look on her face before turning and replacing it immediately with a grimace when she saw the messy blonde hair. “Ugh, go away.”

JJ’s mouth dropped open in fake-shock, slapping a palm to the buttons on his vest—clearly part of some uniform. “Now now, Elsa. Why the cold shoulder?”

“That’s not even a good joke,” Y/N wrinkled her nose and took a sip from her drink. “How do you manage to work at every well-off establishment on this freakin’ island?”

“Labor shortage.”

“What do you want?” she asked monotonously.

“To talk to you.” JJ set an arm to casually lean onto the counter, and acted like his hand didn’t slip a little on the varnished oak surface.

“Are you even allowed to be talking to me?” she asked, glancing over to see if any management was monitoring this boldly lazy employee. They were not.

“Of course I am. In fact, right now, I’m telling you all about the special drinks we have tonight,” JJ winked, waving his arms to give mock-recommendations.

“I don’t drink.” JJ’s eyes flickered down to the sweating drink sitting in front of her. “It’s Diet Coke, smartass.”

He snorted. “Didn’t even say anything, princess,” he muttered, rubbing his jaw like he’d been punched.

Y/N’s back stiffened. “Don’t call me that.” She turned away from him in the hopes that he wouldn’t catch the apples of her cheeks heating up.

“Why?” he cooed, tilting his head cheerlessly. “You’ve liked it before.”

“Stop.”

“And you kind of are one. I mean, your father owns half the boardwalk. Dontcha sometimes feel like royalty in this little town? Guess that makes me your court jester.”

“Don’t talk about my dad.”

“Mm, sensitive topic? Is that why you’re so nervous that I’m chatting with you? You think I’m gonna mess up that sweet reputation you have if word gets out you’ve been getting fucked by a Pogue?”

“JJ—!”

“Or are you that flustered because you’re thinking about the last time we were together?”

“Please, d—”

“’Cause if that’s the reason, I honestly don’t blame you. I think about it, too. Have you ever cum that hard before in your life?”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, now just burying her face in her hands because it was definitely bright red by now. “Don’t you have some Cameron clan member to piss off?”

“Not ‘til 10,” he shrugged. “Until then, I’ll be here, taking empty glasses from rich people, replacing them with full ones, and whispering things in your ears that’ll make you cross your legs.”

“And what if I leave?”

He sighed, finally taking his weight off the counter and stepping away from her. “That’s the funny thing, doll. You always come back.”

***

JJ had to hold onto the headrest of the driver’s seat to keep himself stable while rocking his hips. A bead of sweat dropped off his forehead and plopped down onto Y/N’s body, but she was far too preoccupied to notice or care.

“Didn’t have to prove me right so soon, baby,” he teased, relishing the way her back arched up into him to increase their contact. “We didn’t even leave the parking lot.”

She whined. “Be nice.”

He bottomed out, leaning down to hungrily kiss her. “I think I’m bein’ real nice to you right now, sweetheart.”

Y/N gasped at his cock pressing against that one spot, digging her fingernails into the flesh on his back. “You’re gonna—fuck—get in trouble,” she whined, hand reaching up and streaking down the fogged window. His brain melted; as cliché as it was, it’s fucking hot.

She was unfortunately right, and if he isn’t careful getting back inside for his shift, she was gonna really be right. “Don’t care,” he gritted out anyways. “I’ll lose a thousand jobs for a chance to get this pussy.”

“M’gonna cum,” she admitted, and he could honestly tell. Her walls pulsed around him, threatening to release at any minute.

“Mm, really?” he purred, forehead dropping down. “M’little princess is gonna cum all over my cock? So good for me, and what did I do to deserve this?”

“Fucked me right,” she choked out in between thrusts, and boy, if that didn’t stroke his ego.

“Oh yeah? Like this?” JJ picked up his pace just a bit, slamming his hips against hers even harder, resulting in a delicious noise echoing around the cab of his truck.

In return, her eyes flew back and her entire body shuddered, her pussy clenching down around his cock and becoming suddenly so much wetter. He didn’t stand a fucking chance, and came with a shameless moan shortly after.

Redressing was the worst fucking part, for both of them. It was silent, and tense, two things JJ refused to subject himself to.

“Same time next week?” he joked, chest fluttering slightly and eyes darting around conspicuously. He always made some form of joke to cut the thick air between them (which she enjoyed, unbeknownst to him), but never anything about meeting again. It was supposed to stop happening, anyways.

Y/N sniffled after tugging her dress and heels back on. “S’exactly my problem, isn’t it? You know I’ll always be back.”

JJ forced a smile that lasted until she ambled out of the car and slammed the door behind her, leaving him alone in a steamy ass truck cab.

[galaxymagitech]

5 Times Dick Covers for Bruce (+ 1 Time He Can't)

(Whumpuary 2025 - Day 3)

Summary:

“What happened?” Kori asks, eyes wide as she traces the edges of the bruise.

Dick looks into her eyes and knows that if he told her the truth, she would fly straight to Gotham with starbeams burning in her eyes. “I fell,” he says. He gives Kori a self-effacing grin. “It turns out that crutch handstands aren’t exactly the best idea.”

Characters: Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Duke Thomas, Roy Harper, Koriand'r, Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake, Jason Todd

Warnings: Emotional and Physical Abuse, references to Jason's death

You can read it here or on AO3.

i.

“It’s just not right,” Roy says as he paces around one of the common rooms at Titans Tower. Dick doesn’t really know or care which one, he just chose the first one he could pull Roy into, before Speedy said something the other Titans didn’t need to hear.

On the couch, Dick buries his face in his hands. “Just shut up, Roy.”

“I’m telling you!” Through his fingers, Dick sees Roy whirl around, gesticulating wildly. “It’s fucking insane, is what it is.”

Roy, Dick decides, is a drama queen. Kinda funny, seeing as how he’d accused Dick of being the drama queen last week. “Dude, calm down. It’s just every other weekend.”

“Yeah, half the time you spend with the Titans!” Roy shakes his head.

“Bruce is right, though, Roy,” Dick says. “I am neglecting the Mission. And I do spend a lot of time messing around with you guys that I should spend patrolling.”

Roy flops onto the couch, sending Donna’s latest attempt at buying tasteful throw pillows flying. “He’s just jealous. Because he doesn’t have any friends except you, but you spend all your time with us.” Roy might be right. Bruce had been all for the Teen Titans until Dick started running off to them every weekend—or after one of their blowout arguments, which have only been getting worse since Dick turned 16 and got his driver’s license. “Plus, we tell you when he’s being an asshole, and I’ll bet he doesn’t like that.”

Okay, yeah. Bruce might be jealous, but the way Roy’s saying it makes it sound like Bruce is way more controlling than he is. “I mean, he wants to spend time with me,” Dick says. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“He’s telling you that you can’t see your friends,” Roy says flatly.

Bruce said that Dick can only go to Titans Tower every other weekend or in emergencies, but he also said he missed Dick. He’s keeping Dick from hanging out with Roy and Wally and Donna and Garth, but that’s because he wants Dick around. And sure, Bruce can be a controlling bastard—Dick has ranted about that to the other Titans plenty of times—but that just means he cares, right?

So, Dick leans in, like he’s telling Roy a secret.

“Listen,” Dick says. “I—I love you guys, and it’s really fun being here, but I’ve been wanting to spend more time with B for a while. And I do feel like I should focus more on Gotham to keep up with things. You know how it is—the landscape of crime is always changing. And Bruce kind of gave me a good excuse. So, don’t start shouting at B in front of the others, alright?” The truth is, Dick doesn’t want to decrease the time he spends with the Teen Titans at all. But he doesn’t want to get into a fight with Bruce about this. Bruce can’t think that Dick doesn’t want to spend time with him. And if going to Titans Tower less will make Bruce feel better, it’s worth it. For Batman and Robin.

“I don’t like this,” Roy says, but Dick watches as the older boy’s shoulders slump. “…okay, Dick. I’ll drop it.”

“Thanks, Roy,” Dick says, putting a hand on Roy’s shoulder and leaving the room before he can change his mind.

***

ii.

Kori’s warm hand rests gently on Dick’s cheek, careful not to press the growing bruise. Dick’s breath catches in his throat as her hand drifts up to brush his hair away from his black eye.

Bruce hadn’t even hit him in the eye. He just hit him hard. Hard enough that Dick fell to the floor of the cave. Hard enough that the blood pooled in the socket and turned it black and blue. 

“What happened?” Kori asks, eyes wide as she traces the edges of the bruise.

Dick looks into her eyes and knows that if he told her the truth, she would fly straight to Gotham with starbeams burning in her eyes. “I fell,” he says. He gives Kori a self-effacing grin. “It turns out that crutch handstands aren’t exactly the best idea.”

Because Dick doesn’t want Kori to fight it out with Bruce. Dick just wants to curl up next to his girlfriend and forget that today ever happened. Forget that Jason is dead, and it’s all Dick’s fault, and Bruce knows it, and Bruce told him to leave, and Dick can’t ever go back home now. 

“I’m alright, Kori,” Dick lies.

Kori frowns, uncertain. It’s a strange look on her. “Did Bruce have anything to do with this?”

Dick’s a performer. And it’s easy to perform what you know so well. A few days ago, he would have reacted with brief confusion, and then a confident denial. So, that’s what he does now. He lets the bewilderment play across his face for a second, then shakes his head with a smile. “Don’t worry, Kori. Bruce would never.”

Kori looks away. “I’ll get you an icepack.”

“Thanks,” Dick says.

Kori goes to rummage around in the freezer. Instead of handing the ice pack to him, she wraps it in a thin towel and holds it to his face herself. “I am sorry about your brother, Dick.”

Dick just hums in response. He has no right to mourn Jason. Not when he died in Dick’s family colors.

***

iii.

“What happened to your face?” Babs asks. Tim leans against the nearby door, making space for Dick to talk to Barbara, while Cass stands even further away, her cape flying out behind her.

“Uh—” Dick cuts himself off.

The answer is actually very simple: “I got in the way.” Dick’s not ashamed of it—he’s proud, actually. Proud that he intervened. Proud of saving that man from being strangled to death. Proud that Nightwing stopped Batman from becoming a killer. Because Jim could be dead, and no one else is going to lose their father tonight. One tragedy is already far too much.

What happened to your face? It’s an odd question to ask a vigilante. Dick was fighting people. The reason his lower face is covered in blood is because someone punched him. Such is the life.

So, if Babs is asking, that means she knows that this time is different.

Or—suspects. Suspicion, Dick can deal with. Especially now, when Barbara is understandably distracted.

Barbara can’t know. She’s already terrified for her father—this would only make things worse. And it would hurt Tim, who practically worships the Batman and Robin of old. If Dick allows even a tiny crack, that shatters. Dick can’t bear to be the reason Tim’s pedestal breaks.

It’s all excuses really. Dick doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want it to be a big deal. He just wants to move on, like he did after Bruce punched him the first time.

“Nothing,” Dick says. “Just let one get past my defenses, I guess.” Tim watches, his eyes narrowed. And Cassandra—Dick can’t see her reaction through her mask, but surely she’s clocked the lie. Doesn’t matter, though. They won’t press. “How is he?” Dick asks, changing the subject and leaning his head against Barbara’s as she cries.

***

iv.

Dick’s little brother is curled up in the corner of his apartment. Meanwhile, Dick is barely resisting the urge to strangle his former mentor.

How could Bruce do this? Tim had—Tim had friends. Family. A support system. People he could relate to. And Bruce looked at that and decided, ‘this child needs to trust people less.’ He saw that Tim had a good thing and ripped it to shreds, because the kid wasn’t paranoid enough for him. Because Tim could do what Bruce could not, and that must be a flaw, mustn’t it? If the great Batman doesn’t have friends, then his Robin can’t have them either.

It's so fucked up. Dick had really expected better of Bruce.

(But didn’t he do this to you too? Says the little voice inside his head. Dick barely even registers the thought. He stopped listening to that voice long ago.)

So, Dick is beyond angry right now. But that doesn’t do Tim any good. Not when the boy just needs someone to comfort him in his distress.

“Bruce has a strange way of showing he cares,” Dick says, wrapping an arm around Tim’s shoulders.

“I don’t—he didn’t even apologize, Dick.” Tim ducks his head, hiding the tears that are dripping down his face.

“He’s trying to help you,” Dick tells Tim. “He wants you to be safe, and sometimes he can be a bastard, but he loves you, Tim. You’re his Robin.”

Tim shakes his head. “It hurt, Dick.”

Yeah. Bruce betrayed Tim’s trust horrifically. But— “He’s a bastard,” Dick agrees. “I have half the urge to strangle him.” More than half, but Tim doesn’t need to know that right now. “But that’s how he is. That’s how he loves us. When I was your age I was mad at him all the time. But he means well, Tim. He really does. And when I stopped being angry at him for pulling these things, it got a lot better.”

“I don’t want to be like him.”

“Hey,” Dick says gently. “Am I like Bruce?”

“No,” Tim whispers. “You’re not.”

“See? I turned out fine.” Dick ruffles Tim’s hair. “You will too.”

“I—” There are still tears leaking from Tim’s eyes. Dick doesn’t know what to do. “Can I have some water, please?”

Dick springs to his feet, grateful to look away from the results of Bruce’s love. “Sure, Timmy.”

“Sorry for bothering you.”

Dick smiles. “It’s no bother.” He’s glad he could be here, to reassure Tim. Because Dick? Dick had no one to tell him that Bruce meant well. He just had to trust.

***

v.

“I don’t know what you expected,” Jason says, arms crossed and helmet lying off to the side as he sits on the rooftop with Dick. He’s refusing to even look Dick’s way, but at least he’s talking, which is far better than the past three hours of stakeout. Or the operation before that. Or— “I mean, we buried you, Dick. Or whatever fake you put there instead. We’re not going to just get over it, no matter how many bonding ops you try to drag us on.”

Dick sighs heavily. He regrets it immediately, though. Jason deserves better than dismissiveness. Dick knows what it’s like to mourn a brother, and he forced Jason and Tim to go through that. Sure, the accusations hurt like hell, but Dick needs to think past his own pain.

“Come on,” Jason says, finally, finally turning to look at Dick. He’s angry, is the first thing Dick registers from Jason’s burning eyes and clenched jaw. That’s not helpful though. Jason is always angry with Dick these days. There’s nothing Dick can do to change that. Nothing, except maybe tell the truth. And Dick is never going to tell the truth. Not about this. “Tell me why you thought it was okay.”

This time, Dick is the one who looks away. “Just drop it, Hood.”

Jason’s hand falls heavily on Dick’s shoulder. Dick flinches away, but Jason doesn’t let go, tugging Dick around to face him. “Why, Dick? Why did you go to Spyral? Why did you fake your death?”

Some things would break this family. And Dick can’t do that. He’d told Bruce things wouldn’t be the same, but they have to be the same. Because the this is the only thing he has left. His brothers, no matter how much they hate him. His pride, which will be lost if he admits he caved to Bruce’s demands just because they came with some harsh words and fists. And his lies—the same ones he has been telling for years.

“I did what I needed to do,” Dick says. “And no names in the field, Hood.”

Jason’s lip curls in disgust and he stands up, shaking his head.

Even though he’s the one driving Jason away, Dick doesn’t want his brother to leave. “We’re not finished with the stakeout.”

“They’re not showing up,” Jason says coldly as he puts on his helmet. “If you want to wait around, you can, but I’m out. I don’t wanna deal with you anymore.”

And then he grapples off, leaving Dick alone on the rooftop.

*** ***

In the end, Dick doesn’t slip up. He spent a decade and a half covering for Bruce, sweeping his bullshit under the rug. He’s good at it. If he was going to make a mistake, he’d have made it long ago.

Instead, it’s Bruce who brings it all crashing down. Not out of guilt, but simply because he is even more lacking in self-awareness than Dick thought.

It starts when Dick finds Duke sitting at his kitchen table on a Saturday morning. “…hi Duke,” he says. He wasn’t aware Duke had gotten to the ‘breaking into siblings’ apartments’ stage of Bathood yet, but he guesses the kid is just precocious. 

“Bruce had me looking at some old case files,” Duke says. He skips over the small talk completely, which is…unusual for him. “I had some questions?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dick says, walking towards the coffee maker. “Shoot.”

“I made you coffee,” Duke tells him, pointing to a mug on the counter.

“Thanks.” Dick smiles at his foster brother, scoops some sugar in, and then sits down at the table across from Duke.

Duke swallows. “What’s a percussive strike to the mandible?”

“Hmm…” Dick takes a moment to think over that one. “A really fancy way to say a punch to the jaw?” The only person he knows who is pretentious enough to phrase things like that is Bruce. Specifically, a brooding Bruce. Well-adjusted Bruce tends to write a little more like a normal person.

“Could it be anything else?” Duke asks.

Dick shrugs. “Don’t think so. A percussive strike is some sort of hit, and the mandible is the jaw, so…”

“And if something says ‘Sustained facial damage from strike during intervention; potential mandible fracture’ what would that mean?”

“Someone tried to get in the way of something, got hit in the face, and maybe fractured their lower jaw.”

Duke places a post-operation report printed from the Batcomputer on the kitchen table and then wipes his hands on his shirt. Dick can see wet spots on the paper from Duke’s sweaty hands. Is Duke nervous to ask questions? Dick must’ve made a mistake if he is. His little siblings can always ask him questions. “And…what’s this?”

Dick looks at Duke in confusion, sipping his coffee. “I feel like this is a trick question.”

Duke’s foot bounces furiously under the table. “Please just—just answer.”

Dick shrugs. “It’s a report from the batcomputer.”

“Yeah,” Duke says. He slides the file towards Dick. “Read it.”

First, Dick checks the date and searches his memories. That…that must’ve been pretty early on in his time with the red suit—probably the Court of Owls debacle. And then, he begins to read.

By the time he reaches the end, it’s taking all his willpower to keep his hands from shaking.

During this discussion, Nightwing’s tooth was removed via percussive strike to the mandible. The tooth was then confirmed to have the electrum implant.

“Duke, this is…”

“Here.” Duke passes Dick another file, and he reads that one too.

Nightwing prevented Batman from continuing attack. Nightwing sustained facial damage from strike during intervention; potential mandible fracture.

And all he can think is…why? Why would Bruce put complete descriptions of these incidents into his records—and not just his private records, but the records that are accessible even from Duke’s clearance? And then he told Duke to go looking through them, not even realizing that there could be an issue. He didn’t even—

“He didn’t even try to hide them,” Duke says hollowly.

Dick has to try, then. If Bruce has gone mad, Dick has to at least attempt to cover for him. One last time. So, he laces his hands in front of him on the table and gives it his best shot. “I don’t remember these, Duke,” Dick lies. “I think something’s up with the file system.”

Duke shakes his head. “Don’t try to gaslight me, Dick. This is—this is real. He hit you at least twice. Probably more, if he’s writing it this casually. If he doesn’t even realize how messed up this is.”

“Okay,” Dick says. “Okay, but it’s not—”

“Tim gave me access to the Titans contact sheet. Apparently, Roy keeps a file called ‘Fuck Batman’. Most of it is hearsay, but if I line it up with incident reports—”

“Don’t,” Dick whispers. “It’s…I made a choice, okay? I chose to cover for Bruce, because I was fine.”

Duke gives a sad smile and reaches across the small table to squeeze Dick’s hands. “It’s over,” he says. He probably means to be comforting.

It didn’t have to be, Dick thinks. He would’ve kept every incident secret for the rest of his life. All Bruce had to do was possess an ounce of self-awareness and realize that he had something to hide. But he didn’t. And now, Duke knows and the Titans and other Bats will soon follow. “Yeah,” Dick says, squeezing back. “I guess it is.”

[n0vazsq]

Face of an angel | AA23 x Reader

pairing . . . guardian!angel!alex albon x insane!killer!reader

summary . . . Being a guardian angel was sure to be tiring, Alex knew that, especially when you were an insane killer

request . . . no!!

word count . . . 1.2k+

warnings . . . cursing, killing, blood, stalker behaviour!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . ok so i might have blanked out with this one but trust me guys i had no wifi so i had no thesaurus but the fics about the f2/f3 drivers will be better trust

. . . The world felt quiet tonight. The neon signs reflected off the wet streets as the rain poured down in a veil of silver. You stood under the streetlight, your fingers twitching as they traced the edge of the blade hidden in your jacket.

It had been a while since you’d let yourself get this… worked up. But tonight? Tonight, you had a craving that could only be satisfied by blood.

It had been too long since you'd played with your prey. And you liked to play.

You’d been watching him for weeks now, a shadow in the crowd, learning his movements like a lover tracing every inch of a lover’s skin. He thought he was smart, thought he was untouchable, but you knew better. Everyone had a weakness.

Including you.

You felt the shift in the air before you saw the familiar car pull up beside you. Red, fancy, unmistakable.

It was Alex.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," he muttered as he slid out of the driver’s seat, adjusting his jacket with that annoying sense of someone who knew exactly what you were up to. "You really can’t let me have a night off, can you?"

You grinned, taking your time to glance at him. "Alex, darling, you know I can’t help myself. I get so bored."

He was used to this by now. You could see it in the way he stood; arms crossed, eyes narrowed. He didn’t even try to stop you anymore.

He knew it was pointless. After all, he was your guardian angel, wasn’t he? Even if you didn’t need protection from anyone, except maybe yourself.

"I don’t know why I bother anymore," Alex continued, his voice tinged with a mix of amusement and frustration. "You’re a walking death wish, and I’m stuck playing chauffeur to a goddamn serial killer."

You tilted your head, amused by the way he spoke as if you weren’t standing right there with blood on your hands. "I’m not a serial killer. I’m an artist. You of all people should appreciate that. I’m… particular."

"Particular? You’re reckless. You’re insane," he shot back. "What part of this do you think is okay?”

You shrugged disinterestedly, running your fingers over the handle of your knife, staring at the target you’d been stalking for weeks. He was there now, just across the street, oblivious to the fact that he was about to die.

But you couldn’t help yourself. It was part of the fun, teasing Alex like this. He was always so stiff, so serious. You wondered how long it would take before he finally gave up trying to save you.

Then again, part of you hoped he’d never give up. There was something about his unwavering commitment to keeping you alive that made you feel… wanted. Even when you didn’t deserve it.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I can handle this? You’re not my keeper, Alex," you taunted, turning your back to him and heading toward your victim.

Alex sighed, following you. "I’m not your keeper, but you know what I am? The only reason you’re still alive. You think I don’t know how much you like the chaos? The blood? You’re a fucking monster, and I’m the one who’s stuck cleaning up your mess."

You couldn’t help but laugh. "Don’t pretend like you don’t love it, Alex. You know you enjoy the thrill of this game too. You’re my guardian angel, after all. You’re stuck with me."

He rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed. "Stuck is right. But I still care about you. You know that, right? Even if you don’t seem to care about anyone else but yourself."

You paused, glancing back at him. For a moment, the playful gleam in your eyes flickered, but only for a second. Then it was gone, replaced by that familiar hunger. "I know you care. But you want to care. There’s a difference."

His jaw tightened, his brows furrowing as he watched you walk up to your target. "You’ve got to stop doing this. I can’t keep saving you from yourself."

"You don’t have to save me, Alex. You know I’m fine," you said, your voice low, but there was a faint tease in it. You stepped into the shadows, positioning yourself for the perfect strike. The guy was turning around, finally noticing the figure lurking in the corner of his vision.

Alex didn’t move, his eyes fixated on you. "I’m trying to keep you from becoming a problem, but you keep making it so much harder. One day, you’re going to piss off the wrong person, and I won’t be able to get you out of it."

You grinned."I like to live dangerously."

The guy took a few steps closer. He was too close now. You could feel your heart rate pick up, that familiar rush of adrenaline washing over you. The air was thick with tension, and for a split second, you thought you saw Alex’s lips quirk into a worried frown.

But then you struck.

It was swift, effortless, just the way you liked it. You didn’t even need to think. The blade was in your hand, and before your target could react, you buried it deep.

Blood pooled beneath him, a perfect crimson halo, and you stepped back with a satisfied smile, wiping your hands on your jacket. It wasn’t your first, and it certainly wouldn’t be your last. But tonight, it felt… satisfying.

You turned back to see Alex standing there, his face unreadable. "Are you done now?" he asked, his voice tight with barely contained frustration.

"Done?" You arched an eyebrow. "I’m just getting started."

He looked like he was about to lose it. “You’re a fucking psychopath.”

"And you love me for it," you teased, stepping toward him, but he stepped back, away from you, clearly unwilling to get too close.

"I don’t love you," he muttered, but you could see through the cracks in his armor. You saw the flicker of something softer in his eyes, the faint hesitation as he stared at the lifeless body you’d just left behind. "I’m just trying to keep you from ruining both of our lives."

You stepped closer, daring him with a look. "Tell me you don’t like it. The thrill, the chaos, the danger."

His face softened just slightly, as if torn between his anger and something else, something buried deep inside. "It’s not that. It’s you. You don’t care about anyone. You don’t even care about yourself."

You stopped, staring at him. For the first time tonight, something shifted between the two of you. The teasing was gone. And in its place? Something deeper. Something Alex had never quite been able to admit.

"I care about you," you whispered, voice uncharacteristically soft, almost vulnerable.

He blinked at you, his lips parting, then he sighed heavily, shaking his head. "You really know how to make me insane, you know that?"

You smiled, a genuine smile, something that could almost pass for sweetness. "That’s because you're my guardian angel, remember? And maybe I'm yours too."

He chuckled, despite himself. "You’re a fucking angel, alright."

You laughed too, the tension fading, but only for a moment. Because deep down, you both knew this wasn’t over.

It never was. You were always one step away from the next kill, and Alex? Well, he’d always be right behind you, chasing you down, trying to save you from the chaos you lived in.

And you wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

 taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @justaf1girl ,, @awritingtree (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

[atropinenightshade]

@multifandom-carnage 

Hi! This was originally for the gift exchange and while it isn't really Christmas anymore, I still wanted to give something.

This is incomplete and very much unedited. So I believe you may be the only person or one of the only people to ever see a whole lot of writing at my rawest. Even my experimental chapters were edited as usual. All the parts had a traditional holiday song in it that matched the theme or the vibe.

Secret Santa SGE Crackfic (Imcomplete)

Winter Wonderland–

Secret Santa shopping

Agatha sighed in annoyance as she walked inside the mall. She never should have participated. She wouldn’t have, if Tedros didn’t convince her. All she wanted was a peaceful holiday season spent with family. A Christmas with buttery turkey, hot chocolate, and sugary cookies, with nobody else to disturb her. 

But now, after sticking her hand in that stupid black hat, she was stuck having to find a gift for an arrogant, entitled, and spoiled man that acted more like a child at times. And with being married to Tedros, that was saying a lot.

She scanned the photocopied list of everyone’s top five interests, and to her dismay, the man she had to play Santa Claus to was one of the vaguest there was. 

Your Choice

Your Choice

Whatever you want

I don’t care

Whatever you have

Sophie’s list was cluttered with way more than five; Rufius’ simple but clear enough. Hester and Anadil openly declared they wouldn’t participate, and now Agatha saw it was with good reason. 

“I’m not the only one,” Agatha grumbled under her breath as she saw a completely despondent acquaintance of hers exit a store empty-handed.

Midas had her draw’s brother for himself. Unfortunately, Midas hated said brother and may or may not be a teensy bit resentful of Agatha’s draw. He and another one of her draw’s friends, or acquaintances, or frenemies– whatever he considered them as– were about to perform for him. Agatha had a feeling it was more on the teasing side than a genuine act of gift-giving. 

Agatha stepped aside from the crowds as she picked up her phone. It was Sophie calling, as usual.

“Hello?” Agatha snapped. “You know I’m pressed for time, trying to find something for that horrible man! Is this anything urgent?”

“Our party is tomorrow, Aggie, and Hort didn’t bring me the correct decorations! So, while you’re out, would you mind buying me some wreaths that have a better sense of festivity in them? Red is our dominant color, so some touches of berries would be lovely.”

“I am the last person to ask about this, Sophie, and you know it,” Agatha argued. “Can’t you find anyone else? Maybe Dot is willing to help, considering she and Rufius are doing so much already, aesthetically.”

“She’s making things like brownies, Agatha. Decorating cakes and a home are not the same things or skills. “

“Well, I can’t help you, because I’ll only end up getting something you don’t like. Besides, you have done much already, I don’t think the whole party will fall apart just because Hort made a couple of shopping mistakes. I’ve seen it and it looks perfect to me.”

“And this James man keeps playing that song on repeat!” Sophie whined, causing Agatha to flinch. “Not to mention, Aric will be there and Hester isn’t so happy about that, Japeth will infect the party with his presence, and Rhian and his sourpuss brother will attend as well. And I have Teddy as my draw for Secret Santa!”

“You aren’t the only one who has an unfortunate choice,” Agatha muttered. “What I can do is help out by buying some eggnog and some form of alcohol to go with that. For the game. By the way, you should remind people to either bring a sober driver with them to take them home or go in an Uber.”

“Pfft. I don’t think anyone will become intoxicated during the holidays! Let’s save that for a late night party at the club. Rhian– the father, not the son– says vodka should be there because his brother won’t drink anything else when it comes to alcohol. Which is silly because vodka seems a bit too strong for a stick-in-the-mud like Rafal.”

“He’s my person,” Agatha said. “Maybe I should buy him a bottle just so he can drink his assholery away. Maybe cirrhosis will make him more of one, though. You did get gifts for more than just Tedros, right? We have White Elephant and a regular gift exchange as well.”

“Aggie, why do you think I’m in need of financial assistance? I’ve obliterated my bank account for my generosity. Though, to be fair, most of the stuff I got were for my needs, and self-care is just as important as anyone else’s during the holidays. Rafal was one of the only people who couldn’t help me. He’s paying for Rhian’s credit card bill. But Rhian and I were on the same page. Such a pity his sons are loons! Though Rhian Jr. certainly inherited more of that charisma than his twin.”

“Yes, well, I have to get going,” Agatha said quickly, hanging up. She managed to buy several ugly sweaters, and even found one for cats. (Personally, they were cute rather than ugly.) She also purchased gift cards, chocolates, knick knacks and so forth. But it took her another couple of hours to finally find something for Rafal Mistral, and it wasn’t even in the same location.

As she fell asleep after she wrapped and bagged everything for the next day, she made a silent wish that everything would go well at the party. Things just did not seem right for her. So many people, with so many conflicts and differences, and so many pranks and jokes being planned did not sit right with her.

We Wish You a Merry Christmas and a Sappy New Year

At first,  things seemed to take a normal course. Guests were greeted with a joyful “Merry Christmas!” and were assaulted with smells of melted marshmallows, buttery turkey, and freshly baked cookies. The more artistic kinds were whisked off to decorate plain sugar cookies– Rafal surprisingly included in the mix. Agatha noted he liked making little designs of swans on the cookies and some other birds. There was one where he did a holly plant, but that was due to Rhian’s insistence. He gave most to his nephews and he seemed more invested in them than their own father, who appeared as if he forgot they existed every five seconds.

Hester and Anadil looked more fit for a Halloween party, wearing sweaters that had belladonna berries instead of hollies. Aric had anything but holiday cheer, and Tedros was trying way too hard to get along with everybody, annoying more than one person. The only person who seemed really engaged for more than fifteen minutes was James, who was interested in developing more muscle. 

Sophie did not follow the pajama theme, wearing heavy makeup, and a strapped black dress with a white fur coat. Her jewelry consisted of snowflake earrings and a candy cane choker. But then, the Mistral brothers were also not in theme.

“I have no reason to wear what I sleep in to a party,” Rafal hissed. “And no, Rhian, I am not dressing as Santa. May as well have Agatha be the Grinch.” This earned him a glare from Agatha. So much for spending money on him.

Hort knocked over some stockings that fell into the fire, earning screams and harsh reprimands from Sophie. 

“And I paid good money for those!” Tedros said with regret. 

“I helped,” Midas bit back. “I’m paying for half of these people’s debts.” He eyed Rhian. “He’s on his own, though. I don’t help creeps.”

“Hey! That’s not fair!” Rhian yelled. 

“I think it’s a fair judgment. Aren’t your children from a relationship with your employee–”

“On other matters,” Rufius broke in, “why don’t we begin our gift exchange?”

“Gifts are for babies,” Aric mocked. “Why don’t we get to the drinks?” He turned to Rhian Jr. and Kei. "Unless some people are too baby for it?”

“They aren’t twenty one yet–” Rafal started. Rhian interrupted him, obviously eager for the alcohol. “Oh, I’m sure a few shots of something won’t hurt them. They’ve had my Stella Rosa wine before, after all. Didn’t do a thing to them.”

“Yeah!” Aric shouted. “Even your dad thinks it’s a good idea. Unless you’re all a bunch of crybabies? Wanna meet me outside? I didn’t like that little trick with the mistletoe by the way. Having Japeth and I kiss. We never kiss. That stuff is for softies.”

“We didn’t plan that out,” Rhian the younger replied hastily. “I don’t like you around my brother, and I think Kei would have the same opinion. Maybe Japeth planned it himself, since he’s so obsessed with you!”

Japeth got up. “That’s not a fair assessment to make! I don’t even want to be in this stupid party with songs and cookies and mushy gushy nonsense! I wanted to be alone with my best friend. I didn’t need mistletoe for that or anyone here. Besides, stop hating on Aric, because he’s more loyal to me than you ever have been to me!”

“That’s enough,” Rafal said. “Nobody here under twenty one will drink any drop of alcohol and I hope I made myself clear.”

“Gift exchanges sound really lovely,” Agatha broke in. “Who knows? Maybe we all find something we really enjoy? Tedros, why on earth are you constantly moving in and out of that room?”

He only grinned at her. Sophie rolled her eyes. “I peeked at his gift for James and already, I am despairing of his taste…”

“You wanna fight?” Aric threatened Rafal. Rafal didn't seem to care much. “I won't have the police over, catching me beating up a kid. Didn't go so well when you were trying to battle Hester, I heard.”

“I have a better alternative,” Tedros broke in.”Something that may appeal to their competitive spirit. Why not have us represent them in two teams and they bet who wins? Maybe they can use Christmas cookies or brownies instead of money.”

“I'm not participating,” Hort muttered. “Have a feeling I may have to take someone home.” He looked towards Sophie.

“God, I hope she doesn't drink to her death,” Agatha said under her breath. “While we are still sober, can we exchange gifts? Secret Santa at least?”

“And we haven't even watched Christmas movies with hot chocolate,” Dot added mournfully.

“Or sing Christmas carols and give some of our food to the poor children in the neighborhood,” Rufius said.

“Fine,” Tedros snapped. “Have it your way. My gift to you, Agatha, comes last.”

“And Midas and I have our own little present for a friend,” James said with a smile, Midas eyeing him knowingly. Rafal looked their way, suspicious. Agatha swallowed. Hester burst out laughing. Watching some man be publicly humiliated was one bonus for them today.

“Can I keep the Baby Jesus?” Dot asked as she turned to her friends. “He seems so cute and sweet in his manger…”

“Why am I not surprised she would ask that,” Anadil hissed. “Since it's the holidays, we'll let you as long as you keep it far away from us.”

Agatha smiled until she felt a bag smack her arm. “Ow!” she hissed, rubbing her arm. “What was that for?”

“I got you,” Rafal answered crisply. “For that little gift exchange thing Rhian dragged me into. Believe me, you are the last person I wanted. But I couldn't exactly back out.”

Agatha removed the gift paper from the bag only to find a $30 Amazon gift card inside. He didn't even try.

“To think I spent more than this for you,” Agatha whispered, trying to keep her voice down. “I'm sure everyone else gets the same. Am I correct?”

“Except in White Elephant. My old deck of cards. Some suits were missing so they are useless to me. And you got me?”

“Yes.” She walked to a table, tipping over someone's glass of eggnog in the process and brought out a wooden case with a pile of sketchbooks.

“I thought that you enjoyed drawing as a hobby. There's many different things for art inside. It was costly but I wanted my gift to mean something– even if we didn't necessarily start out on the right note.”

“What a waste,” he responded dryly. Suddenly, music started playing in the background, with James loudly dedicating it to him. 

“Wham’s “Last Christmas”?” he hissed. “What on earth–”

“It’s supposed to match the way you’ve treated them,” Rufius said cheerfully. “Last Christamas, I gave you my heart, but the very next day, you gave it away…”

“Never pegged you as the heartbreaker type, but then again, it’s always the prudes,” Agatha whispered, grinning despite herself. “Merry Christmas, Rafal. Wish you luck for the game next!” 

“What game?”

“You’ll see.”

[beabnormal24]

Can I just say that I agree that Lando shouldn’t get driver of the day every time, but that people should not take it out on him because he’s not the one voting?

Can I?

[damthosefandoms]

dally drives Like That cause he’s from new york city btw. in case anyone was wondering

[r0semultiverse]

I refuse to hop in a Zoox car in my entire life if I can avoid it. I refuse to hop into any self-driving robo taxi (or robotaxi) that uses AI to keep it’s passengers “safe.” If this is actually a service they are legally allowed to provide publicly, there’s about to be a whole bunch of new laws made in hopefully very little time! Now you know me, obviously fuck the law, many laws are unjust, but sometimes we need some regulations to keep up with the shit that rich Silicon Valley tech bros “put out” while claiming it’s allegedly their own work. These rich bastards are dangerous! Now I’ll pass along the questions that my partner & I jokingly pondered. If something happens that the AI & detection systems doesn’t know how to handle, will us as the passengers be held legally responsible say if a child gets punted into the air by the self driving car & we can’t do anything to stop it? What if we’re asleep assuming the car is safe & it runs over a legally endangered animal? What if we’re on our phones & these self-driving robot cars cleave someone in half? What if it crashes into someone’s private property? Are we held responsible in any of these cases or is the big rich guy’s company? If it’s anything like Tesla, you should get your kids or pets out of the road when you see a Zoox car coming, it could allegedly cause some mortalities. Two more things. What’s stopping someone from hijacking, hacking, or planting a virus on these self-driving taxi services? What if one of them gets hijacked to take someone to a human trafficker meetup spot? Will the company be held responsible at all? The gifs below pretty much summarizes my feelings.

[arieslost]

sooo ferrari really lied to leclerc about temps and what have you this whole time to make sainz feel better and cause this HUGE gap between them and because of that we lost the 1-2 and the potential of charles winning the championship unless he gets the fastest lap point. you can’t make this shit up

[flippedorbit]

i’m gonna be so for real, if things don’t start changing for me in good ways i will be disappearing off the face of the earth

[romajuliettesupremacy]

chloe furthering proving why alisa is the funniest and best character ever to grace my bookshelf ever

[gobbluthbutagirl]

now why did somebody just screenshot a post about my brother and his refusal to quit the dunkin donuts that he’s worked at for six years that i had made non-rebloggable and post it on their blog to write a really long reply to it and then @ me at the end. instant block. Cannot emphasize enough how much i do not care