#can’t wait for the weekend can’t wait for the weekend

[rongloa]

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢’𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 (𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮) — m.grayson oneshot

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲. being mark’s best friend has always been difficult, he’s a nerd. but when he suddenly starts disappearing mid-hangout you can’t figure out what you’ve done wrong.

𝐰𝐜. 4.5k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. you’re acting like a doormat again, generous use of angst, big misunderstandings, feelings of abandonment, mark being a dickhead and not realising what he’s been doing is hurting you, swearing, and then they kiss, after arguing though

𝐚/𝐧. i actually had so much fun writing this darling ( @flwrch1d ), thank you sm! it’s not a lot but i tried my hardest for you 💪🏽

Before everything, it was always the three of you.

You, Mark, and William — the trio glued together by years of inside jokes, movie marathons, and a shared cafeteria table that was somehow always sticky. But really, it was you and Mark who were inseparable.

It wasn’t weird, not to either of you. It just was. Movie nights that turned into sleepovers on the couch. Falling asleep with your head on his shoulder while he quietly changed the TV volume. Late-night walks with no destination, sharing earbuds and arguing over which Studio Ghibli movie was objectively superior— you always won those types of arguments.

He wasn’t exactly popular, but Mark had that quiet, harmless kind of presence that didn’t invite trouble. He wasn’t the smartest, a little awkward, one of those nerds no one hated but no one really hung out with either—excluding you and Will.

But you were his person. The first one he texted when something stupid happened in math class. The one who knew what his hoodie smelled like and the kind of cereal he ate when he was stressed. You made space for him in your life without even thinking. And for a while, it felt like he made space for you too.

But then things changed.

Slowly at first. One missed hangout. Then another. Then a week where he barely answered your texts. He started looking tired all the time — eyes rimmed red, shoulders tense like he was bracing for something invisible. You asked if he was okay. He’d smile, say “just tired,” and change the subject to the newest Seance Dog comic.

You started doing more things without him. William did too. The table at lunch got quieter. Your weekends got longer.

And then you met Daniel.

It was dumb — your pen ran out of ink in chem lab, and he offered you his like it was a grand gesture. He had an easy confidence to him, the kind that wasn’t trying too hard. Funny, in a smug but charming way. You told him a joke Mark once made and Daniel actually laughed. And for a second, it felt nice. Like being seen again.

You never meant to start spending so much time with him.

But Daniel texted back. He showed up when he said he would, at that cafe you and Mark used to go to religiously. He didn’t vanish without explanation. And when you smiled at him, he looked at you like he knew exactly what it meant.

The hardest part? Mark didn’t fight it. He didn’t ask where you were going. He didn’t stop you. He just watched— from across the hallway, across the lunchroom—with that Mark Grayson-specific look on his face.

You’d convinced yourself he didn’t care. But that wasn’t Mark, not at all.

It still hurt, walking past his locker and seeing him laugh at something William said, only to fall quiet the second he noticed you looking.

It all started small.

Daniel offers to walk you to class one day when Mark doesn’t show up in the morning. You’re used to that by now — used to watching your phone screen go dim, unread texts hanging in your chest like anchors on sewing thread. Daniel doesn’t make excuses. He’s just there. Warm smile. Easy laughter. He knows your coffee order, knows you hate the sound of metal chairs scraping on tile. He starts waiting for you outside of lecture halls. Offers you half his lunch.

And you let him.

Because he makes you feel noticed. Present. Not like someone left on the back burner while other things pop up.

It’s not like you mean to pull away from him. Or William, for that matter. It’s just… easier, sometimes. Being around Daniel means no tight smiles, no dodging questions, no waiting for at least a ‘still alive’ text.

Still, every now and then — when Daniel says something funny and you laugh without thinking — you catch Mark watching.

He doesn’t say anything. He never does. But his eyes follow you like he’s trying to decode a language he forgot how to read.

It happens during second period.

You’re in the back row of your history class, seated beside Daniel like you have been for the past few weeks. Mark’s two rows ahead, and slightly to the left — close enough that you can see the curve of his jaw, the way he keeps tapping his pencil against his notebook, like he’s itching to be anywhere else. He always did hate Mr. Jace.

You try not to look. Or at least, not to be caught looking. But it’s hard. Not when a muscle flutters in his jaw like he’s thinking about anything but the Industrial Revolution.

Daniel leans closer, nudging your elbow with his. It snaps you away from Mark, away from the thought of Mark’s hair being longer than it was last time you hung out. Your heart stutters, is he gonna call you out?

“Tell me again why this guy thinks he can teach history through interpretive dance?” Oh.

You snort. It slips out before you can stop it—and for a second, you forget.

“That’s what I used to say to Mark all the time,” you say, grinning. “W–we had this running joke that Mr. Jace choreographed the French Revolution.”

You glance back towards your best friend—your old one—before you can help yourself.

He’s frozen. Completely still.

His pencil is hovering mid-air over the page, like he’s paused in the middle of writing. You see his shoulders stiffen — just barely — and then he presses the pencil tip to the paper hard enough that it snaps. The sound is small, but you feel it in the way Mark’s fingers tremble. In the way those brown hues are cast down straight at the shards of graphite scattered on his book.

He doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t even flinch at the fact he just crushed a pencil in his fingers. Just calmly gets up, gathers his things, and walks out of the classroom without a word.

You blink. Flinching at the way he slams the door shut behind him. Little wooden bits scatter onto the floor, and a girl at the back of the class shrieks.

The teacher didn’t even notice he left, but he damn well does now.

Your heart starts pounding.

Daniel nudges you again, quieter this time. “Hey… what was that about? Is he okay?”

You shake your head slowly, the joke dying in your throat. “I don’t— I don’t know.”

But you do. You just don’t want to say it.

Because you remember that joke. The dumb one about Mr. Jace tap-dancing through history. Mark used to do it with a fake accent, arms waving dramatically in your living room until you were wheezing with laughter in the throw blanket Mark brought over. It was your little thing, one of many.

And now you’d handed it off — just like that.

You glance back at the door again, chipped at the edges and swinging on its hinges, as Mr Jace huffs and puffs in all his red-faced glory.

The hallway is empty.

You don’t see Mark after that class.

You check the hallway. The stairwell. Even the front entrance of the school where he sometimes stands, where he used to wait for you.

Nothing.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That maybe he just needed air. That he wasn’t angry, just overwhelmed. But the lie tastes bitter, and your phone feels impossibly heavy in your fingers. You glance up at your chem teacher—an older lady with large lensed glasses, she’s too nice for this school—then back at the screen. It’s a selfie of Will and you at Burger Mart, Mark standing behind the counter with your order held out like the world sent him a punishment in the form of his friends. You miss them, both of them. You breathe out a half-sigh half-laugh.

Swallowing your stupid sorrow, you unlock it.

You open your messages and stare at your last conversation with him—from nearly two weeks ago.

You: did you wanna go for lunch at that new cafe today?

You: markkkkk?

You: we can go somewhere else if you want

All left on read. You didn’t say anything after that, didn’t wanna bother him. Maybe he was finally moving on. Better friends or something.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard. You type something. Delete it. Type again. Biting at your nail as you resist the urge to rip it off entirely.

Finally, you send:

you okay? i saw you leave class

Three dots appear. You sit up straighter, heart kicking like it’s on a timer. You spare a glance at Miss Lily to make sure she hasn’t caught you.

They vanished.

No reply. No message. No explanation.

Just that haunting “Read 2:33 pm” stamp glowing beneath your text like a ghost.

You shove your phone back into your pocket, frustration and something deeper rising in your throat. You sit back into your chair too hard, making the metal legs scrape across the scratchy linoleum, staring at the ceiling like the answer might be written in the cracks.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m all good Danny.”

It doesn’t stop you from thinking about him.

It’s worse at night. When the house is still and your phone’s gone quiet. You replay old voice messages—ones you never deleted, where he’s laughing too hard at his own joke or asking you where you are that time you got lost in the shopping mall.

You see him everywhere, too. In the hoodie at the back of your closet that still smells like popcorn and the cologne he used to borrow from his dad. In the half-empty slushie cup in your freezer from the last time he showed up unannounced and dragged you to 7-Eleven “just because.”

You sit at your lunch table now with Daniel sometimes. William stopped sitting with you last week. You don’t blame him. It’s not the same. Maybe Mark said something.

And the worst part is that you still look for him—in the hallways, at his locker, in the corners of your classrooms where he always slouched like the chairs offended him personally. Horrible posture even for a teenage boy. You tell yourself you don’t care. That if he wants to ghost you, fine.

But you do care.

You care so much it feels like grief.

And every time you check your phone, you still hope the read receipt disappears—replaced by something that feels like him again.

The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the pavement as you and Daniel make your way down the neighborhood sidewalk, your steps syncing in that easy, casual rhythm that comes from walking the same way more than a few times.

Your backpack digs into your shoulder, but you walk slower than usual. You’ve been doing that a lot lately. Drawing out the silence between things. Trying to outrun your own thoughts.

He’s talking about something—a goofy movie, maybe, or how the vending machine still owes him two dollars and a grudge match. You nod along, offering the right laughs at the right places, but your heart’s not really in it. Hasn’t been, not lately.

Because your mind keeps flickering back to Mark.

To that pencil snap in class. To the unread messages. To the way he looked at you like you were a stranger.

Daniel notices your quiet. He always does. For a guy he’s a bit too in tune with your inner workings.

He nudges your arm gently. “You’ve been kinda spacey today.”

You force a smile. “Yeah, just tired. Long week.”

He buys it. Or at least pretends to. “Well, you sure you don’t want me to walk you all the way home?”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, slowing as you reach the corner where his street splits off. “Thanks, though.”

He hesitates, like he wants to say more, then just nods. “Alright. Text me, okay?”

You nod and wave as he heads off, then slide your headphones on, turning up the volume just enough to fill the empty space.

The music cushions your walk—from the odd 80’s song to something stupidly sad that you skip because you can’t handle that right now, to ‘Get down on it’ by Kool and the Gang of all things.

You laugh at that switch up, you remember that one time Will, and Mark, were playing blind karaoke and Will somehow, out of all the songs in the world, began singing Pitbull. You were dying on the couch, quite literally. You choked on one of the sour strips you were eating. Mark fell over himself trying to save the day. He did end up saving the day and ending your near-death experience, your ribs were so sore that night.

Your shoes crunch along the sidewalk. Your fingers trail over the stray flower bushes as you pass. You miss those dumb little sleepovers you used to all have. It makes you miss the group.

What you don’t notice, is the footsteps behind you.

Not until you reach your gate—the familiar squeaky latch already at the tips of your fingers��when a haggard voice cuts through the one quiet song in your playlist.

“Please wait!”

You freeze, nearly like a deer in headlight.

Your heart does a strange, sharp flip. He’s a little breathless, like he jogged to catch up, hands tapping at the sides of his sweater you know better than your own. He looks bigger, or maybe the sweater’s gotten smaller. You can’t tell. You slip your headphones off, scratching at the stupid little sticker he put onto it.

His brows are furrowed like he’s barely holding it together. His lip is split—not badly, but enough that you notice.

He’s standing at the edge of your driveway, chest rising and falling like he ran the last block to catch you. His hair’s a little messy, wind-tousled. There’s a quiet desperation in his eyes—the kind that makes your own throat tighten.

“I need to talk to you,” Those bay brown eyes you missed so much flickering all over your face. “Please.”

You stare at him for a second.

Then push open the gate, you take two steps in and when you don’t hear him behind you, you simply turn. Tugging at the loose threads of your cardigan as you watch him. Finally, finally he’s here and you don’t know what to say, or how to feel. So you spit out the first thing you can think of, the way you used to talk to him. Like slipping back into normalcy.

“You coming, or what?”

He blinks like you’ve just broken whatever trance had him frozen in place, then finally moves—quick strides crunching over the cement path behind you. The two of you slip through the side gate like you used to—like nothing’s changed, like the silence between you hasn’t cracked the foundation. The gate creaks shut with that familiar metallic whine, and the two of you are alone in the backyard.

The sky has moved slowly into dusk. The sky’s already dipped into shades of gold and lavender, the edges of the day softening like bruises fading. The backyard is lit by the warm glow of the string lights above flickering to life as they sense the dark. You’d put them up with Mark last spring, threading them between the beams with both your hands dirty from potting soil and pruning the gardens. Your hanging plants sway gently in the breeze—ivy and succulents and little flowering herbs you’ve been nursing for months. Longer than all this stuff, has been happening. Ferns and ivy hang from every corner.

Little ceramic pots painted by hand line the railing, overflowing with green and bursts of colour that slowly blur with the darkening of the sky.

It smells like rosemary and fresh dirt.

Mark lingers by the patio entrance as you step up onto the wood, slipping off your shoes before curling up into one of the cushioned chairs closest to the back door. You don’t invite him to sit. You don’t have to. You know he loves these chairs, not as much as you, but still.

He doesn’t, at first. Just stands there, watching you like you’re the only thing right this moment.

You break the silence. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

For a moment, a singular breath between you both, the only sound is the hum of the lights and the soft creak of the wind swaying hanging pots.

He exhales through his nose.

“I’m sorry.”

You cross your arms, eyes fixed on a chipped piece of the wooden patio floor. “For what?”

“For avoiding you, for not answering, for all this stuff that I’ve done.” He pauses, toeing at a stray leaf. He can’t even look at you as he says it. “I just want us to go back to normal.”

You laugh.

Not because it’s funny, but because it’s the only thing stopping your throat from closing. A dry, bitter thing that makes Mark’s shoulders tense.

“Normal?” you echo, your voice sharp. “Mark, you haven’t even spoken to me in weeks.”

“I know,” he says quickly, eyes snapping up. “I know, okay? But it wasn’t because I didn’t care—”

“Then what was it?” you cut in. “Because from where I was sitting, it sure as hell felt like you just didn’t want me around anymore.”

“I was trying to protect you!” he fires back, louder than you expected. He catches himself, fingers curling so hard his knuckles turn white. “God, I didn’t want to drag you into—into the danger, the pressure. I thought if I just… let you go a little, you’d be safer.”

“That’s not your decision to make,” Your voice starts to shake now. “You say you’ll meet me and you don’t show up. You never explain anything, you just disappear. You don’t get to disappear, an—and then act like we can just snap back to what we were.”

“I was doing my best!” He starts pacing toward the edge of the patio. “You don’t know what it’s like, okay? Balancing everything. Trying to be there for everyone and still not being enough.”

“And you think I don’t know what that feels like?” You’re on your feet now too, arms at your sides, fingers curled into fists. “I’ve been showing up for you, Mark. Even when you wouldn’t answer me. Even when it felt like I was screaming into a void just hoping for one text back.”

His jaw flexes. He turns, hands gripping the railing, back to you.

“I didn’t know what to say.”

You stare at him, your voice dropping, cracking. Like one of the pots he dropped when you were painting them.

“You could’ve said anything.”

The string lights buzz quietly above, casting halos around the plants you’ve poured your heart into, into him. The air feels heavier now, thicker, like it’s trying to hold the weight of everything that’s never been said between you.

“I felt like you hated me,” you say. “Like I did something wrong.”

He turns then, his eyes wide, like the idea guts him. “No. God—no. I never hated you.”

“Well, you sure made it feel that way.”

He’s breathing harder now, chest rising and falling like he’s been running, but this time, it’s not from chasing you down the block. It’s from running in circles inside his own head. And you’re just… tired.

“You don’t get to play the victim in this,” you say, quieter now, but firmer. “You ghosted me. You left. And you only came back when you saw someone else being there for me.”

That hits. You see it land, like a real punch.

His lips part like he wants to argue, but no words come out. So you just stare at him. And wait.

Because if this is going to mean anything at all—he needs to mean it.

“I was trying to protect you.”

“Bullshit,” you snap.

The word hangs in the air between you, sharp and ugly. You don’t regret saying it.

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t glance out at the garden. “You don’t get it. I couldn’t tell you. Not then.”

“Why not? What could possibly be so bad that you’d rather have me thinking you hated me?”

He chews on his words, opening his mouth more than once, it makes you angry. He can’t even find a good reason. Right as you’re about to start up again, he blurts it out. “Because I’m Invincible.”

Silence.

The word falls like a nuclear bomb in a suburb.

You stare at him.

“What?”

Mark steps closer, eyes flicking over your face like he’s watching you come apart. “I’m Invincible. The superhero. That’s where I’ve been. That’s why I leave. That’s why I’ve been gone.”

You’re frozen. Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

“I didn’t want to drag you into it,” He’s jumping all over his words, speaking so fast it hurts your brain as you try and figure out, how? “I thought if I distanced myself, if I cut it off before it got serious, I’d be keeping you safe. But I was wrong. I just hurt you.”

You don’t say anything at first. You can’t. The boy you grew up with is a superhero? Invincible? He was scared of cockroaches. How—how could, why could— your brain muddles and flips.

Your chest feels like it’s caving in—everything you’ve been holding back for weeks, maybe months, starts clawing its way out of you in shallow breaths and a pressure behind your eyes that refuses to stop building.

“I thought you hated me,” you whisper.

Mark’s face crumples. “What? No. No, I—”

But it’s too late. Your throat tightens and the tears start falling, hot and fast. Not the kind you can wipe away and pretend never happened—these are ugly sobs. The kind that rip out of your chest in pieces, leaving your voice shaking and your hands trembling. You try to cover your face, embarrassed, but your body won’t stop heaving.

“All this time,” you gasp, “I thought I did something wrong. I thought I pushed you away or—God, something. You stopped texting back, you’d look right through me, and I kept trying to pretend it didn’t hurt but it did, Mark. It did, and you didn’t even say anything.”

Mark’s already moving before you finish—stepping forward, arms wrapping around you with a desperation that almost knocks the wind out of you. You don’t fight it. You collapse into him, fists gripping the front of his sweater, sobbing into his shoulder like you’ve been carrying this pain in silence for way too long. You have been.

“I didn’t hate you,” he whispers, over and over again, holding you like the world is ending. “I never hated you. I thought you’d be safer if I stayed away. But it just made everything worse. I’m so, so sorry.”

His voice breaks at the end.

You cling to him like you’re scared he’ll vanish again, shaking with all the weight of what’s gone unsaid. He just holds you tighter, like he needs you just as badly.

“I missed you,” you manage through the tears, voice muffled by his shoulder. “I kept waiting for you to come back.”

“I’m here,” Mark whispers, forehead pressing to yours as he holds you so lovingly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You sniffle, the sound ugly and wet and real, like everything else.

His thumb catches a tear slipping down your cheek. You open your eyes, and his are right there—wet and glistening, holding yours like they never stopped trying.

“I’ve been in love with you since the day you made me sit through that terrible romcom and you cried harder than the main character,” he says softly, lips curved with the smallest, saddest smile you’ve ever seen on him. “And I didn’t even care that it sucked because you were leaning on me the whole time.”

You let out a watery laugh, tears still spilling, and he cups your face gently, reverently, like you’re made of glass and starlight and a thousand things he almost lost.

“I didn’t know how to be both,” he murmurs. “A hero and myself. But every time I was out there—saving people, fighting monsters, almost dying—I just wanted to come back.”

You reach up and hold his wrists, holding him now. “You should’ve told me.”

“I know,” he breathes. “I was scared.”

“So was I.”

He leans in, foreheads still touching, your breath shared under the fairy lights of your backyard. The rosemary sways in the breeze, brushing against your leg like a memory.

“I love you,” he whispers.

You let out a broken sound—half sob, half laugh. “Say it again.”

He smiles through his tears, nose brushing yours. “I love you.”

And this time, when he kisses you, it’s like the sadness finally gives. It’s messy and tear-soaked and trembling, and everything you both have been holding back for too long. His hands are in your hair, yours around his neck, and the kiss is so, so soft but aching—like the words he couldn’t say finally found a way out. It’s messy, so messy but you need this. Need him.

When you break apart, foreheads still pressed together, you whisper, “I love you too.”

You don’t need to ask if he’s staying. You already know the answer.

.

[psuejo]

❥ needy long-distance bf!choso </3

he knows patience is a virtue. you tell him that all the time when he gets all antsy because he can’t touch you, can’t be right by your side where he belongs, but choso really can’t help it!

you’re just so soft and warm — practically heaven incarnate, a goddess among men, and yet you two are separated by hundreds of miles.

life isn’t fair.

it especially isn’t fair when you look so good in all the photos and videos you send, or whenever you post on your story. no matter the lighting, no matter the outfit, whether it be something business casual for work or an oversized shirt with no bra, you look absolutely divine.

his favorite ones are when you’re wearing nothing but skimpy lingerie, the thin scrap of fabric for the panties pushed aside as your fingers carefully work at your throbbing clit before trailing through the sopping mess that is your folds and slipping inside of you with a moan tumbling from your delicate lips.

“c-cho... come over soon, okay? miss you.”

he misses you too. more than you could ever and likely would ever know.

but that alone is enough to get choso hard like a damn diamond, and it doesn’t take your boyfriend long to prop up his phone and pull that fat cock from his sweats.

“hah, fuck... m-miss you too, baby.” he spits on it, letting the wad roll down his shaft before his big hand smears it around with a pump. “ya don’t know what you do to me, i swear... got me harder than a rock.”

or maybe you do know. maybe you do know how many times a day he uses even innocent photos of you to get off, how the mere sound of your voice is enough to get his dick stirring in his pants. maybe you like it.

he hopes you do.

choso’s thumb brushes over his leaking divot, and he groans, breathy and rough, just how he knows you like it. “gonna come home this weekend,” he huffs. “come home and— mm, shit— and give ya want ya want. love you s-so right even the neighbors will know my name, ungh—”

that makes his cock twitch, a hefty spurt of pre dripping down onto his hand. the limb is practically a blur as he fists his cock, head thrown back against the headboard and exposing the sharp jut of his adam’s apple.

you’d be so pretty rendered stupid bouncing on his cock, drooling rolling down your chin, hair mussed and soft body flushed. whining and moaning, that snug cunt milking him with every greedy lift and sink of your hips, tits bouncing with nipples perky enough to suck...

choso is a weak, weak man.

“oh, god, oh fuck! ‘m gonna cum, baby, please—”

his teeth sink into his bottom lip, worrying at the pink flesh as he all but fucks his hand raw. his breath stutters in his chest, and maybe it’s the fact that he knows you’ll see this that has choso cumming fast and hard.

buckets of white practically paint his toned stomach and black sheets, and all he can do is whine your name again and again, an airy, desperate mantra.

and hours later, when you’re just about ready to go to bed, there’s a knock at your door, gentle but all too familiar. when you open it, there stands choso, a sheepish smile on his face with his suitcase beside him.

“cho,” you scold, even as a smile nearly splits your face in two. “you said this weekend. it’s thursday.”

“i know.” he wraps his arms around and draws you to his chest like a magnet, dropping his head to nuzzle into the side of your neck. “i couldn’t wait.”

he never can, can he?

[wakandamama]

Y'all... I ain't even watch the movie yet🫣 but I got a lil sumthing on the Google Doc ready to go lol. This is just a teaser taste of what imma cook up this weekend

Canary in the Coal Mine

Stack x Black Reader

Your daddy saw and appreciated your talents for talking early in life. Ever since you were a teenager, like a bird, you would go around the Chicago streets, pickin’ up gossip, dropping bread crumb of instigation, and making friends with the exclusive or infamous.

It was through your gift of gab that your daddy was able to land a deal with the Italians for being one of their very few black suppliers of good Southern hooch that made tight competition with Irish moonshiners and basement wine-o’s within the city.

“You’re my black Canary, Y/N.” One of the older Godfathers had said to you after you fed him a line about some new feds poking around the eastern side of his territory.

If folks need information, they go to you. If folks have information to give, you appraise the price of it and relay the message to the proper people for an even steeper fee. If someone needs protection or needs to be threatened, folks know you could arrange it. And especially if someone needed a rent party planned or a small loan to stretch them to the next month, you were the ideal person to contact.

So, of course, when a devilishly dark tall and handsome Black man swept off the train with a crimson hat and Delta twang, a shoe shiner let you know right away for the price of a quarter and a hot meal.

“He’s got on soldier shoes. The ones the need the real deep polish and a brushin’, and a shinin’ to get em done. He smelt like tobacco but he ain’t smoke when I shined ‘im. Just asks about places rentin’ and where to getta real drink. He was off the Arkansas train.” the little boy relayed as you poured him another glass of lemonade and another helping of red beans and rice.

“I see, and did you point him to my building or across the street?”

“Told ‘em across the street and shook him a flyer about the party on Saturady. Told em’ all about how cool your parties are.”

“Good job, bud. Can’t wait to meet him, ” You said as you dropped a quarter into his vest pocket one more question still rested on your tounge.

“And what was his name?”

“Called himself Stacks, Miss. Canary.”

You hummed, took a deep drink from your own glass as you pondered the name.

“Mr. Stack…wonder where he got that from.”

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part twenty-three

Once again, don't say a word, yes I'm uploading AGAIN, I can't help it!! I want to get to the fluffy weekend chapters!!!

Warnings: some good big brother bonding with Morgan and reader, Derek talks about the events of s2e12 "Profiler, Profiled" here, more curveballs lowkey I'm getting whiplash here (you'll see), apologies in advance (it felt too easy!!! so sorry!!!)

When you peel yourself away from Hotch, it’s only because there’s a knock at his door. The sound makes you jump and him stand to his feet, his hands slipping from yours automatically. 

He walks to the door and opens it a crack, pausing. He looks over his shoulder once at you before opening the door further.

Rossi eyes you both as he walks into Hotch’s office. “Am I interrupting?”

“No,” you say immediately, standing up. “I was just leaving, actually.”

Rossi gives you a look that tells you he sees right through you, but he doesn’t press as you weave through them and exit Hotch’s office. 

The team is just coming out of the conference room when you step out, pausing as you stare at one another.

You don’t know what to say. If you can even say anything. 

“Should we um…” You pause to clear your throat. “Should we go back to looking at all the evidence?”

“In a minute,” Morgan says. “Let’s take a walk first.”

You open your mouth, but Morgan hears none of it, shaking his head as he comes toward you, leading you out of the bullpen.

“Where are we going?”

“To get breakfast for everyone for the long day ahead of us,” Morgan replies, pressing the down arrow on the elevator. “And to get you calmed down.”

“I’m plenty calm.”

“You’re shaking.”

The elevator doors open and you step inside, glaring at the buttons on the wall instead of your team member. You press the ground floor button with a huff, crossing your arms over your chest to hide the fact that you are definitely not shaking.

Neither of you say a word as you walk to Derek’s car in the parking garage, parked in his same spot as usual. Derek breaks the silence with an insane question.

“Do you…want to stop somewhere for…cigarettes?”

You can’t help but laugh loudly at the way he says it. “No, dude, I’m fine.”

“Alright,” he says, turning the key in the ignition. “Was just asking.”

“Why?” you laugh again. “Last time that was brought up you were horrified.”

“Well,” he shrugs, not arguing with that. He pulls out of the space and heads for the exit. “That was before everything started imploding.”

You scoff. “Imploding puts it a little too nicely. But no, I’m fine, that was my one pack for the year, so I’m cut off.”

Morgan raises an eyebrow. “One a year?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “A rule I had with my mom. She never liked that I picked up the habit — didn’t find out why until later, but my dad smoked, too, and tried to hide it from her — so we made a deal. One pack a year.”

“And you stuck to it?”

“Surprisingly, yeah,” you reply. “Some days I don’t know how I did it, but I guess I just didn’t want to let her down.”

Morgan hums. “That feeling can run deep.”

“Especially after what happened with my dad,” you agree. “I knew she couldn’t take another thing, so when we compromised and made promises, we stuck to them.”

Morgan nods. “Mine too.”

A comfortable silence fills the car as Morgan drives into town, to one of the chain coffee spots that has a drive-thru. They know the BAU well from their frequent — and sometimes random — orders.

As you wait in one of the nearby parking spaces for your order to be prepared, Morgan starts talking again.

“Did I ever tell you about a case in my hometown a few years ago?”

You shake your head. “I don’t think so.”

“I was arrested as a suspect for the murder of one of the neighborhood kids,” he explains. “I was in town for my mom’s birthday, and one of the detectives had always had it out for me, he saw a connection and booked me. Hotch and everyone came to find the real unsub and get me out of there.”

“Oh my god,” you say, unsure of how else to respond to this. “But they did figure it out, obviously, right, because you’re here, and still at the BAU?”

Morgan nods, keeping his eyes focused ahead of him. “They did. But the team had to do a lot of digging into my past to find answers. Because I wasn’t willing to share those parts of my life.”

“Right.” You look down at your hands, seeing exactly where he’s going with this now.

“Garcia unsealed some of my records, Hotch practically interrogated me as if I was the unsub,” Morgan laughs, the kind of bitter sound that tells you it wasn’t funny then, it isn’t exactly funny now, but it’s less painful than it used to be. “I kept secrets because I wanted my privacy — and I still do. I still think we each have a right to our privacy, no matter how much we see each other all the damn time,” he smiles. “But I also know things might’ve gone smoother if I had opened up a little more.”

You shake your head. “That’s not on you, Derek. Just because things might have gone smoother doesn’t mean you were wrong for trying to salvage what little privacy you had left.”

“I know that,” he says. “I’m saying two things can be true at once. You can be mad at Hotch for going behind your back and digging into your past without your permission. And you can let yourself accept that he was doing what he thought was right and what he thought had to be done in order to help you.”

You sink further into the passenger seat, resisting the urge to glare at Derek. “How’d you know I’ve been battling that one in my head?”

Morgan smiles then, wide and mischievous. “You’re an open book whether you like it or not.”

“Or maybe we’re just so similar that you’re projecting and it just happens to be correct.”

“Like I said, two things can be true at once.”

You roll your eyes that time, playfully shoving his shoulder. “I hate you.”

“No, no you love me.”

“Barely.”

“Ouch.”

“Quit being dramatic and put your window down, they’re bringing our food out.”

Once the bags of breakfast are safely tucked at your feet and the drink carrier is secured in your lap, Morgan heads back for the BAU.

“Thank you,” you finally say. “For the Big Brother talk.”

He glances at you, looking only slightly surprised. “You’re welcome. Anytime.”

“Did you and Hotch ever talk about it?” you blurt.

Morgan is unfazed by the question, though. “Yeah. We did.” He pauses. “I’m assuming you guys haven’t?”

“Well,” you scoff. “We haven’t exactly had the time.”

“Touché,” Morgan nods. “I think you should. At some point.”

Like this weekend, your mind fills in for you. It would be the perfect time. The two of you will be alone, with Rossi’s entire place to yourselves. It would be easy for you to pitch the conversation or try to steer one in that direction — or, fuck it, blurt it out at one point just to rip the bandaid off. 

“Yeah,” you say. “At some point.”

+++

“Everything okay?” Rossi asks Hotch after they watch you practically bolt from the room.

Hotch shuts the door. “Fine. I was going to ask you the same, since you followed Erin out of here.”

Rossi’s on-again, off-again relationship with Erin Strauss is no secret, at least not to Hotch. It’s something he’s known about for years, having confronted Dave about it after noticing one too many not-so-subtle gestures from his friend.

But that’s not what this was about this time.

“She wants us to get to the bottom of this. Like, yesterday,” Rossi says.

“Well,” Hotch pauses to rub the headache brewing under his eyebrow. “Tell her she can join the club.”

That makes both men let out an incredulous laugh.

“What the hell are we doing here, Aaron?” Dave finally asks. “It feels like we get thrown a curveball every single day. Richard Monroe just breaks out of prison out of nowhere? Are we supposed to think the unsub helped him? Are we supposed to think Richard is going to go after Lila now?”

“I don’t know,” Aaron admits. “I don’t understand any of it. And nothing that we find seems to land us any closer than we were to figuring out who is doing all of this.”

“I know,” Rossi sighs. “I asked her last night if she remembers anything about who kidnapped her.”

“And?” Hotch sounds too hopeful, he knows he does.

Rossi shakes his head. “She might have seen his face, but she has blocked it out. What she remembered was him telling her to put the clothes she was wearing the day he took her back on, so that she’d match the description when we found her. But he was taking care of her. Giving her changes of clothes, food, water, letting her shower with a lock inside the bathroom door. She said she felt safe, despite everything. If she did see his face, she blocked it out, and it’s been two decades, Aaron. There’s no way she’d remember it now, and if she did, we couldn’t trust it to be accurate, not after this long.”

Hotch hates it, but Rossi is right. With so much time having passed, it’s no use. 

“There’s something we’re missing,” Hotch turns and heads for the window, gazing at the horizon as he thinks. “When we spoke to Richard in prison, he said his daughter was supposed to be left out of it.”

“Okay…”

“So, if the unsub we’re looking for is the same person who kidnapped Lila, and the same person from twenty years ago,” Hotch talks himself in circles, “and Richard recognized her in the interrogation room that day— he’s the heart of this, but how?”

“And now he’s missing,” Rossi muses.

“Or running,” Hotch adds, then turns around to face Rossi, something clicking in his mind. “Richard had someone framed. He admitted to that.”

“But we checked on that, the man was out on parole, it was lifted once Richard admitted to everything.”

“Where is he now?”

The pair stare at one another before Hotch practically leaps for his desk to make the necessary phone calls.

As it rings, Hotch turns to Rossi, “Get Garcia to bring up everything on him — including whatever he was doing twenty years ago — and meet us in the conference room.”

Rossi nods and leaves so Hotch can handle the calls. It’s not a definite lead, but it’s something, and it’s someone that they can potentially speak to.

+++

When you and Morgan arrive back at the BAU, you don’t expect to walk into such a flurry of chaos when you enter the bullpen.

“We might have a lead,” Prentiss explains. “Come on.”

You nearly drop the drinks as you hurry up the stairs to the conference room, joining JJ, Garcia, and Reid. “Where’s Hotch?”

“On the phone,” Rossi answers from behind you. “He’ll be in in just a second.”

Garcia starts anyway. “Does anyone remember Maxwell Herman?” She barely gives anyone a second to answer before continuing. “I doubt it, because we looked at him for all of two seconds when you were investigating Lila Monroe’s kidnapping, but here he is.” 

She points the remote at the screen and pictures fly onto it, one being Maxwell’s mugshot. The one next to it being his arrest record.

“This is the man Richard Monroe admitted to having framed,” Garcia continues. “Was on parole, that was lifted once Richard admitted to everything, you know the rest. Now, what you don’t know is that’s not his real name.”

She clicks again and a new mugshot appears, one of a younger man. Twenty years younger. 

“Meet William Easton from Georgia, with such a crazy rap sheet that I have no idea how he was able to change his name and entire identity without someone catching on. But anyway, he was arrested for anything you can name. Including but not limited to: Attempted arson, attempted armed robbery, actual armed robbery, DUI, domestic dispute, aggravated assault, and the kicker, attempted homicide.”

“Attempted?” Reid blurts.

“They never quite found enough evidence to convict him, but—”

“He was a suspect,” Rossi says. “In the original murders in Atlanta, before we connected them to Adkins. Before the BAU stepped in.”

“What?” you blurt, that being the absolute last thing you were expecting to hear, despite knowing somehow that your father was connected.

“They caught him in the area one too many times,” Rossi continues. “They thought it was because he was the unsub, but it turned out he was just a creep with a record who was fascinated by the killings.”

“Wanna see something else crazy?” Garcia adds. “Here’s the sketch that the artist came up with after speaking to Lila.” She clicks again so the sketch is side by side William’s most recent mugshot. The likeness isn’t exact, but it’s enough to be worrisome.

Hotch comes into the conference room, phone pressed to his ear. “Thank you.” He ends the call to fill everyone in. “Officers are on their way to William’s home, they’re going to call once they’ve apprehended him.”

“For what?” you ask. “If he was on parole, he couldn’t leave the house to kidnap a child.”

“No, but he could convince a child he was their father and make them come to him,” Morgan answers. “If he had good behavior, he could leave the house for a short period to meet her somewhere and grab her.”

“Exactly,” Hotch agrees. You can feel his eyes on you as you stare at the screen, at the mugshot and the sketch. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. “Just…strange that we might have a face to put to all of this now.” Too easy, almost. Though nothing leading up to this point has been easy, this feels too easy.

You wish you hadn’t had that thought. It’s almost like you jinxed it somehow, even though you didn’t speak it out loud.

Because no less than ten minutes later, Hotch’s phone rings, and you can see on his face that it’s bad news.

“Alright, don’t— Don’t touch anything. My team and I will be there as soon as we can.”

When he hangs up the phone, everyone waits, their breaths held, for his next words.

“They found William dead in his apartment,” Hotch says. “Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss, I want you with me, we’ll be leaving in ten minutes. Everyone else,” he conveniently avoids your eyes, “stay here and continue digging. Richard Monroe might not be missing, he might be running from our unsub.”

“How do you know that?” you ask. “And why am I not going with you?”

“Because the unsub left a note on William’s body,” Hotch replies, ever firm and clinical. “And I need you to stay here.”

“Hotch—”

“I don’t have time to argue about this, we’ll be back before the end of the day,” he says, his voice softer, but that doesn’t help. Just because he doesn’t yell at you doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt — once again being shown by his actions that he thinks you can’t handle something.

“Fine, then, just go,” you look back up at William’s face on the screen. “We’ll be here when you get back.”

Everyone leaves quickly, except Hotch who lingers a bit in the doorway, like there are words just at the tip of his tongue. He calls your name once, but you shake your head.

“Go,” you repeat, just barely looking at him over your shoulder. “Take some food for the plane,” you gesture to the breakfast that is nearly forgotten. “Go.”

[norrisidous]

run for the hills

The hotel room was dimly lit, the city below glowing like a secret you weren’t ready to share. Lando’s hoodie hung off your frame as you curled up on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. He had left for media early that morning, promising to be back before dinner. Promising he’d stay low, like always.

“Can’t risk a photo, not yet,” he’d whispered that first night after Monaco. And you’d agreed—too much noise, too many headlines. But hiding had started to feel like suffocating.

The door clicked open quietly, and his voice filled the silence.

“Miss me?”

You looked up, trying to be annoyed, but the stupid smile was already tugging at your lips. He kicked off his shoes, hair still messy from his cap, and crossed the room in three strides, planting a kiss to your forehead.

“You’re late.”

“You love me anyway.”

You tried not to roll your eyes, but it was hard to argue when his hands slipped under the hoodie, cold fingers pressing against your warm skin.

“I saw a tweet about you today,” you said casually, not missing the way he tensed for a split second.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Someone said you were dating a model.”

He snorted. “You are model-level hot. Technically, they’re not wrong.”

“Lando,” you warned.

He sighed, sitting beside you and taking your hand. “I know. I hate this too. The hiding. The sneaking around like we’re doing something wrong.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “We’re not.”

“I know. But you’ve seen what it’s like. The cameras. The DMs. The gossip accounts.” He paused. “You’re not a secret because I’m ashamed. You’re a secret because I’m terrified of what the world will do to you once they know.”

Your throat tightened. You understood, you really did. But that didn’t stop the ache every time you had to walk behind him in a crowd or pretend you were just a “friend of a friend” at race weekends.

“I hate lying to people,” you whispered.

He turned to look at you, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Then maybe we stop lying.”

You blinked, heart thudding louder. “You mean—?”

He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it. I don’t want to keep this part of my life hidden. You’re the best part of it.”

Your eyes stung unexpectedly, and he smiled, pressing his forehead to yours.

“But if you’re not ready, I’ll wait. I’ll wait forever if I have to.”

You kissed him softly, fingers curling into his curls. “No more waiting"

The next morning, your fingers trembled slightly as you handed him the phone.

“You’re really doing it?” you asked

Lando nodded, already opening Instagram. “No captions. Just this.” He showed you the photo—it was one from your Polaroid stash. You were wearing his hoodie, perched on his lap, mid-laugh with his nose pressed into your cheek. Pure joy. Unfiltered.

He tapped “Share.”

Your stomach flipped.

The internet, as expected, went wild.

There were screenshots on Twitter within seconds. Edits on TikTok. “Hard launch” memes flooding the replies. And yet, amidst the chaos, there was also love. Fans who said it made sense. People who pointed out how happy he looked. How soft.

You and Lando didn’t say much that day. You stayed curled up in bed, your phones buzzing constantly, but your hands were laced together, calm despite the storm.

“Feels weird,” you admitted.

“Yeah,” he said. “But also kind of freeing.”

He glanced at you then. “You okay?”

You nodded slowly. “I think… I feel like I can finally breathe.”

He smiled, brushing a kiss to your knuckles. “Told you. No more hiding.”

—

The first public paddock appearance together happened in Silverstone, of all places.

You wore a papaya crop top under your denim jacket, and Lando hadn’t let go of your hand once since you stepped out of the car. People stared. Cameras clicked. But he only had eyes for you.

As you stood by the McLaren hospitality entrance, he leaned in and said, “You know, you can still run for the hills if this gets too much.”

You raised a brow. “And leave you to do this solo?”

He grinned. “So you’re saying I’m worth the chaos?”

“You’re worth everything,” you said without hesitation.

The smile that broke across his face could have powered the entire garage.

That night, after the race (a P3 finish and a podium grin that had everything to do with you waiting at the end of parc fermé), you lay in bed beside him, tangled in sheets and sunlight from the setting sky.

“I love you,” he murmured against your shoulder.

You turned, brushing your fingers across his cheek. “I love you too.”

He kissed you like it was the first time. No more secrets. No more hiding. Just soft, golden light and hearts full of something steady.

“I’m glad we stayed,” you whispered later.

“Where else would we go?” he replied. “We didn’t need to run. We just needed to hold on.”

And so you did.

[dantes-jacket]

Chill weekends with you

Dante x fem reader

Author notes: request #4!! After a long hard week, Dante makes your weekend fun and relaxing for a nice break! So so so much fluff. I made him make a pillow fort and the more I think about it, he would 100% make one ;)

Work has been nothing but hectic this week. Between emails, meetings, annoying coworkers, many due dates came up, new projects getting assigned, and so much more things to keep you busy. Working every day this week has been truly a drag.

You see the eye bags under your eyes and feel the complete exhaustion your body is dealing with right now. You’re dragging yourself back to Devil May Cry. All you want to do is cuddle and sleep with your boyfriend.

Dante the king of not relaxing. Even when he isn’t out hunting demons he’s not resting. He’s always moving around and on his feet. The man can’t sit still. You’re hoping you can have his hyper self actually rest with you instead of running around.

You finally get back home and head inside. You then see the massive creation Dante made while you were gone.

“I’m home.” You call out hoping that you will find the creator of this masterpiece in front of you.

Dante peaks his head out from his creation and lights up seeing you. “You’re back!” He jumps up and run over to you. “Look I made a pillow fort! I even set it up so we can sleep down here tonight for a relaxing movie night. I also went to the store to get a bunch of snacks like popcorn and ice cream.”

Seeing his childlike excitement over the pillow fort makes all the stress you’ve felt this week melt off of you. “It looks great handsome. Let me go change and we can start a movie.”

You head up stairs and change into some sweatpants and one of Dante’s hoodies. Even in comfy clothes you feel so much relaxed compared to the endless anxiety you were having this week.

You walk back downstairs to see Dante crawling into the fort with a big bowl of popcorn and two bowls of ice cream. You giggle and follow behind him. He really wasn’t joking, he took his time with this. The inside is massive and has a big comfy set up with a perfect view of the tv.

You slide under a blanket and cuddle up to Dante. You two agree on a movie and dig into the snacks. Both of you started with the bowls of ice cream then moved to the popcorn.

Watching movies with Dante is interesting because he wants to know every single detail but he’s always talking and missing key points. Which makes you have to rewind the movie to make sure you two don’t miss anything and that is happening right now.

“Come on the cousin has to be the killer! Why else would he be so freaked out to let the cops check his basement? That screams sus to me.”

“Dante baby they just said why he doesn’t want them in the basement.”

“WAIT REALLY!!!? Give me the remote I gotta rewind it.”

You shake your head and wrap both arms around him trying to keep him as close as you can. You’re starting to get a little cold and this man is your personal heater. Dante rewinds and pauses, “You cold?”

You nod in response and that has Dante shift behind you. He pulls your back again his chest. He uses the blanket you’re under and covers the both of you. He wraps his arms around you and rests his chin on your shoulder, “Better?”

“Much better. You’re like my personal heater.”

Dante lets out a deep chuckle and you feel it against your back. Hearing him laugh is one of your favorite sounds in the entire world. Dante starts up the movie again and focuses deeply this time. He won’t miss any more important details in this movie.

With the much added warmth you’re starting to feel super sleepy. You lean back more into Dante and close your eyes. You tell yourself it’s only going to be for a second. Then you slip into a deep sleep.

Dante feels you lay on him more so he looks down to see you asleep. He smiles lightly and brushes some hair out of your face. He knows it’s been a long week for you so he wanted to make sure this weekend is super relaxing for you.

He turns off the tv and shimmies down with you still on top of him. You snuggle into him more once he’s lying down and it makes his heart flutter. You look so small in his arms but you’re so adorable. He places a kiss on your hairline then falls into a deep sleep himself.

The next morning you wake up before Dante. Your back is facing his chest still. You spin around trying not to wake him up. Once you’re facing him you trace his features. You start with his eyebrows, then run it down his nose and end off at his jaw. You keep repeating this for a couple more minutes until your arm gets tired.

“Why’d you stoppppp,” Dante whines.

You kiss the tip of his nose and ignore his question. “Wanna make some pancakes?”

“Let’s cuddle a bit longer than we can.”

You two lay in the fort just running your hands softly over each other’s bodies. It’s rare you two get to do this and take time to yourselves and enjoy the moment. His life is very much go go go and never waiting too long. So when you two actually get to rest like this, it’s refreshing.

Dante’s stomach then growls and you laugh. “I guess it’s time for pancakes now.”

“Ah how’d you know?”

Going along with his sarcasm, “I took a guess, turns out I got lucky.”

You two get up and head out the fort. Making your way to the kitchen you get the ingredients out while Dante sets up the stove. With you two tag teaming breakfast is done and served quickly.

You cut up some strawberries to throw on top of the pancakes while also pouring maple syrup on them. You were more conservative with the toppings compared to Dante, you can barely see his pancakes.

“What?” He asks with a mouth full of food.

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth.” You smack his shoulder. “Anyways do you want to make cookies today? I got all the stuff last weekend but ended up getting too busy.”

“Sure sounds fun to me. But don’t be mad when I eat all the dough.”

You roll your eyes and go back to eating. Once you’re finished you take your plates and put them in the dishwasher. When you’re finished you start to get all the stuff for the cookies out.

You’re just going to keep it simple and make some sugar cookies along with some vanilla frosting. “Dante can you make the frosting? With your strength you’ll be able to make it perfectly.”

“Sure can baby. Just give me the directions and I’ll do it.” You hand the recipe over and slide the stuff he needs over to him.

You start with mixing the wet ingredients together. While they are mixing in the mixer you get a bowl to mix all of the dry ingredients together. Once both ingredients are mixed separately, you start adding the dry to the wet. You let them mix until they are fully combined.

You look over to Dante who is just finishing up the frosting. You’re thankful for his insane strength because you would be mixing the frosting for a long time until it got to how it needed to be.

He finishes and turns to you proudly showing you the frosting in the bowl. “Look! It’s looks delicious.”

“Good job. It looks great. Let’s form these into balls and then we can bake them!”

Dante walks over and takes half of the dough. You two tag team again and get the dough split evenly onto two cookie sheets. You take the cookie sheets and slide them into the oven Dante opened for you.

Once they’re in you walk over to take a taste test of the frosting. You dip a finger into the bowl and pick some of it up then put it into your mouth.

“No fair I didn’t even try it yet and I made it!”

You look at him and catch him lying. You can see some frosting on the edge of his mouth. “Mhm sure, I can see the frosting on the side of your mouth liar.”

Dante is quick to swipe at his lips then marches over. You dip some of your fingers back into the frosting then turn around once Dante got closer. You wipe the frosting on his face and watch him freeze.

Dante’s eyes widen by the sudden attack of frosting against him. He licks most of it off since it mainly ended on his lips. “You little shit.” He reaches out for you and you dart out of the kitchen. You hear him hot on your tail.

You run around the dining room table then to his desk. You two stand on opposite sides and he uses his height to lean over and try to grab you. You duck and miss his hands then run off into the living room.

You keep running until you are tackled onto the ground that is covered in pillows from the fort. He spins you around so you’re lying on your back and looking up at him. He takes both of your wrists in one hand and pins them above you.

Dante then leans down and kisses you. He moves his lips, tongue, and face to make sure he wipes the frosting all over you. It’s a mix of vanilla frosting and salvia. You never knew you’d like that mix but hey you learn new things everyday.

Dante pulls back once he feels like he got you messy enough. He sees you covered in frosting and salvia glistening off your lips, he can’t stop himself from laughing. It’s another deep on like he let out last night. Yet he’s throwing his head back and laughing even harder.

You start laughing along with him because he’s just so goofy. His laugh is a true treasure from this world. You’re blessed you get to hear it from him often.

“You’re a little messy babe.”

“Well I could say the same thing about you.”

Dante goes to lean back in for another kiss but the oven goes off. You push his chest indicating him to get up so you can check the cookies. He pouts but does what you silently asked.

You walk back into the kitchen and open the oven. You look at the cookies and you see them golden brown indicating they’re done. You grab pot holders and pull the cookie sheets out. You place them on the counter to let them cool before you decorate them.

You first wipe your face off of all the frosting that was smeared onto it. You get out some knives to decorate the cookies with then plates to place the frosted cookies on. By the time you have the frosting station all the set up the cookies are done cooling.

You and Dante frost cookies for about forty five minutes. Once you’re done Dante holds out a cookie to you. You go to grab it but he pulls it back, “No let me feed you.”

You relent and lean forward for him to feed you. You take a bite and moan, “This is soooo good!”

“I know something better,” Dante says with a smirk. You shake your head and go back for another bite. You finish the cookie and hold one out to him. He takes the whole cookie in one big bite. You shake your head at him and reach for another cookie. You two end up watching another movie and eating all the cookies while falling asleep again in the pillow fort.

The next day Dante wakes up before you. He kisses your forehead then sneaks out of the fort. He heads to the kitchen to make some breakfast sandwiches for you two. He hopes he can get it done it time so you don’t have to lift a finger.

Dante cookies the eggs and bacon fast. The bagels he put in the toaster pop up when he’s finished making the stuff on the stove. He starts assembling the sandwiches. He starts with one bottom of the bagel then puts the eggs, cheese, bacon and tops it off with the top of the bagel. He repeats the process for the next sandwich. He remembers there’s still cut up strawberries from yesterday so he throws some of those on each plate and head over to the fort.

He places the plates on the ground then lightly shakes your shoulder, “Baby I made breakfast.”

You groan while sitting up, you then stretch and look at him. He’s giving you the softest and boyish smile you can imagine. He hands out the plate and you two dig in. You two talk between bites on how your weeks are going to look like. You should have an easy work week but it seems like Dante is going to be busy with a couple different missions. But at least they still keep him in town so you’ll still see him.

You two finish up and sadly look at each other. You knew what today meant. It meant reset and getting ready for the next week. You two silently get up and place the plates next to the sink. You’ll come back to do the dishes later because right now you two are going to shower together first.

After a quick shower you two are back downstairs getting ready to clean everything up. Before you start Dante turns on some music so you two aren’t working in silence.

You two decide to start in the kitchen first because that’s where most of the mess is. You decide to do the dishes while Dante wipes down the countertop and cleans all the appliances.

While you’re cleaning Dante sings along with the songs and dances around the kitchen. Seeing him so carefree and letting loose is something rare. Yeah he’s goofy and silly most of the time but he’s still always around of his surroundings and always on guard. Seeing him not have to worry about anything is so fun to see because he just lets out so much positive energy.

You finish before Dante does so you help him by finishing wiping down the counter while he finishes cleaning the stovetop. You two finally finish in the kitchen the head over to the living room. It’s sadly time to take down the fort.

You start with the blankets and fold them while Dante gathers all the pillows and makes piles on where they go. You end up doing the same so it’s a smooth transition putting them away. Once everything is sorted in its piles you two put everything away in its respective areas.

Once everything is clean you head back into the living room releasing a content sigh. You then feel hands on your waist then a blur until you see Dante standing in front of you. He holds out his hand, “Dance with me.”

You grab his hand and follow his wacky movements. It’s not like you two are dancing to a slow classical song, you two are dancing to a rock song. You try to follow his crazy lead but he’s going with the flow and you don’t know how to keep up. This is truly a workout out keeping up with him.

After dancing to a couple songs you flop down on the couch. You lay on your back facing the ceiling. You take deep breaths trying to steady your breathing from that crazy dance session.

Dante then gets on the couch and hovers over you. He leans his head close so that your noses are touching. “Hi.”

“Hi.” You run your hand through his white hair and brushing out any knots that came to be while dancing. “Thank you for making this a fun weekend. I had a great time. Relaxing with you is so nice.”

“It really was fun. I’m glad you had such a great time.” He presses a loving kiss to your lips and slightly pulls back to the point your lips are almost touching, “I love you.”

You place a hand on his chest above his heart and draw a little heart with your finger, “I love you too Dante.”

@whatdoesthevixensay

[wanderingbue]

Turns out, Wilson thinks he’s gay.

He drops that bomb on a Thursday night, sitting on House’s couch, where they’re splitting a greasy pizza and a large order of onion rings. Wilson’s not nearly drunk enough for it to be a joke, is the thing. His hands and voice are steady when he explains how it’s haunted him since he was a teenager, how he ran from it and into three failed marriages, how he cheated because he liked the thrill of the chase but was always unsatisfied with the outcome. He wants to tell the important people in his life to ask them for support in this new era, and House is the first one to know.

And yeah, it could explain things. A lot of things. Like the haircare routine, the regular mani/pedis, the shoe collection. This wouldn’t surprise many people. But House isn’t sure he believes him.

Still, Wilson is his best friend, so he tries.

He doesn’t interrupt the first time he sees Wilson getting a little too close and smile-y with a male nurse. (He interrupts the second time, because he knows that nurse is a vegetarian, and House can’t have that influencing Wilson’s cooking and takeout habits.)

He doesn’t sabotage Wilson’s first date with another man. (He does steal Wilson’s phone the next morning and delete the guy’s text asking for a second date, because anyone asking so soon is desperate, and Wilson can do better.)

He tells Wilson which shirts, ties, and pants make him look gay, only this time, he means it positively. He starts TiVoing Queer as Folk for them, instead of The L Word. He offers Wilson poppers one weekend, then has to explain what they are, and how he came to find out about them in the first place (he used to rave in the 80’s, so what?).

House is being supportive, really. Even if he still doesn’t totally buy that Wilson is actually gay.

Mostly, he doesn’t think Wilson is gay because nothing changes.

Wilson still comes over most nights to watch trash TV and drink beer. He still dutifully drops his responsibilities at work, albeit briefly, to provide a diagnostics consult, or to assist in some borderline illegal scheme. They still hang out, and argue, and laugh, and bicker, and celebrate wins together, and are there for each other in the quiet aftermath of loss. They’re still the same.

Maybe Wilson is just confused because he expected to have a wife and kids, and to live in the suburbs by now. Maybe he thinks the reason for this heteronormative failure is that he’s been chasing the wrong kind of tail, instead of the fact that he spends half his time at work and the other half with House, leaving no room for anything or anyone else. And maybe House should feel guilty about that, about robbing Wilson of the life he deserves and forcing him into a fake midlife sexuality crisis, but he doesn’t.

He sort of feels bad about that part, though—the fact that he doesn’t feel bad at all.

But he’s forced to acknowledge his faults when Wilson approaches him in his office one night, trembling before he can even get the words out, I can’t hide how I feel anymore, I need to tell you the truth.

House accepts that he’s selfish because he lets Wilson kiss him breathless, knowing Wilson will never be able to kiss anyone else like this again, knowing that when he tells Wilson to take him home, he’ll never be able to leave. Now he gets it all, the early mornings and the late nights, the warm beds and the cold shoulders, the biting words and the gentle apologies, and every jagged edge left will be weathered by time.

He understands that he’s greedy because he drinks up all the praises and pleading, every filthy word Wilson moans into his ear and whispers into his skin. There’s a lifetime of hunger behind it, a cosmic collision of pain and joy and grief and devotion. It’s a wine aged for twenty years between them, bottled want and yearning, poured into an overflowing glass.

He recognizes that he’s possessive, because he knows he’s got him now, and it's for good. There’s no more sharing attention, or waiting his turn, or swallowing the bitter bile of jealousy. Wilson will stray from any map to follow his true north.

So, whatever, maybe Wilson is lying about being gay, but at least House is honest about being worse.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Drabble Roulette: Dirty Little Lies

Hey hey! This weekend I’m doing more drabble roulette. I’m still recovering and I’m feel a bit blah and foggy.

I randomised a list of characters, then I spin a wheel and white for the character beside the number. Then I spin the wheel to choose a prompt from a list.

Character: Johnny Storm

Warnings: this drabble includes control and abuse/spanking. Please mind these warnings and take care.

Prompt: Making you confess to him while being naked. (source)

Explicit, 18+. Please reblog and leave some feedback.

“Dinner’s ready. Your favourite!” You chime as Johnny appears in the kitchen doorway. 

His silence prickles on your nape. You tense. You don’t dare ask how his day was. Not if he’s like this. 

You turn and flit across the kitchen, “hey, sweetie--” 

He catches your hands before you can put them on his chest. He squeezes your wrists as he stares back at your fruitless pucker. You fix your face. 

“You didn’t hear me come in?” He asks. 

“Sorry, I was just working on the food--” 

“Huh,” he rolls his tongue under his bottom lip. “I see.” 

He lets you go and steps past you. You turn and watch him as he scans the counter top. He crosses his arms. 

“Casserole? Not my favourite,” he tuts. 

“Oh, but--” you stem the argument before it starts. “Sorry, Johnny. I must have misheard. Um. Do you want a drink?” 

“Fine,” he answers, his back still to you. 

You go to the fridge and open it. You take out a can of craft beer and close the door. He’s standing right behind it. Waiting. You gulp. 

“You want a glass--” 

He grabs the can and puts it on the counter without looking. He sets his feet and looms over you. He tilts his head. 

“I want you to tell me the truth.” 

“What?” You furrow your brow. “The truth? About...” 

“Don’t play stupid with me, baby. We both know it’s easier if you just say it. So say it.” 

You stare at him. You genuinely have no idea what he means. You flutter your lashes. 

“Don’t do the eyes,” he points in your face. “The truth.” 

“Johnny, I didn’t do anything. I swear. I’m your good girl.” 

“Are you?” He snorts. “Come on.” He grabs the back of your neck and forces you away from the fridge. “I don’t mind the hard way but I know you’re a fucking baby about it.” 

He marches you out of the kitchen and around to the bedroom. You squirm as you walk on your toes, muscles pinching in his tight grip. You whimper as he shoves you through the door. You barely keep from hitting the end of the bed. 

You spin to face him. 

“Johnny, I’m being honest. I was home all day, cleaning.” 

“Get your clothes off,” he snarls. 

“But Johnny--” 

“You’re arguing? With me? You’re my girl and I want you naked.” He barks. “Since when are you playing shy?” 

“I’m not. I’m... I don’t know what I did.” 

“Have you done so much you can’t remember?” He challenges with a smirk. 

You shake your head frantically, “no, I'm good. I’m a good girl.” 

You untie the apron as your hands shake. You scour your mind for what you could have done to upset him. You drop the apron and peel off your billowed cropped blouse. That goes on the floor too. You can barely keep from folding as you undress. 

When you’re naked, you look at him, eyes glistening, lip pushed out. 

“On your knees,” he crosses his arms again, his shoulders rounding. 

You drop in an instant and clasp your hands together. He struts up to you, then around you, looking at you from every angle. He stops in front of you and squats down. He grips your chin and makes you look him in the face. 

“Don’t make me ask again, sweetheart.” 

You blink and pout some more. You wet your lips. “I... It was mom’s birthday. I just wanted to say hi.” 

His eyes flicker, an orange flame swirling in his pupils. He scoffs and tilts his head. His forehead creases. 

“Mom?” He mutters. “Huh.” He looks at the wall deviously. “I was just talking about the truffle missing in the fridge. You took my favourite one.” 

You gasp and bat your lashes. He snickers. “So... what did we talk about with mommy?” His hand drops to your throat. “And when did we talk to mommy?” 

You snivel as he lifts you to your feet. You’re like a rag doll. You feel the heat beneath his flesh. His anger burns in his irises. 

“Two days ago. I just... I called.” 

“Called?” 

“I borrowed Mrs. Lawrence’s phone.” 

“You left the apartment?” 

“I went to get the mail--” 

His lip curls and he walks you backwards until your legs touch the bed. You writhe as your tears roll free. He brings his other hand up and wipes them with his thumb. They fizzle to steam. 

He shoves you so you fall on the bed. 

“Get your ass up now,” he stomps to the standing mirror and opens the door.  

Inside, his watches, his ties, and his belts are all organized. He takes the black leather hide and snaps it between his hands. You turn over on your stomach and get your knees under you. He shuts the mirror and angles it so you can see yourself. 

“You’re gonna watch your punishment. Then next time, you’ll remember what happens to bad girls.” 

[bakudekublogblog]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65250814

Izuku has been acting strangely ever since the war ended. 

Not that Katsuki can blame him. War has left everyone misshapen: taken things from them, marred their bodies, and robbed them of their innocence. Everyone in Class 1-A has been altered by it. Katsuki catches Jirou crying over her prosthetic ear on the sparring mat; Mina is always half a shade paler pink than she was before; and sometimes, Katsuki will catch Kaminari and Monoma staring at him like they’ve just seen a ghost. Every single one of Katsuki’s classmates are jumpier than they were before, quicker to spring into action, but less likely to laugh. Less likely to goof around in the ways teenagers are supposed to.  

But Izuku seems fine. 

More than fine, really. He’s lost more than anyone, but he’s still going above and beyond to help others. Using precious bits of OFA to reach a near-suicidal Uraraka, visiting Spinner in his jail cell, comforting Todoroki after his brother passes, taking Eri to her quirk-therapy appointments. He laughs like nothing’s wrong. Smiles at everyone encouragingly, assures Katsuki over and over again that he’s alright.

Katsuki knows better than that. 

He knows Izuku better than anyone. Izuku is not fucking fine; he just thinks he has to be fine. He’s doing what he always does: says he’s okay while bottling everything up. Suppressing everything until he’s a pressure cooker set to explode. 

But Katsuki also knows there’s nothing he can do about it. Stupid, stubborn Izuku. He’ll break himself before admitting he needs help, so Katsuki will just have to let him break. Watch him carefully, wait and stay in place to catch him after the inevitable fall out. 

Katsuki can’t tell if Izuku is subtly avoiding him since the war ended or if he’s just so preoccupied with everyone else’s goddamn problems that Katsuki has just fallen to the wayside. He supposes it doesn’t matter. He can’t ask anything more of Izuku, not when he gives so much already. And Katsuki owes him a fucking lifetime of favors, so he makes the effort and reaches out first. 

Sparring practices have just wrapped up. Everyone else is drifting off in pairs, getting ready for dinner, laughing and chatting about what their plans are for the weekend. Of course Izuku has remained behind, though. Katsuki knows he’ll go another two hours at least: not to improve himself, but to help others. Today is Todoroki’s day, and Izuku sits on the bench off to the side, wrapping his wrists while Todoroki converses with Momo. Katsuki settles on the bench beside him, nudging Izuku with his knee. 

“How are the embers doing?” he asks. 

[READ MORE]

[myownwholewildworld]

so i am going away for the weekend but FRET NOT, i have something queued for you to enjoy tomorrow... and it might be a lil drabble with our peepaw, old man!joel miller? possibly? potentially? 👀

keep your eyes peeled for the rest of this filth and say thank you to the nonnie who had me all horny since i read their request...... 🙇‍♀️

“Right now? While riding back home?” he questioned, and if you didn’t know him better, you might have though he sounded perplexed. “Can’t you wait twenty minutes? We’re so close.” “Oh, you are about to be closer, gorgeous,” you pledged, peppering kisses on the sensitive skin of his neck. “I want to do this now, please.” Joel huffed and puffed, but didn’t stop you when you gently squeezed his soft dick on your palm. He felt so velvety, warm and like putty under your touch. You enjoyed working him hard, see if you could get him to naturally get it up without the need for blue pills. Sometimes it worked, others didn’t—and you loved doing it either way. There was something powerful about holding him so intimately out in the open, your way to claim your territory. To tell others to back off, because he was yours—yours to love, to fuck. “And I know you want this too. You like it when I take advantage of an old man like you, huh?” you whispered in his ear, nibbling at his earlobe and pulling it between your teeth.

[mintyys-blog]

LOVE ME NOT | tim drake x west! reader

DC MASTERLIST | PART ONE | WARNINGS: mention of neglectful relationships

Do not repost, translate, or rewrite my work, whether AI-generated or otherwise, without my permission. © @mintyys-blog

It had been hours since she sent the message, but every minute felt like a test of her resolve.

She’d woken up with her chest already heavy, a dull pressure where hope used to live. She sat at the edge of her bed with her phone clutched in her hand, her thumb hesitating over his name. It was the weekend—no lectures, no all-night patrols to excuse the silence. No more waiting for the perfect moment to say something.

Just do it.

She typed: Can you come over? I just want to talk. Please.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even angry. But her hands shook when she pressed send, because it felt final in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to imagine.

He replied within minutes.

Yeah. I’ll be there soon.

She didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified.

She spent the next half hour moving around her room like a ghost. Straightening pillows. Changing her shirt. Trying to look okay when she wasn’t. Trying not to overthink every word she might say—what if he doesn’t understand? What if I fall apart halfway through? What if he acts like nothing’s wrong again and I cave just because he smiles?

Then the doorbell rang.

She froze.

Her mother called that someone was at the door, and she nearly backed out right then. But she forced her legs to move. She opened the front door to find him standing there, holding a small bouquet of peonies—her favorite. Pale pinks and whites. A touch of green.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, smiling softly as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. His cologne wrapped around her, that familiar scent she’d once associated with comfort. Safety.

And now it made her chest ache.

He handed her the flowers like nothing was wrong, like he always brought her flowers, like the past few weeks hadn’t hollowed her out. She took them with a faint “Thank you,” then turned toward the kitchen to find a vase, grateful he couldn’t see the way her eyes were already misting over.

When she came back, he was sitting on her bed, glancing around the room like he hadn’t seen it in a while. She didn’t say anything. Just walked over, sat beside him, and stared down at her hands.

He noticed.

“Y/N?” he said quietly. “Are you… okay?”

She took a shaky breath.

“Please don’t hate me for this,” she started, voice trembling. “But… no. I’m not okay.”

His face immediately dropped. Concern etched into his features, and he leaned in instinctively, like he could protect her from what was coming.

“Tim, you’ve been making me feel invisible,” she said. The words were like stepping off a cliff. “Like I don’t exist unless I’m right in front of you. Like I don’t matter unless I’m convenient.”

His eyes widened. “Wait—baby…”

“I try so hard to be understanding,” she continued, rushing the words before she lost her nerve. “I know your life is busy. I know you’ve got missions and school and a million other things. But when you don’t respond to my texts for days… when I reach out and you only answer after I’m asleep… it makes me feel like I’m nothing to you.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked fast, trying to keep them from falling.

“I keep telling myself it’s not a big deal. That I’m overthinking it. But then I see you on Instagram, posting stories, liking things—and I realize it’s not that you can’t talk to me. You’re just choosing not to. And it hurts, Tim. It hurts so much.”

She turned her face away, afraid to see the reaction.

But he didn’t let her hide. His arms wrapped around her in one sudden, fierce motion, pulling her against his chest like he could hold the truth back with sheer force.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Y/N, I didn’t know—I swear to God, I didn’t know you were hurting like this. I thought I was giving you space to focus on your writing, your own stuff. I didn’t realize I was… neglecting you.”

She couldn’t hold back the sob that slipped from her lips as he hugged her tighter.

“You mean everything to me,” he said, cupping her face, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “I’ve been so caught up in everything that I didn’t see what I was doing. That’s on me. And I am so proud of you for telling me. I’m so glad you trusted me enough to say this.”

Her eyes met his. She saw it—the regret. The panic. The realness in his voice.

“Tim…” she whispered.

“I love you,” he said, firm and immediate, like it had been waiting on his tongue all along. “I love you so much. And I know I haven’t shown it well lately, but I need you to know—you’re not invisible to me. You never were.”

Something in her cracked open. She leaned in, kissed him—slow at first, hesitant, unsure—but then his hands were in her hair, and her fingers were gripping the fabric of his hoodie, and all the tension, all the pain melted into something tender.

She pushed him gently back onto the bed, and he followed her willingly, hands at her waist, thumbs brushing her hips like she might vanish.

“I’m so lucky to have you,” he murmured, between kisses. “I’ll never take you for granted again. I swear.”

“I love you too,” she whispered back, forehead pressed to his. “And I feel… better. Like I can breathe again.”

They lay together in the hush of the room, the weight between them lifted at last.

Her head rested against his chest, rising and falling with each breath.

“I missed this,” she whispered into his shirt.

He kissed the top of her head. “Me too.”

And for the first time in weeks, the silence didn’t hurt.

It felt full. Whole.

Like love was still there, fragile but real—waiting for them to hold onto it again.

They stayed like that for a long time. No words. Just breath, warmth, the faint hum of the world outside the window.

Her fingers curled against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath them. Her thoughts slowed, no longer racing with doubts or desperate what-ifs. Just the gentle hum of this. His arms around her. The soft feel of his lips still tingling on hers. The weight she had carried for months slowly peeling away.

But under the peace was something else. Not pain, not anymore—but caution. A quiet knowing. That love wasn’t a bandage. That one night—one conversation—couldn’t undo the ache of so many nights spent waiting, hoping, wondering.

She knew that if this was going to work, he couldn’t just say the right words—he had to keep saying them. Keep showing them. Keep holding her the way he was now, even when things weren’t fragile.

Still, she allowed herself this moment. This softness.

His hand moved gently along her spine, like he was relearning her shape. “You smell like coconut again,” he murmured, lips brushing her hair.

She let out a small laugh against his chest. “It’s that conditioner you made fun of last year.”

“I didn’t make fun of it,” he protested. “I just said it made you smell like dessert.”

“You said I smelled like a cookie.”

“I said a really good cookie.”

She laughed again, real this time. Her first real laugh in days. Maybe weeks.

He pulled back slightly to look down at her, his fingers brushing a few strands of hair from her face. “I’ve missed that,” he said.

“What?”

“Your laugh.”

Her smile faltered just a little. “It’s been hard to find lately.”

He nodded, his thumb tracing the edge of her cheek. “I know. And that’s on me.”

She didn’t say anything to that. Not yet.

Instead, she shifted a little, pressing her lips to the inside of his wrist, then resting her head on his shoulder. They stayed curled together until the room began to dim, the sun dipping lower outside.

Eventually, he sat up. “Want something to eat?”

“I’ll make it,” she said, stretching and slipping off the bed.

But he caught her wrist. “Let me. You rest.”

She raised a brow, teasing. “Since when can you cook?”

“I’m learning.” He gave her a small grin. “And I feel like I owe you… like, fifty meals at this point.”

She smiled, her eyes warm but tired. “I won’t argue with that.”

As he disappeared into the kitchen, she sat back down on the bed and glanced toward her desk where her laptop sat—still open to the comments from last night.

You matter.

Your writing is beautiful.

You made me feel less alone.

She closed the screen gently.

Tonight, for once, she didn’t need it.

But she knew—if things ever slipped again, if she ever started to feel herself dimming in someone else’s shadow—she would remember the girl who stayed up till 3:27 a.m. to reclaim herself.

The one who wrote about love because she deserved it.

The one who chose to speak even when it was hard.

And the one who—against all odds—was learning that being loved was not about being quiet.

It was about being seen.

As she sat on the edge of the bed, letting the quiet settle over her, she heard footsteps down the hall—quick, familiar, and distinctly annoyed.

Wally.

She turned just as her older brother stepped out of his room in sweats and a Flash t-shirt, running a towel over his hair like he’d just showered. He stopped mid-step when he saw Tim moving around in the kitchen, opening cabinets and awkwardly scanning spice labels like they were in a foreign language.

Wally blinked. “…Seriously?”

Tim turned, startled. “Oh—hey, Wally.”

Wally’s expression flattened. “You’re here.”

“Uh. Yeah. She invited me over.”

She could already feel the shift in the room. The sharp energy that followed whenever Wally got protective—which was often. He wasn’t the type to explode, but his disappointment hit harder than yelling ever could.

“Didn’t realize we were playing ‘forgive and forget,’” Wally said, walking into the kitchen like he owned the house. Which, to be fair, he kind of did—he had been the one to look out for her these past few weeks while she cried in silence behind closed doors.

“Wally,” she said softly, stepping into the doorway.

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You good?”

She nodded. “We talked.”

“Did you talk, or did he say sorry and kiss you until you forgot what you were upset about?” His tone wasn’t mean. Just blunt. Painfully so.

“Wally—”

“No, it’s fine,” Tim interrupted, voice steady but quiet. “I deserved that.”

Wally folded his arms. “Yeah. You kinda did.”

Tim didn’t flinch. “I’ve been a crappy boyfriend. I wasn’t showing up for her, and I didn’t see how bad things got until she told me. But I’m here now. And I’m not walking away from this—I want to fix it.”

Wally looked at him for a long moment. Then he looked at her.

“Is that what you want?” he asked, more gently this time.

She hesitated. Just for a second. Because part of her still worried that defending Tim meant invalidating how hurt she’d been.

But… Tim had listened. He had held her when she cried. He had told her she mattered, not just with words but with presence.

So she nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

Wally sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. Okay. Just know… I’m still watching you, Drake. And if she ever starts losing that spark again—if she stops laughing, stops writing—if I see her disappear like she was—”

“You won’t,” Tim cut in softly. “I promise.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Wally rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’m stealing some of your dinner, though.”

Tim cracked a smile. “You’ll regret that.”

“I already do.”

She couldn’t help but laugh—quiet at first, then fuller. Both of them turned to look at her.

Wally’s gaze softened. “There she is.”

Tim looked at her like she was the sun.

And for the first time, she didn’t feel stuck between them. She felt… held. Not perfectly. Not painlessly. But maybe healing didn’t have to be poetic. Maybe it just had to be real.

And maybe, just maybe, she was going to be okay.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Anonymity [Track 2]

⏮ Anonymity

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!singer!reader

Summary: During your final tour show, you sing to Tim Bradford rather than the thousands of people watching. Despite the reason you're both wearing masks, you can see each other clearly.

Warnings: fluff! brief angst and mention of harassment, Tim is sarcastic and yearns for his wife🤭

Word Count: 3.4k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

You lift your arms as your costume designer, Amelie, measures around your waist. In the corner of the small shop, Wendy swipes through videos on her phone, stopping occasionally to watch one. When the same audio clip from your song Jacket plays for the third time, you groan and tip your head back.

“Did I pinch?” Amelie worries, standing up quickly.

“No, sorry, Amelie,” you reply. “I just think that if I ever have to hear Jacket again I’m going to become a recluse and never sing again.”

“It’s your fault,” Wendy chides, swiping again. “Flirting with a security guard during an already viral song was not wise.”

“Oh, right, because I absolutely thought of that outcome before it happened.”

“We have new offers,” she adds, locking her phone and quieting the room.

“I don’t do interviews, Wendy, you know that.”

Amelie taps your elbow, and you lower your arm so she can measure it. Changing your costume has been on your mind for a while, and as your tour ends and you begin working on new music, you figure there’s no better time than now.

“It’s a typeform interview,” she argues. “You’d only have to talk to me.”

“And you know that they’re going to want to know things I don’t want to answer. It’s not happening, Wendy.”

“LA Times?”

You smile, glad you have a persistent manager and entertained by the fact she’s still trying. “No,” you answer.

“Daily Breeze?”

“No.”

“LBCC gossip column?”

“What? No.”

“Come on,” Wendy groans. “We can do something, get out ahead of this.”

“We can’t get out ahead of something that already happened, Wen. The entire point of this is anonymity. Who cares if people want to know who the security guard is? Let them fuel their own delusions and come up with a story. It’s what they normally do.”

“Fine,” Wendy agrees. “But they’ll want something.”

“I can do something,” you promise. “But it won’t be an answer.”

Wendy hesitates as she stands. “I… make it work, Scinan.”

Tim clenches his jaw when his phone vibrates for the tenth time in five minutes. Angela and Lucy have their heads down, scrolling through ClipTok while waiting for Sergeant Grey to arrive with today’s special assignments.

“Oh my gosh!” Lucy exclaims with a laugh. “Have you seen this one?”

She turns her phone so Angela can see, and they watch together before smiling.

“Send me that one?” she requests. “That’s amazing.”

Tim’s phone buzzes again, and he lifts it from the table to silence it. “I didn’t ask for it, Chen.”

“Come on, Timothy,” Angela replies. “It’s cute.”

“Yeah, five million people romanticizing my marriage is adorable,” he deadpans.

Lucy chuckles and shakes her head. “You think it’s only five?”

“Not the point,” Tim responds as Sergeant Grey enters the roll call room.

“You’re all off-duty tomorrow and into the weekend, right?” he asks.

“Yes, sir,” Tim, Lucy, and Angela answer together.

“So are Aaron, Nyla, and Nolan,” Wade adds, looking up with raised brows. “You all going camping together or something?”

“Going to San Diego for a concert,” Angela answers.

“Scinan?”

“Uh, yeah,” Lucy replies. “How’d you know?”

“Luna is going, which means I’m going.”

“Then who’s in charge? Smitty?” Tim inquires.

“One of the night sergeants is covering for me,” Wade explains. “Today, I need the three of you on desk duty. According to one of Harper’s CIs, someone is stealing lottery tickets from convenience stores without triggering any sort of alarm.”

“We’re going through security footage?” Lucy clarifies. “Is there a description of the guy, time window, anything?”

“Everything we have – and it isn’t much – is loaded onto the computers in the bull pen. Best of luck.” Wade opens the door before he adds, “And feel free to listen to some music to make the time go faster.”

“What would you recommend?” Angela asks, smiling.

“Uncover, then Hunger, in that order.”

After the door closes, Lucy and Angela look at Tim with matching smiles.

“Not a word,” he demands.

“Are you aware that marriage records are public?” you ask, pushing a cart through a San Diego department store.

“Yes,” Wendy answers, stepping past the cart to lift a blue dress. “I didn’t tell the people at the Times that’s why we decided against an interview, but it crossed my mind.”

“Cute,” you murmur. “I think it’s too dark.”

Wendy flips the hanger so the dress faces her and holds it up to you before she drops it into the cart. “I say we try it.”

“Wendy… thank you. I know I don’t say it enough.”

Wendy smiles, circling the cart to wrap her arm around you. “You don’t have to. We’re friends first.”

“Then I need you to be incredibly honest when you answer this question.” Wendy crosses her heart dramatically, and you point straight ahead to ask, “Could I pull off that red dress?”

“Nineteen hours,” Lucy sighs, tapping the keyboard to load a new video.

“Hey,” Nolan calls as he approaches the desks in the bullpen. “I told Bailey that I got her tickets upgraded and now she wants a new outfit. Any chance you could send her a picture of what you’re wearing?”

“Of course!” Lucy answers while Angela nods and reaches for her phone.

“What about your wife, Timothy?” Lucy asks. “Any idea what she’s wearing?”

“Clothes, presumably,” Tim deadpans.

“Oh, he’s got jokes! I hope whoever is carpooling with him is prepared for that.”

Tim pauses the surveillance video he’s surveying and raises his head to look over the monitor. “You’re carpooling?”

“Of course we are,” Lucy replies.

“We’re staying in the same hotel,” Nolan adds. “It made sense.”

Tim rolls his eyes as they begin talking about who is riding with who and where they want to stop on the way.

“Ooh!” Lucy exclaims suddenly. “We should all take pictures together at the concert. We’re all front row, right?”

“I’m not,” Tim says. “But I’d pass on the pictures anyway.”

“Wait, you’re working?” Nolan inquires.

“No.”

Lucy gasps, slapping her palm against the desk as she says, “You’re staying backstage!”

“That’s where I normally am, yeah.”

Shaking her head, Lucy mumbles, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this jealous of you before.”

“What is wrong with you?”

The conversation is interrupted by Tim’s phone ringing, and he answers it before Nolan can read the caller ID.

“Hi,” you greet, smiling when you hear Tim’s voice. “Sorry to bother you, I know you’re still at work.”

“No, it’s okay,” he assures, punctuated by the soft click of a door closing. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Wendy and I just got back to the hotel; we went shopping for a new outfit… I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Everything’s okay?”

You laugh, promising, “Everything’s okay. How are you?”

“We’ve been scouring convenience store security footage for six hours.”

“Riveting. I’ve been turning down interviews all day, want to trade?”

“The lives we chose,” Tim muses.

“Speaking of which…”

“I knew something was wrong.”

“Not wrong, but in need of attention. We need a way to keep my security team’s identities private. One of them is getting harassed on Instagram because someone figured out who he was from one of the concert videos.”

“Call in reinforcements,” Tim encourages.

“We did. SDPD is sending a few units to help us out during the concert. It wasn’t my preferred solution, but it will help us out for now.”

Tim hums, then suggests, “Treat your team like UCs. Cover their faces when they’re somewhere they may be recognized for the wrong reason.”

“You’re so smart,” you applaud. “I miss you.”

“Just a few more days,” Tim reminds you. “And I’ll be there tomorrow.”

Wendy knocks on your open door, and you apologize to Tim when you tell him you must go.

“One more thing,” he adds. “Get them some breathable balaclavas. No reason to let one of your own smother himself.”

“I’ll reword that before I present the idea,” you tease. “Love you.”

“I love you.”

You end the call and meet Wendy in the hallway. She gives you a quick overview of what you need to do this afternoon, but your thoughts wander to Tim.

“Tim had an idea about the security incident,” you begin.

Tim stretches his arms over his head after he gets out of his truck. The drive to San Diego isn’t bad, but the morning traffic and growing desire to see you made it feel like a cross-country trek rather than a few hours. It’s nearing lunchtime, so Tim hopes to steal you from your pre-concert duties long enough to take you out.

“Badge?” an SDPD officer asks when Tim approaches your circle of trucks and buses.

Tim pulls his VIP badge from his back pocket, accidentally tugging his sergeant’s shield out, too.

“Sergeant,” the man replies, nodding once. “Go on in.”

“Thanks, officer,” Tim replies. He steps past the blockades and walks toward the unassuming bus he knows you prefer to spend your time in. Most concerts are only a night apart, but you have three days to spend in San Diego before your concert, so you’re either relaxing or working nonstop. Tim hopes for the former but prepares himself to find the latter. He knocks on the trailer door and shakes his head when Wendy calls, “Who is it?”

“Sergeant Bradford,” he replies.

The bus shakes gently as footsteps echo inside. Tim steps back just before the door opens, and you jump into his arms.

“Glad to see you too,” Tim mumbles against your shoulder as he holds you. “Spare a few minutes for lunch?”

For once, you don’t bother to check with Wendy before you agree. She waves at Tim as he takes your hand to lead you to his truck.

Two hours before the concert, Aaron and Lucy meet Angela and Wesley in the hotel lobby. They haven’t spoken to Tim since they left work two days ago, but they know he’ll be somewhere at the concert venue. As they arrive at the restaurant Lucy and Angela chose, Angela’s phone chimes with an incoming message.

“It’s Tim,” she says. “I’d say he's asking but there’s no please… We can stay after the concert again.”

“Yes!” Lucy cheers.

“Me too?” Wesley inquires.

“As long as you bring a pen and an NDA mindset,” Aaron jokes.

You peek out into the arena from your place at the side stage, and your eyes widen at the sight. There are thousands of people watching the opening act. Wendy mentioned that your final tour stop had been sold out, but you didn’t actually expect to see a full arena. Taking a deep breath, you turn away from the curtain and rub your hands together.

“You alright?” Tim asks.

Looking up, you nod, narrowing your eyes at him. Wearing his own balaclava – Wendy’s idea because she said, “He was in the videos, and these people are bloodhounds, but with better sight" – all you can see are his eyes. Granted, his face has told you more than his voice ever has. Yet, it’s strange to talk to your husband without being able to see his lips moving.

“You’ll be right here?” you ask.

“All night,” Tim promises. “Garrett gave me a walkie, too, so if anything happens, I’ll jump in.”

“Kiss for good luck?” you request, tipping your chin up so he can see your lips beneath the bottom of your mask.

“You don’t need luck,” Tim argues as he leans forward.

The kiss is short, and you somehow manage not to smear paint across his face. As the opening act leaves the stage and the lights dim, you squeeze Tim’s hand, take a deep breath, and get into character. The moment your fingers slip out of Tim’s, however, you feel a growing desire to be near him, and it becomes insatiable as you sing about him.

“We didn’t get masks!” Lucy yells over a guitar solo, watching your security guards.

“No one did!” Angela replies. “Something must have happened.”

“Tim would have told us.”

Angela laughs as Aaron says, “No, he wouldn’t have.”

You flip your microphone in the air, then catch it and start singing, walking toward the VIP section where Tim’s fellow officers and your new friends are clapping and singing along. Waving to them, you smile at Lucy’s excited bouncing. The woman standing beside Nolan – Bailey, you remember – is wearing a shirt from your last tour and hasn’t missed a word yet. The couple you assume are Wade and Luna Grey appear to be having a great time, and Aaron is attempting to help Wesley learn the words to the song as you enter the last chorus.

The next song on your setlist is Hunger, one of your favorites to perform live. Your fans have pulled a lot of different interpretations about its meaning, some good, some that don’t make any sense to you, and one too many likening it to cannibalism. From the moment the chorus popped into your head until now, it’s only been about one thing: Tim Bradford. The bridge is about being so desperate for something, hungry with desire and yearning, that you’d give anything to have it. Or him.

You turn during the chorus, your eyes locking on Tim waiting in the wings. He’s been by your side since you decided to become Scinan, through the good, bad, and ugly. That hunger has never faded. You walk toward him, beckoning him to come to you as you sing. He shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest.

Rather than accepting this, you decide to give in to your desires. Walking toward Tim, you give him another chance to join you willingly. When you sang the song at home for the first time, attempting to find the harmony you wanted, Tim knew what it was about. He used the word yearning, and you smiled rather than pointing out he would know. Whether or not he knows that the bridge is about how he displays his desires to you may always be a mystery, but you bear your heart in every song you sing.

Tim doesn’t move, so you disappear from the stage to reach him. The crowd grows louder as you hook your painted fingers beneath his balaclava and walk backward, leading him onto the stage. Their cheers turn to screams as your husband follows you, leaning toward you because you’re pulling him but also because you’re magnetic. You stop, lifting the mask up just enough to see his neck before you drop your hand from his face and rest your wrist on his shoulder, blocking the bottom half of his mask from the crowd.

Tim’s eyes are locked on yours, seemingly ignorant of the people watching you. It’s as if you’re singing for him and no one else. Tim watches you, and when he remembers how much teasing he received after the last time you sang to him, he remembers something else. One of the videos Lucy sent – yes, he watched them, but he’ll take that to his grave – played so many times that it finally skipped to the next video. It was a couple dancing as they got ready, and the boy fell to his knees, holding his girlfriend’s waist as he looked up at her, reverent and in love.

You lower your handheld microphone during a break in the song and smile at Tim.

“You want to give them something?” Tim asks, leaning toward you.

“Something more?” you reply.

Tim nods, and you smile, letting him do whatever he wants. When this concert is over, when the fame disappears, you will still be you, and Tim will still be yours. So, being together and being yourselves on stage is more than these people deserve, but is what you desire.

Tim grabs your waist as he sinks to his knees, holding eye contact with you before he wraps one arm around you and runs the other over your hip. The crowd screams, phones up in your peripheral vision as you lay your hand on the side of Tim’s neck, still blocking his masked face. The bridge begins, and you sing to him and him alone.

As quickly as you decided to pull him out, he stands and retreats into the shadows on stage, and the show continues. The memory of his touch and warmth lingers, and you credit the best performance of the tour to that.

After you perform Blade, you exit the stage. While the crowd leaves, you lean against Tim’s side and drink a bottle of water, enjoying the quiet backstage. Tim invited his friends to stay, but you leave your mask and new dress on rather than changing. The people you’ve yet to meet haven’t made the same decision as the others, so you don’t want them to feel like they must keep your secret.

Half an hour later, you walk out onto the stage again. The house lights are on, and your team is packing away the set decorations and equipment. You’ve pulled one of Tim’s jackets on over your new dress, and Tim pulls it closed before he helps you off the stage.

“It’s nice to see you again,” you tell Lucy, Angela, Nolan, and Aaron. “And nice to meet the rest of you.”

“That was amazing!” Luna Grey says. “You were great.”

“Thank you so much,” you reply. “It means a lot. Although, I hear Lucy can sing and didn’t tell me.”

“No,” she argues, shaking her head. “I mean, I do and I guess I know how, but… not like you.”

“I think I should get to be the judge of that. Still up for some karaoke?”

Lucy’s jaw drops, and Tim interrupts to say, “Remember what we said about drooling on her.”

 You turn to Bailey and Nolan, offering your recently washed and paint-free hand. “Hi, I’m Scinan.”

“Bailey,” she replies. “I’m a huge fan.”

“Wesley,” Angela’s husband offers. “I’m a new fan.”

“I’m honored,” you say. “I’m glad you were all able to come; the support and encouragement means more than I could ever say.”

“Any idea when you’ll be releasing new music?” Wade asks, glancing between you and Tim, though there isn’t much space between you.

“I’ve got an EP coming in a few months, after a break,” you answer.

“After a nearly completely sold-out tour, you deserve it,” Lucy replies.

Tim sighs when Wendy walks onto the stage, her ever-present clipboard against her chest.

“Are you all prepared to sign an NDA if she takes her mask off?” Tim asks. “You’d have to keep her identity to yourself. No admitting that you even know her.”

 “Of course we would do that,” Bailey answers. “But don’t take it off if you don’t want to. Your privacy and your safety is more important. We could be friends even with the mask.”

You smile. The honesty and care are refreshing, especially after the incident with your security team and the videos from LA.

“If you’d like to meet me for dinner after we’re all home, I’d love to do that,” you say.

“Absolutely,” Luna answers. “Change your mind at any time.”

“Depends on how long Nolan can keep his mouth shut,” you tease.

“I’m not the one who brought Bradford out on stage,” he replies. “Again.”

“It was you in LA!” Wade exclaims.

“The videos have already started,” Lucy warns you. “So far, the best caption is along the lines of walking him like a dog.”

“I should’ve stayed backstage,” Tim grumbles.

“I liked it,” you argue.

Tim looks at you, his eyes communicating that he did too. After you say goodbye to your friends, you return to Tim’s hotel and shower, ridding yourself of the paint. As you walk into the room, Tim is seated on the end of the bed and watching you. He pulls you forward between his legs, tilting his chin up to kiss you slowly.

“Are you tired?” he asks as he pulls back.

“Not really,” you admit. “You?”

“Not at all. Maybe we should go home.”

You smile, nodding in agreement. As yourself, as Tim Bradford’s wife rather than Scinan, you follow him to the elevator. He has one hand in yours as he carries his bag with the other, and each step gets you closer to home. Although, you think as you climb into Tim’s truck, home could be anywhere with him. There might be a song in that.

Bonus:

“Do you need to check those?” you ask when Tim’s phone vibrates again. “I can drive for a while.”

“It’s Lucy and Angela sending me ClipToks, as if I wasn’t there,” he grumbles.

You laugh at his reaction, then suggest, “We should do it in private next time.”

Tim doesn’t reply, but he does speed up.

[an-annyeoing-writer]

yandere!THE8 x Reader: sleeping pills.

Part 2 of 2

Date of release: 03.05.2025

Word count: 3 374

Tags: yandere, angst, hurt & comfort (but I'm afraid the hurt might win)

Warnings (parts 1 & 2): mentions of kidnapping, minor violence, dr*gs, de*th & s*icide

Part 1

On the fifteenth day, you felt that you are going to go crazy.

You paced around the room from the moment you woke up. A shower didn’t help. Based on your internal calendar, it must have been the weekend.

“Minghao, where are you?” you spoke into the air, although maybe too quietly for him to hear. A quick trip to the door confirmed that you were still locked up. The snack drawer was still full, but that wasn’t it. He wouldn’t neglect your physical needs. But he spent all his days at work and then barely had any time to visit you, among all the other things that he had to tend to. You noticed that he was spending more time at work, too – it was a busy season at the office and you suspected he was gifted some of the workload that you left behind. He came back home exhausted and when he entered your room with a dinner, you saw his face getting paler and paler every day.

But if your calculations were right, it was a weekend, so you hoped to spend more time with him.

You stared at the clock on the wall with a blank expression for another hour before the door finally opened; it was almost noon.

You jumped to your feet. The man held a plate in his hands, your breakfast was as perfect as he would always make it be.

But he was not. The dark circles under his eyes told you as much.

“Minghao, are you okay? It’s so late, were you asleep?”

You didn’t want to sound demanding. He must have had so much burden on his shoulders, and you weren’t exactly able to help him with it.

“Sorry, I worked until late yesterday and slept in. Here, your breakfast.” He walked over and put the plate on your bedside counter. “I need to go out now, I’ll see you later.”

You grabbed his sleeve before he could flee, and the man turned around, looking at you suspiciously.

“You have been gone all week. You look terrible. Stop doing things and just rest finally” you spoke in a scolding tone. “Think about me, too.”

He squinted his eyes.

“I do it all for you, you know that. You told me what needs to be taken care of. And I can’t have your diet getting worse just because I stay at home instead of doing groceries. So please, just stay here and wait for me.”

You crossed your arms on your chest.

“And you think you can pull it all off this way? How long do you think you can go like that before you end up in a hospital from exhaustion?”

There were words pushing at his lips, and from his tense expression, you knew that if he spoke them out loud, they would hurt. You understood – he wouldn’t have so much on his shoulders if he wasn’t taking care of the two of you simultaneously. But it was also his choice to make. Maybe he shouldn’t have decided for it if he couldn’t handle it.

Or maybe he knew very well what it’s going to led to, and decided to do so anyway.

You were stuck in your own thoughts for a short moment, but it was enough for you to flinch in surprise when you suddenly felt arms embracing you. You froze; it was the first time he approached you this directly, and you weren’t sure how to react.

But the embrace felt warm, felt safe. Minghao’s presence felt like home.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll make it better.”

“Spend more time with me” you spoke quietly, melting in his arms. “Can you do that? Can you let me out of this room? I can clean around or cook with you.” His body stiffened, and you squeezed your arms around him tightly – I’m not going anywhere.

“You don’t have to do anything.”

“But I want to. I’m lonely here. Please, Minghao. Let’s try at least that.”

You didn’t want to lose his trust. Your words were genuine. You only hoped that he would understand as much.

You felt Minghao’s eyes on you from across the room as you sat with a book in your lap. It was one you didn’t read before, and you found it among many others on the shelves in your room, but from the look he gave you when he spotted you holding it this morning, you had a feeling that Minghao picked it out specifically with you on mind. Unfortunately, his gaze distracted you so much that you swore you didn’t remember a single thing from the last two pages that you’ve read.

The past days were… enjoyable. Minghao managed to convince the HR to allow him work-from-home exemption a few days in a week, as long as his results wouldn’t drop, and the ability to spend time in each other’s proximity, as well as the additional time he didn’t have to waste on commuting, visibly improved his – and your – well-being.

Finally, you realized that no reading will get done like this. With a lighthearted suggestion that you’ll make a tea for the two of you instead, you put the book down on the couch and stood up.

Teas were usually Minghao’s thing. He enjoyed the time spent preparing them and so, although it felt a bit silly, you entered the kitchen wondering where he stores them to begin with. You helped him around the kitchen a little recently, but it was still him who knew where things were, and you only entertained the time by chopping vegetables or performing some other not too demanding tasks.

You opened the drawers one by one, passing by all the neatly stored spices and utensils.

It was around the third drawer that you almost passed by thoughtlessly when something at the very back of it caught in the very corner of your vision.

Your phone.

You hesitated; it did cross your mind before – but something stopped you from ever inquiring about it. Minghao said he would take care of things, so why would you worry about whatever was happening in all these forsaken apps that only ever caused you only more stress? Life without social media was simpler. Nicer. Your mind was at ease. Your attention span improved.

Yet, spotting the device just now, you knew that you couldn’t disregard it. It would haunt you not to know.

You glanced towards the entry – Minghao must have been still occupied with his work.

Taking a deep breath, you took the phone in your hands and turned it on.

It took a while to boot. You almost had a heart attack hearing the sound of the system loading, but it seemed Minghao didn’t hear anything. Thankfully.

With palms sweaty and shaking, you turned on the Internet.

And then waited. One second. Two. Three. The screen froze for a moment.

And then, one by one, notifications started flowing in. From all new content that arrived in all apps possible, through advertisements and updates you couldn’t care less for, so many that you lost track after a few moments. A few new messages crossed your vision, but they have been quickly drowned out by all other notifications, so much that you eventually decided to delete them all with a single button.

You took a deep breath.

From the beginning, [F/n].

You entered the messaging app you used the most. That was what mattered – everything else could be forgotten.

As expected, there were a few unread messages. Not that many. Thinking about it now, what did you expect? Work took most of your time, you didn’t have that many friends, and your family was also used to not having you text them too often. But except for spam messages, a few did grab your attention. From your parents. And from your friend.

You opened them and scrolled up, trying to ignore the pang of anxiety growing in your stomach.

The last messages, you did not write. They must have been Minghao’s doing – calmly explaining you will be gone for indefinite amount of time. They were written in a tone perfectly mimicking your own, providing just enough explanations to shush anyone’s concerns.

But then to any other messages that came after, no replies followed. And so you read through the script, like a plot unfolding – from annoyance at your lack of responsiveness, to worried tone that followed after a few days of constant absence. Soon, turning into anger, calling you out for your carelessness. [Don’t leave me on read!] – Minghao must have checked it once in a while. Yet, still no response.

[Fine, do what you will. You were always like that. Just don’t call if you need anything from me.]

You felt your chest contract and your breath get stuck in your lungs. It hurt, your head hurt, everything was spinning. Your hands trembled so much you almost dropped the phone.

Almost, because a hand appeared, taking the device out of your grasp and putting it to the side.

“Hey, hey. Breathe.”

You feared that he would be mad at you – but he seemed more concerned about the state he found you with, hands on your shoulders as he stood in front of you, trying to ground you.

“You’re safe here” he spoke in a calm tone. “It all doesn’t matter. You’re safe here with me.”

So he knew, you concluded; he knew what your parents, friends, have been going through – he knew they would hate you in the end. Of course he knew.

“Don’t touch me.” You slapped his hands away; anger bubbled within you, at the very least helping you regain control over your body. Minghao’s lips parted, but no sound left them – he froze with his hands mid-air, shocked at your display of animosity. “I’m going home.”

The way he looked at you was filled with nothing but pity.

You reached towards your phone on the counter, but his hand stopped you, fingers wrapping around your wrist a bit too tight for your comfort.

“You’re not.”

“It’s been enough, Minghao, for real this time” you huffed, trying to tear your hand away – to no avail.

Realizing there was no use in talking, you decided to use more force.

You pushed at his chest with all your might, simultaneously tearing yourself out of his grasp and running to the door. For a brief second, you thought you succeeded, his grip on you coming loose.

But his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back towards him. You clawed at his forearms, trying to pry them off and letting out an essay of profanities the moment you realized it was all futile.

But Minghao was having none of it, and his grasp on you was anything but gentle as he half-carried you down the corridor, silently bearing your screams and squirms, eventually reaching your room and throwing you inside with such force that you stumbled backwards and fell down. He looked almost sorry for a second, but it disappeared the moment he noticed the still-furious look on your face.

“You’re not making me stay here” you snapped.

The door closed before you could say anything else.

“You’re not!” you yelled. Filled with nothing but anger, you reached the nearest thing in your sight – a flower vase – and threw it at the door with all your force. The ceramic shattered with a loud noise. But your anger was still unquenched. “Fuck you!” you yelled. You reached towards the next thing – it just so happened to be a plate – a threw it as well. The noise was less satisfying, but still loud enough that you knew he would hear it. You hoped he would. You hoped he would experience every moment of your anger instead of locking you in here as if it didn’t exist. He deserved to hear it all.

But as your hand reached towards yet another item, you heard the door open again.

You were about to let out another yell, but your voice got stuck in your throat at the sight. For a few moments you were too stunned to react, and that was all the time he needed.

At your side within two seconds, Minghao’s hand clasped a metal bracelet around your wrist.

“W-what are you…”

He didn’t hesitate before pushing you on the bed, and for once, you felt fear fill you, realizing you were, truly, at his mercy.

The other piece of metal was locked on the bedframe in no time, keeping you secured with close to no freedom of movement. Climbing on top of you, the man straddled your waist.

With your eyes still fixated on the handcuffs, you didn’t notice the last thing that he brought. It was only when his hand cupped your chin, prying your mouth open, you realized what was happening. But you didn’t react on time – a few pills were pushed between your lips. You tried to hold them with your tongue, but Minghao was quick to pour bottled water into your mouth, and you started coughing frantically, eventually letting the pills slip through.

You glared at him with so much resentment that his face faltered.

Then he let go of your face.

“I didn’t want to do that” he stated quietly. “I didn’t want it to come down to this.” It was as if he was double-guessing himself, considering his options, whether or not there was still any way out of it.

But there was no such way, and both of you knew it very well.

At the beginning, you were able to count your days. One by one, noticing how your own mind changed and adjusted to the new predicaments. At the beginning, it was like a logical structure – a process, one that evolved gradually into a plotline that you could easily explain with basic understanding of human psychology and your own personality.

But how many days have passed since the last time you knew what date it was, you didn’t know. You didn’t remember that date, either. It all blurred out over the time spent laying in your bed motionlessly. The mattress no longer felt soft, the duvets no longer provided comfort and warmth. And the cuff on your wrist that connected it to the bedframe didn’t weight anymore.

The sound of the door opening didn’t phase you. You knew what would follow. The routine was stable. It erased your sense of self all the more with every time it was followed.

His silhouette appears in your range of sight. He bends down to the bedframe, unlocking the chain. A fake moment of freedom as he waits for you to get up. You don’t think, you just act. He guides you to the bathroom, chain still in his hand, just in case, just so that it doesn’t tempt you to try and flee. But you won’t. You are past it.

He lets you in and then closes the door behind you. You have about ten minutes before he asks if you’re alright in there. Ten more before he opens the door. You are ready by then, all showered and clean. Your hair is dripping with water and your gaze is fixated on the ground in front of you, lifeless.

Then, he kisses your forehead, guiding you back to bed. A dinner is waiting, and he sits there with a book, reading it out loud for you to relax to. By that time, the chain is back in place, but it is long enough to allow you some freedom of movement.

Once you finish eating, he sits behind you and gently brushes your hair out, then takes a hair dryer, saying that he doesn’t want you to get sick. His movements, all little touches, brushes against your skin, are filled with affection no one ever granted you in your entire life. They are filled with love and adoration, sometimes even with apology.

If he feels tired, he swaps arms around you from behind, nuzzle the back of your neck and have the two of you stay like that for some time.

Later, he puts you down to sleep and resumes reading. And the words flow, passing by your ears but leaving your memory as soon as they come, and he keeps reading until he makes sure you are completely and fully asleep.

And if you can’t sleep, he gives you pills – after that, you fall asleep for sure.

All these things happen every single day. You didn’t recollect the past that well anymore, and neither were you able to see the future looking like anything else.

But one time, it will feel different.

He will come to you later than usually and sit at your side, undoing the chain at your wrist instead – you will be too stunned to react, hardly comprehending that change. But by the way he pulls you into his lap, you will know the routine has been broken, and will sit there still, not knowing what to do next.

“I only wanted you to be free” he will whisper into your hair, cradling your head to his chest. He won’t feel strong as he usually does, his body will be weak, pathetic even, seeking comfort that you won’t know how to give. “I wanted you to stop worrying. To forget all that…”

The desperation lacing his voice will shatter your heart, although you won’t feel it as much as you would’ve before – because you won’t feel much of anything anymore, having succumbed into apathy long time ago.

“Don’t worry. We will both be free.”

He will pull out a small bottle of pills, although these will look unfamiliar, nothing like the ones you know by heart.

He will hand you some, along with fresh tea for you to drink over. The tea will be a bit too bitter.

“It won’t hurt, I promise.”

You won’t think before taking the pills – like you would’ve any other day, like you learned to do.

He will let out the sigh, soft sound blending with the one of you swallowing. You will look at him – ready to go to sleep, although hoping it’s one of the times when he will stay at your side as you do.

Your eyes will meet and neither of you will tear them away as he will reach and take a bunch of pills as well, a bit more than you did. Only then, only once he had swallowed them, will he put the bottle to the side and reach out to you, cupping your face with his hands and planting a chaste kiss on your forehead.

For those few moments, you will feel all that love that he had for you all along; you will know that the way things ended was not how he wanted them to end – and that his regret was laced with layers of hate for himself and what he had done to the both of you.

Only then, will you realize.

Your eyes will snap to the bottle, trying to read the letters – seeking to confirm your suspicions. But it will be too late.

“Minghao, what have you done…”

His arms will wrap around you and pull you to him closer as you will feel small sobs wreck through your body.

“I promised you it won’t hurt” he will say half-absently.

You will start feeling drowsy – although in an unfamiliar way, with a nervous pain in your stomach. His head will rest on your shoulder as you will feel his body slowly relax against yours as if he was, truly, only falling asleep. He will wordlessly seek your comfort, and you will this time grant it, knowing that it’s the least you can do for the two of you.

That there will be nothing else that can be done.

But that will be in the future.

Now you’re still conscious, still fighting; still hoping that you can talk him out of it, that maybe you will be able to find a way out of this mess. Now you still have the strength to yell at him every moment he enters the room and call him out for his nonsense.

Now you’re not broken yet.

It will take a bit more time.

[witchygagirlwrites]

Cricket-Part 5

Greg “Mouse” Gerwitz x Reader (nicknamed Cricket)

Jay confronts Mouse while Erin handles you

Warnings: mentions of violence and sex

Mouse had gotten into work before you, a part of him hoped you’d come through the back entrance and he’d be able to catch you in roll up to talk to you for a minute. He’d tried texting you, calling, the only thing he hadn’t done was go to your place. He was in the tech room, fiddling with some equipment just to keep busy when he heard boots on the stairs but knew from the sound alone it wasn’t you. He turned about the time Jay walked into the room.

“Hey man” Jay nodded and pulled up a chair to sit down next to him and tossed his badge up on the desk. Mouse looked from it to him “You resigning or something?” Jay shook his head “No, just figured I’d remind you I am a detective. Add in the fact that I’m your best friend, I know when something is up. I let it go but considering Cricket started to come through this entrance until she saw the lights on then she doubled back to go through the front?”

Fuck, he hadn’t heard you. Why hadn’t he left the damn lights off? Because he didn’t want to ambush you. That was just fucked up and he wasn’t about to stoop that low. “Don’t know what you’re talking about Jay” he muttered, eyes flickering across the desk in an attempt to find something, anything to focus on. 

“So it wouldn’t bother you in the least if I told you that I overheard her talking to Erin and she said that she bumped into that surgeon from Molly's when she stopped at the coffee shop before work?” He knew he was clocked then and there because his head snatched up so damn fast. A slow smirk worked its way onto Jay’s face “What happened? And don’t tell me nothing because we both know that’s a damn lie, isn’t like I’m going to go off and gossip about Cricket but you both are acting off and she walks into firefights daily man”

“Too much” he muttered, eyes dropping to his hands and Jay let out a long breath before speaking in a voice barely above a whisper “You slept with Cricket?” Mouse barely raised his eyes to Jay’s but he knew that was all it would take. Jay nodded slowly “That explains a lot. Explains why she’s avoided you since Gia was here, explains why you damn near just gave yourself whiplash at mention of that surgeon. What it doesn’t explain is why you two aren’t talking”

“It wasn’t supposed to change anything between us, I promised her it wouldn’t” Jay moved before Mouse realized it and slapped him behind the head, hard “You stupid son of a bitch. You’ve had feelings for her for a while that’s went deeper than friends” “I know this Jay, fuck you don’t think I know I fucked up?” Jay ran a hand down his face before looking back at Mouse “When?” “Last weekend. Friday night we were hanging out, one thing lead to another”

“So just one time?” Jay questioned and Mouse shook his head “No, not just one time” “How many? Wait, I don’t need to know” Jay was rambling for once. He grabbed his badge, clipped it onto his side and stood up “You need to talk to her, if you want more make yourself known. If you want to be her friend then make yourself known but this? The way you two have been with each other? It can’t keep going on man” 

“Ok” Mouse replied and Jay nodded “Then get your ass upstairs and stop hiding down here” and walked out of the tech room, leaving Mouse with his own thoughts.

Mouse had tried calling and texting you but you couldn’t bring yourself to talk to him, mainly because you were worried you were going to open your mouth and shove your foot right in. You wanted to ask so bad if Gia even knew his actual name. If she called him “Mousey” while he was fucking her, didn’t that make things a little awkward?

The worse thing was you honestly just missed him. You missed having him at your side, missed talking to him throughout the day, joking with him, him coming over with takeout, the casual intimacy you two had always shared that was now gone. 

_____________________

You sighed as you parked outside the coffee shop and headed in. You’d forgotten to buy coffee for your place and you wanted breakfast anyways so it was a win/win situation. You joined the line and looked up at the menu, trying to decide what you wanted.

You heard someone walk in behind you and after a moment someone laughed lightly “Well fancy seeing you again Detective” you turned around and smiled “Joel” he grinned “You remember” you nodded “New surgeon at med, hard to forget” he laughed “What ya getting? I haven’t checked this place out before so I don’t know what to aim for and what to avoid” 

You did a quick run down of what you personally liked off the menu and he nodded “Sounds like I know what I’m getting” you grinned “Happy to help” when you stepped up to order Joel nodded to the barista “I’m covering hers” you looked back “You don’t have to do that” he shrugged “Happy to support our ladies in blue” you shook your head “Well at least I know I helped you decide on a good breakfast and coffee choice” 

You walked up the stairs leading to intelligence and Erin cut her eyes up at you “Good morning Cricket” you smiled “Morning Lindsay” she eyed the cup in your hand “You stop at the bakery?” you nodded “I forgot to buy coffee, ran into that surgeon I met the other day at Molly’s…Joel? He actually bought my coffee and breakfast” she raised an eyebrow “Oh really” 

She stood up and grabbed your arm “Come on dear” you were stuck just trying to not spill your coffee as she drug you behind her to the break room. She pulled you over the threshold and looked at Adam “Hey Ruzek, get out” 

He looked from you to her then nodded “Ok” and walked out, shutting the door behind himself. Erin spun around to face you “So, anything good on the surgeon?” you shook your head “He bought my breakfast, I thanked him then headed in?” she rolled her eyes “That’s no fun. Ok then on to other things”

“Like what?” “Why the hell have you and Mouse been avoiding each other?” you raised an eyebrow “Excuse me?” she sighed “I got my detective shield around the same time as you, meaning I’m not an idiot, plus I’m your best friend. Talk, quick before something comes in”

“Lines were crossed that we maybe shouldn’t have” you whispered and her eyes got comically large “Oh..oh my god” you laughed “Damn Lindsay breathe” she nodded “It just explains so much, him looking like he wanted to kill Joel at Molly’s. You looking like you wanted to kill Gia. Are you two, together?” 

You shook your head “That’s the kicker, I promised him nothing would change. I promised that multiple times” “So what? You’re gonna just eat it?” she asked and you shrugged “What else can I do?” “Tell him?” she offered and you sighed “I can’t because I don’t want to lose him. I don’t want to cause any more weirdness between us. He likes this job and Voight is gonna choose a detective over a tech expert if it came down to it”

She shook her head and reached a hand out, you placed yours in it and she pulled you into a hug “Well. you’ve always got me” “I know and I love you for it”

The unit got a case that was a string of car jackings that one of which had resulted in a murder. You and Adam were being sent to med to interview one of the surviving victims. You hated cases like this, it was so unpredictable, such a heat of the moment thing. It made it so damn hard to track and even harder to try to find a pattern. 

You walked into med and Maggie nodded towards exam three “He’s conscious” you walked in and Joel was examining the victim. “Excuse us?” Joel looked up “These are the detectives I told you would be here from intelligence” he nodded to you “Hey Cricket” before he walked out. Adam raised an eyebrow at a random surgeon using Cricket but you weren’t about to feel like you needed to go into an over explanation. 

_______________________

After taking the victims statement you and Adam headed back to the precinct. That ass didn’t give you a moment of peace. “Why is a surgeon I barely recognize using your nickname?” you rolled your eyes as you put your hand on the palm scanner “Why do you sound like you’re my father?” 

He grinned “I think we have the right to know who’s moving in on our Cricket” the gate popped and you opened it, holding it for him to pass through “No one is moving in one me Ruz” he eyed you as the two of you climbed the stairs “Oh but he wants to” “Who wants to what?” Kim asked and you felt your face warm when Adam laughed “The new surgeon at med wants Cricket to chirp at him”

“Fuck off Adam” you cursed, Antonio telling him to leave you be. Mouse was sitting at his desk and raised his eyes to meet yours, holding them for a second before he stood up and muttered some excuse then headed for the stairs that led down to the tech room.

You looked from the hallway over to Erin who grinned like she knew something more than you did and given Jay was Mouse’s best friend and her boyfriend there was a damn good chance she did.

The damn surgeon. He’d seen the damn surgeon flirting with you. Now he was buying you breakfast and apparently being brazen about it even in front of Adam. The  son of a bitch. The thought of another man with you…he couldn’t think too hard about it. If he did? Well you had too much that you needed to keep your focus on and if he killed a surgeon he’d go to prison.

He hadn’t noticed the sound of boots until there was a knock on the door. He turned expecting Jay, hell anyone else but you were leaned against the frame. “Cricket?” you held out a sheet of paper “Voight needs a trace on this cell” he nodded and reached for the paper, half expecting you to flinch if your skin touched but instead you let him wrap his longer fingers down to cup your wrist as he took the paper from you “Give me five” 

You stayed at the threshold, watching him. He could feel the weight of your gaze. “Any way you plan on talking to me?” he finally asked. “About what?” you questioned and he laughed humorlessly “What happened”

“Not work appropriate there Mousey” there it was, you were jealous. He spun around in the chair, eyes wide, “Are you pissed because Gia came here?” you shrugged “Nope but does she even know your real name? She kept calling you Mousey and god that’s gonna be awkward to moan” 

He shook his head “So you’re not jealous but asking what she calls me in bed?” you shrugged then pointed to the screen “Trace is done” he turned around to look and sure enough it was. He sent the tracking to a tablet and held it out to you “What’s up with you and the surgeon?” 

You took the tablet and smiled, one of those smiles he knew was faker than anything “He keeps hitting on me” you spun to walk out and he asked “Do you have any feelings for him?” you looked over your shoulder and admitted “No, all those feelings are reserved for one person. Now this conversation is over I need my mind on the job” he nodded “Can we talk later? Please” 

“Ok” you agreed and a small smile worked its way onto his face “Ok”

@elvenpirate51

@forensicgirl99

[silvyysthings]

I’m not saying he can’t be in Miami for another circus with KJ, but why is everyone so sure just because he posted a story of grass, trees, and the sky!! seriously, lol? 

And if it’s because his hairstylist is there, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s for him. He’s not her only client. There are tons of events happening in Miami right now for F1 weekend, with influencers and celebrities everywhere. She could be doing someone else’s hair or just attending the race herself. His hair is short now, and it’s not like he’s walking a red carpet, he doesn’t need a hairstylist following him around.

I’m saying all this because I don’t get how people keep assuming and making up entire stories out of nothing. We’ve already seen this cringey PDA dozens of times, what’s left won’t change anything. Just wait until it finally stops.

for the trees, landscape, truck of food delivery active in arizona and florida and not in California and Nahmias event tonight

the photo with his friend was clearly taken from a room boat or hotel

the photo they chose 😄😄 because no photos obviously

my mood 😛

[seraphirism]

🐈‍⬛anon is here!!

Well, I would love to pull gacha but I'm too broke for it, I have only like 19k of butterflies? Sadly, I don't have an opportunity to buy butterflies (if I could've, I would've bought voiced episodes... but sadly I can't follow my dreams...) but probably I will pull gacha anyway and have some ugly ahh shoes like every time I try to trick my luck.

As for the type— yeah, calm and gentle ones are really a good type, I'm a sucker for those who are kind to me and are like 'you can depend on me☺️'. I instantly turn into that one meme where a werewolf is ripping apart his shirt. Maaan, to be honest I was a Teddy fan when the Villa butlers were added to our Barbie Dream House crew BC he's soooooo sweet and cheerful and and and— *got shot* ehem anyway, I'm sorry, I'm rumbling. Have a good day Sol!! And yeah, it's a pity we can't add friends in aknk bc honestly? that would be very fun and nice. I hardly have anyone to discuss my devil boys with so it would be cool to have some friends in the fandom.

exactly, I have like 4k butterfly diamonds now 😭 like it’s almost funny. while aknk isn’t a pay to play game (like at all), it is a very pay to get the cards kinda game. like almost all Japanese fans (who’s fan content I consume voraciously on twitter) pull on the guaranteed (paid) banners of their favourite characters events. it’s almost useless going for the normal gacha unless you’ve saved up a heck lot.

while I do feel the compulsion to spend money on the gacha, it’s hella expensive for me when I convert Japanese yen to my country’s currency 😭 I felt the most tempted when I saw that we had to pay to unlock the voiced main story chapters; like damn, I love story content that’s completely voiced. aknk already has a very strong voice actor cast—don’t tempt me (T-T)

before I started replaying in June of this year, I was kinda apprehensive about the villa butlers (I knew nothing about them). I thought I wouldn’t like them as much as I liked the original cast of butlers. then for funsies (before reading the 2.5 update), I thought I’d consume some casual Teddy content…

and then I had a miss jackson moment (yes, from the meme). next thing you know, within minutes i had read 2 of his initial card stories.

like I remember showing one of his scenes to my sister (where he’s holding a mop in his hand), dressed in sports wear and that my friend changed my brain chemistry; my sister said that he was the most babygirl guy she had seen in a long while.

like I want to take him out on dates. no, he’s not my butler—he’s my girlfriend ✨💗💅

the recent stories have almost made me forgot that he’s not a lil cute swordsman nerd—he’s been through hell and back 😭 his past has been brushed over but I don’t think it’s completely over. i think more nitty gritty stuff will come out; you can see it subtly in how obsessed he is with becoming better and stronger, more reliable in the eyes of Aruji and the rest.

ahem—see I blabber a lot when I get the opportunity to do so (๑>◡<๑)!

yes, I don’t have many people to talk to either about aknk 😭 tumblr is still a blessing where we do have some fans active. I hope some of the fan content creators from twitter migrate to tumblr 🙏 tumblr is way too comfortable for me; twitter is kinda intimidating (^_^)

also, I can’t believe it’s October already. the year went by so fast〜we’ll be having a Halloween event and then in December we’re going to have the anniversary event (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵) I can’t wait for it!

have a lovely day, 🐈‍⬛–anon! also, have you checked out some of the homescreen interactions of Bellen and Shiro? man, Shiro’s conversations with the butlers are so entertaining, while Bellen on the other hand is living up to his title of the older brother of all time ✨