#ride or die dad and daughter

[tender-rosiey]

pretty babies – gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: idk about yall but I love me some drunk gojo

satoru never drinks, but when he does, ohoho, you’re in for quite the ride.

today was one of the days when he was less of a chaotic handful but more of an emotional mess who apparently can’t even remember his own wife. you sip on your drink, ignoring the drunk satoru leaning on the bar.

he slurs his words as he tries to flirt, “you’re sooo pretty, y’know that?”

you nod with a hum and give him no further reaction. in situations like these, you figured out that letting him go all out until he is tired and sleepy is the best solution. it really is like treating a baby.

thankfully, after many years of being in the presence of one gojo satoru, you’ve built up some patience.

he rests his head on the counter and he looks up at you, eyes wide and in awe, “I bet,” he hiccups and it is followed by a silly little giggle, “we’d make superrrr cute babies! like all round and chubby and we’d much on their cheeks like…mochi! yes! mochi…now I am hungry.”

a smirk makes an appearance on your face as you glance at satoru who is blabbering about building a family with you and spoiling you rotten.

a little teasing won’t harm anyone. so you quip, “you know,” and his attention is already on you, “you already gave me three super cute babies.”

his mouth is wide open in disbelief as he sits up, “no way!”

“yup! and they’re waiting at home for us.”

his eyes crinkle because of his wide grin, “really?!” he pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, “you got photos?! please tell me that you do!” and he switches to a pout so quickly, it gives you whiplash.

however, you gladly pull out your phone and show him the multitude of photos you have.

ones ranging from him being in a crib to help the youngest one sleep to ones with two of the three kids ganging up on him and him desperately calling for your help. satoru goes through every single photo, head on your shoulder and cheek squished.

he is silent throughout it all and when he is done, he looks up at you, “so that means that you’re my wife?”

you nod and your fingers, naturally, find their place on his head. he feels a little shiver of satisfaction before he smiles, one lovesick and silly smile, “I really hit the jackpot.”

you laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “I guess you did.”

so you take him back home where the kids are already asleep. satoru crashes on the bed right away, steady breaths filling the room. slowly, you take your place beside him and you feel his arms wrap around you.

he pulls you closer and buries his face in your hair. and you close your eyes, letting yourself be lulled to the land of dreams.

when you do wake up, you’re greeted by satoru literally on top of you and deep in sleep. you would like to let him sleep more especially since he looks so comfortable, but you’re going to suffocate at this rate. so you pat his back lightly, “satoru, honey, wake up.”

he groans and buries his face in the crook of your neck, grumbling something along the lines of ‘five more minutes’.

not budging? then fine, you decide. you take as deep of a breath as you can then call for your kids, “who will help mama?!”

it’s quiet and you can feel satoru smirking against your skin. it looks like he won, but then a bunch of footsteps are heard and it’s your turn to smirk.

your husband lifts his head to glare at you—of course, not without sporting one of his famous pouts.

the door is then slammed open and your eldest son is there, “WHO DARES HURT OUR MAMA?!”

he gasps, very dramatically like a certain someone, and points at his dad, “PAPA?! you’re suffocating mama!”

“again?!” your daughter pops up from behind her brother, staring at her dad in disbelief.

they both stand beside your bed glaring at him and he glares back, the three of them forgetting why you called for your kids in the first place. so you do them a favor and remind them, “satoru…I AM GOING TO DIE LIKE THIS!”

satoru is pulled  back by his shirt and your kids take turns in—trying—to beat him up. you get up, greedily breathing air till you’re satisfied. you ignore the screams of your husband until you’re done with your morning routine.

luckily enough, when you got out of the bathroom, you found no one except your husband.

laying on the ground.

presumably dead.

with a bunch of drawings on his face and his hair contained with multiple hair bands.

you snap a picture of him very quickly then you sit on the ground next to his corpse. you poke his butt and he groans, making you giggle, “what happened to the strongest sorcerer?”

he turns towards you with a small frown, “his pretty wife didn’t kiss him good morning so he had no energy to fight,” his head snaps towards the two tiny figures giggling behind the door, “these monsters.”

they squeal and run away once again before he catches them.

you gently take the hair bands off, “you’re lucky that our youngest devil is still asleep,” you then smooth down his hair and pat his head, “I love the smiley faces on your cheeks.”

he whines and rests his head on your shoulder, “stop bullying me!”

you hum and stroke his hair, “you know, you did something pretty cute yesterday.”

“I am always cute; what’re you talking about?”

“you flirted with me, your wife, and said we would make ‘super cute!’ babies,” you reveal and satoru seems unbothered. in fact, he seems proud and very happy with himself so you continue, “so I had to remind you of our three little devils and then I showed you pictures.”

he stands up, posing all confidently, “what can I say? I excel at everything even being cute—“

“then you cried like a little baby when I showed you my picture post labor and kept apologizing.”

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[sunrisesfromthewest]

First Encounter

|Summary: Your first encounter with Armando; based off of that one scene from bad boys ride or die. | Warnings: Getting shot at/slight suggestive language/Curse words/Slight Movie Spoilers | Trope: One sided interest or Enemies to Lovers| Notes: Hopefully you guys enjoy it's my first-time writing a x reader. | (Y/N/N=Your Nickname)

Here's all the parts I have so far: 1 2 3 4 5 6

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After seeing the news about your dad, Uncle Mike, and some guy, you decided to leave work early. Confused on why there all the sudden wanted fugitives,you quickly drive over to Dorns place knowing that he’ll have answers.

Parking your car, you grab your purse and make your way towards his lake house. Since you hang out with him and Kelly 24/7 outside of work, you just walk in without knocking.    Which was a mistake on your end because not even a second later you’re being shot at, and you could hear a few people yell in shock.  Dropping to the floor you curse and yell "It's me stop fucking shooting it’s me Y/N!”  Looking up you see Kelly pointing the gun at the place you were just standing at with a shock expression.  “Girl what the hell you got going on” you said, scared to stand up.  Lowering her gun she said “OMG, Y/N, I’m so so—” Before she could finish you hear “Oh lord, you shooting at my baby!", recognizing the voice you look around to spot your father Marcus, running towards you with a worried look.

As he’s checking over you, you hear him sigh with relief after seeing you were fine. " Dad? what the fuck is going on!", standing up you dust off your nurse uniform, with a confused expression. 

Looking around the room you noticed shocked expressions from Dorn and Kelly who had put her gun down. Spotting Uncle Mike and the man that was with him on the news your eyes squint even more, Tryna put two to two together.    “Y/N/N, aren’t you supposed to be at work, "Marcus says confused on why his daughter was there.  Still shaking up from being shot at you say, “I was at work but when I was making my rounds with my patients, I seen you guys on the news ......but shit! I should be asking the questions! why are you, Uncle Mike and this dude, wanted fugitives …. matter of fact," turning towards the man, "Who are you?”.    Seeing the man smirk he says," Someone you can get well acquainted with.”  Just as you’re about to say something smart, your dad cuts in dramatically "Aye hell nah man! No hitting on my daughter, Mike get your son!” 

Shocked you run your eyes over the Latino man which you can now see have some of Mike's features, “Uncle Mike since when you have a son, and why the hell is he dressed up like a redneck.”  Running your eyes frantically over their forms you back up while pointing your hands at them and say, “matter of fact why are you all dress up like that.”  Feeling your dad pull you aside to calm you down, he explains everything that happened these past few days.    After getting the run down on what was going on, you rub at your eyes with a stressed sigh." So that’s Armando," you said shaking your head "I would’ve pulled my gun out as well if I’ve seen him, dad didn’t he almost kill you and Uncle Mike!", you said feeling frustrated about the situation.  “Y/n,I know this is awkward, but he has evidence to prove that Captain Conrad is innocent.”  Sighing again “Okay, fine but if he tries some shit just know Imma make him taste the rainbow.”  Hearing laughter you look back to see the Latino leaning against the kitchen counter looking at you with a smirk on his face.  Seeing your father look at you with a don’t do it expression made you huff and ignore Armando’s laughter.    Before you could move to grab your purse off the floor your dad stops you again and whispered, "How long Kelly and Dorn been messing around, "letting out a short laugh you say, “For a minute now”  Seeing your father smirk, and send a look to Mike, you knew they were up to no good but chose to ignore it.

Walking to the door to grab your purse and its spilled contents you feel eyes on you, gazing up you see Armando watching you with an unreadable expression. Rolling your eyes you pick up the rest of your stuff, but as you reach for your lip gloss, a hand grabs it.    Looking up your face to face with the Latino himself, annoyed you extend your hand out, while raising an eyebrow.  Watching his amused expression, you sigh and roll your eyes. 

“Boy if you don’t give me my stuff,Imma punch you in the throat." Hearing him chuckle made you more agitated, but you kept your cool. As he holds out the gloss to you with a smirk you huff and reach out to snatch it, only for him to pull it back in a teasing manner.

Looking at him as if he’s grown two heads, you’re about to cuss him out when he says”Demasiado bonita para una boca como esa”.  Furrowing your eyebrows you say “What?”    Armando’s smirk widens as he says, “I said to pretty for a mouth like that.”  Scoffing you snatch your lip gloss out his hands, putting it in your purse as you stand up and say, “First of all, my mouth is only like this because you almost killed my dad not too long ago, and secondly I can say whatever the fuck I want cause last I checked imma grown women.”  Watching his eyes glance down at your body, you hear a low whistle, "You sure are, but if you ever wanna fix that mouth of yours, "he pauses allowing his pretty brown eyes to trail back up to yours,”aquí estaré mami” (I’ll be here mommy) 

Shocked slightly at his boldness, you say “Boy if you don’t get out of m---,” but before you could finish, he was called over by Mike. At first Armando ignores him and continues to admire you until your dad says, “Boy get your ass over here," which made you break eye contact with him and look away.  

Glancing back up you couldn't help but admire his physique as well but as he reaches the others by the computer set up. He glances back to see you staring which resulted in him sending you a wink. Rolling your eyes you turn away with a smirk," You your daddy son for sure," you say to yourself with a smile.

_____________________________________________________________

Notes: Let me know if you guys want a part 2 :) and pls go see the movie it's so good

[tarjapearce]

Lips anon! Had a tasty thought, imagine Ranchero Miguel and the Pastor's Daughter 😳

You are supposed be a sweet little cherry and you are, but behind barn doors you're getting bred by Miguel. You truly love each other, and you're ashamed of your lust, but he assures you that he's going to marry you. It's no lie. He's just going to pump a baby into you first ❤️

Jeeeesshhh. 🤤

VERY NSFW under the cut

More Ranchero Miguel here

----

When Miguel had arrived to your family's farm as a recommendation by a close friend of your dad, you couldn't believe how... easy it was to sin.

Your mother would often swat your head and reprimand you whenever your stare, lingered too much on him. Saying "No daughter of mine will be mingling with that boy." But you didn't care.

Not when he had popped your cherry in the barn. Strong and calloused hands had held you in place as his fat cock slid into you, condom wrapped a bit too tight around him. Riding you gently as he mumbled the sweetest things into your ear. He made sure to make it special.

Sometimes he'd tease you by working shirtless in the barn, he'd ride Agustín, A pure bred horse, hat snug on his head. Your friends would unabashedly stare at him.

"Señoritas" (Ladies)

He tipped his hat but you knew that smile on his face belonged to you only, your friends giggling and gushing over the fact you had such fine man, under your care.

You felt shame washing over you at the breathless petitions you made him.

"Use the rope!" He would. He would tie your hands above you in one of the posts as his girth rammed viciously into your tight and soaking pussy, only to leave it swollen, full of him and flushed by the constant slapping of his toned hips.

"Choke me" He'd squeeze his large hand that easily wrapped on your neck, cutting the air enough to pump his load inside a couple of times inside your greedy cunt.

"Dios mío, preciosa" He growled as you milked and squeezed him. He could feel every pulsation of your insides embracing him, trapping him.

But this time he was being particularly rough on you. The frustration of you not being swollen with his baby at this point made him to rile your legs up to his shoulders, spreading you, as his fat, cum leaking, thick cock sheathed on your pussy-sleeve

He covered your mouth as your hands fisted in tight balls on his chest, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes.

"No hagas mucho..." He growled as his hips smacked yours with such force it sent you bouncing underneath him, "Ruido" (Don't make too much noise)

Your mewls and grunts died on your mouth as he fucked you thoroughly.

"Te vas a ver tan chula con esta pancita redonda" (You'll look gorgeous with this round belly)

God, the thrill to have him all to yourself doing as you asked, only to be pampered later with such delicacy made your stomach flutter. Your mother would surely die out of a heart attack if she knew you were letting the farmboy she disliked so much, fill your little tight hole to the brim as many times as he saw fit. And your father, would surely want to shoot him for corrupting you.

"Ya quiero casarme contigo, chaparrita" (I already wanna marry you, baby)

Tears rolled down your cheeks as he didn't show any signs of stopping, at least not anytime soon. Pleasure borderline biting and overwhelming. In reality was, That Miguel only obliged at your wishes just to see your pretty, dolled up eyes rolling to the back for him and he alone.

"Pa' llenarte de hijos preciosos. Sólo mírate" (T'fill you with pretty children. Just look at you)

"So pretty and good f'me, yeah?" you nodded and your spine arched.

He was definitely fucking a baby into you tonight.

[gor3-hound]

can't fight this feeling

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

part one, part two

cw: 18+ content, stepcest, panty stealing, non-con, somnophilia, perv leon, p in v, creampie, voyeurism, brief mention of baby-trapping, just general creepy behaviour from leon, photos and videos taken w/o permission

a/n: this is basically just creepy stepbrother leon. he's real weird and kind of an incel lmao. definitely written with re2r leon in mind. mentions of him being a police officer. the raccoon city incident never happened in this!!

word count: 1.8k words

Leon had never been the best with girls. It wasn't his fault - really! He just had a habit of coming off a little creepy, definitely came on too strong when he was trying to ask girls out. He fell hard and fast, convinced he was in love with a girl if she was so much as nice to him.

He'd been rejected more times than he could count, leaving him a little bitter. He's in his twenties, and he hadn't even had his first kiss. It was fine… totally fine. He wasn't mad about it at all. Women just didn't understand how nice he was. He'd treat his girlfriend so good if a girl would just give him a chance!

He's started to give up on his exploits, coming to terms with the fact he'd probably just die a virgin. That is, until he's blessed with a miracle. Must be divine intervention, he can't believe he got this lucky. His dad ends up telling him he's getting married to the woman he's been seeing for a while, and drops the fact that she has a daughter that's just a few years younger.

He meets you at the wedding, and he's instantly sure you're the one. He's pretty chill for the first few weeks that you two start living under the same roof, him as your sweet step-brother. He always dotes on you, takes you out for rides in his patrol car and takes you shopping.

He deserves a reward for all of that, right?

Well, he doesn't want to scare you off. Not when you're the first girl to actually give him attention. Doesn't matter if you're his sister now. You're so sweet and cute. His cock throbs every time you smile at him, and he's starting to get used to the perpetual erection he sports in your presence.

He starts off pretty slowly. Offers to help you out with your washing, pocketing a pair of used panties for later and washing the rest of your stuff. Holds them up to his face when he's alone in his room at night, inhaling the scent of you and rubbing his cock raw, cumming over and over until it's practically just water and his dick has friction burn.

The only issue is that once he starts, he finds it hard to stop. It escalates pretty quickly. He starts spying on you in the shower, one hand rubbing his aching cock while the other records you washing yourself. He likes the souvenir, and he needs the material for when he can't sneak in to watch you.

He ends up completely cutting out porn. Why would he need it? He's got enough material of you to keep him busy for a while, and he makes it his passion to gather more. Starts sneaking into your room when you're sleeping just to slip your panties to the side and get some close-up shots of your fat, juicy pussy.

Another problem that arises is that he keeps getting bolder. You've almost caught him so many times, and he knows he has to move quickly before you catch on. He flirts with you jokingly a few times, pushing down the anger that bubbles in his chest when you make a remark like ‘ewww, you're like, my brother, Lee. That's so gross!’.

Fine. If you didn't want him, he'd take it into his own hands. It was honestly way too easy to slip a sleeping pill into your nighttime tea. You had been living together for a good 6 months now, and you trusted him more than anyone. He smiles sweetly when he brings it to you before bed, ruffling your hair playfully before saying goodnight and heading to his room.

Not that he stays out for long. He's sneaking back into your room a few hours later when he's sure your parents are sleeping. He walks up to your bed, phone in hand - there's no way he's missing out on getting this on camera.

“Hey, sis? You awake?” He asks softly, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you. He grins widely when you don't budge, sleeping peacefully with one of your legs thrown over the cover. He really is so grateful you sleep in nothing but a shirt and panties. Makes this thing a whole lot easier.

His hand reaches out to touch your bare thigh, palm sliding up your soft skin. His blood all rushes to his cock, and it's already twitching eagerly in his sweats, leaking enough pre-cum that a wet spot forms in his boxers.

His eyes stay locked onto your face as his fingers graze your panties. His breath hitches when you let out a deeper breath, and he stills to make sure you're not waking up. When he's sure the coast is clear, he reaches for the hem of them and slides them down your legs carefully, phone camera trained on your legs while his eyes refuse to look away from your face. He can't afford to get caught, not yet.

He's leaky and dripping when he finally gets your panties off. He moved slowly, not willing to risk anything. He's a but bolder now that you're exposed to his eyes, taking in how pretty you are. His breath stutters in his chest, his eyes wide and lips parted.

He dips two of his fingers between your folds and spreads them apart to give him a good look at you. He makes sure his phone stays angled at you, not wanting to miss a second of this. He slides his thumb along your clit clumsily, trying to copy what he saw in a video online one time. He suppresses a whine at how wet it makes you, arousal dripping down and making his thumb all sticky.

He can't wait any longer. He sets his phone down to wriggle out of his sweatpants and boxers, kicking them off and letting them drop to your floor. He settles carefully on the mattress between your legs, gripping your thighs to spread your legs a little wider, careful not to jog you too much.

He moves a hand to the base of his cock so he can position himself at your entrance, his eyes unable to tear away from the sight. He's forgotten about his phone which is still recording face-down in the sheets somewhere. This has all of his attention now.

He can't help but moan as he pushes the tip past your entrance. You gasp softly in your sleep, shifting slightly. He doesn't notice. He also doesn't really care, to be frank. This feels too good to worry about anything else - the way your tight, wet heat engulfs his length inch by inch. He couldn't think about anything else if he tried.

He fills the familiar tightening of his balls as he fully pushes into you, his eyes widening as he moans again, his cock twitching as he cums inside of you. His breath catches in his throat, and he just stares down at you for a few minutes.

“Fuck…” He murmurs, voice cracking slightly. He's still hard - he's not sure he could ever go soft with you wrapped around him so nicely. But he didn't think he'd cum that soon. His cheeks are a bright red, and he's glad he decided it would be better to have his first time while you were asleep. That could have been embarrassing.

He starts shifting his hips, whimpering at the sensitivity he feels from just cumming. His eyes water slightly, but the tears don't fall past his lash line. He has to bite his lip to make sure he doesn't moan too loudly. He couldn't imagine waking you up like this. Or worse, his dad or your mom.

“Mmph… I'm so sorry, sis.” He whimpers as he starts to move faster, his hips rabbiting back and forth. His movements are sloppy and clumsy, every thrust pushing more of his cum out. He can't help but shiver at the sight, quickly fumbling for his phone so he can capture it.

“Couldn't help it.” He says weakly, voice breathy as he continues to fuck you, causing you to rock gently on the mattress. “You look… ah, fuck… so pretty. So nice to me…”

One hand grips your hip to steady your body as the other shakily holds his phone, recording the slip of his cock in your wet pussy. You're dripping all over his length, making the prettiest little gasps and whimpers despite being asleep.

“See baby?” He murmurs, leaning down to kiss the back of your neck, shallowly thrusting in and out of you. He's already close again. Fuck. Why did you have to feel so good?

“Even when you're asleep, your pussy sucks me in… fuck… s'good. Best thing I ever felt…” He whines, thrusting harshly into you now, gripping your hip tight as he stares at the way your face scrunches up, checking for any signs of the pills wearing off.

He cries out your name as he cums again, his brows furrowing as he buries himself to the hilt in your tight cunt, shooting thick ropes of his cum deep inside you. Finds himself hoping you're not on birth control. If he can get you pregnant, you'd have no choice but to be his... right?

He shakes the thought away, pulling out of you with a whimper. He leans down slightly, recording your puffy pussy for a few seconds as his cum starts to drip out before shutting off the phone camera.

He just stares at you for a while as you leak his cum, the sight making him hard all over again. It almost physically pains him to clean it up, but he knows he has to. He can't have you catching on to what he was doing too early. He doesn't want to risk his chances of doing this again.

He cleans you up carefully, making sure that no sign of what happened remains. He pulls your panties back on carefully, patting your ass gently before giving you a loving kiss on the cheek and scrambling off to his room.

He doesn't let out the breath he was holding until he's safely tucked back into bed. He jerks off to the video he took, pouting when he realises he was too distracted to record him sliding in for the first time. He sighs, but continues watching the video, cumming for the third time that night before going to bed.

He can tell you wake up sore the next morning when your brows furrow as you sit at the kitchen counter, confusion written all over your features.

Ever the doting brother, he offers you a sweet smile and slides a cup of tea over to you, tilting his head with feigned curiosity, as if he didn't know exactly what that face was for.

"Everything alright, sis?”

[brothermouse-skeleton]

Stormlight Archive AU where the Stormfather is a regular dad and Dalinar is the pet that he swore he would never adopt and didn't even want, but soon becomes so attached that he lets him ride around in his shirt pocket and would die for him at a moments notice.

In this scenario Syl is his daughter who secretly adopted a wet injured stray raccoon (Kaladin)

[pumpkinfyre]

thoughts on yan father aemond?

cw: yandere content, platonic relationship, you didn't specify gender so I went with a daughter, bc aemond is a girl dad, soft papa aemond, i left the mother ambiguous, some book aemond, bc him burning aegon is bs, jaehaera is mentioned, I keep forgetting alicent is technically a grandma lol, death, aemond kills someone, but what's new

The only time anyone will ever see Aemond being soft is with his mother. This was a known fact up until the birth of the prince's daughter. From the very first moment of her life, she had Aemond wrapped around her little finger.

Aemond himself is a protective person by nature. He offered himself as a sword for the crown to protect his brother's claim to the throne. Aemond is loyal, and this is not something that can be disputed. His holds the same loyalty towards his child. She's his blood, a creation that he had a hand in making. Alicent had instilled it in Aemond that he was to be a doting father, once the time came, and she was successful.

He's absolutely overprotective when it comes to his daughter. After the war, plenty of Aemond's family is dead. Helaena, his beloved sister, and Daeron, his younger brother whom he was very close with. Just the thought of losing his baby can reduce Aemond to an angry mess. She truly is his world. He's ready to burn everything to dust just for her. Soft and pliable, easily manipulated. This is how Aemond perceives his baby girl. It isn't in a mean way, not entirely. He just sees her as a person that needs to be protected.

When he's away on business, he entrusted her care to his mother. Alicent loves all of her grandchildren, and she's lost two already. Jaehaera and Aemond's daughter are the only two remaining. After the war, Alicent is happy to just spend time with her granddaughters, as she's done with politics.

Since all of the dragons, save for very few, were killed, Aemond likes to take his daughter for rides on Vhagar. She's introduced to the geriatric dragon when she's a newborn, as Vhagar is very important to Aemond. Flying with his daughter is one of Aemond's favorite things to do.

Marriage is a no-go.

Aemond is vehemently against marrying his baby off, even once she's of age. Even if his daughter finds someone she's interested in, he rejects all and any proposals. It's not only because of his beliefs in Targaryen supremacy, but because he doesn't want her to die in childbirth. This is something he fears will befall his daughter, and he isn't willing to risk it just for an heir.

He probably murders noblemen who seem interested in his baby, just to be safe ♡

masterlist ᡣ𐭩

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ THIS IS A LIFE, PART TWO !

summary :: in every universe, spiderman will inevitably lose the one thing that matters most to him: y/n l/n. miguel o'hara, peter parker, and hobie brown have all suffered through this story. they soon discover another version of you is alive, bound to fall in love with miles morales and to die abruptly. with the prospect of a second chance and a newfound obsession, these four men will do anything to keep you at their side.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 10.2k

content warnings :: yandere!miguel, yandere!miles, murder/death, gore/blood, stalking, age-gap, non-con touching, drugging, invasion of privacy, force-feeding, mentions of rape/assault, mentions of vomit, hanging, insinuations of suicide, physical restraint, child neglect/abuse, child abandonment, & a lot of gross shit.

miguel o'hara's yandere traits are . . .

smothering, territorial, & paranoid

──── Electricity. It is what Miguel O'Hara lost you to on October 17th, 2099. And it is what he felt on May 16th of the same year.

A soccer coach, that is all you were. Simply there to guide a gaggle of tiny rascals toward their dreams of becoming Olympic athletes. That is all you should have been. Spending your days beneath the sweltering sun, collecting quick money and soccer-ball-induced bruises, before leaving Nueva York to settle down elsewhere. That is what you could have been.

Gabriella O'Hara was one of your many students. However, her dad was rarely present during her games. The lack of fatherly presence struck a parental nerve in your body, hence your perceptible favoritism for her. The efforts you made did not go unnoticed by Gabriella, either.

The time she had preferred tying dandelion stems to one another instead of participating with other classmates, you joined the lonely girl and taught her how to craft flower crowns. Since then, she has always arrived to practice with light in her eyes as she gifts you another flower crown of millions. And of course, you thank her graciously for the present. Even after they wilt and wither, they will forever have a home in your residence.

Today was a particularly gloomy Saturday in late March. The carpool Miguel relied on had been cancelled last minute, much to his dismay. The parent he couldn't remember the name of informed him their child was stricken with a case of chickenpox. After reading their incessant apologies, he groans in a fit of annoyance upon realizing he would have to chauffeur his daughter for the day.

Soccer Ball and weed-ridden flower crown in her small hands, Gabriella clambers into the back of the car and fastens herself into the car seat. In the process, she finds yet another way to bring you into the conversation. Somehow in the span of a few weeks, everything Gabriella does revolves around you in some shape or form. If Miguel hears 'Y/N,' 'flower-crowns,' or 'soccer' once more, he is positive he will implode on the spot. Clenching his jaw, he mentally prepares himself for the most excruciating car ride he is sure he will ever endure.

When they arrive at the field, there is no hug, no kiss, not even a wave of goodbye. Miguel merely lets his daughter exit the vehicle herself, ignores her exclamation of "See you later!" and zooms off. Despite how harrowing her father's negligence is, Gabriella knows she will see you and that fact aids all. If she were honest, she would say she likes you far more than she does her own family. It is tacitly evident through the attention you give her. You lighten up like a Christmas tree when she runs and engulfs your legs in a tight hug. Gleefully, you accept her gift of yet another flower crown and praise her for the effort she put into crafting such. And after being so deprived of the necessity of love, Gabriella practically clings to your side like a parasite.

In the meantime, Miguel returns home and hastily sorts through reports sent in by Alchemax. From technological hiccups to your average-day Karen, being in this field never failed to make this man roll his eyes in annoyance. Despite the admiratio he holds for his career, he still grumbles when his responsibilities creep up on him. And much like everything else in his life, he despises it all.

A monitor then pops up beside him, the translucent screen displaying a reminder he had set hours ago. "May 16th, 2099. Saturday. 3:45 PM. Pick Up Child." His head is thrown back in a fit of irritation when he is reminded of her presence. Miguel closes the tab and leaves the expanse of his office, counting down the days until his daughter blows out her 18 candles and he can finally be at peace.

After the car ride spent pondering over why he had chosen this life, he soon arrives at the soccer field. Scrutinizing through the cluster of children playing in the field, he cannot find Gabriella through the chaos. Miguel does not worry about her well-being, as opposed to how other parents would react to their child being missing. He merely huffs before departing from the vehicle. His large hand tracks through his hair as he searches for where the brat had wandered off to, ignoring the lustful gazes from mothers who were explicitly unhappy in their marriages.

Tucked away in the corner is the first-aid center. Within the bell tent, he spots his daughter. She is blissfully happy as she laughs hysterically, which makes her father red with rage. His talons dig into the meat of his palms; his fangs protrude into his lips. He had already driven all this way for her, how dare she force him to travel even further!? Stomping across the field and through the threshold, his towering frame suddenly halts when he takes notice of the additional presence inside the tent.

And just like that, for the first time in his entire life, the anger simply... vanishes. It is almost like magic. Through tireless efforts, Miguel has done everything in his power to deplete this suffocating rage. All efforts made by him were brought to no fruition. In this moment, however, the mere presence of this stranger brings such a candy-sweet shock to all his senses, that he forgets where his anger was in the first place.

They cast a look over their shoulder to acknowledge his sudden entrance. And their features sit like stars on the expanse of their face, their eyes like the sun and moon basking him in its holy light. A kind smile that could rival the luminescence of heaven grows on their face. Miguel is shocked the sight hadn't caused his knees to lock beneath him. They introduce themselves and if he could write their name on his tongue and only ever speak of them, he wouldn't waste another heartbeat.

Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.

The word sounds like flowers in the wind; like an answered prayer for brighter days. Extending their arm out to shake his hand, Miguel fervently takes their hand into his and shivers from the close, yet minimal, contact.

"So, this is the notorious Y/N I've heard so much about." His voice drops to a low husk, attempting to woo you.

Miguel presses your knuckles to his lips and kisses them with fervid haste. The skin, flesh, and warmth pervading the expanse of his lips make him feel weightless. He doesn't have a romantic bone in his body, but with you now in his life, he'd tear every raw bone from his body and place them at your feet if you so much as asked. Just keep making him feel the way you do.

He then introduces himself and punctuates the syllables with the inflection of his accent, knowing of how it drove others wild. In this case, he was not given the heart-lurching sight of you averting your gaze or listening to your flustered giggles. Instead, you yank your hand away from his affections and revert your attention to Gabriella. Miguel had forgotten she was there altogether, and once again, the permeating rage returned once more.

Without your blessed attention, his lost soul returns to the home it built out of anger and misery. He had so greedily absorbed every sliver of good you possessed, he never fathomed how he would feel when it would be inevitably revoked.

Upon closer inspection, Miguel notices how his daughter's cheeks are puffy with stained tears. On her knees are a clutter of superhero-themed band-aids, a few displaying her father in his work attire. You inform him of the tumble she had taken earlier that day and of how there was nothing to concern himself with, gesturing to the bandages adorning her frail legs. He was never worried in the first place, only captivated by your sheer existence.

You then bend down to where Gabriella is seated on an ottoman and take her tiny hands into yours.

"I was going to wait until later on, but I got a gift that I just have to give you!" Gabriella lightens up as if you had told her you were taking her to Disneyland, anxiously anticipating her present.

Quirking your head, you turn to her father. "If that is alright with you, of course." Yes, anything you want. I will give you everything you could ever want.

A nod of his head and you stand to your feet. That mellifluous voice of yours that Miguel could listen to forever apprises Gabriella to close her eyes, which she obliges to and brings her palms to her face. Grasping hold of the gift hidden in the corner of the tent, you begin to tread toward the young girl. Before you had granted her to, she not-so-sneakily peeks through the expanse of her fingers. She can't abstain from squealing in excitement when she catches sight of what is in your palms. She closes the distance between you both and rushes to you, before practically yanking the gift out of your grasp. A harsh scolding bridges upon Miguel's lips for the action. However, when he takes notice of the admiration in your expression, he is rendered speechless with sudden envy.

A flower crown is what you had given her. The detail is exquisite, evident in the sheer awe plastered upon Gabriella's face as she studies it. Strawflower, lavender, eucalyptus, and daisies adorn the garment, as well as strands of amaranth that would cascade down her back. In addition to this, a myriad of other ornamentations clung to the crown. Vibrant gemstones, pastel buttons, and a pink, silken ribbon that ties the crown together in a flawless bow — it is a tiara befitting the most beautiful of princesses. And you told Gabriella she fit that standard effortlessly.

Meanwhile, Miguel stands in the background and seethes. How despairingly he wishes the gift were for him instead. In any other light, he'd say the garment was tacky. Ugly, even. He would have no resourceful use for it, either, and it would inevitably be chucked into the garbage. When it is you who put all care and detail into the gift, however, the story changes. Mere seconds have gone by since he has learned your name and still, he'd flaunt that crown for the rest of his life if you had gifted it to him. No matter the judging heaps of laughter he'd receive from others.

Gabriella thanks you profusely and engulfs your legs in another hug. Her gratitude is met with a reciprocated squeeze, as well. The act of affection is given to one another entirely oblivious to the third party overwhelmed with jealousy. His thick brows are plastered in a permanent furrow and his lips have morphed into an envious sneer. You are so effortlessly good with children and Miguel can't refrain his brain from catapulting to conclusions.

What does your life look like outside of being his daughter's favorite person? Do you have children of your own?

Is there someone else?

You and Gabriella then perform your secret handshake. It had been choreographed during one of the numerous soccer meets after her father neglected to collect his daughter on time. Soon, the two are leaving the tent. And every step away from you feels like walking on hot stones. The further Miguel treads, the scorching temperatures increase. He cannot look back. One glance and he'd be barreling for the poor tent like some rabid animal, desperate for another taste of your bottled happiness.

May 16th had only been the beginning of the Miguel-ridden chaos that would soon embark into your life.

Considering his negligence, you were stunned to see how he had signed his daughter up for several classes a week. But, you become entirely aghast with shock when you find him attending every meeting and game, remaining in the same spot for the entire course. Most parents twiddle on their phones while others mingle with the other adults. Miguel O'Hara was different. His sole, undivided attention was reserved for the actions taken on the field. And his sweet child could not have been more elated.

You presumed this alter in behavior to be a spark of realization that manifested into becoming a better parent. However, as the weeks go by and he continues to attend, you are quick to realize how his attention isn't appointed to his daughter, but it is set on you instead.

It is impossible for you to disinter what about yourself he finds so entertaining. With his eyes glued to you, it fills you with a sense of insecurity when you assume he may be mocking or judging you. The seemingly permanent dead emotion cast on his face makes you squirm with discomfort.

Upon closer inspection, or during the constant chatter he provokes when you're not occupied with the children, you swear the pupils of his eye almost appear... heart-shaped? You also cannot remember a time when he looked you directly in the eye, either. You're sure if you asked him what your eye color is, he'd be dumbfounded (he knows the exact shade by HTML color code, but that fact remains unknown to you). They are locked onto your lips, instead. Do you have something on your face? Maybe something in your teeth? The lack of emotion he communicates through facial expressions has you ridden with worry.

The most evident response you've been able to perceive in his expression was on a random day after practice. In the midst of a conversation with Miguel, another father interrupts him. His face morphs into something murderous when the unwelcome guest has the audacity to ask for your number. He claims it is to inquire you about his son's performance while he is not physically present in the game. With the way his eyes leer to your body, Miguel knows exactly what kind of revolting, perverted visions are plaguing his mind.

Clenched jaw, tense frown, eyes blown wide — Miguel’s chest rises and falls with rapid breaths while he glares bullets into the man. It takes everything within him to not release his talons, flash his fangs, and rip this pervert into nothing but a bloodied mess of gore on this very soccer field.

He is dead by dawn.

Exposed to several counts of rape and assault, Spider-Man hanged that man with his red web-matter beneath a bridge. His written confession was pinned to his chest with a hunting knife.

The disturbing events led his wife to officially resign her son from your practice. On live television, the widow swears on her life that her husband would not do such a thing. The sudden exposure of random crimes without any victims or proof does seem a tad suspicious, you think to yourself. Due to the circumstances, however, you cancel soccer meetups for the following several weeks so parents and children can process these disturbing events.

While you are typing another empathetic message to the apparent-criminal’s wife, another message pings on your device.

The culprit is no other than Miguel O'Hara. As if the news that had spread amongst the city like wildfire had chosen to leave him intact.

As if nothing happened.

Miguel invites you to an ice cream parlor with him and Gabriella, a weird undertone that implies it's a date while his daughter is the annoying third wheel. To get your mind off the poor boy whose father was brutally murdered, you agree to the rendezvous. His response is far too ecstatic to be deemed platonic, but much like all of his other flirtatious insinuations, you ignore it. You are juggling much more important, colossal matters in your life, after all.

Early afternoon rolls around and you arrive a mere five minutes early to the parlor, only to find the two were already seated beneath a pastel-striped umbrella. Gabriella is adorned in the flower crown you gifted her weeks ago, babbling about frivolous matters while her father sits beside her. Chin rested against his palm, you have never seen a more bored expression on a human's face.

Double-checking the clock to ensure Miguel's apathy wasn't a result of your poor planning, you're relieved to see your suspicions were false. You briefly scroll through the new messages on your phone from parents and neighbors regarding their children. As much as you adore your job, juggling the well-being of so many lives can be exhausting.

The click of your car door opening cuts your actions short. Looking at the sudden intrusion, you find Miguel O'Hara towering over you with Gabriella at his side. Her eyes beam beneath the flower crown you crafted, while her father perceptibly softens at the sight of you. Almost as if a tidal wave of relief washed over him after years spent breathing in trepidation. Not wasting another second, Gabriella crawls into the car and engulfs you in a hug. You are able to reciprocate the affection before her father pulls her away from what's his you. He is rather rough with her, but the smile that paints her face aids the dread inside of you.

Miguel lends a hand, which you take with reluctance. He guides you from your beat-up, engine-sputtering vehicle as if you were royalty. Your other hand was now held hostage by Gabriella, who attempts to conquer her father's strength and guide you to where they were once seated. Her efforts are futile when you are yanked into Miguel's sudden embrace. He was never shy with his affections, but this is the first time he was so close to you. And God, is it overwhelming. His imposing frame envelops every inch of you, to where all your senses are deluged in all of him. His cologne, his muscles, his warmth — he is everywhere and it is wholly suffocating.

"I missed you so much..." A beat passes before you realize he is referring to the mere week you have spent without seeing the O'Hara family.

Slowly and painstakingly, he releases you from his tenacious hold. Gabriella is then swift to fill the silence. She grasps your attention easily, something her father has struggled immensely with.

She pantomimes about the fashion show she hosted for her dolls back home and the success she earned during her P.E. class a few days prior. So indulged in the stories of this poor, attention-deprived child, you failed to notice how your hand was still held in Miguel's grasp. His lips find your knuckles, as they always do. The sensation of his kiss against you was nothing out of the blue. The act of affection had become a strange routine for every encounter you both shared. Without your resistance, Miguel fully indulges himself in how much he has missed you and plants more long, abiding kisses to your hand.

When you finally perceive his actions, you swiftly yank your hand away from his relentless affections. An awkward, forced smile sits on your face as you look at him with furrowed brows, seemingly scrutinizing him for some sort of explanation of his actions. Gabriella then pulls you away and drags you like a dog to their reserved table. Not without a sharp demand from her father to be careful with you.

On the surface, you find a colossal bowl of your favorite ice cream. The question lurks of how they had known this fact, but you merely brush it off as dropping the information to Gabriella a while ago. Besides the treat, a bouquet of paper flowers scribbled with bright-hued markers sits. She expresses how she crafted it for you during her time in school. Students were given art equipment and assigned to create a heartfelt gift for their parents. In the brain of Gabriella, she neglected her actual parent and put all her love into creating something perfect for you. And to you, it was all of that and more.

The three of you sit. You thank the young girl for the beautiful gift. Then, you pretend to inhale the scent of fresh flowers and jokingly compliment her on how she picked the finest posy from her garden. Before you can continue to pantomime about the process she went through to craft the bouquet, her father interrupts her. He proposes a gift he has gotten for you, as well.

A box is then placed before you. It is enveloped in vermillion velvet and silver tracings of 'Cartier' are threaded among the sides. You restrain from expressing your shock at the expensive appearance. Flicking the small latch that probably costs more than your bedroom alone, you gently clutch the two adjacent covers and open the box.

Sat inside is a diamond ring. The way the July sun reflects against the gift and into your eyes is harsh. You're shocked you hadn't gone blind from the unwelcome pervasion. The intricacies of the garment are delicate and precious, to where you are afraid of even putting your hands on such finery. You become entirely ridden with shock and terror when you grasp the thin thread attached to the box and read the price tag.

$2,000,000 is written in bold letters, almost as if the striking font was ridiculing you.

As heard through the fits of gossip from bored parents during practice, you were aware Miguel was a billionaire working at Alchemax. In these past few weeks spent handling nagging parents worried for their children's safety, the fact seems to have escaped your brain. And even with receipts that look like phone numbers, you still cannot fathom how pure diamonds are mere pocket change to him.

Jaw on the ground, you don't realize just how much time you spent gawking at the ring. A hum of amused, affectionate laughter clutches you away from your state of captivation. You shift your gaze away to see Miguel and those all-too-familiar heart-shaped pupils. Staring into your soul. It is the most emotion you have seen on his face since you met him. You wonder how many times he has looked at you like that when you were occupied with other matters.

He moves closer to you. You stalk his movements with curiosity, watching as he grasps your hand for the zillionth time since you met him. Uncomfortably pressing himself against you, Miguel reaches over your shoulder and grasps the ring. He evidently indulges in every second spent in close proximity with you. The hot, heavy breath fanning against your ear informs you of what captivated chaos is taking place inside his brain. Goosebumps bloom on your skin when the frigid diamonds meet the flesh of your ring finger. He assumes the sudden shiver engrossing your body is due to his closeness and he does little to hide his perceptible excitement.

You loving him nearly as much as he loves you — that is all he could ever want.

You lightly tread your digits among the ring, almost afraid to dirty the expensive jewelry with your mere touch. You stutter through an attempt at thanking Miguel for the gift. And your awe mending with your gratitude has his heart lurching in his chest. God, you are just so sweet. He is surprised his teeth haven't all rotted just from standing here in your presence.

Gabriella is in a similar state to you, as well. Any child in the presence of jewelry meant to be worn by a deity would react in a similar manner. Though, her childlike wonder fogs all the polite manners she prided herself in having. Her small fingers reach to touch the diamonds, but her efforts are halted a mere picosecond after they had begun.

Miguel snaps his fingers. That is all he does. Gabriella freezes at the sound, turning her attention to her father, and then cowering like a scolded puppy. She scoots away from you, abandoning her endeavors the second his fingers meet his palm. You fear what occurs beneath the roof of their home when there are no prying eyes there to witness anything.

A sultry whisper of "you look perfect" in your ear and the state of discomfort you were in only intensifies. Miguel's finger drags from your left shoulder blade to the other as he begrudgingly moves away from you, returning to his original seat.

Nearly incoherent blabbers of the ring being too much money tumble from your lips as you try and rid yourself of the diamonds. However, no matter how tireless your efforts are, the ring almost seems locked around your finger. A gentle tap to your elbow from Miguel beside you and you halt your efforts. You've heard he is quite scary when angry, after all.

With melted ice cream left on the table and diamonds superglued to your finger, you come to the conclusion that leaving your house today was probably a mistake.

When you do return home, however, you now realize you should have seen the blatant red flags long ago and left Miguel in your shadow. Your incessant assurances of how he just has an odd way of expressing kindness halted you from accepting the truth.

Standing before your bathroom mirror, a myriad of cleaning products from beneath the sink sit before you. Your laptop sits there, too, and displays countless YouTube videos adhering to removing a tight ring. Attempting to unravel the glimmering, red knot tying the ring to your hand, the revelation of Miguel's intentions finally begins to settle. These matters are so important, that you don't even acknowledge how the vermillion string looks oddly familiar to what you see the city's superhero using to travel.

Deep within your thoughts, the sharp vibration of a text message startles you out of your inner turmoil. A hologram expands from your phone left against the bathroom countertop. Lo and behold, no other than Miguel O'Hara has messaged you. He thanks you for joining him earlier (avoiding mentioning how his daughter was there, too). He slides an additional compliment of how diamonds look stunning on you. You're glad the toilet is so close to you, as you may need to vomit from the rotten sweetness of his words.

Instead of replying, as you would normally thank him for his kindness, you ignore his message. You are far more interested in trying to rid your hand of this ring without harming the accessory and washing his $2,000,000 down the drain.

With fruitless efforts and exhausted arms, you slouch against the bathroom wall and wave a white flag. You decide to succumb to the stubborn ring's desires and move on with your nightly routine. Instead of having your usual shower, however, you run a bath instead to avoid harming these damned diamonds. It is almost comical to lay in these bubbles completely nude while still wearing this single piece of jewelry. You wonder how Miguel would react to seeing you like this, physically scowling at the lust-ridden response you know he would have.

Speak of the devil, another message from him chimes on your phone. The hologram expands from its spot on the counter, once more. He inquires why you haven't responded to him, as if you would drop everything just to converse with him. He would do the same for you in a heartbeat, but that fact remains unknown to you.

A mere minute passes before an onslaught of messages begins to pour into the room. The rapid ding! of your phone causes you to clench your teeth with fervent irritation. You groan before abruptly escaping the warm embrace of bathwater to grasp your phone. Ignoring all incessant begs for your attention, you put your phone on mute and savor the tranquility that follows. You also overlook the mentions of "not being able to see you" and "his cameras disconnecting" in favor of returning to your peaceful bath.

Your state of relaxation is short-lived, much to your dismay. Not even several minutes later the tumultuous sound of fists banging on your front door permeates. The sudden intrusion of noise sends a shock of terror into your heart. Due to recent events, you fear the crime that has spread throughout Nueva York is now standing outside your home. Could it be someone begging for help? Or could it be someone eager to take your life? Swiftly ensnaring a robe around your body, you hastily tie the knot as you rush to identify the one responsible for the clamor.

Another groan of vexation escapes your throat when you see Miguel at your doorstep through the peephole. The fear simmers but returns when you can't piece together how on Earth he knew where you lived. You hesitate to open the door, but it isn't like you have much of a choice in that matter.

The door creaks open. And the reaction Miguel has seeing you in a robe and his diamonds is more than perceptible. Almost as if whatever excuse he conjured up for being at your home at this hour had been snagged from his brain. His eyes travel from your head to your toes, then back upwards, before reality slaps him across the face and forces him out of wonderland. The fear pumping through his body depleted the second Miguel saw you, to where nothing but a hot canopy of tranquility embraced him. The confused, puppy-like expression on your face, the thin robe protecting you from exposure, and his precious diamonds on your hand — nothing about this sight could save him from the tsunami of devotion that has swallowed him whole.

His arms are around you faster than you could think. And he just melts.

You meekly attempt to escape his tenacious hold, but your efforts are never brought to fruition. With his large hands clasped onto your body and his face nuzzled into your neck, escaping this man and his smothering love was a mere pipe dream.

If the emotions coursing through Miguel in this moment had somehow become a physical matter, he would care for it like he would a newborn baby. Tend to its every need, soothe it when it fusses, give away every ounce of love his heart can possibly accommodate. It contradicts his current performance as an actual parent, but all of his soul was reserved for you, after all.

"I can't live without you." It has only been several hours since you last saw him. Why is he acting like this?

Your efforts to escape accelerate when the razor-like point of his teeth poke against your neck. A harsh shriek then emerges from you when fangs protrude into your flesh. Something unfamiliar pumps through your system with rapid speed. It courses through your body and envelops every inch with profuse lethargy. The exhaustion satiates everything. It is all you can perceive. You slump against Miguel's toned physique like a wet noodle, to where he fully supports your weight with adoring fervor. Whispers of praise and gentle proclamations of love are the last thing you perceive before you drift off.

The dizzy sight of blurred city lights and bedsheets is what you see next. No Miguel, no bathrobes, no ensnaring embraces. Just you and your warped, distorted vision. You attempt to pull your head forward, only for gravity to fail you when you loll back onto the puffy pillows. When your hazy vision fades into something more distinct, you are finally able to discern some of your physical surroundings.

A bedroom that certainly does not belong to you is what you are met with. It is luxurious. Expensive. Lush. An incredible contrast to the small, decrepit bungalow you called home. The tall windows display the remarkable city from its highest point. The gentle, red-hued lamplight frames the late-night clouds drifting about and the planes soaring through the sky. You are laid against a circle-framed bed where several exorbitant comforters are draped around you. The robe you were adorned in hours ago was gone, too. Now, you are dressed in a high-quality, silken pajama set you do not recognize.

Your head relentlessly aches as you attempt to study the entire scene before you. The sensation is alike someone slamming a hammer into your brain. You bring your hand to your temple in a feeble attempt at easing the ache, but the freezing touch of the diamonds on your finger make you hiss from the stimulation. It channels a groan from your throat. The sound you make is simultaneously met with the distorted echo of a stranger's cooing. They purr out whispers of comfort and love, failing miserably in mending the fear stirring within you.

"Oh, button… You have no idea how long I have wanted this." Miguel fucking O'Hara. That revolting, candy-sweet voice belongs to no other than Miguel O'Hara.

He towers over you, as he always does. Dread tickles your bones and dances among the goosebumps trailing your flesh. Questions swarm within your brain as you attempt to scrutinize what you could have done to anger this man. You've heard through the grapevine how catastrophic his fury is, after all.

Contrary to popular belief, however, Miguel is not the flaming ball of rage he appears to be. Well, he at least isn't like that with you. Everyone else has clear evidence of the absolute rabid dog this man can be. It is evident in his greedy, adoring hands that have been stained red more times than he can count. It is evident in the warm pool of his brown irises that only appear blood-hued when you are not around. It is evident in absolutely everything he does.

This fact doesn't change at this moment, either. With the speed of a predator stalking prey, Miguel steadily climbs onto the bed and straddles you. You can only lay paralyzed and stare at the man above you in trepidation. With frail efforts, you are able to garner a sliver of mobility when you attempt to push him off. He resorts to grasping hold of your wrists and pinning them beside your head. So much for that plan. His abnormally sharp nails dig into your flesh; his nose pokes the bridge of yours when he bends down. His breath fans against your face and the familiar sight of his heart-shaped pupils is now overwhelming. Once again, his eyes are glued onto the one place they always seem to be: your lips. You can practically taste the need exuding from him.

A hologram then appears in front of his face. A monotone, robotic voice emanates into the silent room. "Your heart rate is 110 BPM. This has alarmingly exceeded your average BPM. If you are in danger, please press-"

The anger you heard rumors of fills him to the brim. Something daring to refrain him from drowning you in his love is equivalent to ordering a one-way ticket into the depths of Hell. A grunt and curse emerge from him. With a rushed flick of his finger, the hologram disappears as quickly as it came.

And without another second to perceive his actions, his lips are on yours. It is an almost god-like fervor he possesses. Your relentless struggling flies over the head of the absolute beast on top of you. It is instead met with the sharp prick you felt the night before on your lips. The same sensations flood through your veins, once again. This time, however, you are still able to regain consciousness and the small dosage succeeds in immobilizing your body. Now, you are entirely susceptible to whatever your kidnapper intends to have you endure.

Meanwhile, Miguel is utterly convinced he has left Earth and is now resting on Cloud-Nine. The unadulterated affection and sheer giddiness derived from your kiss bubble in his chest like a fizzy, sugar-ridden soda. He even considers he had somehow gotten drunk on the beverage, even though there is no physical indication of the beverage even existing. The way his heart batters like a savage animal locked in a cage is enough evidence to convince him otherwise, though. This kiss was only done to debilitate you, yes, but he would be a fool if he believed he could hold himself back from indulging in this moment.

Forehead pressed against yours, he speaks with breathless tremor. "I..." He gulps, "I got you another gift, button."

Once Miguel deems himself satisfied, he laps up the drops of blood that cascade from your lips with bone-chilling glee. Reluctantly, he withdraws from the close contact. His attention then begrudgingly drifts from you and to something on the bedside table. You are unable to turn your head and identify his actions, you can only lay on this bed in complete, paralyzed submission.

In his hands is a bowl of your favorite ice cream. "You never finished your bowl at the parlor. Remember?" You are still unsure of where he learned this was your preferred flavor.

When you expect him to bring the plastic, pastel-pink spoon to your lips, he does the opposite. Instead, he feeds himself a spoonful of the ice cream. Then, much to your horror, he presses his thumb to your chin and indulges in another kiss. His tongue slithers into your mouth, to where he coerces you to consume the sugary substance directly from him. Like a fucking mother bird. Your moans of discomfort are mistaken for sounds of pleasure. The noise elicits a muffled grunt from Miguel that vibrates against your lips. After all, the guttural groans protruding from him are enough to inform you he is enjoying this far more than you are.

"You can't just walk into my life, take my heart, then try and leave." Another quick, yet deep, kiss is forced upon you before he continues. "I won't let you. I can’t let you…”

A mess of ice cream, saliva, and stained blood paint your abused lips. Miguel backs away from your mouth and the separation provides you ephemeral comfort. For the umpteenth time, he hastily scoops another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth and fervently forces it into yours. It is absolute torture.

Any attempt at pushing this monster away from you and puking out any trace of him left in you was entirely fruitless. The spongy muscle of his tongue continues to explore your mouth with more heaps of ice cream. Miguel kisses, slurps, and guzzles all remnants of you he can garner. You wonder if he had bought the entire parlor with how much ice cream he appeared to have.

"I love you too fucking much..." All you can do is let him relish in the euphoria he feels upon his actions and pray to God that it will end soon.

This is what life looked like for the following months. Miguel forcing his love onto you the way he forced ice cream down your throat.

And it is what life looked like when he lost you. Miguel forcing the universe to adhere to his needs the way he forced you into being his lover.

October 17th. It was all his fault. 

He remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. It was a frigid Saturday morning. Miguel dropped Gabriella off at school for soccer practice, not bothering to wave or kiss his daughter goodbye, once again. Instead, he leaves quickly to purchase an expensive necklace and another order of your favorite ice cream to surprise you. Diamonds and sugar are the best way to someone's heart, right?

The ice cream falls from his hands and splats against the ground when he finds you. The diamonds are now chipped and dented from falling onto the hardwood floors. His breath is lodged in his chest as if his lungs had been crushed beneath the weight of the sight that stood before him. His eyes are blown wide in confused horror as if the mere action of blinking would kill him in his stance.

You lay on the floor of his office.

Lifeless. Cold. Dead.

The vibrant spider webs he used to tie the ring to your hand had conducted an electric flow from the watch he had been working on and into your body.

The electricity you made him feel was now the reason you were dead.

However, Miguel refuses to see this. He brings your body into his embrace, choosing to ignore the lack of reciprocation and silent pulse. You are just asleep, you are just asleep, you are just asleep. Tears overwhelm his vision, hiccups penetrate his chest, and unruly sobs fill the air. Still, he clings to you and persists in what he is desperate to believe as the truth. You are just asleep. You're always so sleepy, it is just too adorable! Maybe some ice cream will wake you up. Right? Right...?

Incessant demands to open your eyes fill the air, which soon turns into a series of relentless, incoherent pleads. Miguel webs the battered necklace and spilled ice cream into his hands. He ensnares the jewelry around your neck, a choked compliment of how beautiful you look barely able to escape through unruly sobs. His trembling hands then bring a spoonful of your favorite ice cream to your lips, ushering you to open your mouth and let him feed you. The tears staining his vision make it hard to see what he is doing. He loses the mobility of the spoon, to where it then clatters against the ground.

Large hands then cling to your face as he forcefully shakes you and calls out your name.

"WAKE UP! Y/N, WAKE UP!" The desperate, thunderous roar could have torn the world asunder with its violent force. It surely would have woken you up, had you been alive. Miguel knows this and it destroys him.

Miguel grasps the watch on top of the desk, you still in his arms. The desire to absolutely destroy the very thing that took you from him was almost feral. When he thought of the intentions he originally had upon creating the machine, however, he sought against it. Clicking the metal walls back into place, he taps a few buttons in the correct order. The room is then adorned in neon colors that frame a pitch-black portal. From here, Miguel stands to his feet with you in his arms and ventures through.

He abandons his daughter, abandons his life, abandons everything.

When he first learned of the existence of the Multiverse through his job at Alchemax, he fantasized about creating the perfect world where you and him can be together. He crafted it from scratch, but it still needed a few more knots tightened and screws fastened before he could have given it to you. Blinding sunshine and vibrant blue skies; healthy green grass and a single house on a hill. The clouds drifting in the sky resemble a myriad of different shapes, where Miguel had hoped you and him could do cloud-gazing with one another. The flowers planted in the soil all contrast in variety and color, where Miguel had hoped you could make him a personal flower crown like you did for his daughter. And of course, an invisible force surrounds the small plot of land to ensure you won't go wandering.

Where it can be just you and him. Where you can never escape his love. Where you can be happy together.

Things are much different now. He was too late. Miguel can only stand here with your lifeless body in his arms, surrounded by the clean home he intended on spending forever in. The satiating grief had turned into desolate numbness. He doesn’t waste another second before taking action. Laying your body into the bed you two were intended to share, he assures himself you are just taking an afternoon nap. Then, he begins to forage the home for something, anything, that will wake you from your slumber. Like sleeping beauty, he desperately muses to himself.

Within several weeks, your poor body had been strapped to the bed with numerous tubes and IVs protruding into your body. Miguel stands by a desk, a myriad of holograms displaying information that would be incomprehensible to even the smartest of people. Eye bags sit heavy on his face from restless nights; his eyes are swollen and red from the lack of sleep.

He doesn't care if he has to kill every person in the Multiverse, endure the most gut-wrenching pain known to man, or even sell his soul to the devil himself. He will do anything to see you open your eyes again. Even if it is just to slap him across the face or to scream at him for taking you from your old life, he still needs it. You'd be home. And that is all Miguel could ever want.

However, he was so occupied in doing everything within his power to bring you back to him, that he hadn't realized just how uneducated he was about the Multiverse. When he wakes up after falling asleep at his desk to the strange sound of something sizzling, he looks and finds the furniture around the room begin to glitch. Almost as if he was living in a simulation. The closer the malfunctions accelerate to you, the quicker he is to take every device plunged into your body and bring you into his arms.

The foundations of the home vibrate beneath his feet, and he then sprints from the bedroom and down the stairs. A violent crash echoes from behind him when he finally escapes through the front door. He doesn't dare to look behind him, he only holds your body closer to him and sprints forward.

A few taps to his watch and a portal unfolds just several yards from him. When he was a mere footstep from escaping with you, the force of the destruction snatched you from his embrace. He tries to fight against the energy pulling him into the gateway he summoned and practically flails his body around like a dying insect. His desperate efforts to retrieve you are of no use when his strength is overpowered by his own machine. Inevitably, he falls into the portal.

A harsh cry of "NO!" flees from his mouth before he finds himself back in Nueva York. Alone.

The world Miguel had put his blood, sweat, and tears into creating had crumbled right before his eyes. And right in the middle of the mess is where the only thing he has ever loved is.

As the story of all Spider-People goes, Miguel uses every bit of energy derived from his grief. He, however, does not use it for the sake of others or to ensure no one ever feels the pain of losing a loved one. Instead, he vows to study more of the Multiverse and create technology that can bring your body back to him. He was so close to waking you up! He just needed a little more time!

During his endeavors, he soon meets Jessica Drew, and all delusions he claimed to be the truth shattered like glass onto concrete. Here, Miguel learns of the "Y/N-Curse," as she so called it. How every Spider-Person is destined to fall hopelessly in love with a version of Y/N, only to lose them in the end. She tells him of how she was in love with her own version of them, too, during her teenage years, which made Miguel spark with territorial rage. After beating around the push for too long, what she tells him causes his entire body to go rigid with shock.

Everyone was so used to the stoic, cold, terrifying Miguel O'Hara. Only Jessica Drew had seen that exterior disintegrate when he learned your body had been destroyed and it was impossible to retrieve you. His absolute worst nightmare had manifested into reality and nothing could ever conquer the amount of pain he feels now.

You are gone.

Forever.

If it wasn't for Jessica's high-speed, spider-induced senses, Miguel would have succeeded in killing her and then himself right in that moment.

From here, he agreed to Jessica's inquiries about starting a society of Spider-People all across the Multiverse. If not for others, then for you. Even if it is not the same Y/N from his reality, any version of you does not deserve to suffer. Still, to live every day watching millions of versions of you die through the numerous holograms sat on his desk tortures him in ways he cannot fathom. It is killing him, but when it is for you, he will do absolutely anything.

He will find a way to stop this curse. Even if it is the last thing he ever does.

With that, your life was over. May 16th, 2099 — the day Miguel O'Hara met the only thing that ever mattered to him. And October 17th, 2099 — the day Miguel O'Hara inevitably lost them.

A year has now passed since Miguel lost you and your story on Earth-1610 has kicked into full gear.

March 30th, 2023. Roughly a month has passed since you began these tutoring sessions. One hour every Tuesday and Thursday. That is all it was; that was all it was supposed to be.

Within the short expanse of 18 years, Miles Morales has never felt such exhilaration then when he is with you. Life has exploded in various hues of rapture, enchantment, and those all-too-familiar sensations of goosebumps blooming across his skin. When he miscalculates an equation on purpose to hear your euphonious voice correct him; when he feigns frustration to feel the warmth of your comfort and reassurance — oh, there is nothing that could ever equate to these newfound emotions. These two hours a week have become the highlight of his life and will forever remain so, he is sure of it.

3:27 PM flickers in neon green on Miles' wristwatch. 33 minutes until he gets to reunite with you. The love of his life, his soon-to-be spouse, the future parent of his beautiful children. It is impossible to contain the effervescent excitement as he sits here atop the numerous pillars adorning the Brooklyn Bridge.

A sketchbook sits in his hand, a technical pen in the other. Only several more empty pages are available, as the other ones have all been painted with your face. More sketchbooks contained with similar drawings are hidden in his bedroom back home. The amount of money his mother has spent on sketchbooks this month has become alarming. Rio is starting to edge over suspicion when his excuses of "I lost it" and "I spilled water on it" have been wrung dry.

And the drawings on these pages are a picture-perfect definition of lovesick. Sketches of what you would wear on your wedding day, illustrations of you and him on adorable dates, and of course, the alarmingly accurate depictions of you. Every detail of your form has become muscle memory now; every feature and "blemish" of yours is imprinted in Miles' brain. His foot taps with anticipation against the stone surface. Oh, he cannot wait to see you again.

Hastily, he shoves the art equipment into his cluttered backpack. A silver web sprouts from his wrist when he jumps from the skyscraper-high pillar. He soars through the city and hums to one of the numerous love songs on his playlist dedicated to you. Swinging past several graffiti pieces he's made of your face and ignoring a poor woman whose purse was being stolen, Miles soon makes it through his bedroom window.

At record speed, he rids himself of his sweaty suit and dresses himself in the best articles of clothing from his closet. A pair of jeans he hadn't doodled on, a Brooklyn Nets jersey over a white tee, and a pair of freshly-bought Air Jordans. For a final touch, a spritz of cologne he stole borrowed from a Tom Ford store. He would wear a tailored suit, but his request to have such was rejected by his parents. You needed to see how serious he was about you. After all, who knows how many others are in line to snag your heart? Miles' body erupts with chills at the mere thought.

Patching up the final efforts of his outfit in the mirror, he hears the front door creak open and the elated tone of his mother escapes through the thin walls. Then, there is your voice. And in our entire universe, there is absolutely nothing that can compare to the sheer music of your voice. He takes a deep breath to eradicate the black dots dancing in his vision, before finally leaving his bedroom. When he turns the corner and makes eye contact with you, the sweet shock it brings to his senses is almost enough to make him collapse onto the kitchen tile.

"Hey, Miles." He certainly would not mind waking up to that every day.

"Y-Y/N! It's good to see you! No, great, actually. It-It's great to see you! I'm happy you're here... Very happy, heh..." The fact he is able to muster a single syllable in your presence is nothing short of a miracle.

A mere 20 minutes has now passed since you have entered the Morales residence. You and Miles are sat at the dining room table, surrounded by a mess of highlighters, study guides, and practice quizzes. And this boy could win an Oscar with how well he plays dumb. Miscalculating equations, picking wrong answers, and misspelling simple words. With the few questions he purposely answers correctly, every "Nice job!" and "You got it!" has him staring at you as if he had looked into the night sky for the very first time. Oh, the sight of your sunlit smile and the sound of your mellifluous voice are seconds away from making him melt into a puddle.

Rio then enters the room with her phone in hand, much to Miles' dismay. As he is about to groan at her presence and demand through clenched teeth for her to leave, she then speaks.

"Y/N/N! Your boyfriend's on the phone! He said he had some trouble getting a hold of you." A knowing smirk is sat on her lips. However, there is also a gleam of disappointment over the fact she couldn't have someone as amazing as you join the Morales family.

With zero romance in your work-induced life, you are puzzled upon receiving this information. However, you then playfully roll your eyes, assuming it was a friend of yours playing a stupid prank. This action, however, told Miles all that he needed to know. The person on the other line has been granted the absolute privilege of calling you theirs.

And his world shatters.

With a "Thank you, Mrs. Morales," you take the phone and leave to the other room. Unbeknownst to you, you leave behind a downhearted mother and a devastated boy trying desperately to gather the pieces of his broken heart. His agony is almost palpable, which Eio takes notice of immediately. She places a comforting hand on his shoulder. She then informs him that there will be so many other fish in the sea the young boy will meet in his life, but she is oblivious to the weight of her son's devotion.

There is no one after you; there is nothing if it can't be you.

Meanwhile, you sing out an amused "hellooooo?" into the phone's speaker. You say your friend's name, exclaiming of how you know this is them and that this stunt they pulled against the infatuated student you tutor was cruel.

You wait for their witty response, to where there is none. All you can hear is the sound of someone's trembling breaths. You say their name in question a few more times, inquiring if the creepy mood was just another silly joke. When all you are met with is sheer silence accompanied by heavy breathing, you bid your friend an annoyed goodbye and end the call.

When you return to the dining room, you are muddled to find there is no one there. Before you are able to call out anyone's name in question, a loud and sharp bang! shakes the entire house. You can hear Rio's muffled voice through the walls. Although you are unable to discern her speech, the perceptible worry in her tone shakes you to your core. What has happened while you were gone? You follow the sounds, only to find her at Miles' bedroom, begging him to unlock the door and let her in. Within said bedroom, it sounds as though a tornado had formed within the small expanse and was destroying anything within its path.

Rio sees you in her peripheral and is swift with taking her phone back, ignoring your worried inquiries, and guiding you back to the dining room. A forced smile is planted on her face as she advises you to pack your things since Miles has suddenly "fallen sick." She begins to pack your things for you and of course, you aid her in these efforts, but she is far more frantic than you are. She slaps several dollar bills in your hand and when you try to inform her this was triple the pay she is meant to give you, your efforts fall on deaf ears. Rio then puts your backpack on you as if you were her child on your first day of Kindergarten.

With a gentle hand on your back, she leads you out the door. On the way, she gives you thanks and apologizes profusely for the unexpected trouble. Before you can reply, the door is slammed in your face. You are left in the dark expanse of the hallway, wondering what on Earth had just occurred. As much as you wish to help, you know there is nothing you can do at this current moment. You consider sending them a gift basket later on to aid Miles through his unexpected "sickness," before returning home as Rio advised you to.

You leave, blissfully unaware of what events are taking place within the Morales household.

When you had left to take the phone call, that is when disaster struck. With tears seeping down his cheeks, Miles abruptly stood from the dining room and stormed off to his room, his mother close behind. He slammed the door shut, locking it before proceeding to take out every sliver of emotion within his body on whatever helpless matter sat closest to him.

Miles' room became a complete disaster within the matter of seconds.

Action figures have been dismembered, posters are torn down, and art equipment has been destroyed. The dents in the wall from what he has thrown about are accompanied by the fist-shaped hole he left in the wall. A window has been shattered, his bed has been upturned, and his desk has been split in half. All emotions barreling through his body wreaked havoc on anything within his path.

His clenched fists form moon-crescent shapes into his palm; his chest rises and falls rapidly with infuriated breaths. His entire body is shaking with misery, rage, and horror. He feels everything at once and it is destroying him. The sobs being pulled from his chest feel like knife wounds through his heart. The tears falling from his cheeks paint his shirt wet and stain his hands from consistently attempting to wipe them away.

How could he not have known?

Through bleary vision, he glances at the door of his closet which has suffered immensely from his havoc, with violent indents and chunks of wood protruding out. Miles then drags his exhausted body across the room.

He enters the closet and locks the door behind him.

How could he not have known?

Just outside all of this destruction, you walk through the bristling streets of Brooklyn. A sharp chill sits on the back of your neck, almost as if someone was hot on your tail. It has you whipping around to verify no sudden danger was there to welcome you to your demise. Usually, walks through the city are calming to you. Tonight, for whatever reason, was different. You excuse it as still feeling perturbed from what had happened moments before with Miles, but the sensation still lingers.

Swinging from building to building behind you is Miguel O'Hara.

He had sat on the top of a neighboring building with a 2023-modeled phone in his hand. Hearing your voice, after a full year of being without the euphonious melody, had his heart halting in his chest. Even after you ended the call, he still sat there. Flabbergasted. Stunned. Euphoric.

The plan he conjured up was swift and flawed. Anyone in their right mind would be devastated to hear your heart belonged to another. Especially Miles Morales. Acknowledging this, he ushered the boy into a full mental breakdown right before you. The sight would surely terrify you, leading you to run away and leave him in the dust of your past. However, this was not the case. Instead, you were concerned about his well-being and wished to stay. The sharp envy coursing through Miguel led him to chuck the phone against the concrete surface of the roof, a few of the shattered remains piercing his skin.

What prevents him from tearing out Miles' throat, scooping you into his arms, and taking you far away is the state of the Multiverse. He refuses to make the same mistake he made a year ago; he refuses to put you in any sort of danger ever again.

For now, he'll create a ridge between you and the boy you're destined to fall in love with. Forging messages, fabricating lies, causing another childlike meltdown of millions. Miguel will do everything in his power to ensure you feel nothing but contempt for this boy while protecting you from your impending death in the process.

He just hopes nobody else in the Spider Society finds out you are alive, as well.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

THE BONUS TRACK !

❝ YOU SAID I WAS THE MOST EXOTIC FLOWER,

HOLDING ME TIGHT IN OUR FINAL HOUR . . . ❞

pinterest owns my heart so i couldn't stop myself. here, here, here, here, and here are some examples/inspiration i used for miguel's penthouse.

gif creds :: miguel.

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[bumblesimagines]

The Beasts of The North

Part 2

Request: Yes or No

Summary: While he's meant to be convincing the Wolf of the North to send his men to fight a war for his mother, Jace cannot help but grow enthralled by the love between Lord Cregan and Ser (Y/N).

CW/TW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, mentions/implied homophobia/homophobic religion (The Faith), slight age gaps, slight suggestive content, Cregan and (Y/N) are head over heels, (Y/N) is not a stepfather he is the father that stepped up, bicurious Jace

I know I said I was gonna focus on UTM but my motivation left as quick as my dad did so here we are 🤷🏻‍♀️

~~~

A low, heavy sigh escaped Jace as he sank further into the tub, the heated water digging pleasantly into his skin and ridding it of the cold that'd sunk into him the moment he flew into the North. His head drooped back, the back of his neck resting along the wall of the tub as he slipped in further until the water brushed against his chin. His palms rubbed along his thighs, massaging away the soreness from riding Vermax for so long. 

His eyes glided around his new room, taking in everything around him. It reminded him of his bedchambers in Dragonstone with the stone walls and smooth, warm floor but it was sadly where the similarities stopped. It lacked the salty smell of the sea breeze wafting in through the windows, the sound of the waves crashing with the rocky cliffs, the clinking of metal from guards walking around. Most of all.. it lacked his beloved family. It lacked his precious brothers... it lacked his beloved mother. His skin warmed from embarrassment. He was man-grown and the Crown Prince, yet he desperately wished to have his mother near so he could ask her what to say and do.

Jace pushed himself up and began washing himself, scrubbing his skin clean until he no longer smelled of leather and dragon. He remained in the tub for a while longer, soaking up the heat of the water until it became tepid, before rising from the tub and drying himself. His mind raced as he changed into new clothes, his thoughts surrounding Lord Cregan and what to make of him. 

He'd flown to the Eyrie first to meet with Lady Jeyne Arryn and managed to garner her support through promises of protecting the Vale of Arryn with dragons, managed to sway the support of the Three Sisters in their favor through Lord Borrell, and arranged for Lord Desmond Manderly of the White Harbor's youngest daughter to one day wed little Joffery in exchange for his support. But what could he possibly offer Lord Cregan Stark to lessen the impact of his men undoubtedly dying once war finally began?

Jace had no younger sisters to offer as a potential bride to Rickon Stark; no lands or titles that could even amount to the lands of Winterfell and the title of Warden of the North; no dragons that'd be pleased to call the North home; no older female relatives to offer as the new Lady of Winterfell (and he certainly wouldn't wish to upset a Mormont); no riches or coin that'd be worth sending men to die. He had nothing to offer, nothing the lord would care for, at least. 

His fingers buttoned his white undershirt, his legs leading him toward the window to peer out to the ground below where he had a perfect view of the training grounds. Ser (Y/N) stood by below, his eyes closely watching the squires and boys given to him for training and lips contorted into a frown. He looked older in certain lights, more mature than the age Jace presumed him to be. His lips quirked when Ser (Y/N) smacked the back of one of the squires with his wooden sword, the exasperated expression on his face reminding him of all the times he practiced with Luke and had to scold the boy. 

His concerned, borderline anxious thoughts surrounding his host shifted, recalling the words Ser (Y/N) had spoken before he'd left. The Faith of the Seven viewed relations between those of the same sex to be a sin, something septas and maesters warned young children against. But Jace was no fool, nor was he blind or deaf. He'd heard plenty of rumors in court, seen lingering touches between a noblewoman and her favorite handmaiden or fleeting glances between a lord and his personal guard. His own father, Laenor Velaryon, had been said to enjoy the company of men over women; and looking back on his youth, Jace recalled the times he and Ser Qarl Correy often left together, smiling big and lovingly at each other.

Jace liked ladies, he'd be a fool not to with their beauty. But he'd be lying if he said he'd never looked at a lordling or knight and wondered what it'd be like to be with them. He often brushed those thoughts away and told himself it was simply admiration or envy but something in his heart had fluttered when he laid eyes on Lord Cregan and Ser (Y/N), something that blossomed when he witnessed the adoring exchange between the two. 

Lovers.

Ser (Y/N) had said it so proudly, so sure of himself. Jace wondered how many times his father had dreamt of declaring his love for Ser Qarl, dreamt of being himself publically without facing the scrutiny and denial of everyone around him. He wondered then, if the longing stares exchanged between his mother and Queen Alicent meant something other than a desire to rekindle a long-lost friendship. 

"Prince Jacaerys," He startled and turned away from the window, noticing Sara Snow lingering by the doorway. She smiled politely at him and entered the room, crossing the distance to stand beside him by the window as servants slipped in after her and drained the tub. The servants collected his discarded clothes and bowed before retreating, leaving the two in silence. Jace turned back to her and returned the smile with one of his own. 

Snow. A bastard of the North, yet treated as if she were a full-blooded Stark; perhaps because she looked so much like one with her shoulder-length raven hair and those pale blue eyes that resembled Lord Cregan's. Jace couldn't help the prickle of envy that slipped into his veins. If he'd been born resembling his mother over his real father, nobody would've questioned his parentage nor brought insult to his mother and brother. He'd spent so many years fighting to prove himself to everyone around him that he was Targaryen, that he was meant to be Crown Prince. Everything would've proved much easier if he and Luke had been born with those striking violet eyes and silver locks.

"I hope you're settling in well," Sara's gentle voice pulled him of out his thoughts. She glanced toward what'd captivated his attention moments prior, the corners of her mouth lifting knowingly. His skin warmed, though he couldn't pinpoint the reason why. "I know my brother and (Y/N) can seem... standoffish. They were both raised to be guarded and suspicious, but I can assure you, once they've grown used to you they'll be kinder." 

"I cannot fault them for their hesitance in welcoming me. I am the bearer of bad news; a symbol of war after so many years of peace." Jace straightened his shoulders and posture, clasping his hands behind his back as he spoke. He needed to be seen as princely as possible, needed to be someone worth paying attention to. "Lord Cregan's support would mean everything to us."

Her eyes crinkled and her head tilted to the side. There was a warmness to her presence that eased Jace into relaxation. "I could help you convince my brother as he does seek out my advice but (Y/N) is our master-at-arms and the one who trained many of our warriors in the past few years. He will need as much convincing as Cregan. The Starks have never broken an oath but it is better to have a willing commander over one who feels forced." 

"I agree." Jace nodded, his eyes flickering back down toward the figure below, hearing the muffled groan that escaped the knight when a squire slipped and fell. "And... how would you suggest someone goes about that? He hardly seemed keen on showing me around." Was keen the right word? Ser (Y/N) had seemed outright distraught at the idea. 

"How would you go about taming a bear?" The light, almost teasing tone in Sara's voice made him chuckle softly. "Cregan would know all about that, it seems. (Y/N) came here to Winterfell as a ward under our father many years ago. He and Cregan had been at odds then, bickering and fighting but under all that was the beginning of love."

"What of Lady Arra?" Jace asked. He'd heard how her death had brought much pain to Lord Cregan, how he'd mourned her for many months. Sara sighed softly at the mention and Jace winced, hoping he hadn't overstepped by asking.

"Cregan loved her as much as he loves (Y/N)," Sara told him softly, the glint in her eyes turning distant, her mind drifting back to the past. "Cregan was captivated by both of them, I remember. I was a child, hardly old enough to understand what was so charming about love, but even then I knew he cared for them both, even if (Y/N) occasionally brought out the worst in him. Arra forced them to become friends, for her sake, since she cared for them both. In the end, she brought them together both in life and death."

A comfortable silence settled over them, one that made Jace's thoughts flicker back to Baela. He cared for her, he had since they were mere children, but was it like the love between his father and Ser Qarl? The love between Ser (Y/N) and Lord Cregan? He hadn't minded when his mother announced her intent to marry them. He preferred an old friend over a stranger, and he certainly wouldn't mind having children with someone as passionate and caring as Baela. He believed he'd grow to love her, as many arranged couples eventually did, but what if his love for her remained... friendly?

"There'll be a feast in your honor later this evening. The boys should be in better moods by then." The boys. Jace almost snorted, his lips rolling into his mouth to prevent the noise. He wondered how long it took for little Sara to begin bossing them around, the image of her lecturing them as a child floating around in his mind.

"I look forward to learning more of the North." Jace smiled. 

Sara returned it, though it held a hint of both mischief and pity. "And I hope you're a heavy sleeper, My Prince." 

When dusk fell, the feast began with all kinds of lords, knights, ladies, and squires filling the Great Hall. A proper welcome to the North, if Jace had to admit, finding ale in his hand and delicious food on his plate that he happily ate. He spoke with those around him, his chest brimming with pride and relief whenever he enticed a hearty laugh from a northerner with a jest or a tale. They considered him a southerner, a boy prince who'd hardly fit in amongst the men who looked more like mountains and ladies who knew their way around axes. But with each laugh, grin, and approving nod, he cemented himself further amongst them. 

However, Lord Cregan and Ser (Y/N) paid him little mind, allowing the others around to keep him entertained. 

Jace watched them as he slowly ate some of his apple cake, the lovely flavor dancing on his tongue but his attention focused on the two despite the tale Russal, the castle's steward, recounted a tale of a hunt that had many leaning forward in anticipation. Jace had been among them until he'd caught sight of Ser (Y/N)'s vibrant and pleased grin at something his lover had said. 

He watched with softened eyes as a fussy Rickon finally ceased his whining once Ser (Y/N) took him into his arms, settling the boy on his leg and sparing the briefly distracted Lord Cregan a glance before he scooped some honey cake onto his spoon and offered it to the boy. Rickon wiggled with delight, his small hands grasping (Y/N)'s wrist as he eagerly ate, accidentally smearing frosting over his top lip and just below his nose. Lord Cregan turned back to them and arched a brow at the mess on his son's face, an amused smile stretching across his lips. 

"You know you mustn't have sweets before bed, Rickon." He gave his lover a knowing look, one that (Y/N) responded to with an innocent shrug. Rickon merely giggled and licked his lips, reaching for the spoon once more to lick it clean. He reminded Jace of Joffery, his little troublemaking brother who could sway anyone with just a few bats from his eyes and that toothy grin. Jace watched little Rickon, a longing for home forming in his heart once more. 

The table erupted in loud laughter that snapped Jace out of his thoughts, flickering his gaze toward Russal as the man drank some ale and took in the hearty laughs and cackles his story received. He smiled and chuckled, the laughter of northerners amusing by itself, and took another gulp of his ale. When his eyes slid back to the couple, he found Ser (Y/N) watching him and nearly choked on his ale, managing to cover up the coughs with wheezy chuckles. 

"Princeling," Ser (Y/N) pulled Rickon further against his chest so he could rest his chin on the boy's messy dark hair. The table largely quieted down, save for a few conversations here and there, most of the attention turning onto the prince and Ser (Y/N). Jace straightened his back instinctively with all eyes on him and gave him a nod to go on. "Tell us of dragons."

"Dagons!" Rickon cheered, drawing soft chuckles and coos from those around. 

"Well, uhm," Jace cleared his throat, his mind flickering back to all the lessons he'd received through the years, primarily on the histories of his family. "There are different tales on how dragons came to be. Those who came from Old Valryia claim dragons came from the Fourteen Flames but there are tales that dragons were brought forth through blood magic used on wyverns. Regardless, Valyrians tamed and rode them. It was said Valyrians themselves were descendants of the beasts and were kin with those they rode. Many believe a dragon will accept anyone of Valyrian blood but it is simply not true. A rider does not choose its dragon, the dragon chooses its rider. They will not allow anyone else to ride them for as long as their rider lives and breathes."

"Your dragon chose you, then? It looks quite young." Ser (Y/N) tilted his head. Jace wondered what tales were told in the North about dragons, about his family. Lord Alaric Stark had hosted King Jaehaerys Targaryen and Queen Alysanne Targaryen at Winterfell once many years prior, surely leaving a good enough impression for things to remain amiable between the families. Jace could only hope to leave the same impression.

"The tradition started by Rhaena Targaryen where eggs are placed in the cradle of Targaryen babes allows for a bond to form in youth. Vermax hatched in my cradle so we were raised together as... brothers, in a way. The bond between a dragonrider and their dragon runs deep. It is said a dragon may feel everything its rider feels. They may grow restless when their rider falls ill or is gravely injured." Jace couldn't help the burst of pride in his chest at the curiosity and intrigue in the eyes of those around him. Velaryon blood never ran through his veins but it hadn't made him any less of a Targaryen.

"Interesting." Ser (Y/N) said flatly, and the pride died a little. 

By the time night properly fell, the buzz in Jace's veins had been undeniable. Northerners liked their drinks strong, and Jace had never been one to back down when faced with challenging smirks and glints. Drinking their ale and beer had earned him many burning claps on his back and shoulders but as he stumbled through the halls and toward his bedchambers, he wondered if perhaps he should've paced himself. He almost tripped over his own foot and gave a soft giggle at his clumsiness before his eyes shifted to the streak of light pouring from a cracked open door. Against his better judgment, he approached it like a moth to a flame and raised his head to peek into the room.

"Byran thinks we ought to do a hunt soon. The hounds have grown restless, says they could use the exercise." He found Ser (Y/N) first, the many layers of clothing he'd once worn gone, leaving him in loose beige-colored sleepwear. The knight tilted his head up toward his lover, the warm candlelight and peaceful look on his face chipping away at the slight fear that'd gripped Jace's gut when he'd first seen him. 

"Aye," Lord Cregan responded, and Jace's face warmed when he raked his gaze over his muscular back and strong-looking arms, a shirt pinched in his hands before the lord tossed it aside. His chest and pudgy stomach were covered in dark hairs, ones that Jace tracked until they disappeared beneath his pants. "We could take the princeling, then. Show him how the North works."

"And how does the North work, love?" Jace's veins bubbled when he heard Ser (Y/N)'s light laughter, when he watched Lord Cregan take a seat at the edge of the bed while Ser (Y/N) slid up behind him. His fingers dipped into Lord Cregan's hair, brushing and pulling back his dark strands gently, a gentleness he hadn't given those he'd been training. Ser (Y/N) tied his lover's hair back into a bun, some shorter strands slipping out and framing Lord Cregan's face. 

"The North is... full of surprises." The older man murmured, tilting his head back and ghosting his lips over Ser (Y/N)'s cheek as the knight's arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. When their lips connected, Jace's stomach flipped with a new feeling of longing, surprised by the warmth and sweetness of the kiss. 

Lord Cregan's body tiled and his arm moved, sliding around his lover's waist and dragging him onto his lap. Laughter and giggles freely fell from Ser (Y/N)'s lips, a wide smile on his face as he settled happily across Lord Cregan's thighs. They stared at each other, lips curled upward and eyes crinkled with delight before Lord Cregan pressed a kiss to Ser (Y/N)'s forehead and murmured something in his ear. When Lord Cregan's hand dipped into the knight's pants, Jace jerked back, a violent heat darting up his spine and spreading through his veins. 

Despite his drunken mind, he staggered away from the door and toward his bedchambers, tossing the door open and slamming it shut behind him. His back pressed against the wood when his legs grew too wobbly to keep him up without help, a shaky exhale escaping him. It was hard to pinpoint what swirled around so violently in his stomach; too many emotions threatening to swallow him whole in a single gulp. He felt them prickling along his back. 

Desire, want, longing, mortification, embarrassment. 

He was the Crown Prince, Seven Hells! It was entirely unprincely to act no better than a peeping tom, even if the coils around his stomach and heart yearned to be under such an adoring gaze and needy hands. Jace groaned and brought a hand to his face, pushing himself off the door and stumbling toward the blanket and fur covered bed where he collapsed. He buried his face into one of the furs, feeling the soft strands brush against his skin soothingly. He prayed they hadn't taken notice, hadn't realized he'd been watching. 

He was a guest in their home. A temporary guest who'd leave once he ensured he'd secured the North's loyalty and support... even if he had to withhold from indulging in his growing curiosity.

[liliesdiary]

Too ashamed to vote for it but I'd die for a good shane fic ☹️ deeply flawed man but so sexy 😔

The Farmer's Daughter

♡ Shane Walsh x The Farmer's Daughter (1.7k words)

♡ dead dove do not eat, dubcon, Shane being drunk and horny, legal age gap, Shane breaks into your house and fucks you <3

You sit on the older man's truck, drinking the bottle he gave you. You knew you shouldn't have been drinking, your father never let you drink yet you couldn't resist Shane’s offer.

He sat close to you, caressing your thighs as you took another sip of the bitter alcohol. Your face scrunched up, “No wonder why my dad doesn't allow me to drink, it tastes awful.”

"Your old man doesn't know what he's missing out on," Shane said, his voice low and husky. "A woman like you shouldn't be kept on such a tight leash."

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Maybe we should have some real fun, just the two of us. Away from prying eyes."

Shane's hand slid up your soft thighs, his fingers grazing the hem of your short skirt.

"What do you say, baby?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck. "Want to ditch this place and go for a ride? Just you and me?”

You blush and look at the way his eyes stared lustfully deep into your soul. His smile was full of bad intentions, maybe your father was right.

But you wanted this. You leaned in closer to his lips and he passionately returned the kiss. His tongue explores your mouth, the taste of beer and the taste of your cherry lipstick roam around your tongue.

Shane's heart raced as you kissed him, your soft lips brushing against his. The taste of you was intoxicating, and he craved more. But before he could deepen the kiss, a loud voice shattered the moment.

“Get inside the house!” Your father yelled as he watched the way the older man corrupted his daughter.

Shane's head snapped up to see your father glaring at him from the doorway. The older man's face was red with anger, his fists clenched at his sides.

Shane slowly pulled away from you, his eyes never leaving your father's. He knew he had overstepped, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it. Not when you had been so responsive to his touch.

"Sir," Shane said, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. "I apologize for my behavior. It won't happen again.”

Your father scoffed, “The next time I see you touching my daughter you won't be allowed on my farm anymore.”

Your dad dragged you away, you looked back looking at Shane. You apologized with your soft eyes, closing your door and going back inside.

Shane sat on the tailgate of his truck, the bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingers. His mind reeled with thoughts of you - your soft lips, your supply curves, the way you had melted into his embrace. He could still taste you on his tongue, sweet and intoxicating.

But then your father's angry face flashed through his mind, shattering the fantasy. Shane's jaw clenched as he remembered the way the old man had interrupted you two, the disapproval and disgust in his eyes. It made Shane's blood boil.

He took another swig from the bottle, relishing the burn as the alcohol slid down his throat. He knew he should leave, go back to the camp and forget about you. But he couldn't. Not now. Not when he had a taste of what he wanted.

Shane's gaze drifted to the darkened windows of your house. He wondered if you were thinking about him too, if you were affected by the stolen moment as he was.

He then decided to wait till midnight to sneak into your house. His lust for you grew as he drank, the thoughts of sneaking in and fucking you in your father's house turned him on.

When midnight finally came, he drunkenly found his way to an unlocked window in the house. Shane stumbled through the darkened hallways of your house, the whiskey burning in his veins. He had waited until the dead of night, until he was sure everyone was asleep. Now, he was consumed with the need to find you.

He pushed open doors randomly, his heart pounding in his chest as he searched for any sign of you. Your room was empty, the bed neatly made, no trace of you beneath the sheets. Shane growled in frustration, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

He moved on to the next room, his footsteps heavy on the creaky floorboards. The alcohol made everything spin, made his vision blur at the edges. But still, he pressed on, driven by a desperate hunger.

Finally, he heard it - the soft sound of running water coming from the bathroom. Shane's pulse quickened as he approached the door, his hand reaching for the handle. He paused for a moment, listening to make sure it was really you. Then, with a deep breath, he pushed the door open.

Shane's breath caught in his throat as he watched you step out of the shower, rivulets of water cascading down your bare skin. The sight was mesmerizing, and he found himself unable to look away.

His fingers trembled as he gripped the door, the wood creaking softly under his touch. He knew he should leave, that he had no right to be here, but the alcohol coursing through his veins made it impossible to resist.

You wrapped yourself up in your towel after you were done drying yourself. Shane quickly stepped back from the door and waited for you to come out. You opened the door and he quickly grabbed you, putting his big hand over your pretty mouth.

Shane's hands roamed over your wet skin as he pulled you close, his hand muffling your startled cry. The towel slipped from your body, revealing your bare body, and Shane groaned at the sight.

"Shh, it's okay," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "It's me, baby."

His fingers dug into your hips as he ground his body against yours, the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against your back. Shane's mind was hazy with lust and alcohol, his inhibitions lowered to the point where he couldn't control himself.

Shane's hands slid up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples until they hardened under his touch.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck. "I can't stay away from you.”

Your eyes widened in shock as Shane groped you. The scent of alcohol on his breath was overwhelming, and you could feel the heat of his body pressing against your back.

"Shane, what are you doing?" You gasped, trying to pull away from his grasp. But his grip only tightened, his fingers digging into your soft flesh.

"Do you want my cock, baby?" he growled, his voice low and husky with desire. "I know you do. I can feel how much you want it."

Shane rocked his hips forward, grinding his hardness against your ass. You bit back a whimper, torn between fear and unwanted arousal. You knew this was wrong, that you should push him away, but your body betrayed you, responding to his touch despite your best efforts.

Shane's hands continued their relentless exploration of your body, his fingers pinching and tugging at your sensitive nipples. You whimpered, your body trembling under your touch.

"My father is asleep in the next room," You whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your own heart.

Shane chuckled darkly, his breath hot against your ear. "Then you're gonna have to be quiet, baby," he murmured, his hand sliding down your stomach to the junction between your thighs.

Shane's hands gripped your thighs as he lifted you effortlessly, pinning you against the wall. You gasped as you felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, your body instinctively tensing at the intrusion.

"Shane, wait," You whispered, your hands coming up to rest on his chest. "We can't do this. It's not right."

But Shane ignored your protests, his hips surging forward and burying his length inside you. You cried out at the sudden stretch, your nails digging into his skin as you tried to adjust to the feeling of being filled.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Shane groaned, his head falling back in ecstasy. "I've been wanting this for so long."

He began to move, his hips rocking against yours in a steady rhythm. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, your inner walls clenching around him.

He pounded into your pretty cunt, groaning in your ear as you buried your face into his neck. You moaned as the pleasure traveled throughout your body.

Shane's thrusts grew more urgent as he felt your body responding to his touch, your inner walls clenching around his cock. He could feel you trying to stifle your moan but failing to do so.

"Shh, be a good girl and be quiet," he growled, his hand clamping over your mouth. "Unless you want me to pound you harder and make your dad hear us, hm?”

You shake your head and bury your face in his neck. Keeping quiet for the older man as he used your pretty hole.

Shane's grip on your hips tightened as he continued to pound into you, his thrusts growing more erratic with each passing second. He could feel you tightening around him, your body trembling as you fought to stay quiet.

"That's it, baby," he grunted, his breath hot against your blushing ear. "Take it all. Take every fucking inch of my cock. My little cock sleeve."

Your eyes squeezed shut as Shane used your body for his own pleasure. Shane's hand slid up to grip your throat, his thumb pressing against your pulse point. The added pressure only heightened your arousal, your body responding to his rough touches.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," Shane groaned, his hips snapping forward one last time. "Gonna fill this pretty little cunt with my seed.”

Shane's body shuddered as he reached his climax, his cock pulsing deep inside your cunt. He captured your lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moans as he emptied himself into your waiting womb.

"Fuck," he growled against your mouth, his hips grinding against yours to prolong the sensation. "Take it all, my little cock sleeve. Every last drop."

Your body trembled as you felt the heat of his release flooding your insides, the sensation triggering your own orgasm. You clung to him, your nails digging into your shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you.

“Such a good little cock sleeve for me.”

♡ sorry this took so long angel, hope you enjoy! <3 @taylormarieee @sinsandsweetness @dustbunniess @hannahkay-411 @silk-spun

[joelalorian]

Fall Into Me - Chapter Eleven: Fall Into Me and I'll Catch You Darlin'

dbf!joel x f!reader | WC: 5k | E 18+ mdni

Series Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Explicit, under 18 take a hike. No outbreak AU. Lots of feelings. Joel is his own warning. Angst/despair, fluff, smut - this chapter has the works. Please excuse my lack of medical knowledge. Age gap of about 9 years (Reader 24/25, Joel 33/34). No use of y/n. Reader has a nickname used only by her dad and Joel uses various terms of endearment (darlin', sweetheart, etc.).

This is it, folks, the final chapter! Just the epilogue left now. Thank you for coming along on this ride with me. I have fallen in love with this little family and I hope you have as well.

Moodboard by the lovely @mrsmando. Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Chapter Ten | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Four days. Joel hadn’t left your bedside in four days, so immovable that the nurses took pity on him and asked an orderly to setup a cot for him in your hospital room.

You still hadn’t regained consciousness and Joel was losing his god damned mind over it.

The list of your injuries a mile long, among them a bunch of broken things – ankle, nose, ribs, wrist. That’s what you were right now, broken, and you had a hard road to recovery ahead of you. Joel agonized over your condition, freaking out when you had to go back into surgery shortly after coming out of it the first time. He’d barely laid eyes on you before they hauled you away again, machines beeping chaotically at whatever went wrong. You developed a hemorrhage, the doctor later told him, but they caught it in time.

Joel hadn’t stopped crying in four days, except for a brief time when Sarah was discharged. He held her for hours, trying his best not to smother or hurt her as she sat on his lap next to your bed. Aside from a purple cast on Sarah’s broken wrist, her limited injuries were already healing. Joel’s worry over his sweet little girl lessened a bit and he trusted Tommy, your dad, and your best friend, Emily, to watch over her while he sat vigil at your bedside. They brought Sarah by to see you twice a day, every day so far. Still, you hadn’t woken up.

He lost it the first time Sarah saw you lying there, barely recognizable from the injuries you sustained. Face bruised and swollen, body wrapped in casts or dressings. Sarah worried that you were dying, nearly inconsolable at the thought that you might die, might leave her, and her dad, forever. She couldn’t handle it, the thought of losing the only mom she’d ever known, ever wanted.

Joel had to leave the room at his daughter’s visceral expression of the pain she felt, her inconsolable weeping a reflection of his own anguish. He left Tommy to deal with it, and slid down the wall in the hallway, just a little way down from your room, shoulders shaking from the strength of his own sobs as the sound of Sarah’s caterwauling carried through the air. JB was the only one who could reach him through his pain, the understanding of one father for another as they both shed endless tears over you. He sat next to Joel, right there in the hallway, and wept with him, whispering words of praise of how strong you were, how much you loved them all, how you would pull through.

Joel fought hard to believe those words, to trust in JB’s hope as he was quickly losing his. He raged inside at how unfair life could be until he exhausted himself emotionally and fell into a dreamless daze in the cot next to you. When the sun rose above the horizon, he stopped trying to sleep, stopped pretending that he could while you remained unconscious.

“Come on, son. Go home and shower, take a nap in a real bed. You haven’t slept in days. I’ll watch over Spud, and you’ll be my first call if anything happens,” JB insisted the morning of day 5 at the sight of heavy bags beneath the younger man’s eyes.

Opening his mouth to argue, to adamantly refuse, Joel snapped it shut at the concerned look on your dad’s face. He gave into the exhaustion then, all the fight fleeing him, and he stood with shoulders hunched. He was completely deflated, emotionally and physically. “Ok, you’re right. I at least need a shower.”

“That you do. I could smell you down the hall.” Joel’s lips twitched at JB’s comedic effort, but he didn’t have it in him to smile or laugh. “Go on, git. Emily’s at your house with Sarah. She’ll stay while you nap – please try to get some sleep. I don’t want to see you for at least three hours, ya hear me, son?”

Joel nodded and kissed the small spot on your face free of bruising, slinking from the room with one last glance over his shoulder at you. He noticed how your dad kept calling him son – a new development since the accident and it warmed his heart in a way that he sorely needed during this torturous time.

The drive home a blur, his limbs functioning on muscle memory alone, Joel stumbled through the front door of his home with just enough energy to great Emily and Sarah.

“Joel!” Emily exclaimed, jumping from her spot on the couch to pull him into a tight hug. She adored him from the first second you introduced them, finding the man dreamy in that way that was a perfect match for you. It tore her apart to see him falling to pieces over your current condition. “JB commanded that I send you right to bed. Give Sarah a kiss then git goin’.”

Too drained to be disgruntled about being given orders in his own house, he swept Sarah up with tired limbs, ever mindful of her cast. “Hey baby girl. I love you. Have you been good for Miss Emily?”

“Yes, Daddy, I’m always good. Is she any better?” Sarah asked in her sweet, young voice that pulled taut at his heartstrings.

“Not yet,” Joel choked on the words, unable to fight the tears stinging the back of his eyes at his daughter’s worried face. He set her down on the couch before trudging up the stairs. Aching to climb into bed – as empty and cold as it would be without you – but he jumped into the shower first to wash the past few days away.

If only it was that easy.

Joel collapsed on the unmade bed, barely managing to throw a pair of sleep pants on after the quick shower. He was dead asleep seconds after his head hit the pillow.

An hour later, he pried his eyes open, clutching to the warm body clinging to him. For a brief moment, his mind thought it just another normal morning waking up to you at his side. Reality crashed down on him, hard, before he even had the chance to enjoy the thought. Sarah’s frame clung to him like a spider monkey in her sleep. She must have joined him for a nap at some point and was still out cold.

Her steady breathing lulled him back to sleep for another couple hours until Emily woke him with a shout. Joel bolted upright at the echo of his name, heart thumbing in his chest as he jostled Sarah in the process.

“Joel!” Emily called again as she reached the top of the stairs and peeked into his bedroom. “She’s awake!”

Mind still fighting through the fog to wake up, he stared at your best friend with owlish eyes.

“JB just called. She’s awake! You gotta get back to the hospital!” Emily stepped fully into the room, tossing a pair of jeans and a tee shirt at him to get him moving.

“Dad!” Sarah’s uninjured hand nudging him into action as she exclaimed. “Can I come with you?”

Finally, Joel’s mind kicked into gear. You were awake. He had to see you, but first, he needed to get dressed. “Not yet, baby girl. Lemme see how she’s doing and maybe you can see her tomorrow. We don’t want to overwhelm her, okay?”

Flopping back onto the mattress with a pout, Sarah muttered, “Okay,” as Joel eased out of bed with a groan.

It started with muscle twitches. Fingers flexing. A small grimace creasing your battered face. The process to consciousness was a daunting one that ended with fighting against the intubation tube. Even once a nurse came in and removed the tube, you still fought to come fully back to yourself.

“Dad?” Throat dry and raw, you could do little more than croak despite the rising panic. Your eyes darted around the room in confusion, landing first on your dad before taking in the plain white walls and clinical equipment. You were in the hospital, that much was obvious, but you couldn’t recall why. A thick fog wove through your mind, leaving you trying to make sense of anything, everything.

“Hey Spud. Sleeping beauty finally awakens,” your dad teased, his voice gentle but, even with a foggy brain, you picked up on the worried undertone.

“What happened?” It hurt to talk but you needed to know.

“You don’t remember? Of course you don’t, you got a pretty good knock to the head,” he muttered half to himself before tenderly taking your hand between both of his. “You and Sarah were hit by a drunk driver. Does that ring a bell?”

Like a light bulb coming on, things came back to you, brightening the dark corners of your memory. The ride home from school, going to get ice cream, the sudden and unexpected impact as you proceeded through a green light, the car rolling once, twice, then… nothing. With the memory came your brain’s recognition of pain and your body’s aches made themselves well known.

Everything hurt.

Seriously, it hurt to breathe, it hurt to move, to lie still. It hurt to just fucking exist.

“Oh my God, Sarah? Is she okay? Where is she? Where is Joel?” You glanced around the room as if waiting for them jump out from behind something, the panic returning as you gulped for air.

“Calm down, honey. The little nugget is okay. She’s home, Emily’s watching over her now. Joel’s on his way back. I’ll let him tell you how she is, but just know that she’s fine.” JB spoke in short, clipped sentences, not wanting to overwhelm you further, one grizzled hand stroking your hair back like he did when you were sick as a kid.

You tried to sit up but abandoned that idea the moment the room spun, the throbbing pain too much. Fuck, your face hurt like hell.

“Don’t do that, Spud. While Sarah might be okay, you were seriously injured. I’ll let the doctor explain when he comes in, but you shouldn’t try moving or anything just yet. You’re pretty banged up,” he explained softly.

You met your dad’s eyes, and you could see at once the toll your condition took on him. You had so many questions, but you couldn’t process them quite yet. The pair of you sat quietly for a little while until the doctor joined you, explaining the laundry list of injuries you sustained. No wonder everything hurt. They gave you more medicine for the pain now that you regained consciousness – you couldn’t believe you were out for so long – and things started to make more sense in your brain.

You’d be stuck in the hospital for a few more days before the doctor would even think about discharging you. As much as hospitals sucked, you knew it best you stay put when you couldn’t even sit up with collapsing back in pain.

Joel burst into the room shortly after the doctor left. Sipping at a cup of water your dad held for you, you nearly choked at the sight of him. You’d never seen him look so disheveled, so run down, his normal scruff grown out into a near full beard after a week of not shaving, eyes bloodshot and sunken, curls a messy, wild halo around his head.

“Oh darlin’,” Joel said as you attempted to smile at him. The bandages covering portions of your face and the swelling from the repaired break in your nose made it hard, but your eyes sparkled with happiness at the sight of him.

“Hi Joel,” you croaked in return.

He practically launched himself at your side, knocking JB out of the way so he could sit bedside. Hands hovering, afraid to touch, tears glistened in his eyes. “I was so fuckin’ scared. Thought I was gonna lose you.”

Tears sprung to your own dry eyes as the fingers of your uninjured hand tangled with his. The mere tickle of tears in your nose was damn near excruciating. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”

Startled, Joel’s dark chocolate eyes searched your face, completely baffled. “Darlin’, what? What in the world are you sorry for? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

You blubbered as Joel and your dad stared at you bewildered. “I almost got Sarah killed!”

Joel cracked a smile then, the first one in nearly a week, before leaning forward to place a tender kiss upon your chapped lips. “The hell you did. You didn’t do anything but take care of her. None of this was your fault, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t shake the guilt though, not even days later when the doctor discharged you. Sweet, little Sarah waited for you with a bright smile and a mylar ballon that read Welcome Home as Joel and JB helped you into the house. The sight of the purple cast on her right wrist wiped the smile from your face. How could Joel not see that this was all your fault?

You could hardly hug the girl as guilt overwhelmed you.

Emily and Tommy stood behind Sarah as you wobbled through the front door, smiles not hiding the winces at the healing trauma on your face. Emily could tell at once that you were on the verge of breaking down, unable to take your eyes from the healing contusions on Sarah’s adorable face or the cast on her wrist.

Stepping forward, Emily pulled you into a hug, ever mindful of your healing ribs and incisions. “It’s so good to see you awake and in one piece!” she whispered in your ear. “None of this was your fault, you know that right?”

She knew you too well. You choked on a sob, burying your head in her shoulder for several minutes until you had your emotions back under control.

“Do you wanna sign my cast? Daddy got special markers for it! I wouldn’t let anyone else sign it before you came home.” Sarah held a silver Sharpie up for you, flashing those puppy dog eyes at you. Unable to deny her, you took the marker with a trembling hand and drew a heart on the topside of the cast, your name scrawled sloppily beneath it.

Delighted, Sarah handed Joel the marker next and, with a quick glance at you, printed his name above the heart you drew, adding Sarah’s next to yours so that it now read Joel hearts you & Sarah. The tears returned when both Sarah and Joel gazed at you with unabashed affection.

Perhaps they really did not blame you for the accident, for Sarah’s broken wrist, for all that you put them through in the past week and a half. You weren’t sure if you deserved their love, but you basked in it, allowing it to wash over you and heal your soul.

Six weeks of convalescing at home under the tender care of Joel and Sarah, and you finally felt like yourself again, emotionally, and physically. It took a while, but Joel managed to convince you to set free the irrational guilt you felt over the accident, aided by the news that the drunk driver pleaded guilty.

Wanting to celebrate your recovery and the removal of your and Sarah’s casts, Joel planned a small gathering for July 4th. Just the Millers, JB, Emily and her husband, and Maria – the attorney Tommy fell head over heels for last year finally gave into his advances and they were happily living together now. She was a gem and fell right in with the group, giving as good as she got.

“Darlin’, just put that down, I’ll get it,” Joel insisted as you pulled a plate full of raw steaks from the fridge.

“Joel, I’m not a delicate little flower who will break under the weight of a few steaks,” you teased lovingly. Placing the plate on the counter, you turned to Joel and slipped your arms around his neck. Fingers threading through his curls, you pulled his head down, pressing your lips to his. “I love you.”

Joel’s large hands slid down your back, grabbing your ass as the kiss intensified. “Mmmm, I love you, darlin’,” his deep voice rumbled against your mouth. A knock sounded on the front door as he placed another kiss on your lips. “Now, let me take care of this while you welcome our guests.”

Before long, everyone gathered in the backyard. Your dad, Joel, and Emily’s husband Ed stood around the grill while Joel cooked the steaks and Sarah showed off her swimming skills to Maria and Tommy. You and Emily sat on the patio with glasses of sangria just watching everyone you love.

“I know I’ve said it a million times already but thank you again for being there for them after the accident,” you said as you watched Joel manning the grill with confidence. “I know it couldn’t have been easy and I just want you to know that I appreciate you.”

“Always, that’s what friends are for.” Emily smiled at you. “You really got somethin’ good here, you know. That man, he was a complete wreck while you were in the hospital. And that little girl, she worships the ground you walk on. Those two would do anything for you and I know you would do anything for them.”

You heard from your dad how hard Joel struggled while you were in the hospital, how he barely slept, refused to leave your side. Emily reiterated it all and you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you would have done the same if anything happened to him or Sarah.

“I don’t know how I got so lucky,” you said after taking a sip of the fruity red wine concoction. “I can’t imagine my life without them in it.”

“That’s good, really good.” Too busy making googly eyes at Joel, you missed the knowing look Emily shot you.

“She can’t keep her eyes off you, son,” JB teased. “You ready to do the thing?”

“What thing is that?” Ed asked curiously.

“Imma ask her to marry me,” Joel mumbled, already feeling a little nervous. “I got the ring in my pocket, just waiting for the right moment.”

“Good on ya, man!” Ed replied. Turning to JB, he added, “I take it he has your blessing?”

Nodding, JB grinned at his future son-in-law as he replied, “He sure as hell does. I couldn’t have asked for a better man to take care of my little Spud.”

A flush rose along Joel’s neck and moved onto his cheeks at the praise. “Alright, alright. Let’s not talk about it anymore. I don’t wanna risk her overhearing something. I want it to be a surprise.”

The other two men nodded in understanding. “Just one last thing,” Ed said. “You should ask her during the fireworks. I brought my good camera; I’ll make sure to get great shots of it for you and the fireworks will just add to the ambiance.”

The steaks were grilled to perfection, Joel nailing that medium rare sear that you loved, and Maria’s macaroni salad was a hit. Once everyone devoured their food, you jumped into the pool, letting the water ease the lingering ache in your bones while your dad and Emily insisted on helping Joel clean up. Before long, everyone else joined you in floating around to kill time before the town’s fireworks show began. The house was perfectly situated to see them from a distance, so you didn’t have to fight the traffic to find parking in town to see the show.

Drinking in the sight of Joel shirtless, swim trunks sitting low on his hips, you licked your lips hungrily. He dove into the deep end of the pool, swimming underwater until he reached you in the shallow end. Popping up next to you, he slicked his wet curls back from his forehead with a grin. Fuck, he was handsome.

“Hey beautiful,” Joel greeted. “Enjoying yourself?”

Smile so broad your cheeks hurt, you nodded. “Today has been wonderful, thank you, Joel. This was exactly what I needed.”

“I’d do anything for you, darlin’. You know that, right?” he implored, pulling you close so that you could wrap your legs around his waist beneath the water’s surface. “I’ve never been so in love before. You have completely changed my world.”

“I could say the same about you, babe.”

“The fireworks are gonna start soon. Watch to watch them from the patio?”

“Sure,” you replied. So caught up in Joel, you didn’t notice everyone watching you both with broad smiles as the two of you climbed out of the pool.

Settling into one of the cushioned outdoor chairs, the soft glow of the string lights from that special date all those months ago glistening on your damp skin. Joel moved his chair closer and sat, holding his right hand out for yours, he grinned when you twined your fingers with his.

Suddenly, Tommy appeared in front of you both, carrying a fresh glass of sangria for you and an ice-cold beer for Joel. “Here you both go.”

“Thanks Tommy,” you said gratefully.

“You ready?” he asked, his dark eyes glowing warmly in the low lighting.

“For the fireworks?” you replied, slightly confused. “You bet!”

Tommy smiled indulgently, sharing a look with Joel before moving to the poolside to help his girlfriend out of the water.

Glancing around at your friends and family, you found everyone watching the two of you. You had the feeling something was up, that there was something you were missing. Before you could dwell on it, the first bursts of light exploded in the sky, the whistling boom echoing distantly.

Mesmerized by the show, oohing and ahhing with everyone, you didn’t see Joel slip from his seat to kneel next to you. As the finale began, he said your name, drawing your attention away from the sky.

An audible gasp left your lips as he gazed at you, love lighting up his tanned features. Your eyes darted around the yard to find everyone watching you instead of the fireworks, Ed snapping away with that fancy camera of his.

“Joel, what—” you began breathlessly before he cut you off.

“Do you remember that song we danced to, right here in the yard, beneath these very lights?” His smooth voice gave no hints of the nervous energy flowing beneath his skin.

You nodded, recalling the memory fondly. “That was a beautiful night.”

“It was, and I hope to have many more just like it with you.” Still kneeling, he reached his left hand into his pocket and your breath hitched. Your heart nearly dropped when you merely pulled his phone out, tapping at the screen until music began to play in the background.

Taking your hands in his, Joel began to sing along, his deep voice the perfect contrast to the artist’s.

“On the day that I met you,

The world had just spit me out.

On my way to the bottom

Sure I’d never be found.

Then you saw me for me

Made me believe in myself.

On the day that I met

It all turned around.”

Tears stung the back of your eyes, but for the first time in weeks, they were tears of happiness, not pain or guilt. You clutched at Joel as he went to pull his right hand free, and he chuckled.

“I fall more in love with you every single day. I don’t know how I ever got to be this lucky, to find someone like you, who fits so perfectly, so seamlessly into mine and Sarah’s lives.”

You finally loosened your grip so he could pull his right hand free, digging into the zippered pocket as you swiped at the tears coursing down your face.

“You are the woman of my dreams, the one I was sure didn’t exist until I met you. If I promise to fall for you over and over again, will you promise to be my wife, to be Sarah’s mom, to love us from now until forever?”

Gazing into his dark, gorgeous eyes, misty with tears of his own, you nodded. “Yes, yes. A million times, yes, Joel. I’d love to be your wife and Sarah’s mom.”

You were sobbing as he beamed, slipping a beautiful, understated princess cut diamond ring on your finger. It fit perfectly and your heart swelled, the love in you threatening to spill over, to burst straight from your chest. “Joel, it’s so beautiful!”

Joel stood, pulling you with him until your feet left the ground and he spun you in a circle once, twice, before setting you down on solid ground. You lurched forward, sealing your love, your promise with a heated kiss.

As if they hadn’t all witnessed every second of what just happened, Joel looked over at everyone and declared, “She said yes!”

The small group of your favorite people made a racket with their whoops and whistles, JB shouting above the rest, “About fuckin’ time, son!”

Unable to contain herself for another second – she had been incredibly patient, after all, letting her dad do the asking instead of her – Sarah burst from Tommy’s grasp, launching herself at you. Joel helped you sweep her up for a tight hug.

“It’s official now, right?” Sarah questioned, nearly vibrating with excitement. “You’re gonna be my mom now. I finally get to have a mom and not just any mom, but you. The best one I could have asked for.”

Just when you thought the tears ebbed away, the waterworks started once again. “Oh, my sweet, perfect girl. I promise to try my best to be worthy of such an honor. I couldn’t have asked for a better girl to go on this adventure with.”

“This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever witnessed,” Emily said, her voice catching as tears ran down her cheeks as well.

“Agreed,” Maria chimed in with a sniffle and Tommy pulled her close with a dumb grin spreading across his face. You could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he thought about how he’d propose when the time came.

You and Joel couldn’t keep your hands off each other once Sarah went to bed and everyone left. Your need for each other was too mighty to fight, not that either of you wanted too anyway. He treated you like glass the past six weeks, afraid to hurt you, to aggravate your injuries. You understood, but that didn’t stop the desire, the need for him and it frustrated you that he would not give in. Now that you were mostly healed, you wanted him to make love to you like he used to.

Readying yourselves for bed, you climbed onto the mattress, straddling Joel’s hips where he laid back against the pillows. Half hard already at the mere sight of you naked before him, he grasped your hips to grind your core down on him.

“I need you, my love. I need to feel you inside me. It’s been too long,” your voice a breathy whine against his mouth, your lips touching but not yet kissing. “Let me ride you.”

“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel gasped as you shifted against his now fully hardened cock. “Take what you want, sweetheart.” He watched with lust blown eyes as you slid his sleep pants down his hips, and he kicked them off to lay in a pile at the bottom of the bed.

So wet and needy, you didn’t even need foreplay. Sealing your mouth to his, you swallowed his groan as you slid down on his cock. Pausing for a moment once he was balls deep inside you, fingers threaded through his luscious curls, you sighed in contentment.

“I feel so fucking full, Joel,” you moaned, finally starting to move. “I’ve missed this so much.”

Joel gazed at you, completely enraptured and unable to speak. The words stuck in his throat, he just watched you move on him, his hips shifting upwards to meet your movements. It felt so good he knew he wouldn’t last long, shifting his hand between you to pluck at your clit as you rode him.

“Come for me, darlin’. I need to feel you come apart around me,” the words burst from deep in his chest, dripping with need as he got closer to the edge. Thumb moving frantically against your clit in that way that drove you crazy, he made you come apart within minutes.

“Fuck, Joel!” you gasped, burying your face in his shoulder, biting down on the flesh to stifle your moans. Waves of pleasure washed over you so strong you couldn’t move your hips anymore. Joel took over, thrusting up into you, drawing out your orgasm as your walls fluttered around him.

You sunk your teeth further into the meat of his trapezius, the shock of pain like a bolt of lightning straight to his cock. His movements grew sloppy as his balls tightened and he came with a guttural growl, sucking at your neck as rope after rope of cum splashed inside you.

Breathless and satiated, you stayed in place, allowing the aftershocks to roll through you both. You brought your hands up to cup his face, the patchy scruff of his beard tickling your palms. The diamond ring on your left hand sparkled in the dim lighting and you grinned down at Joel, so full of love.

He pulled you down to lay with him, his softening cock slipped out of you in the process, and you both ignored the mess as you cuddled together.

“I can’t wait to marry you.” You felt the words rumble from deep in his chest as he spoke them, pulling you impossibly closer until your sweaty skin melded to his. “I fuckin’ love you, darlin.”

Smiling sleepily, you murmured your love for him, your excitement over being engaged, the beauty of the ring he chose for you, until you fell asleep mid-sentence.

Your dreams were no match for the life you and Joel were creating together.

Taglist: @mellymbee @untamedheart81 @anoverwhelmingdin @runningmom94 @leilanixx

@pedropascalfan221 @lovelyjess69 @sarahhxx03 @sofiparallel @tammythr

@lulawantmula @islacharlotte @allyourfavesinoneblog @lover-of-books-and-tea @pedropascalsbbg

@ashleyfilm @brittmb115 @lilmizmoz @loveisacowboyyy @shotgun-shelby

@deninoe @casssiopeia @caitlynsixxx @skysmiller @missladym1981

@marirxse @lizzie-cakes @tynakub @subconsciouscollapse @babygabe @cuteanimalmama

[poppy-metal]

poppylicious i hope you know if you did write biodad!art i would read it no problem <3 in fact i encourage it

-🐞

stepcest isn't enough I need him to actually be my father <////3

tw: incest. of the father/daughter variety. dubcon cause he's drunk.

hhhhh I'm thinking of being daddys girl and tragedy strikes. your mother passes away and you see your dad become a shell of himself. and you love your dad so much. you think when mommy was alive he was happier - brighter. maybe if you became like your mom, and did the thing's women do for their husbands, daddy would be happy again?

thinking of dressing in one of her flowery sundresses - because art hasn't touched her side of the closet. refuses to get rid of her things. you'd stayed to take care of him instead of heading off to college because you're so worried about him - drinking himself to sleep every night on the couch because he can't sleep in his - their bedroom anymore - you have to fix things. you even do your makeup how your mom did - how daddy liked it.

thinking of art being drunk when you come down the steps in your mother's dress and makeup and for a few moments he thinks you're really her - open mouthed and in awe as he watches you float across the room to straddle him. he comes back to himself when you lean into kiss him and he sees your eyes - your eyes that are different from your mother's - and he's horrified - but it's too late - you're already kissing him. and your mouth is warm and soft and you're warm and soft. and you smell like your mom.

he sobs against your mouth - trembles when you pull back and tell him it's okay - you're going to take care of him now. "shhhhh dad. its okay. you can touch me -"

and he shakes his head, his hands coming to your waist as if to push you away "baby stop - what - what are you wearing.." he tries to invite reason into his body, but you're not getting off his lap, you're moving in closer - reaching down into his sweats to palm his cock. and he's hard. he's fucking hard.

"oh god," he cries when you stroke him. he tells himself it's because you smell like her and you're wearing her things and he misses your mother so much - misses her body so much and he hasn't so much as touched his dick in months. he's been so fucking depressed. he hasn't been a good father. he's neglected you. that's why you're acting out. he grabs your wrist. weakly tries to pry your hand from around his hard dick, "stop. take that off - this is - you can't be doing this -"

and you take your hand away and he thinks you're going to listen to him - and you do - you do but not the way he wanted you too. you do take the dress off, peeling the straps down your shoulders until the material flutters down to expose your bare breasts.

"honey - no -" he chokes - but then you're coming in again, holding the back of his head and bringing his face to your chest. your warm tits envelop him and he's delirious. you smell so good. his brain is fuzzy. his throat is dry. his dick jerks in his sweats and when you reach down again he can't push you away.

he starts to cry then. and you coo at him, "im gonna take such good care of you daddy." you tell him. "you won't feel bad ever again." and then he feels it, your slick pussy at the head of his cock - he makes a wet sound deep in his throat, pitiful and weak and then you're sinking down on him, gasping - and you're so warm.

"oh baby." he cries. doesn't know if it's out of guilt and shame or pleasure because goddamn it feels - it feels good. tight wet heat. sucking him in. wrapping around him. hugging him. he's been so cold and miserable lately. you rock in his lap and cling to the back of his head as you start to bounce.

"daddy," you whimper. breathless. his lips brush against your nipples when you go up and down and you clench around your dad's cock. feel him let out a half groan half wail as you ride him. "you just needed a h-hug that's all. I'll be your girl - I'll give you hugs, daddy - with my pussy - "

he wants to die. he wants to die and be with your mother. he should die. he should die right now. but he wouldn't be with your mother. he'd be in hell.

hell for the way he's hard and twitching inside you - hell for the way he's moaning through his sobs. hell for the way he's so much stronger than you, even drunk and confused and he hasn't thrown you off him. hell for the way his hands eventually curl around your waist, start helping you bounce more properly on his dick. hell for the way he can feel his balls starting to draw up and tighten with impending release.

"I love you, dad." you moan in his ear.

oh god, he thinks and closes his eyes as he starts to cum inside you - I love you too, baby.

[ghostofhyuck]

Gang AU Series 4

Mafia’s son! Lee Donghyuck x Politician’s daughter! Reader

Summary: “It’s you and me against the world.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You were six when you first met Lee Donghyuck at a private dinner party. 

Your father was a successful congressman in your district. He’s powerful, charismatic, and favoured by the public. You grew up knowing the two sides of your father. One is the congressman, and the other one is the shady businessman.

That’s where you met Donghyuck. He was the son of your father’s most trusted man in the underground scene. They are highly influential, but make it illegal. You knew that because your father backs up their business, and in exchange, is their security to your father, both in the legal and illegal perspectives. 

“You can call me Hyuck!” he introduced, you only stared at him. 

“Dear, it’s rude to only stare at people,” your father laughed. Your mother is somewhere, entertaining other visitors, and as much as you want to cling to your father the whole night, Donghyuck has other plans. 

“Yn,” you said quietly. 

“Son how about you bring yn to the playground, I’m sure you two will love it.” Donghyuck’s father said, your ears catch the attention of the word, ‘playground’, and before Donghyuck can ask you, you have already stood up from your seat, ready to enjoy the playground. 

You ran your way towards the backyard of the Lee’s mansion. A full set playground was placed on the grass field, and you immediately raced towards the swing, sitting there idly. 

“Do you want me to push you?” you turned around to see Donghyuck walking towards you. 

“Please?” 

That night brought you two closer. You two talked about childish things, like what you two want when you two grow up, or what you two think about each other’s parents. You told him about your vacations outside the country while he shared his life in Jeju. 

Little you two know that both fathers are watching you two from the glass door of the mansion. 

“Do you think they’ll be friends when they grow up?” Mr. Lee asked. 

Your father only chuckled, “Wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up together too.” 

You and Donghyuck grew up together. You witnessed him grow from that small, annoying child to a young, fine man. While he saw how that crybaby became a rebellious daughter of the congressman. You two were each other’s ride or die. Trouble is stuck with both of you, causing headaches from both families.

And to make it worse, you two fall in love with each other. A thing that was as easy as walking in the park. You two were madly in love with each other, that no one opposed it. Ever since you two were kids, the hints of you two marrying each other has always been on the tongues of your parents whenever you two are together. Back when you two were kids, you two would react as if it was the most disgusting thing in the world. But as you two grow older, you two realise that you are made for each other. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Donghyuck asked. 

“I just have a bad feeling about this dinner party my family needs to attend,” you confessed. Years passed and your father is still a powerful man in the government. He is now running as a senator, and as his position becomes higher, so are the risks of him being exposed to being inclined with the underground scene. 

But remembering that you’re dating the son of the Lee family, you tried to brush it off. You know that there’s no way Donghyuck will betray you. 

You watched as Donghyuck fixed his position, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him. 

“Then why don’t you just ditch it and sleep here with me?” he suggested, making you laugh. 

“I can’t, it’s important for dad’s election, he said that we’ll be meeting a powerful businessman,” you told him. 

“As powerful as my dad?” 

“I guess, in a legal way,” you teased. 

“You wouldn’t leave me for a cleaner guy won’t you?” he asked. 

You broke from his arms, sitting up and looking at him with a confused look. “Hyuck, you know that I wouldn't do that to you.”

But your lover only smiled, “I'm just teasing you, come here.”

His lips were about to crash onto yours when a knock on the door separated you too. The door opened, revealing the head of the Lee family. 

“Yn, your father’s looking for you now,” Mr. Lee said. 

“Oh right,” you muttered. You left the bed, grabbed your things, and before you exit, you waved goodbye to Donghyuck and his father. Your boyfriend mouthed “Good luck!” to you while Mr. Lee could only offer you a nod. As you left, Donghyuck was confused on why his father’s still in front of his doorway. 

“Son, we need to talk.” 

-

Your father didn’t mention to you that the dinner party was a private event. 

A small family entered your house. You were wearing a simple dress and wore light makeup since you’re just there for formality. Your father seems to be excited about the dinner, welcoming the man with a hug and a firm handshake. You heard your mother exhaling loudly, that’s when you become confused as you look at her eyes and she seems weary about the situation. 

“Dear, let me introduce you the Na family,” 

You only smiled as you greeted them. 

“This is my daughter yn,” your father introduced. You gave them another smile and even bowed. 

“Oh she’s lovely! Don’t you think Jaemin?” the older woman complimented. 

You glanced at the boy who’s probably the same-age as yours. He smiles, and offers his hands. You only accepted it, and to your surprise, he kissed it. 

“It’s nice to meet you yn,” he said, giving you his bright smile once again. 

Your heart started to beat fast, that you could only give him a nod as you let go from his touch. Your father excused that maybe you were just flustered about the action, offering them to continue the conversation. 

You felt tense during dinner. Something about the family felt like a bad idea. Your parents kept the conversation alive, and all you can hear is about politics and business, perhaps it’s another campaign support for the upcoming election.

You also found it weird, how the mother tried to swoon you at how handsome and good Jaemin is with everything. As if she’s trying to sell her son to you. It was a good thing your mother dived into the conversation, trying to save you from the awkward atmosphere. 

“I assume that you have a boyfriend,” Jaemin said, approaching you who’s standing outside all alone. After dinner, you decided to get some fresh air. You feel like there’s something weird about the occasion. It wasn’t the usual campaign party that your father would hold. Usually it’ll be filled with a lot of people. But this private dinner party that involved only one family was sketchy.

“I do, we’ve been together for four years,” you said proudly, thinking about Donghyuck. “And he has been my best friend since we were kids.”

Jaemin only pursed his lips, bitterly smiling. “Damn, it must’ve hurt then.”

You creased your forehead, “What do you mean?”

Jaemin turns around and looks at the glass window. There, you can see your parents laughing together with his parents. 

“Didn’t they tell you? This is our first meet-up before we get engaged officially.” 

You fell deaf from your surroundings. You only looked at Jaemin, and the only thing that he can offer is a bitter smile. You couldn’t say anything to him, and as you stood there frozen, only one person came into your mind. 

Donghyuck. 

No. You don’t like the idea. You hated the idea. You wanted to be with Donghyuck. You love him, and you want to spend the rest of your life with him. This is stupid. All those years of hinting of marrying him suddenly switched? What happened? You can feel a headache coming all of the sudden. 

“Excuse me,” you said, leaving Jaemin alone there. 

You enter the house and while your parents called your attention, you ignored them, storming to your room and closing it with a loud thud. 

You paced back and forth, not noticing that your parents entered your room. 

“Yn, is there something —”

“Tell me that it’s not true!” you shouted. 

Both of your parents looked at each other, before your father looked at you with an apologetic look. “Dear, I am sorry —”

“No! You will not have me married off to someone I don’t even know!”

“Yn, please just listen to us,” your mother pleaded. 

“We officially cut ties with the Lee family,” your father announced. “It’s for your own good.”

“For my own good? All I know is that you don’t want to be ruined for the upcoming election!”

“I did what I needed to do! You should start thinking that your foolish love can bring you in danger,” your father lectured. “They are dangerous people yn.”

You only stared at your father. Tears forming from your eyes. “No, I will never let you use me for your political gain. Never again, not when you did it back when I was a kid. I will never marry Jaemin.” 

The room became quiet. You can see the anger from your father’s eyes, and the worried look from your mother. As you had a staring contest with your father, he could only give up. He knows that it is hard for you to process everything. You’ll take things slowly, and soon, you’ll come to understand why he did it. 

“Give it time to think,” your father said quietly, and in a second, he leaves along with your mother.

As soon as you heard the doors close. You grabbed your phone, teary-eyed as you searched for Donghyuck’s number. 

“Hey! How’s the dinner party —”

That’s when you started to cry. You poured your heart out to your boyfriend who didn’t do anything but comfort you. Donghyuck listened to you attentively, waiting for your signal for him to speak, let alone say anything. You couldn’t even look at yourself in the mirror anymore, all you know is that you’re ruined with your creased dress and distraught makeup. 

“So, what now?” Donghyuck asked after a few minutes. 

“Hyuck, I love you,” you said. “I love you so so fucking much that I wanted to be with you. This is so fucking stupid, I was fine with marrying you. I wanted to grow old with you. You’re the only one that I want.”

“I love you too,” Donghyuck quickly answered. “But your parents —-”

“Fuck them Hyuck, I had enough with them,” you said with a serious tone. You looked at your door, and the vicinity of your room, until a certain object caught your eyes. 

“Donghyuck, let’s run away.” you suggested. 

There was a moment of silence. “Are you serious?”

“Hyuck listen please,” you mumbled. “It’ll come to a point that my parents will force us to break up and I would rather die than to be separated from you. I just…I just want to be free from my parents Hyuck.” 

“Yn, you’re fucking crazy,” your boyfriend said. “My father already told me about it. Your father cut our connections with him, saying that it’s time for a change and he doesn’t want to be involved with our business anymore.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Donghyuck said. “It’s not your fault, and I’m with you in this one.”

You were relieved to hear those words. It was another chance for you. Another life waiting for you and it’s with the love of your life. Far from the politics and your controlling parents. It’s what you’ve been looking for. 

“Meet me at the yacht port at two am tonight, just pack light okay?” 

You made sure to follow Donghyuck’s instructions. You managed to sneak out of your place without being caught by your parents. The night was dark and empty and yet, you couldn’t help but feel excited. The feeling of eloping with Donghyuck excites you. You couldn’t wait for what the future holds for you. 

As you reached the port, you became nervous. You looked at your watch and it was ten minutes past two am, you scanned the place. It was empty and quiet. The only thing you can hear is the waves crashing against the huge dock. 

“Yn,” you turned around and to your relief, it was your lover. You ran towards him and crashed him with a hug. 

“Hyuck, what’s the plan —-”

You stopped your tracks, hands caressing his face, your eyes wandered to his, but it seems like he wasn’t gazing at you. His eyes were cold and dead, as if you were a stranger. That’s when you realized what it meant.

“Please, don’t do this to me,” you stuttered, but he only looked away, even tapping your hands away from him. You tried to hold onto him but Donghyuck took a step back, you reached out for him but it’s obvious that he doesn’t want you to be near him. 

“I’m sorry yn,” Donghyuck said, his tone bearing coldness. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Hyuck please, not you too,” you pleaded. Tears are falling from your eyes. You couldn’t help but let out a huge cry as your knees began to wobble in shock. Dropping to the concrete ground.

You couldn’t believe it. It hurts when your parents betrayed you, but it killed you when it came from the person who you loved wholeheartedly. The person you gave all of you that you’re sure that there’s nothing left with you. It hurts that he even led you on, gave you hope that he was willing to throw away everything just to be with you. 

“It’s just not meant to be yn,” he said one last time, and you can hear his footsteps fading, leaving you there alone.

[lethalchiralium]

Will Never Be Enough | Simon “Ghost” Riley x Wife!Reader

a/n: i am so sorry, but i’m trying to make this series as realistic as possible so that would include natural things that happen. :( it wouldn’t be a lethalchiralium series if there wasn’t angst… also the 141 are ride or die for you and the kids. it’s just canon i have nothing else to say 🤷‍♀️

warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Mentions of blood, miscarriages, vague descriptions of panic attacks. Mentions of babies and children.

summary: "Simon, I need you." The Lieutenant dropped the papers he was holding, they flew across the office floor. "I'm on my way." OR, Simon comes home to find you in a puddle of blood.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

It had been a couple weeks since the appointment, and he didn’t expect you to feel sick for this long after. It worried him, but you assured him that it was fine; you had been sick for a while with Mellie, that you would be better soon. He took your word for it and let you rest.

He had made Winnie her breakfast of strawberry pancakes and sat her in front of the television, he held Mellie against his chest. She was sated, little belly full of formula and snoring away on his shoulder. He had made you food and was waiting for you to come down to eat, but he wasn’t worried about when you did. He was satisfied knowing that you would have had something to eat, that he would hopefully beg Price nice enough to come home early. His one arm that held Mellie kept her snug against his chest, he was putting up plates in the cabinets from washing them the night before. He made the mental note to get more baby spoons because Mellie had no longer liked most of them.

“Dad! Done!” Winnie called from the coffee table, he looked over his shoulder to her. She was holding up her clean purple plate so he could see, strawberry stained the front of her face. He closed the cabinet and grabbed a tea towel, moving from the kitchen and into the living room. The chestnut haired girl bounced on her feet to meet him in the middle, he kneeled and gently wiped her face.

“Is Mama still sick?” Winnie moved her face away from the tea towel, but he still cleaned her face as she moved awkwardly to miss his massive hand.

“Yeah, duckling.” He nodded and stood, walking back into the kitchen while his small daughter followed. He tossed the tea towel onto the counter, making a note to put it in the laundry later, before moving towards the fridge. “You still hungry?” He opened it, glancing over the leftovers he had for you last night, beverages, and jars of baby food to look for those little oranges Winnie liked.

“Nuh-uh.”

He closed the fridge when he didn’t see them, glancing down to the baby in his arm before he looked to his oldest daughter. “Get your bag, love, gonna go check on Mum.”

The girl in pigtails her father had put in earlier bounced on her feet, disappearing back into the living room. Simon turned towards the counter across from the fridge, grabbing the plate of food with a fork on it before making his way upstairs.

Mellie’s little hand gripped onto his t-shirt when he nudged his bedroom door open, making his way to your side of the bed in the light that seeped through from the hallway. He quietly settled your plate of food on your nightstand before moving back out of the room, towards Mellie’s room. He opened the door and quickly moved towards her crib, peeling his little one from his chest before placing her delicately on her back on the small mattress. Her crib creaked when Simon leaned forwards to kiss her forehead, he was quick to move away and out her room - when the door closed, it was silent. He slipped back into his bedroom and to your side, he could see your silhouette in the middle of the bed underneath the plush duvet.

He leaned a knee onto the side of the bed, a hand settled on your cheek as he spoke, “Sweetheart.”

You grunted in annoyance. “Don’t wake me unless someone is dying or the house is on fire.”

Simon chuckled, petting your hair. “Put your food on your nightstand, I’m takin’ Wins to school soon.”

Your arms moved to stretch over your head as he leaned forwards, his lips meeting yours. A smile on your lips, your hands now found his chest to gently pull him off. “Baby, I’m still sick.”

“Don’t care.” He mumbled, pressing another kiss to your lips before his hands began to tug down the duvet. He moved himself down the bed, quickly tugging up his old t-shirt on you to press his lips to the small swell of your stomach, where that little baby was growing. His little baby, half of him and half of you. “Quit makin’ your mum sick, all she’s doin’ is lovin’ ya.”

With a final kiss to his unborn son, he moved back to place his lips on your forehead, feeling the skin a lot warmer than he had expected. He leaned back into his knees, nodding towards the food on the nightstand. “‘m takin’ Duckling to school, Mel’s asleep. You need to eat.”

You nodded, your hand reached for his and he instantly took it. He pressed his lips to your knuckles, you smiled at him.

“I won’t be long, tryin’ to get Price to let me off early.”

You shook your head, dismissing it. “I’ll be fine, baby. I’ll call you if I need you.”

He pressed a quick kiss to your lips, a promise that he would be home soon.

��

Ghost desperately wanted it to be a slow day, but no. Active drills and testing on soldiers, Laswell was in for a debrief this morning, and a mention of a new deployment soon. He wasn’t very happy about it, but he said nothing. He would discuss it with you when he got home.

He had papers in his hand as he marched down to Price’s office; sergeants and privates diving out of his way to avoid his so-called ‘wrath’. All it was was a stare or the occasional pin onto the wall, nothing serious. In his hands were training reports on seasoned soldiers, descriptions of how their skills have improved and all that bullshit.

The man was tired, all he wanted to do was go home and lay in his bed underneath the dog pile of his daughters and wife. Maybe eat a sandwich or go for a run, but he had to be on base. He didn’t even have the time to look at Price this morning, this report was his saving grace to go home and make sure you were okay. He was itching to leave right this moment, but you’d never tell from his mask.

He knocked on Price’s door, not even waiting for permission to enter before he swung open the door. He shut the door behind him, moving to stand in front of Price.

“Got the reports-“

Ghost’s phone rang in his pocket, papers in his clutch as Price‘s voice died in his throat. His captain gave him a nod, letting Simon fish his phone out. He saw your pretty face on his screen and pressed the phone to his ear, concerned why you were calling him at one in the afternoon. He was about to get Price to let him leave earlier so he could take care of you and the girls.

“Hi, are you okay?”

“Simon, Simon-“ Your sobs were loud. “I need you.”

He dropped the papers he had onto the floor of Price’s office and booked it. “Baby, hey, I’m on my way.” He said, shoving past privates and his friends, who called after him. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Ever-Everything, there’s- There’s so much blood- I think-“ A loud sob. “I think I’m losing the baby.”

He felt like throwing up.

His hand went to his pocket, ripping out his keys but dropping them onto the concrete. He didn’t even have the time to pick them up before someone else did, he looked up to see Price.

He couldn’t see how badly he was shaking, all he could do was listen to you say, “It hurts so much.” Price moved around to the other side of his car, getting into the driver’s seat while he got into the passenger seat. He felt the car move as the back doors opened, he knew it was Soap and Gaz. Price didn’t even wait for them to close their doors before he pressed the pedal to the metal.

“I’m comin’, baby. Hold on.” He answered. “Talk to me, sweet girl.”

“Please,” Your voice cracked, sobs followed after. “Simon.”

His hand was shaking so bad, he could feel it now. His brain shut off, he could only feel fear as it tore through his entire being like fire. He couldn’t lose you, he wouldn’t ever dare to - not when it took so long to find you.

The fifteen minute drive home was made in seven, flat. Simon was out of the car before Price even put it in park. He ran. He sprinted into the house, not caring that the front door slammed against the wall. He’d fix it later. He took the stairs three at a time, hearing his daughter crying in your en-suite bathroom. He frantically ran down the hall, opening the bedroom door. The light from the bathroom lit up the room, he didn’t stop running until he almost went face first into the door frame. He was breathing hard, eyes now fixated on you.

Blood stained the floor of the bathroom and the bottom of the shirt of his you were wearing. Mellie was sat in your arms, tears stained her cheeks as she cried loudly. Your face looked paler, tears dripping down onto the crown of your daughter’s head. Your face was contorted into one in pain, one hand on the small bump of your belly.

“LT!” He heard Soap call, he turned his head towards the doorway of his bedroom.

“Up here!”

He then came to your side, kneeling beside you as the rumble of boots against the hardwood stairs were loud, making Mellie cry harder. Your hand reached for him, gripping onto his uniform as his own hand settled on your cheek. He glanced down at the blood that pooled around your legs. “What happened?”

“I-I felt sick and-and I got up and- there was-“ Sobs kept falling from your mouth, chest trembling and making the eight month old screech. “I can’t-“ Your face went to your daughter, pressing a kiss to her head as she kept crying. “Mels, please, baby-“

He was quick to remove his hand from your face, taking his daughter in his grasp before turning towards the bedroom. Gaz and Soap stood in it, Price behind them, all of them gazing through the doorway. Every single one of his friends’ faces had concern written all over them.

“Gaz.”

The Sergeant immediately came forwards, taking the little one in his grasp and leaving the bathroom. Simon turned back to you, grabbing your other hand and squeezing. You tried to take a deep breath, but hiccuped harshly. “It hurts, Simon. It hurts, it hurts.“ Your eyes screwed shut, he felt your knuckles pop as you kept squeezing his hand.

“I know.” He murmured, moving one arm to go underneath your knees. Your body was shaking, he was shaking, he didn’t know how to stop it, he wanted to stop it.

Your voice was nothing but a whisper, body trembling as he picked you up. “My baby.”

“Simon, what’s happened?” Price spoke, he probably noticed the blood on the floor that had seeped through your underwear. Simon felt his skin grow cold when he felt the blood against his forearm, moving into the bedroom before grabbing a blanket from the chair next to the dresser. He did his best to cover you, Soap immediately came to his aid. He pulled the blanket up to your neck while Simon awkwardly wrapped you in the gray blanket.

As soon as Soap had moved away, Simon was gone. Down the steps, through the hallway while hearing his infant daughter screeching in the kitchen. He kept his eyes on you, your eyes screwed so tight and hollow sobs echoed from your lips.

He didn’t hear Price tell Soap to go get Winnie from school, he didn’t listen when Price told Gaz to stay with Mellie, that he was going with Simon.

It was like the world was in slow motion when he stepped down the front porch, but it zipped by when Price’s hand landed on his shoulder. Simon didn’t even turn to look at Price.

“She’s miscarrying.”

———

hi. simon is great dad and you can’t convince me otherwise, he’s the best husband he can be so part 2 will be soon i promise :(

———

Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

[ser-zoras]

In modern asoiaf brienne still swears fealty to cat because she breaks her arm while she’s out dirtbiking with renly and co. and since none of them have ever broken their arm before, brienne convinces herself she’s faking it and continues biking and all of her friends are a little bit high and manage not to notice. the only reason brienne gets to the hospital at all is because loras was forced to bring margaery because mace is super overprotective and wouldn’t let her stay home alone even though she’s fifteen so she’s sitting on a lawn chair outside the bike loop wearing yellow heart shaped sunglasses and drinking lemonade while drawing a star chart for sansa, and she sees brienne ride by with a clearly broken arm and is like “dude. the fuck happened to you” and renly hears this and is like “shit your dad’s gonna kill me” so he and loras drive brienne to the emergency room but they ask if they can leave because hyle and the gang are still dirtbiking and brienne says sure she’ll be fine so she sits in the emergency room for a few hours until someone gets her and cat turns out to be her nurse and sets her bones all the while talking about her various problems because she is Stressed Out™️ (her son bought his girlfriend a promise ring, her younger son’s physical therapy isn’t going well, her daughter bit a kid yesterday) and brienne is totally unresponsive, like not even blinking, so cat assumes she can’t hear her, and when cat finally finishes, brienne, who is actually just super nervous and was trying to be polite by not interrupting, looks up at the woman who has just given her attention and mild painkillers and fixed her bones with eyes full of love and is like. Do you know that I would die for you and cat, unsure of what to say, is like 👍.

on the way back from the emergency room renly and loras manage to crash renly’s 2023 Subaru forester into a tree for unrelated reasons and this is somehow blamed on brienne.

[cabbage20122]

Taming of the Shrew is so funny, like there's a story inside of another story, half of the characters in both are disguised as someone else, and the only character who actually gets everything he wants in the end does it by being as annoying as he possibly can.

Hortensio: I can't marry Bianca until someone marries her older sister, but I wouldn't wish that girl on any- hey Petruccio you said you wanted to marry rich, right?

Petruccio: Your daughter is definitely in love with me, she's just pretending to hate me in front of other people because she's shy. Can we get married?

Baptista: How sweet! Absolutely

Katherine, standing right next to him: the audacity-

Katherine: sister bonding~ tell me who you have a crush on!

Bianca, crying: please untie me

Lucentio: I'm not actually a tutor, I switched places with my servant to woo you in secret

Bianca: Good start, but you call this wooing? You can do better

There's some old guy named Gremio who also wants to marry Bianca but he doesn't really do much

The wedding is not shown, but apparently Petruccio shows up hours late dressed in the most ridiculous articles of clothing he could find (and all of them are clashing) and riding a horse riddled with every disease under the sun (intestinal worms, tumors, a stuffy nose, etc.) punched the priest, and threw wine in his face because his beard was so thin it looked hungry.

On the way to his house, Katherine's horse falls in the mud and somehow lands on top of Katherine

Grumio, shivering: hey I've been sent to make sure the house is ready. Also can you light a fire?

Curtis: are they coming to the house now?

Grumio: yes, now about that fire

Curtis: is she as rude as they say?

Grumio: please I'm so cold

Curtis: i want gossip

Katherine, sleep-deprived and starving: can I have some food?

Grumio: sure would you like some beef and mustard?

Katherine: yes, that sounds great!

Grumio: ah, but the mustard might make your stomach hurt

Katherine: that's OK, I'll just have beef

Grumio: well, I can't just give you beef without mustard. . .

Katherine: just give me something I don't care

Grumio: would you like just mustard

Katherine, hangry: would you like to die

Petruccio: this dress is horrible, I didn't order this!

Tailor: your servant gave me instructions on how to make it, I just followed those

Grumio: ok but I didn't instruct you to make it ugly

Lucentio, conning a foreigner into pretending to be his dad so he and Bianca's dad can discuss the marriage between Bianca and the servant pretending to be Lucentio: I'm such a genius this plan can't possibly go wrong

Lucentio's actual dad: I think I'll go visit my son

Petruccio: it's 7 am, so if we leave now, we'll get to your father's house at lunchtime

Katherine: it's 2 pm, we won't get there til supper

Petruccio: do you have to disagree with everything i say? Maybe we won't go

Katherine: wait no I want lunch-

Lucentio: hi dad, meet my new wife!

Vincentio: . . .

Lucentio: Ok I'm sorry I got you arrested for impersonating yourself but in my defense-

Petruccio: wow, the moon is so bright

Katherine: it's the middle of the day, that's the sun

Petruccio: again with the arguing? Let's go back

Hortensio: are you kidding me we walked all this way

Katherine: WOW, LOOK AT THE MOON

When they finally get to the house for dinner, Katherine and Petruccio win a bet against the other couples and brag about how they're better than everyone there.

And the whole thing is just an elaborate prank on some random drunk guy WHO IS NEVER MENTIONED AGAIN AFTER ACT 1

[the-guilty-writer]

Work The Case

Request from @doctorsteeb: This may be too sensitive a topic but just an idea— Hotch!daughter taking out a school shooter?

Aaron Hotchner x daughter!reader

Summary: A normal Tuesday takes a turn when you come face to face with your father's work.

A/N: Not going to lie I wasn't going to write this because I felt like the idea was too sensitive but then I remembered that I'm the queen of writing too sensitive things in real life so I may as well do that here too (within limits of course. I still have ethics). So here it is!

CW: school shooting, fatal gun shot, talks of foyet, talks of dead mothers, talks of car crashes, talks of drunk driving, talks of divorce, Jackson Pollok slander

---

The morning started out like any other Tuesday: you got up and ready for the day before having breakfast with your dad and brother- oatmeal and orange juice- then your dad drove you and Jack to school. Jack always got dropped off first at the elementary school, and you at the high school. The ride between the two was short, but it was always long enough for a small, private conversation between you and your father.

“You okay?” he asked you. 

Ugh. Profilers.

“I’m…” You thought about saying ‘fine,’ but you knew he wouldn’t take that as an answer. You sighed. “The teacher let the class vote on what chapter we would cover in class next, so we started on abnormal criminal psychology yesterday.”

“Oh.” You’d never heard your dad sound so uncertain.

“It’s an extra chapter. Since it’s not listed in the curriculum we aren’t being tested on the material. The teacher told me I could spend that period in the library if it was… too much,” you finished.

You dad pulled in front of the school, leaning over to kiss you on the forehead goodbye. “Whatever you need, sweetheart.”

“Thanks,” you told him. 

“Try to have a good day,” he said before you shut the car door.

You nodded. “I’ll try.”

---

You took your teacher’s offer and went to the library instead of their classroom. The space was large, but mostly empty of people- there was just the librarian behind her desk and a few students scattered amongst the tables. You took a seat and pulled out your homework, trying not to think about what they were learning back in the classroom. You’d honestly overheard enough phone calls that whatever they were learning about you already knew. There was a buzz in your pocket, which automatically made you freeze. You kept your phone on do not disturb through the school day. The only reason your phone would buzz would be if your dad was texting you… and if your dad was texting you it was an emergency.

You pulled your phone out and you were right- it was a text from your dad. Three words: Work the case.

Shit. That was code for you and Jack to hide- to hide somewhere that you wouldn’t be found unless you wanted to be. You looked around the library, but the area was like an open plain. You shoved your work in your backpack and hurried towards the doors-

BOOM!

A gunshot.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

People began to scream. Through the glass windows of the library you could see students running, but it wasn’t because they were late to class. The lockdown alarm sounded and you scrambled under one of the tables, hoping it would be enough cover.

There was a stillness and a silence for a minute and you hoped that it was over, but gunshots rang out again- this time they were louder than they had been before. Someone was getting closer.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, making it feel as though your entire body was thumping to its too-fast rhythm. You wanted to cry, but you didn’t shed any tears. You wondered if this was what it had been like for Jack when Foyet had killed your mother and then tried to kill your father. As part of WISTEC, you had been sent away to a private boarding school with an alias while Jack and your mom were sent elsewhere. In the end, sending you away had saved your life, but now you were wondering if you were going to die soon anyway.

That was, until the library doors burst open. From your view under the table you could only see old shoes and baggy jeans but you heard the shots that were fired into the air.

“Get up! All of you!” It was a male voice.

You, along with the six other students in the library that had all dropped to the floor, looked around at one another- who would make the decision to stand up or stay down? Who would make that call?

More shots were fired. “I said get up!”

You thought about your dad- what would he do? And so you were the one to make the call, the first student to crawl out slowly from under the table and rise, your hands held up to show that you were no threat. The rest of the students followed your lead. This was your team now- if one of them died, it was on you.

You looked at the shooter and you knew who he was- Timmy Rogers. He’d been in some of your classes in middle school and high school. He had always been quiet- the kind of kid who did well in class but never answered any questions. The person who put their share into a group project and didn’t complain about having to pick up the slack if someone else bailed. He was nice enough of a person that you wouldn’t have expected him to be holding a firearm in the middle of your school, but then again most unsubs could keep themselves hidden for years- that much you knew.

“Line up against the wall. Now!” he shouted.

You walked calmly to the wall while some of the other students scampered. One girl was crying. Another boy’s fists were twisted with fear. The librarian was on her knees, pleading with Timmy. “You’re a good boy. You always have been. Your mother-”

“Don’t talk about my mother! Don’t talk about me! You don’t know me!”

“Yes I do,” the librarian was crying. “I do know you and your mom wouldn’t have wanted-”

Timmy pulled the trigger and she was gone. He marched over and grabbed the girl who was crying, dragging her out in front for the rest of you to see. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” She fell to her knees. “Please, I’m sorry-”

You thought quickly about everything you knew about Timmy. He wasn’t an athlete by any means but he joined the wrestling team anyway, he liked art and his project last year was based on his parent’s divorce, his father was a marine, and his mom…

Oh. His mom had died in a car crash last week. She was hit by a drunk driver.

“You never cared about me!” he yelled. “Nobody cares about me. Nobody cared about her-”

“I did.” You didn’t know where the words came from- they were solid and bold and half a lie, but they made Timmy let go of the girl.

“And who are you?” He pointed the gun in your direction. You wanted to scream, but you didn’t.

“I’m (Y/N) Hotchner. W-we had art class together last year.” You hoped your stumble wasn’t too obvious.

“Yeah, and why does that matter? Why should I let you live? Why should I let any of you live?” He waved the gun around in the air, making some of the students shriek, but somehow you stayed calm even though you wanted to explode. 

“Y-your mom died in a car crash last week. But it wasn’t her fault. It was the other person who was driving drunk and it wasn’t fair that they got to live and she had to die,” you said.

“Why do you care?” He spat.

You reached deep down… really deep. “My mom died too. She was murdered by a serial killer. She deserved so much better, just like your mom did.”

Timmy paused, the gun in his hand was shaking but still pointed at you. From your view, you could see that through the glass there were officers moving into the school. No. Not just officers- they were wearing FBI vests. Help was almost there, you just had to stall.

“My parents got divorced too,” you said. “Your final project last year really spoke to me- your dad was away all the time and your mom got tired of it, even though they still loved each other.” That was a total lie- the guy was about as talented as Pollok, but you had to find something. “My parents were the same way.”

Now Timmy was crying. You could see behind him that agents were moving towards the library, but you were too focused on stalling Timmy that you weren’t focused on their faces.

“And I was at a boarding school when she died so I was alone- all alone, just like you, Timmy. My mom died and nobody was there to comfort me. My dad wasn’t with me, just like your dad isn’t here right now.”

He was so distracted by your words that he didn’t even notice that the library doors had opened behind him allowing Agent Morgan, Dr. Reid, and your dad to come in unnoticed.

“He- he didn’t even come for her funeral-” Timmy’s hand was getting weaker. He was crying harder. “I-I can’t reach him-”

“I know. I couldn’t reach my dad either since I was still in WISTEC. They couldn’t tell me anything about him until I got home. It’s not fair. I know it’s not fair. I care that it’s not fair.”

Timmy dropped the gun, crumbling to the ground in a fit of tears. Agent Morgan tackled him, pulling his hands behind his back while Dr. Reid disabled the firearm. Your dad ran straight to you, gripping you in a bone crushing hug and you sobbed into his chest.

He pulled you in tighter, stroking a hand down your hair. “It’s over, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. It’s over.”

“I worked the case, dad,” you managed to get out between your sobs. “I worked the case.”