#yes and he's so tired of everything but now he has people he cares about and who cares about him and he can't let them slip away

[awardenandacrow]

It is 12:14 and I should be sleeping but I miss Naimy.

NOTE: I’m tired and that generally means I swear more. TW/CW strong language.

1. Naimeryn has a secret stash of plushies. She hides them in the console table behind the couch and sleeps with them if it’s been a really bad day. Hee favorite is an incredibly dirty and hardly-holding-it-together patchwork bunny in frilly overalls.

2. Harding gave her some plant clippings. They’re living, but it’s unclear if Naimeryn can actually claim any responsibility for that. She took care of the mousers at Weisshaupt, and especially that one kitchen cat, so a pet she could probably handle. Given her childhood, she doubts very much she has the tools necessary to care for and raise a child.

3. “You know about Lucanis and me? Uh… I mean, he’s perfect. Right? He’s so thoughtful. About everyone, I mean, not just me. He notices what you like and what you need and then just sort of… quietly makes it happen. He’s the sweetest.” *cue blushing and idiotic grinning and happy feet kicks*

4. Naimy doesn’t own much red, and generally the color reminds her of her mother, so she avoids it. Lucanis generally isn’t nuts about red (all that Venatori fighting, probably), but he’ll answer this question with a resounding “YES.” As will Spite. The two may have conspired to go back to Gabriela for the red dress, we may never know.

5. It’ll be the shortest speech you’ve ever heard, and it will absolutely give the credit to everyone else. And then she will go hide under the covers of her bed for a year.

6. Emmrich. He’s basically her dad, and he knows what’s up. On the other hand, Illario. That fuckin’ idiot 🤦🏻‍♀️

7. Resilient, resourceful, and kind. “Uh, me? I guess… clumsy? Awkward, and… yeah I’ll take resourceful let’s go with that.”

8. “Fuck. Puzzles!”

9. Naimeryn spent years teaching herself to painstakingly re-bind a large percentage of the books in Weisshaupt’s library. She also keeps her secret plushie stash well-repaired with her embroidery skills, also self taught. So, yes.

10. She’s pretty happy with her current age. Most of her younger years kind of sucked. She’s looking forward to being older, but living in the now is working out pretty great despite the looming threat of her own damn gods.

11. Naimeryn would not have any idea what to do with all that money. Lucanis would take her on a shopping spree, but end up buying everything for her. So then Teia would have to round up Neve, Harding, and Taash for a ✨proper✨ shopping spree.

12. Naimeryn enjoyed Varric’s books, but didn’t actively seek out the romance genre until she learned it was an interest of Lucanis’s… and realized she needed to do some research.

13. The people you love most, may not be the people who love ✨you✨ the most.

14. Naimeryn isn’t guilty. It’s food. Especially trying *new* food.

15. Doing something you don’t enjoy for the benefit of people who don’t appreciate it (e.g. laundry was a waste of time in the magister’s house, but doing it for the team was an act of service everyone noticed, and therefore not a waste of time).

16. Just, *new* clothes when the old ones get wore out.

17. Naimeryn ✨does✨ like kids. She’s a little uncomfortable around them, but she enjoys seeing them happy and thriving, and is actually really good with them. I have this image in my head of her slinging spells with a baby in a wrap carrier on her back like a badass but I dunno, guess we’ll see…

18. Yes, please.

19. Obsessively. She was so nervous about her final project for Lucienne (the spinning magic orb thing) that she started studying the enchantments and mechanisms a full year before Lucienne actually assigned it to her.

20. Sloshing through literally any and all water sources. Barefoot, preferably.

21. He’d have to totally abandon who he is. Become cruel and unthinking. Leave his principles behind. Chest on her, probably. If a stranger stood where Lucanis does now, that would be the end of it for her, but she’d cling to Lucanis until the last shred of him was gone before giving up.

22. Once she finally learns what “Mia fiamma” means, she’s going to be obsessed with being called a pet name. People are going to start thinking “Fiamma” is her given name. She plays with some for Lucanis but nothing fits and she feels awkward using them.

23. A mix of both. The stability of Weisshaupt was suffocating. The novelty of adventuring wears on the body and the soul. Something in the middle might be nice, next.

24. Honesty, but tactful and gentle delivery are important. Lies are lies, no matter how well-intended.

25. There’s plenty of possibility in safety. Safe is good. Safe allows for many more things to be possible.

26. “Well, shit, neither did me much good, so who the hell knows.” 😅

27. Case by case basis. Naimeryn wanted vengeance in the cases of both Illario and Solas, but in both cases forgiveness was more important for someone she cared about, and so she chose forgiveness. If the circumstances were right, though, and it wouldn’t negatively effect anyone she loved, she could probably go the vengeance route if she felt someone deserved it (cough, cough, Calivan, Anaris, Zara, Aelia, The Dragon King…)

28. Does Lucanis count?

29. Blight dreams (cos she’s a Warden). Will these persist after-game? We shall see…

30. Being given forgiveness is not the same as deserving it. Naimeryn endeavors not to do things that will require forgiveness in the first place.

I hope y’all enjoyed this! Let me know if you’d like me to expand on any of these.

oc asks that reveal more than you think

Do they sleep with a stuffed animal? If they have multiple, who’s the favorite?

Can they take care of a plant? What about a pet? What about a child?

Ask them to describe their love interest.

Do they look good in red?

Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech! Will they give one, and what about?

Who will they take advice from, no matter what it is? Who won’t they take advice from, no matter what it is?

Describe them in three words. Now let them describe themself in three words.

Do complex puzzles intrigue or frustrate them?

Do they empathize with non-sentient things (dolls, plants, books…)?

What age do they most want to be right now?

They’ve won the lottery. Spend, or save?

Do they like romance in the books they read (or in the book they’re in)?

Name one thing their parents taught them.

Would they agree with the term ‘guilty pleasure’? Do they have any?

What would they consider a waste of time– other than school or work?

If money wasn’t a limit, what would they wear?

Do they like children?

Kissing: tongue or no tongue?

Do they study before tests? Practice before job interviews?

What do they like that nobody else does?

What would it take for them to break up with someone? What would be the last straw?

Do they like being called pet names? Do they call other people pet names? What’s their go-to?

Stability or novelty?

Honesty or charity?

Safety or possibility?

Talent or effort?

Forgiveness or vengeance (or…)?

Would they date a fixer-upper?

What recurring dreams do they have?

What would they do if they knew it would be forgiven?

[inkysdelight]

It’s Ross time baby!! NSFW at the bottom as always- have fun and stay in your seats people!

Warnings- cult like behavior, ‘triditonal values’, kind of gaslighting/cohesion at the end. Reader isn’t a very good person- and will not be a good person when his first thing comes out later today.

Ross is one of the newer members of a small church (read, cult) within the mountains. He’s just an alcolyte, though he dreams one day to be one of the high priests.. serving his god in those locked rooms in the back of the compound..wearing the high priest’s robes..haah! it’s his only dream at this point!

.hes a bit colder to people, he likes children..he just wants to coo over his own babies instead of someone else’s. Though he loves taking care of the compound’s livestock, he promises it’s not weird! He just likes the outdoors! And who could say the horses and cows aren’t just a little bit adorable?! (He’s a horse girl at heart.)

.he dosnt talk to his parents anymore. They tried to strange an intervention when he first was getting inniated to the church. He misses them a bit but he loves his place in the church more than them. It’s cruel but it’s true, and besides! Everyone lives such happy lives! He envies the wives the most

..The wives are submissive to their husbands and rule the home- why wouldnt he want to get married? Have a ton of babies with his husband and rule his household! He is a little sad he can’t show off his babies to his family one day.. but The church has rules anout talking to uninitiated family- so he shouldn’t feel bad!

he’s just doing what the true god told him to! Abandoning the non-believers to their fate of hellfire and torture for all eternity, repopulating the earth with good heathy church babies and serving his community! (He still does feel bad sometimes. He wishes he could have borough his little sister to the church with him.)

.but all that stops when he meets you! One of the Prophets! You’re higher in the church then the high priests- considered to be one of the few chosen to carry out the true god’s will!

.You met him one day when he was out tending to the farm with the other acolytes. With his cute red hair and adorably short uniform that showed off his perfect thighs. How could he not catch your eye?!

It was pathetically easy to convince his superiors to assign him to your service, just the simple request- ‘assign him to one of my aids’ and he was yours. Not fully- not yet. That part would take some time. But for now..he was yours.

(There will be more once I put out the first thing of his- I don’t want to spoil EVERYTHING. This is just pretty good for the basic intro so people have background knowledge on him..)

-NSFW BEYOND, be warned.

It’s quite a while untill you’re able to get him into your bed. High priests need to be clean after all! But eventually you convince him that it’s not firstly if you sleep with one of the tire god’s chosen! Don’t be crazy! Now get in the bed.

Again, he’s a virgin. He joined the church quite young- found out about it at 16, ran away to join it at 17. He went though public school- he knows the bare minimum of what happens. Dick goes in hole, movement, groaning, and BAM. Pregnancy and baby ensue. Teach him the fun parts about sex- once he gets over himself of staying pure to become a high priest…He’s all over you 25/8.

It’s like he’s in heat- on the counter? Sure yes of course, let him close the blinds first. In your rooms? YES GOD PLEASE YES! He’s on your bed in seconds- all but ripping his uniform off and spreading his legs. On the altar? He’s a little more apprehensive about that one- but you can convince him easily. You’re one of the true god’s prophets- you obviously know best! Again- once he kinds gets over himself he’s a moaning whore on the altar for you.

He’s a fan of getting ‘bred’ by you. Fold him in half and pound him untill he want breath he BEGS. His want to become a high priest and his want to get married and have a hundred babies wars with eachother all the time. But the thought of you breeding him? It makes him want to just quit being a high priest and become a little wife to you and a mother to your children.

Also, a very huge fan of cervix stuff. He knows most people can’t really hit it but if you can- god help you becuse he will be on your dick 24/7. He sees stars every time- it’s wonderful. And even if you can’t- just tell him about how you’ll reach it and violate his most protected space. He will fold (in half) SO FUCKING FAST. Nothing makes him squirt more or harder.

(Yes I KNOW it’s painful irl. And I KNOW it can’t really happen but like- it’s my funny fictional world. Get off my dick about it.)

And yes, he is a squirter. He looks so handsome while he does it to.. face all red, eyes rolled back into his head, mouth open as he pants for air. Call him handsome or pretty while it happens- it’ll last for much longer.

[cator99]

I always get detained at da border because PROFUNC never ended but basically I'm like if a targeted individual didn't even care

[quarterlifekitty]

Weaknesses part 5: complexes

Note: this is jokes!! Please don’t take my cartoon pathologizing too seriously!

cw: some daddy kink level stuff

Gaz has a soft spot for girls who suffer from oldest sister syndrome. Girls that are a little world weary and too grown up at too young an age from caring for others while not having people to rely on. He just loves how pleasantly surprised you are literally every time he does something helpful that you didn’t ask him to do. Doing the dishes. Spackling that hole from the picture you took down. Refilling the air in the tires. Bleaching the bathtub. Very small things— but you’re so used to being the only one who can stay on top of things. Literally the high he gets from telling you to sit down and relax is unparalleled.

Soap is, quite frankly, into girls who grew up thinking they were ugly. It’s a terribly selfish, but he likes telling you all of the dirty things he thinks of doing to you, how he feels like someone’s knocked him upside the head when you enter a room in a new outfit, how he has to take a cold shower every time you’re going out to some event and he gets to see you dressed up. Honestly, he has to take the cold showers pretty regularly. Seeing how you’re flustered, and you don’t 100% believe the things he says— so he has to put in the time to make you believe him. You’re the kind of girl boys would dare each other to ask out in middle school, and now Soap has the absolute pleasure of convincing you that sometimes you make him so turned on that he thinks he’s about to throw up.

Ghost likes outcast girls. He likes how you eye him with a little bit of suspicion when he chooses to hang around you. He sort of gets this idea in his head that he’s the only one that can handle your eccentricities— handle you. That other people are afraid to approach you but he’s not afraid of anything. That his interest in you is because honestly, he has a much more refined palate than any of the shitheads you’re surrounded by. And you know what? He likes the idea of you as a couple being the scary, freak ass couple. Two lone wolves becoming mates.

Price likes former gifted students. He loves that you’re talented and quick, yes, but he also can’t help but get excited by all of that pressure that’s on you— that you put on yourself. He gets to be the one that relieves it. He’s the one that gets to lavish you in praise, and he’s also the one who gets to pin you down and force you to take it easy for a little while. He loves gently handling any mistakes or missteps, rationally perceived or otherwise. Because he can tell no one’s ever bothered to treat you so gently, have they, sweetheart? They’ve just been content to push you to your limits and have you run yourself ragged because you’re special. You are, he won’t deny it— but you’re also a little thing that hasn’t seen enough nurturing, in his eyes.

König loves so called “high maintenance” girls. Girls with high standards who know what they want, who have gone through some partners that couldn’t take the heat. He gets a very unique sense of control out of it— knowing all of your rules, rituals, likes, dislikes. Like Ghost, he likes thinking of himself as the only person who knows how to handle you— that everyone before him has just been unworthy of you. That he is strong where others have been weak. And you know what? It’s not rotten work. Not to him. Not if it’s you. He’s just built different.

Nikolai… I’m just going to say it. He likes girls with daddy issues. He kinda throws his whole self into relationships at times, and he likes it when he can be your everything. Your love, your friend, your hero, your source of approval from an older man. And he loves a brat. Because he knows you only act that way because someone didn’t pay attention to his special girl in the past. You’re testing him— daring him, unsheathing your claws to see if he’ll flinch and he never will. He’ll endure it all and chip at your defenses until you’re the soft, satisfied, sweet girl he knows you really want to be. Lavishing you with praise and attention, bragging about you to anyone who will listen. He wants you to have a complete breakdown because you’ve been holding it all in and putting up walls for so long that you don’t even know how to cope with being in the arms of someone who will always catch you when you fall.

[xinganhao]

not for sale 💳 mingyu x reader. (3)

celebrity!mingyu and small business owner!reader. check out 🛒 not for sale's masterlist.

You can’t bring yourself to end the call. 

Your phone is overheating. You’re below the acceptable battery threshold of twenty percent. And the dark-haired boy on the other end of the screen looks more asleep than awake. 

You should end this call, but you can’t. 

Mingyu doesn’t seem keen on ending it either. His eyes are drooping and his head has begun to loll every so often. He’d spent the first couple minutes of the call talking about his day— the seemingly endless rotation of engagements that came with being a celebrity. 

Sometimes, it still strikes you as odd that this is the life you now lead. Being on FaceTime with somebody that hundreds, maybe thousands of people fawned over. 

But you were friends… right? And friends called each other. Friends texted. 

This is friendly, a small voice in the back of your head tries to convince you. So very, very friendly. 

The conversation has since mellowed out. Mingyu makes good on his word; he falls quiet, observing your work like it’s some form of entertainment for him. At one point, you even forget he’s watching. 

It’s why you’re a bit jolted when he absentmindedly mumbles, “You have nice hands.” 

You pause in the middle of bubble wrapping an order. One cursory glance at your screen, and you see that Mingyu is absolutely fighting for his life to stay awake. The sight almost makes you smile. 

“You should head to bed soon,” you say instead of addressing his compliment. “We’ve been on call for— what? Two hours, I think.” 

Mingyu says something too low for you to catch. You give a noncommittal hum of ‘hmm?’, prompting him to repeat what he’d said. 

And maybe he’s just tired enough to decide fuck it. Maybe it’s past midnight and that makes everything fair game. 

Because Mingyu breathes out a quiet “not enough,” and you swear something screeches to a halt in your brain. Two hours. Not enough. 

You swallow. He’s out of it, you think to yourself, your fingers quivering a bit as you cut, tape, seal. He’s sleep-deprived and talking out of his ass. 

That’s what gives you the audacity to ask what’s been on your mind for days now. 

“Mingyu,” you ask, “why do you want to be an ambassador for Bittersweet?” 

A beat. One that stretches long enough for you to wonder if Mingyu had finally succumbed to his exhaustion. 

But then, his voice— quiet, but not any less sincere— rings over the line. “Because I like your jewelry.” 

Plain and simple. You’re not sure why you expected more. 

He goes on, his tone a little softer, slower. “I like what you’ve done with the business. I like… how hard you work. Your passion. All that.”

Mingyu pauses to yawn. You glance over to see him smiling into his phone, his half-lidded gaze trained on your hands moving over your workbench. It makes his next words a one-two punch on your poor heart. 

“Your brand may be called ‘Bittersweet’,” he says, “but you’re as sweet as they come.” 

EXCERPTS FROM "MINGYU opens up on being named Rising Star of the Year"

Q: Earlier this year, the Internet fell in love with you for being an ‘advocate for small businesses.’ You’ve seemed to take it a step further, though. 

MINGYU: [laughs] Is that what they’ve been saying? I had no idea. But, yes— the pieces I have on right now are from a small business. It’s called Bittersweet Jewelry, and it’s something I found one day while scrolling through SNS. 

Q: You didn’t know the seller prior to purchasing? 

MINGYU: No, not at all. They didn’t even know it was me. I used an alias for a while. 

Q: I see. A lot of people believe your support has been reflective of your personality. Being caring, considerate. 

MINGYU: That’s very nice. I appreciate that. Although, if I’m being honest, I’m just a guy who likes good jewelry. I admire consistency, quality. [holds up his rings] These have it in spades. 

Q: That’s why you keep coming back to brands like Bittersweet. 

MINGYU: Sure. We could say that.  

[...]

THE TOP FIVE SONGS MINGYU HAS BEEN PLAYING ON REPEAT LATELY

Love Me Like That by Sam Kim

Linger by The Cranberries

Tadhana by Up Dharma Down

If You Do by GOT7

LMLY by Jackson Wang

[...]

Q: What do you look for in a partner? 

MINGYU: Now, Minghao… [laughs] 

Q: Sorry. The readers want to know. 

MINGYU: I’m never going to escape this question, am I? Give me a minute to think about it. 

Q: Sure. 

MINGYU: [after a moment] I’d like somebody dedicated and passionate. Someone sweet. And… 

Q: And? 

MINGYU: Someone with nice hands, I guess. [smiles] 

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[invoncible]

FAILSAFE ✧˚. 00 / PROLOGUE There's only a handful of people with the skillset to raise a gifted child.

knock, knock

Debbie stopped in her tracks. She just closed the door on a potential nanny who was, unsurprisingly, working for Cecil. Was he so desperate to keep tabs on her and her family that he would send these poor employees to wait at her door day in and day out?

She rolled her eyes as she turned around, walking back to the front entrance. He could send as many as he wanted. She wasn't going to budge—and she'd show him by sending away the next agent he put on her doorstep.

"Hi! I'm April Howsam, here for the nanny position?" The woman greeted cheerfully. "This is my aide, Y/N."

You peeked out from behind your mentor, offering a small wave and polite smile.

Debbie's tired eyes darted between you both but before she could put her foot down, April spoke up.

"Before we begin, you should know that Cecil sent us. Now, I wasn't supposed to tell you, but I think it's unacceptable to mislead a potential employer." April clutched her files close to her chest, her brows furrowing. "Especially one looking for someone to take care of their child."

Your gaze landed on Debbie's face, studying her shock with a hopeful heart. A moment of silence passed, but it wasn't uncomfortable or awkward, rather... like an understanding was being shared.

"Please come in." Debbie stepped back, her eyes holding onto a shred of suspicion but clearing the way for you and April to enter her home nonetheless.

You both smiled at her as you shuffled in, the scent of a clean home infiltrating your nostrils almost immediately. Everything was in place—pillows, rugs, art... It was clear Debbie ran her home diligently.

The door clicked shut behind you, Debbie joining you in the foyer. April handed her the file with your resumes.

"As you can see, I have extensive experience working with gifted children ranging from newborns to late teens." April explained as you rounded the corner.

Your eyes lit up upon seeing the baby in question; the cutest little grape-colored boy crawling on the ground. Your lips broke into a smile, mouthing a little hi! and fluttering your fingers in his direction.

He raised his head to look at you, tilting in confusion slightly before crouching lower to the floor like a lion cub about to pounce. He pushed himself up to his feet and returned his efforts to his excursion across the living room.

"So you know that Oliver is..."

"Half Thraxan, half Viltrumite." April answered. "I also know that Nolan Grayson is Oliver's father, and your son, Mark, is Oliver's half-brother."

"You've been thoroughly briefed, I see." Debbie's eyes lifted off the pages in front of her to glance at you and your mentor.

"Yes, we have," April turned to you with a warm smile, reaching an arm around your shoulder and bringing you into the conversation.

"And—I'm sorry, what's the purpose for both of you?" Debbie asked.

"Thraxans are known to grow quickly. I can foster Oliver's learning and mental abilities just fine, but he'll need someone younger who can keep up with him should he want to play outside, for example." April gestured to you. "Which is where Y/N comes in."

"Ah." Debbie's head tilted in acknowledgment, her lips pursing in thought.

"While I don't have the experience April does, my whole life has been centered around taking care of kids." You piped in, glancing at April for reassurance. She nodded kindly.

Debbie raised an eyebrow. "How old are you?"

"19." You answered quickly. Debbie's face fell just a smidge but you quickly continued, "Finished school at 16, spent the years since learning April's trade. You can rest assured I am well equipped to handle Oliver."

Confidence restored, if only a little bit, Debbie smiled. April waved to Oliver as he approached you.

"My philosophy on child-rearing is simple. Encourage a child's natural curiosity," April bumped your shoulder, handing you a teething toy and nodding towards Oliver. "while giving him structure and a safe space to grow."

You swiftly caught up to him, gently holding onto his wrist before he pulled out a pair of scissors from the plant pot. He whined, but you dangled the toy in front of him as a peace offering.

"How about this one?" You hummed. He grabbed it without any fussing, ditching the scissors. You watched him waddle away with a small smile and handed the scissors back to Debbie.

"I also play a mean lullaby on the ukulele." April joked lightheartedly.

Debbie sighed, putting the scissors away at a safe height before dropping onto the couch. "I appreciate your honesty. I just don't want a GDA agent in my house running interference for Cecil on how to raise Oliver."

"There's only a handful of people in the world with my skillset." April flattened her hand over her chest emphatically. "And I'm choosy with who I pass those skills onto. This allows me and my mentee freedom from government oversight. We work for you, Ms. Grayson. Not Cecil."

"You're the boss." You emphasized. Your attention was drawn to Oliver who was sat at Debbie's feet, toying with the teething ring.

"Mama boss." He chirped, twisting to look at her. Debbie instantly smiled, scooping him up in her arms.

"See? Oliver knows who's in charge." April's eyes closed as she laughed brightly, leaning back slightly in her chair. You couldn't help but go awwww at the endearing sight. You had worked with many kids over the last three years, but none as young as Oliver yet.

Debbie smiled, a low sigh passing through her lips. "Let's do it."

[]

Debbie left you both to your devices, deciding to take a meeting with her company to see how she could integrate her way back into her full-time schedule. She still kept a close eye on you, setting up on the kitchen island while she took calls.

"Alright." April cooed, pulling the coffee table out of the way to free up more open space in the living room. "What do you say we assess your abilities, Oliver?"

He babbled happily and April chuckled sweetly as she pulled out her checklist and notepad.

You sensed a break in Debbie's meetings, getting up and strolling into the kitchen area. "Do you mind if I grab a glass of water?"

"Oh, not at all. Help yourself." She smiled over her computer, fingers clacking away at her keyboard.

You thanked her, opening the fridge and pouring a glass. The fridge door swayed shut, revealing Debbie on the other side. You jumped slightly at her sudden appearance, eyes snapping to where she was just sitting.

"You're the same age as my son, you know." She began.

"Yes," You answered smoothly, refilling the pitcher and shelving it back in the fridge. "Mark Grayson. Invincible's a pretty big name right now."

"Ugh, I know." She groaned, a bitter glare focused on the floor.

You cast her a quizzical look before she quickly shook her head of her frown, clarifying, "I'm so happy for Mark, really. But I just worry sometimes. He's working so hard, and Cecil doesn't make it any easier for him—"

You laugh softly, calming her ranting to a stop. "Oh, believe me. I get it. Cecil doesn't make anything easy for anyone."

She smiled appreciatively. "It's so... refreshing to have people I can talk to about all of this, even the GDA."

The Graysons were a popular name at the GDA, what with Omni-man's betrayal, Mark's penchant for attracting the worst kinds of enemies, and now the new baby. You were well aware of Debbie's situation, her burden—it was one of the reasons you jumped at the offer for this case.

"Like April said, we don't work for the GDA and we have a wide skill set." You leaned against the countertop beside her. "Whatever counseling you need, or if you just need to vent, I'll listen. Nothing leaves this house."

She paused, considering your words. Debbie was smart. Even smarter to be naturally distrusting of anyone who is a part of her or her sons' lives. You and April were convincing enough, though, to make her lower her guard just a little bit.

"Yeah." She whispered, eyes creasing with a genuine smile. "I'd... I'd like that. I tried something and... it didn't really work out." Her face drooped, her waterline growing glossy as she recounted trying her luck with the support group.

Her moment of reminiscing shattered when her phone buzzed. "Uh... another time. Rain check?" She chuckled, rounding back to her station and answering the call.

"Of course." You smiled politely when she met your eyes, sipping from your glass.

You wondered how long it would take them to find out you're lying through your teeth.

[]

Mark wanted to drop dead after spending hours trying to do the exact opposite. But no—he negotiated with Cecil for a few days off so he could spend time with Amber. He wasn't going to crash when he had to prepare for their date tomorrow. He wouldn't forgive himself if he slept in.

Dusting off his sweater and pants as he flew back home, he quietly slipped in the back of the house. It was dark, as expected. His mom was usually asleep during this time, Oliver included on a good day.

It seemed to be a good day.

He wiped his shoes on the mat at his feet, trudging into the kitchen for a quick snack before bed. He had to be up early if he wanted to beat the crowds at the Comic Convention.

He froze when he heard Oliver's sniffles. His head twitched to the side, tuning out the low buzz of the fridge to listen in. He heard a voice—light and sweet, comforting, but most definitely not his mother's.

Panic snaked its way around his heart and tugged, his breath short as he bolted up the stairs. He stood tensely in the hallway, peering into his mother's room to see her untouched bed.

His brows furrowed as he burst into Oliver's room. "Oliver—?"

You and Oliver both flinched at the sudden intrusion, staring up at Mark with saucers for eyes. Oliver giggled happily, reaching out for his brother.

Mark lunged forward. Not to embrace his brother, no—his hand curled around your throat instead, driving you into the wall behind you.

You gasped sharply, eyes screwing shut as the force knocked the wind from your lungs. You clawed at his arm, feet kicking helplessly with nothing to stand on. "Wait—"

He hovered over your squirming body mercilessly, squeezing to watch you splutter.

"Who are you?"

© invoncible

[no-144444]

guilt tripping- o.piastri

summary: oscar asks something of you that you know you can't do. you do it anyway and it ends in you two almost breaking up. almost.

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! chronic illness! reader

a/n: hey yall, I just broke two ribs (lol) and got diagnosed with a chronic illness (lmao) so I might not be posting as frequently- just dealing with it physically and mentally so yah 😹

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“I don’t know if I can go,” you sighed, feeling even worse. 

“That’s alright,” he assured you, but you could hear the way his excitement depleted and his mood lowered. 

“M-maybe I can work something out, I don’t want to leave you alone,” your guilt grew everyday, this wasn’t healthy for either of you. 

“I don’t want you over-exerting yourself,” he spoke softly into the phone. “I’ll just ask mum if she has any friends that want to go or something. She always brings a million people with her.”

“I don’t want to leave you hanging Oscar. Melbourne is a big race. I’d be happy to come over like a week before, and then come to the race once I’ve had a few days to heal,” you bargained. A 22 hour connecting flight was not something you’d ever wanted to do. You couldn’t do it. You knew the pain would be too bad, yet you still stood there, offering it anyway. “And then I’d come for the race on Sunday, or just small bits on all the days.”

“Really?” his voice picked up, excited now. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure Osc, I love seeing you race,” your smile was more of a grimace than anything, but still, the guilt in your chest lessened as you listened to Oscar speak animatedly about the race weekend, while your anxiety ran through the roof. You couldn’t do all the things he wanted you to do, you never could. This had been a problem at the beginning of your relationship, every time he’d plan a date that wasn’t dinner or a movie, you’d have to break the news that a 15 kilometre hike wasn’t something you’d be able to do on a whim. Things like that took planning, physio, and preparation. Your chronic illness was no joke, and had limited you since you were a teenager. In the past few years he’d gotten much better at everything, from helping you with your physio exercises, attending pilates classes with you, knowing what to do on bad pain days, and always looking out for you in public. You knew he was just getting away with himself, and you didn't want to disappoint, so you agreed to it all, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t be a bad week of pain or flare-ups wise. 

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You got into Melbourne and sobbed when you got in the car. Thankfully, it was Hattie picking you up, so she just held your hand as you silently cried, the joint and too much to bear. You went straight to bed as Hattie explained to the rest of the house that you were exhausted, and Oscar took it at face value. You usually get extremely tired after long days, and you’d just had a 22-hour day of travel. 

“I’ll go check on her-” he started, desperate to see you but Hattie cut him off. 

“NO!” she squeaked, trying to not sound suspicious. Oscar raised an eyebrow. “She’s really tired and she’s already gone to sleep.”

“Yeah, well I’m tired so I’m going to bed,” he explained, stretching then yawning. 

“Osc,” Hattie sighed, knowing she had to tell him. “She’s not… alright. She can’t do 22 hour travel days like you or I can. She has Lupus and she’s still trying to figure out her medication, so it hurts all the time. She cried from the airport to here, all to support you because you asked her to, and she feels guilty every single time she can’t say yes. She’s done real damage to herself by coming here. I want you to understand that, do you understand that?” 

Oscar nodded, because the other option was breaking down into tears. Yes, he’d felt guilty that he couldn’t be there to take care of you while travelling, and he knew he was asking a lot of you when he asked. The guilt settled deep in his stomach and made him nauseous, but still he continued on to his bedroom where you were sleeping peacefully. He could see the puffy eyes, the red nose, the open bottles of medication on the nightstand. He wrapped an arm around your waist, another in your hair and pulled you as close as possible, whispering teary sorrys into your ear. 

When you woke up the next morning, you knew what you had to do. This wasn’t fair on either of you, and you needed to make a change. You quickly (but silently) got up, and started to leave the room, but Oscar grabbed ahold of your hand before you could leave. 

“Please don’t sneak out on me,” he begged, sitting up. He looked wrecked, puffy eyes, red rose- had he been crying? God, had you made him cry? 

“Osc, what’s wrong?” you asked, concern clear as day on your face as you cupped his face with your hands.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I knew I was asking too much when I asked you to come here, I’m so sorry.”

Your heart tightened in your chest. “Osc, I’m alright, I was just tired last night and-”

“Hattie told me,” his voice was deep, deeper than usual, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your hand. “And I’m so sorry.”

“Osc, I could’ve said no if I didn’t think I was able for it,” you tried to reassure him but he shook his head. 

“Y/n, you did say no and I didn’t take it as an answer,” he scoffed. 

You were stunned into silence. “I think we need to have a talk about us, Osc.”

He nodded, taking your hands in his. 

“This isn’t fair on you. I know I can't control my illness, and neither can you. It sucks, but it’s a fact. I wish I could be there for every single race and cheer you on with the other girls, but I can’t. It’s not in the cards for me right now, and I don’t know when it will be. Oscar, I love you so much, and you’ve been with me through everything and I know you deserve someone who can always be there for you, and I’m not that person right now. I love you but I know it’s not enough,” You finally looked at him and he was biting his lip as tears streamed down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and stood up, dropping your hands as he paced his bedroom. “You know how much I love you, don’t you?” he asked and you nodded as you held back more tears. “So you know that I still feel your support even when we’re in different time zones or on different continents, right? You know that I value you being in as little pain as possible more than being at the barricade after a race, right? You know that I fucking love you more than I love racing, right? Y/n, I’ve been here the entire time, since we were 14 years old. You’re the reason I get in the car, you make me better, all the time it’s just you. I plan on being with you for my whole life, Y/n. I want to be there for everything. I plan to sit there through every appointment about medication until you find the one that actually helps you, I plan on being there for every day where you don’t feel up to it, I plan on being there for you, always. I never want to let go of you, and yeah, it is nice to be able to see you after a race, and I know that because fucking facetime exists. If you still want to break up because I fucked up by asking you to come here, go ahead, but don’t ever think that I’m without because I’m with you. I am so in love with you, Y/n. I mean it. I want to marry you one day, I want a family with you, I want to be old with you so we get to reminisce on the good ol’ days and make some more while we have time. ‘The good ol’ days’ will be the days I spend with you. More than any race win, more than any trophy, or than anything. My favourite part about a race weekend is coming home because I know no matter what my result was, you’ll be there with open arms, loving me anyways. You’re more than enough for me.”

You crossed the room and wrapped your arms around him, crying into his hoodie as he held you. “I love you too.”

After a few moments of both of you calming down, he finally spoke. “Can you forgive me for being such an asshole?” he asked, wiping his eyes. 

You nodded, a small smile on your face. “I can, can you forgive me for being such an idiot?”

He chuckled. “You’re no idiot,” he picked you up and gently placed you back on the bed lying beside you. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[niwaart]

Doctor! Male! Reader X Batfam ( part1, part2, part3, part4..)

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Part 2

When Damian finds out he has a brother... a half-brother... and that his brother is older than him, he feels threatened. Why is he threatened? For two reasons. The first is that his position as Robin might be stolen, and the second is that his father will pay more attention to his older brother... and he's not proud to call him his brother. So the day after Bruce visits the hospital where Y/N works, Damian decides to observe and test his new brother. Is he strong? Is he smart? How many villains has he fought? Does he have a sad past? That's what Damian will discover.

In the evening before midnight, Y/N was roaming the hospital corridors, making sure the kids returned to his office where he was sleeping. Since Gotham never sleeps, that means a lot of emergencies, a lot of injured people, and a lot of busy doctors. So the best solution for Y/N is to sleep in his office instead of going to his apartment and returning to the hospital in case of an emergency. So when Y/N opened the door to his office, he let out a cry of fear when he saw little Robin searching through his things with papers scattered everywhere. Y/N looked at Robin who didn’t care about Y/N’s presence and continued searching. Y/N remained silent for a moment trying to understand what was going on. “You… Robin?”

"Yes... you are doctor Y/N Wayne?" Robin said when he sat on the Y/N seat after giving up from find anything except the lollipops.

Y/n looked at little Robin in confusion "How I can help you, little Robin?"

"Don't call me little! I'm not a little!" Y/N had a wry smile on his face After seeing little Robin's reaction.

"Oh?... then... tiny Robin?" Damian's face turned red with anger.

"I'm not a tiny!!" Y/N burst out laughing as he pointed his finger up and down at Damian.

Damian's dignity as Robin was at stake from Y/N's laughing so he jumped out of the chair trying to grab Y/N who ran away into the empty hallways with little Robin chasing after him.

"And I thought the Robins can fly!" Y/N said as he continued to run away from little Robin until he reached the back garden of the hospital.

Y/N is used to running away, after all he is a doctor who took care of Gotham's homeless children. But the person he's running from isn't just any ordinary kid in Gotham, it's Batman's son Robin. Damian jumps over Y/N and Y/N falls face down on the ground.

"I got you! You won't escape me! Now take back what you said!" Little Robin said as he put his weight on top of the helpless Y/N beneath him.

Y/N grabbed his poor nose and said in a written voice "I've said a lot in my life, so I don't know what I'm supposed to take back."

"You definitely know! Take back everything you said about me! Now!" Little Robin said impatiently. While Y/N smiled broadly.

"Okay, okay, I will take my words back.... Robin isn't strong... happy?" Y/N moved his head slightly to see Little Robin's expression and smiled in satisfaction when he saw Little Robin's teeth chattering in anger, but he was surprised when Robin got up from above him and walked away from him.

"You are not worth my precious time." Little Robin said surprisingly calmly.

Y/N laughed as he got up from the ground and cleaned his clothes from the fall in the garden. "aww, i pull my words back, Robins is so cute."

Robin turned to Y/N angrily but eventually sighed and walked back into the hospital to Y/N's office. Y/N happily followed him, "So, little Robin, tell me why you were in my office earlier? Am I a criminal? Could it be that I'm a sleepwalker? Oh my god that's creepy."

Damian mumbled incomprehensible words in Arabic in annoyance as Y/N chattered over his head. When they arrived at Y/N's office, Y/N sat in his chair tiredly, the chase between him and Damian was fun but tiring.

" I came here because I want to know about you, how strong you are and what your weakness is..." Y/N looked at little Robin in surprise. About him? His strength? His weakness? What?

"Ahh... I don't understand what do you mean, little Robin, but here all I can give is that." Y/N handed little Robin a strawberry lollipop. Damian looked at the lollipop in disbelief, Really? Is he a child to Y/N?

"I don't want it.." Damian looked at Y/N angrily. “I want you to tell me about yourself! What is your use in life! Prove yourself!”

"huh?... well, I'm a doctor?.. is that satisfying you?" Damian almost screamed in frustration as he felt his mind tear apart with anger and resignation. As he tried to calm himself down, Y/N unwrapped the lollipop and placed it in Robin's little mouth who was surprised by the gesture. But he gave in and kept it in his mouth. "you are annoying."

"I know that" Y/N winked at Damian In enjoyment. "I like your company, little Robin, but you have to go home now. It's the middle of the night and I want to sleep."

Little Robin looked at Y/N for a few moments before turning and walking to the window to leave. "I will back. And I will find about you.." With these words, little Robin disappeared as Y/N laid his head on his desk to sleep with a smile on his face.

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"So, Robin? What did you find?" Bruce said in a hoarse voice from exhaustion as he searched the bat's computer for a new case.

"Nothing interesting, he is boring, just a doctor... annoying doctor.." Damian groaned as he remembered the nickname Y/N had given him... Little Robin.

Bruce looked at his son with a raised eyebrow. "I didn't know you liked lollipops.." before Bruce could continue Damian ran inside the manor. Bruce sighed and then turned his focus back to the computer in front of him. "Kids are weird... but do I look old?"

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That was funny 🤣🤣 we are at the beginning of making Damian a real yandere!

@roxy776699

@missmannequin

[fluentmoviequoter]

Being Replaced

The Bradfords Series Masterlist (5/?)

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

Summary: During your yearly physical, your doctor brings up a surprising series of questions. You take several tests, and as you continue policing, you forget to tell Tim about what you're waiting to find out. When Lucy overhears your conversation, she wants to know everything.

Warnings: discussions of pregnancy/menstrual cycles + symptoms, fluff, brief angst, banter, protective!Tim

Word Count: 3.0k+ words

Tim sighs when Lucy slows on their way to the shop.

“What are you looking for?” he inquires.

“Mom,” she answers. “Where is she? I didn’t see her during roll call.”

“She’ll be here later. Let’s go, boot.”

“Why isn’t she here now?”

“Why are you still asking questions instead of getting in the shop?” Tim counters, his patience wearing thin. “Now, Chen.”

Lucy looks around once more, then leads Tim to the garage. As she sits in the passenger seat, she considers texting you. She notices Tim’s relaxed grip on the steering wheel and decides that you must be okay. If there was something wrong, Tim would show it even if he denied it. When you get to work later today, Lucy will ask you herself.

“The guy that robbed my apartment is going to trial this week,” Lucy says. “Prosecutor said he has over a dozen people testifying.”

Tim shakes his head slightly and raises his fingers from the steering wheel. “Why do I need to know that?”

“It’s called sharing. When two people care about each other-“

“Stop.”

“But, I-“

“Stop.”

Tim looks at Lucy as dispatch alerts them of a nearby call, and she changes the subject to focus on the matter at hand.

While Tim and Lucy deescalate a fight at a high-end cookware store and take details from the employees about the preceding robbery, you flip through a magazine. Stopping at a page with a ‘Couple Compatibility Test,’ you roll your eyes. The magazines in the waiting room are well over a decade old, yet you read the first question and smile. You and Tim would undoubtedly fail one of these tests, but you’ve already proved to be great together. A few pages later, someone calls your name, and you abandon the magazine to follow a nurse’s assistant into the heart of the doctor’s office.

You get weighed, your height is checked, and then you sit patiently as your temperature, pulse, oxygen levels, and blood pressure are measured. After thanking the assistant, you sit alone on the examination table to wait for the doctor. Nothing is wrong; you’re just here for a yearly check-up and physical, yet you’re hit suddenly by a feeling that something unexpected is coming.

“Whoa, this is nice!” Lucy exclaims as she runs her fingers over the lid of a Dutch oven.

“It’s one of our best sellers,” an employee interjects. “Luckily this stuff is heavy so the thief couldn’t have gotten away with much.”

Tim ignores their conversation to look around the store. By the seasonal sale display at the front, he looks out the window and sighs. “They could if they had a vehicle parked outside.”

“What?” Lucy asks, moving toward Tim. “How did they do that without opening the door more than once? This is a state-of-the-art security system.”

“Is that what they said?” he asks quietly. “The sensor on this door can be tricked with a magnet. That’s why the alarm wasn’t responded to, I’d guess. Short enough disruption that the dispatchers figured it was a false alarm.”

“Officers?” the second (and more helpful) employee calls. “I have a list of the missing items.”

Tim takes the printed sheet of paper and reads the first few items before looking to the bottom. “15 items worth $4,000. Is that before tax?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is that important?” Lucy asks.

“Only if they try to resell it.” He turns to the employees to explain that several detectives are on their way and will have many of the same questions and need the same list.

“Call if you need anything else,” Lucy urges them, leaving her card on the counter.

Tim stops outside the door and looks at the tire marks on the concrete. He straightens and follows them until they lighten and disappear around a corner.

“The merchandise was transferred somewhere near here, or moved to a larger vehicle. Whatever cart they had all that stuff in to begin with was weighed down,” Tim tells Lucy. “Let the detectives know.”

“Overall, you’re very healthy,” your doctor says after her exam. “There are a few questions I’d like to ask. Have you noticed any swelling or bloating in your abdomen?”

“A bit,” you admit.

“Missing or late periods?”

“I’m about a week and a half late. It’s happened before, my gyno said it was nothing to worry about.”

“Okay. And, last one, have you experienced any nausea or vomiting? Especially any occurring around the same time as the swelling?”

“There have been a few mornings I’ve been really nauseous, but I haven’t actually gotten sick.”

She nods as she jots a few notes on her tablet. After a moment, she asks, “Are you going to work today?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m supposed to be there in about twenty minutes actually.”

Setting the tablet aside, she leans forward and rests her elbows on her legs. “I want to run a pregnancy test. I’m not thoroughly convinced you are or even could be pregnant, but I’m also not willing to say you’re completely in line with last year’s physical based on some of those symptoms. Unfortunately, we can’t get it all done before you need to leave.”

“I…” You trail off, trying to process what she’s telling you. You don’t feel pregnant, but now that you think about the swelling, the nausea, and the other changes you’ve experienced, you don’t know what to think. “Could I call later to get the results?”

“That is an excellent idea.” She calls a nurse into the room and instructs her to prepare a pregnancy test. “I’m going to give you my cell number,” she tells you. “Whenever you have time, whether it’s today, tonight, or tomorrow, give me a call and I’ll go over the results with you. When’s the last time you ate or drank?”

“About eight hours ago because my shifts were oddly spaced this week,” you remember.

“In that case, I’d like to run a blood test to check your hormone levels as well. We’ll get you out of here in less than ten minutes. Do you have any other questions for me?”

“No. Thank you,” you reply.

In the empty room, you stare at the wall and try to think but don’t come up with anything before the nurse returns to give you directions.

“What’s up with your boot?” Angela asks, sitting across from Tim at their favorite food truck. Tim mumbles an answer, to which she raises her brows.

“She misses my wife,” Tim says. “Has been asking about her all day.”

“Where is she?” Angela inquires.

Tim groans, but he’s saved by Lucy yelling your name. Tim looks up, but you’re locked in conversation with Bishop. She lays her hand on your upper arm, and after a moment, you smile and nod. She walks past you and toward her shop as you move farther into the circle of food trucks.

“Hello,” you greet as you approach your fellow officers. “Nolan, you’re with me for the rest of shift.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies.

“I think you and Bishop planned this,” Angela muses.

“We absolutely did,” you answer with a smile. “Her appointment got changed last week.”

“Appointment for what?” Lucy asks.

“Yearly physical. We got them on the same day in year one, so we tend to go around the same time every year.”

“Oh, that’s where you’ve been. Dad wouldn’t tell me.”

“Dad?” Angela repeats with a brow raised.

“It’s because they argue like parents,” Jackson explains. Tim turns to glare at him, so Jackson raises his hands and defends, “We all know it; don’t shoot the messenger.”

“You let your boot call you Dad, Timothy?”

Tim turns his glare to you, but his brows drop momentarily. He can read you well – too well. You send him a small smile to communicate that you’re okay. Tim is your husband and is possibly going to become a father soon, so you need to tell him. But something makes you pause.

“She’s persistent,” you answer for Tim. “And he cares.”

“He loves me,” Lucy agrees.

Tim pulls his eyes from you but can’t berate Lucy before a speeding car drives by with several people screaming in the trunk. Everyone at the table jumps up and runs to their respective shop. You completely forget that you may be carrying precious cargo.

“Where’s Officer Bradford?” Tim asks Nolan as he and Lucy enter the station.

Nolan points to a nearby hallway, and Lucy begins talking to him about the car chase. Tim follows Nolan’s direction to find you. He slows when he hears your voice, then stops.

“Hi,” you greet before saying your name and providing your phone number. “Sorry for calling late, but I had some time and wanted to ask about the results of the pregnancy and blood tests. If you can give me a call back when you have some time, I’d appreciate it. Thank you.”

You turn, then freeze at the sight of a wide-eyed Tim Bradford. Your mouth opens, but words fail you.

“I should have told you,” you begin.

“You’re pregnant?” he exclaims, finally moving closer to you.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t- but you could be?”

“Well, I didn’t think so, but then the doctor started asking all of these questions and I answered them and apparently that made her think I could be. Honestly, Tim, if I thought I was, you would’ve been the first person I talked to, you know that.”

“Why’d you get a blood test?” he asks.

“Hormone levels.”

Tim nods, then takes your hand. “Do you want to be pregnant?”

“I want to have kids with you, someday, but… Don’t you think I would have felt something? If I’m pregnant and had no idea, what kind of mother would I be?”

Tim presses his lips together, then says, “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

His lips quirk up at the corners, and you laugh. Falling forward against his chest, you complain, “And you’re the expert on human reproduction.”

“I’m getting pretty good at understanding you, I think.”

“Bradford!” Wade calls. He sees your hand slide off of Tim’s waist, and though he can’t see you, adds, “And Bradford, Metro got ambushed looking for your thief from this morning. We need you in the bullpen. Now.”

“You can sit this one out,” Tim says softly.

You shake your head and say, “I’m not leaving. We- when we find out, we’ll go from there.”

Tim hesitates, then nods and follows you to the bullpen.

Tim hovers. Since you started dating, you have known that he’s protective, caring, and doting when no one is looking, but this is different. Even the mere idea that you could be carrying his baby makes him move closer to you. He keeps his arm within inches of you, and his hand seems to be halfway to your stomach. As you receive instructions for extracting the Metro team, you struggle to keep your attention off of Tim and how much you love him.

“Officer Bradford,” Wade says. “Bradfords, actually, I want you two guarding the southern exit. This warehouse is laid out in a split-level configuration, so the only door on the south side has a second-floor exit. Metal grate stairs lead up to the door, and that’s where we need your cover.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply.

Tim glances at you, then nods. He doesn’t want you working this specific job, you’re sure, but an entire team of your friends, your brothers, and sisters in arms, are in danger; you’re not going to leave them there for a restless night of sleep, not knowing if you’re pregnant or not while Tim puts himself in danger.

You glance at the wire hanging from the earpiece tucked carefully into your ear. With your hair pulled out of its usual hairstyle and secured away from your face and off your neck, you resist the urge to fan yourself. Los Angeles isn’t always hot like some people think, but it’s a warm night, and the disturbing heat radiating from the metal wall beside you has the potential to make you miserable.

“Watch your step,” Tim requests quietly.

You slow several steps from the second-floor door and glance over your shoulder. “The landing isn’t big enough for one of us to stand and the door to open.”

Tim moves to the step behind you, his chest pressed against your back as he looks at the top of the stairs. “If someone walks out, grab the closest body part and throw them.”

“Where?” you ask, your brows raised dramatically.

“Over the rail, down to me, I don’t care, but don’t give them time to grab you or raise a weapon.”

“Is this how Lucy feels all the time?” you muse, turning to face the building.

“Car approaching from the west,” Angela alerts in your earpiece.

“Thermal scans show at least a dozen people inside,” a SWAT officer announces. “Two are moving south.”

“Be careful,” Tim tells you as you move your foot to the top step.

The door opens, and you grab the unsuspecting man’s arm and pull forward, twisting your hips as he trips down the steps. He extends his arms to catch his fall, and his gun slips through the grate before his wrists shatter on impact. His strangled scream of pain is silenced when his face meets the metal step beneath him. Unconscious, he slides down a step and stops at Tim’s feet.

Tim looks at him, then back up at you. He raises a finger to remind you that there’s one more. Watching the door, you see it begin to open before it clicks closed again. You wrap your fingers around the handle while Tim handcuffs the unconscious gunman behind you. Pulling the door open, you don’t hear Tim’s warning hiss.

There’s no one inside, so you let the door close again. Less than thirty seconds later, the door opens again, but you’re too close, and only an arm exits. You’re pulled inside as Tim moves his hands up the rails. The door locks behind you, but Tim jumps over the man on the stairs and radios to alert other officers of your entry. Kneeling on the top step, he shoots up through the lock to ensure he can’t accidentally hit you if you’re still standing by the door, then rushes in, his gun raised.

Simultaneously, three different SWAT teams enter the warehouse and begin yelling demands. Tim lowers his gun and looks at you, standing above the man who pulled you inside.

“I told you to stay back from the door,” Tim says.

“Well, I couldn’t pull him through a half-closed door, could I?” you counter.

Tim sighs, then pulls you against his chest and hugs you tightly. It’s quick, and he steps back before you can get your hands around his waist. As officers rush up the stairs to assist you, someone alerts you that there’s one missing suspect.

“My car’s close,” Tim tells you. “Let’s go find this guy and go home.”

Tim’s plan to get home quickly doesn’t work, and the sun is rising over Los Angeles when you finally hear that the last suspect has been taken into custody. Dropping your head back against the headrest, you sigh. A moment later, your phone rings.

“It’s the doctor,” you tell Tim.

He pulls over in an industrial area and shifts into Park. You tap your screen to answer the call and put the phone on speaker before you greet your doctor.

“Good morning, I hope I didn’t wake you,” she says.

“No, ma’am, you didn’t,” you assure her.

“Alright, well, first, sorry I missed your call last night. And, most importantly, I have your tests back. The short answer is that you are not pregnant.”

Tim takes your hand, and you squeeze his fingers.

“In my opinion, you’re experiencing a pseudopregnancy,” she explains. “Following your most recent ovulation, your prolactin levels remained elevated while your progesterone took a dramatic dip. I’d also guess that some of the emotional difficulties of your jobs played a role in causing the false pregnancy. That combination of psychological and hormonal factors likely contributed to your symptoms. Based on the blood tests, your hormone levels should regulate soon, and I’d recommend you take it easy and eat well, get good rest, and assist your hormones in balancing however you can.”

“Will do, doctor,” you reply. “Thank you.”

After you end the call, Tim brushes his thumb against your hand and waits until you turn in your seat.

“Are you disappointed?” he asks.

“No,” you confess. “I don’t think I’m really anything. I was so confused and taken back by everything she said that I didn’t really think about it either way.”

“When or if you are ready for that test to be positive, I’ll be right here,” Tim promises.

His phone rings, and he rolls his eyes before he says, “Yes, Chen?”

“Hey, Lucy!” you add.

“Oh, good, I need to talk to both of you,” she says. “Tim, can you help me get reservations for Friday night?”

“Do you think I’m your assistant, Chen?” he barks into the phone.

“Is that a no?”

Tim doesn’t answer, so you ask, “Another date with Alex?”

“Yes!” Lucy exclaims. “But I need a new outfit, which is what I wanted to ask you about.”

“We can go shopping tomorrow after end of shift if you want.”

“I do! And if you can change Dad’s mind, I’ll bake you cookies.”

“Don’t bribe my wife,” Tim interrupts.

He taps his phone screen and sighs. You laugh as he steers the car back onto the road and drives toward the station to get his truck.

“She’s more work than a baby would be,” Tim complains.

“Does that mean you’re going to help her?”

“Not until I get some time with you that she doesn’t interrupt.”

“Yet you answered her phone call without hesitation,” you muse.

“And you hid your pregnancy from your husband.”

Tim’s phone lights up, displaying that his call from Lucy is still connected. She yells, “What?!” so loudly that Tim swerves, and you begin laughing as he tries to explain.

“You’re not being replaced?” he repeats. “Chen, what is wrong with you?”

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ STRAWBERRY FLAVORED — GETO SUGURU.

contents. here is a lil prequel to this btw, basically this is suguru’s shower scene but if he actually had someone to take care of him, reverse comfort, aka my extremely self indulgent drabble of fixing suguru before he turns into a mass murderer <3

it’s been a while—suguru has been in that shower for long enough that you’re starting to grow concerned. you contemplate for a bit, whether it’s a good idea or not to enter the boys shower, weighing the possibilities of being caught.

satoru’s not here, you reason, nanami and haibara are gone too, and yaga shouldn’t notice either—so, with a heavy sigh, you walk up to the door, opening it slowly. you can see him, standing as the water pours over his body, not even moving a little when you enter.

suguru is not the same—not after everything that’s happened. you can tell, you can see it under his eyes from the lack of sleep, you can see it in his cheekbones as they show a bit more from the lost weight, you can see it in the stiffness of his body when you’re around him. he’s not the same, and no one’s seem to have noticed, but you have. you always have.

you slowly strip from your clothing, walking up to him quietly until your arms circle his waist and your cheek rests against his bare back.

“baby,” you hum, “you’re turning into a prune. look at your skin,” you grab his hand, running a thumb over the tips of his fingers, wrinkly from the water.

he gives you an empty chuckle—you don’t think you’ve heard a real laugh from suguru since that day. “but aren’t i a handsome prune?” he mumbles.

“of course,” you kiss his shoulder, “the handsomest.”

“that’s a relief,” he says playfully—there’s nothing playful about his tone, though. it’s numb, automatic, like he’s trained himself to respond to you the way he always does. but you can feel it. he’s not the same.

“you’ve been in here a while. i got tired of waiting.”

“sorry,” he drops his hand from yours, falling limply to his side, “lost track of time, i guess.”

“suguru,” you say softly, “what’s wrong?”

he’s quiet, probably contemplating his answer. no one else might’ve noticed, but you have. you always do—he knows you always will. finally, he decides to answer, “are you really asking me that?”

“yes,” you say firmly, “i want to hear it. i want you to hear it. stop pushing it down.”

“i’m fine,” he mutters, “just tired.”

“i know,” you say softly, “i know you’re tired. what’s got you so tired?”

gently, your arms twist his body—he doesn’t put up a fight, just spins to face you until his face is digging into your neck on instinct. he can smell your body wash, can inhale the familiar scent of you from here. there are no curses to consume and no people to save at the risk of himself here, just the soft feeling of your skin and the warm press of your lips on his head.

riko would’ve liked you, he thinks. he can’t help it.

for a fleeting moment, when his hand was outstretched to her, he’d wondered if you’d like her too. he’d decided you would—you’re kind, you always have enough love for one more person. you’ll like riko, he’d thought. and then just like that, she’d been on the floor, dark pool of blood under her head.

you never got to meet her, and he never got to introduce you.

“what’s wrong, sugu?” you ask again, voice more delicate this time.

“everything,” he whispers.

he’s tired, so incredibly tired. suguru is exhausted. so for today, he’ll let you pick up the pieces. he doesn’t want to worry about you right now, doesn’t want to think about whether or not the edges will be sharp enough to slice your fingertips. suguru is exhausted—so for once, he lets you worry about him instead.

“i see,” you nod, letting your fingers trail to his head, stroking the wet strands gently as he trembles against your body, “everything is a lot. let’s start with just one, yeah?”

“i hate the taste of curses,” he spits, “it tastes like vomit.”

“that’s no good,” you agree, and then you’re pulling his head out of your neck—he wants to protest, wants to stay right where he is so he doesn’t have to face you, or anything. but you’re insistent, gentle as you are firm, cupping his cheeks as you force him to look at you. “can you still taste it?”

“yeah,” he nods. it’s true, he can’t forget the taste even if he tries. it’s like a phantom pain—but it resides on his tongue, haunting him long after it’s gone, even as he breathes and swallows and talks. “i hate it.”

your lips are on his after that, soft and sweet against his mouth. he can taste the strawberry of your chapstick, the familiar taste of you that he also could never forget. it washes down the vile taste of curses easily, so he leans in for more. and more. and more. he needs more.

“what about that?” you ask, stroking his cheek when you pull away, “how does that taste?”

“good,” he says shakily, “i…i like that.”

“i know you do,” you smile, pecking the corner of his mouth, “i can’t change how curses taste. but if i could, i’d make them strawberry flavored for you.”

he chuckles at that—it’s small, but it’s real. for the first time in a long time. it’s real.

suguru hates how curses taste, and you can’t change that, but you can help make swallowing become easier. he’ll take it—he’ll take anything you give.

“that might make the job easier,” he says, burying his face back into your neck, “they’d taste like you.”

“i’ll kiss you then,” you stroke his hair, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his head. his lips wobble, vision turning blurry. suguru is tired—he doesn’t want to hold it in anymore. “after every curse you swallow, i’ll kiss you. it’ll make it easier.”

“i don’t know if it will,” he admits, “this….what do we do it for? none of it is easy.”

he used to think it was. fighting curses was easy—satoru and him were the strongest. fighting curses was like stepping on ants as they walk on the concrete, crushing them before they can bite anyone. but he starts to wonder if people deserve to be bitten, if the people who kick at ant piles mindlessly for fun deserve to be saved from themselves.

you think for a bit, contemplating his question as the water runs over both of your bodies, slipping into the thin crevices between your skin and his.

“it’s not,” you agree, “it’s not easy. i would’ve loved to meet riko. i know you wanted me to. i’m sorry, suguru.”

somewhere along with the water on your shoulder mixes his tears, and his body shakes against yours. suguru is tired. he’s tired of swallowing curses and tasting bile. he’s tired of pretending the weak are innocent. he’s tired of carrying so much weight on his young, innocent shoulders. they deserve to be free.

“is it worth saving them?” he asks as he sniffles, “if they clap over people like us dying?”

“people like us aren’t always so different,” you point out.

people like us don’t need saving, he wants to argue—but you don’t give him a chance to, turning the water off behind him as you stand there holding him as he leans into you.

“there will always be someone who needs to be saved,” you murmur, “and there will always be something they need to be saved from. it’s not always as simple as curses and exorcisms, though.”

“that doesn’t make any sense,” he frowns, “that’s the whole point of jujutsu. to exorcise curses.”

“and if we exorcised them all? would that make everyone safe?”

“maybe not,” he furrows his eyebrows, “but at least we wouldn’t be dying for them.”

“you never know,” you reach for the towel, slowly pulling away and patting his skin gently as you dry his dripping skin, “maybe you’d die from something worse.”

“what could be worse?” he asks bitterly. he doesn’t understand. but you smile, pressing a kiss to his jaw as you brush his bangs from his face.

“i don’t know,” you shrug, “but i’m sure there’s something. there’s always something worse. but there’s always something better too.”

he still doesn’t completely understand. but the weight on his shoulder doesn’t feel as heavy when you lean and kiss it again—he feels like at least some of his youth is still his, still yours.

“you make no sense,” he grunts, scowling when you ruffle his hair obnoxiously with a giggle.

“well, maybe you’ll make sense of things after a nap,” you poke his chest accusingly, “you really need one. and then you’ll eat something. c’mon.”

“i don’t sleep with wet hair,” he reminds you as you tug him along, stopping where his clothes hang. you gesture at him to hold his arms up, grabbing his shirt. he rolls his eyes and indulges you, letting you dress him.

“i’ll dry it for you,” you chuckle, “my sugu is so high maintenance.”

and then, before you can turn to grab your own clothes, he tugs your wrist and pulls you in, kissing you hard, kissing you hungrily, kissing you like you’re all he has. just because he can. he can taste the last bits of your chapstick—he wants to keep tasting it forever. it’s strawberry, his favorite.

“i like strawberries,” he presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes, “so don’t change the flavor.”

“okay,” you grin, cupping his cheeks, “i’ll always get strawberry for my sugu.”

he just needed a few kissies and he would’ve been fine. i guess i’ll take one for the team and kiss him a few times 😔 i guess i can take the responsibility of loving him 😔 i’ll be fine guys no need to worry about me 😔

[luveline]

what if bombshell!reader proposed to Spencer? Instead of Spencer proposing to bombshell!reader? Would he be upset or just as happy? Also, I absolutely adore your writing! 🥰💕

ty for requesting!! —spencer gets a love he deserves, 1.4k, fem!reader

The first proper time that you and Spencer slept together, he wasn’t nervous. It was sort of like a high school sleepover. You’d slept in shared beds in stuffy hotels and he’d once stayed the night while he was too drunk to remember it, but the first time you invited him in with intention to just be together, he wasn’t scared. You remember being surprised. Looking back, you shouldn’t have been. 

You laid together like you are now. He wore a grey t-shirt and a pair of blue chequered pants, and he’d pushed his hair back all day leaving the front pieces limp, and he’d touched your cheek to encourage your face to his before he moved in for one polite kiss. “I love you,” he’d said, much too early and a couple years too late at the same time. 

You turn on your side now to look at him. His contacts are out, his glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He’s watching a video on his laptop and the line of his jaw is soft. Or, softer than usual. He has a very sharp jaw. 

You shift a bit to alleviate the pressure on your hip.

“You okay?” Spencer asks. He doesn’t look away from his laptop nor does he sound tuned in. It’s sort of funny that he manages to care even when he’s not paying attention.

“Yeah.” 

“Tired?” 

“Not really.” 

“Hungry at all?” 

“Just brushed my teeth.” 

“That’s not the question I was asking.” 

“Not hungry, Spencer. Can I watch too?” 

He turns the laptop toward you to the point where his view is obscured, raising the volume a touch. “It’s about Tuberculosis. Do you wanna watch something else?” 

“No, this sounds interesting.” 

He settles in next to you. His fingers brush your chest. For a good forty five minutes, you and Spencer watch the rest of his video. He gets visibly tireder the longer it goes on, but neither of you attempt to get ready to sleep until the video’s finished. He closes the lid of his laptop, twisting in bed to deposit it gently on the floor. There’s a familiar shush of him sliding it under the bed to stop you from standing on it (a learned precaution). 

“Did you take that vitamin, the primrose?” he asks, flicking off his bedside lamp, leaving yours as the only source of light in the entire room. It’s a pink glass shade that kisses his pale skin a rosy hue. 

“Yeah, Spence.” 

He shakes the sheets back and the over you both. One minute you’re apart and the next he’s pulling you into him, confident handed, his breath warming your face as the gap between you thins. Despite his readying, he doesn’t say goodnight, or close his eyes. This is your time now. You often spend time at night just talking to each other about everything you’d meant to say that day, or nonsense conversation, until one or both of you has been lulled into a peaceful sleep. 

“I have something I want to tell you,” you say. 

“Okay.” He sounds completely trusting, no worrying, no reluctance. 

“You remember the first time you stayed at my apartment?” 

“No.” 

“The second time,” you correct. 

“Yes,” he says, grinning. “I was much less intoxicated that time.” 

“You were sober.” 

“I didn’t feel sober,” he says. 

“Nice. You’re getting so good at this.” 

“Thank you.” 

“But do you remember that?” You trace the curve of his nose. He’ll have to take his glasses off soon. They’ve already worn red crescents into his skin. “You told me you loved me.” 

“I can’t forget it,” he says, still grinning. You’ve tried to tell people —idiots— who don’t understand you and Spencer that, even without his million charms and idiosyncrasies, you’d love him for his smile. It changes his entire face. He never looks as beautiful to you as he does when he’s smiling. 

“I didn’t say it back.” 

“We’d only been together for a few days,” he says. “It was one of my moments.” 

“Spencer, I did love you, though. I should’ve told you. I knew in that moment that you really, really meant it, and I just want you to know that when you said it, I could have said it back. I should have. I loved you just as much, I promise.” 

“I know,” he whispers, eyes slightly widened. 

“I think I’ve loved you since the day we met. It’s cliche.” 

“Sometimes things are cliche because they’re good,” he says, laying his cheek more firmly into his pillow as he raises a hand to your face. His thumbs rests in the space under your chin. His fingertips brush along the skin just beside your lips. “And true. I loved you the minute you introduced yourself.” 

You savour the feeling of his hand on your cheek. 

“You’re so handsome,” you say, “and kind. You’re everything to me. You know that.” 

Spencer wraps his arm gently under your chin and behind your head as he lays closer to you. “I know. You’re everything to me. You’re my best friend in the whole world, I– didn’t even know how happy I could be before now.” 

“Me too, baby.” 

He closes his eyes. Your noses touch. 

“Spencer Reid, will you marry me?” you whisper.

Quiet. Aching, total quiet. He curls his arm behind your head until your lips are a hair’s width apart, and when he answers, it’s like he’s spoken directly to the deepest parts of you. “It’s all I want,” he says. 

“I got you a ring,” you murmur. 

The air races with your heart. The sound of your skin and clothes is the only thing to be heard between breaths. “I got you three,” he says. 

“Spencer, what for?” you ask, afraid to open your eyes and break the spell, the branching, unending feeling of connection you share. 

“I didn’t know which one you’d like.”

“You’ll marry me?” you ask. 

“Angel, I already said yes. I love you. I told you already we’d have to get married.” 

“Oh, we have to?” 

Spencer kisses you. It’s startlingly open-mouthed for a moment, but you adapt and overcome, you love him and his every touch, tilting your head to the side to allow him room to ferry in and kiss you deeply. It’s slow and measured, then quick and undecided. He turns his face one way to kiss you, then the other, back again, a hint of roughness —of hunger to it as he pulls your face to his. 

A spark of heat against your nose. 

Your eyes flutter open, a pinked path of light scored diagonally down his cheek. “Spence,” you say, feeling the weight and heat of tears gather behind your eyes, even as you smile, “don’t cry, baby.” 

“I feel like I spent my whole life waiting for someone to love me and it doesn’t feel real that it’s you,” he whispers slowly. 

“No? How do I make it more real for you, sweetheart? What can I do?” you ask sincerely. 

He shakes his head. 

You push your forehead into his. He doesn’t cry anymore than two burning hot tears, rubbing your shoulder as you yourself sniffle back your own emotion. You’re really not sad. You hurt for him, but this is one of the best things that’s ever happened to you. 

“Do you want to choose your ring?” he asks, enthusing his voice with cheer. 

“Do you want to see yours first?” 

“Did you get me a diamond?” he asks. 

“Don’t be silly, Spencer, of course I did.” 

He laughs and kisses you three times in quick succession before he sits up, wiping his face, chuckling wryly. “Sorry, I didn’t think I would react like that.” 

You tangle your fingers with his before he can get too far away. “I love you, honey. There’s nothing wrong with crying about it.” 

You aren’t expecting to start crying when he slides one of the rings he’s chosen for you over your finger. He says you can see each one in action and choose after you've seen them all, but the moment the band is over your knuckle, you know it’s the one you’ll keep. You push the ring you’d bought for him onto his finger with your cheeks still tearstained.

The diamond on his ring isn’t quite as big as the one he’d bought for you, but it looks right nestled against his pale skin. That night, you talk more than you ever have before, falling asleep only minutes after the glowing threads of morning have painted your twined hands with gold. 

[cheonstapes]

miguel o’hara stars in… ‘SUGAR BABY CHRONICLES’ ヽ(´o｀；

･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡. miguel o’hara x fem!reader .｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･

SMUT

REQUEST from my lovely @miguelzslvtz; So I was thinking of an older!Sugar daddy Miguel x reader. The reader is working at small country club and Miguel noticed her. She’s serving him drinks, and taking care of him. He tells her she’s too good to be working there and introduced the idea of being her sugar daddy (basically some arm candy). He invites her over to his mansion for a party and she’s dressed up for him🫶🏻 all night she’s being looked at by other men and woman, he’s being very protective of her. He loves on her all night and makes sure she’s taken care of💗💗spoiled✨

cw; older!miguel, slight age gap (reader is in early 20s, miguel is in early 30s), cumming inside, slight breeding(not really, i just have a problem), sugardaddy!miguel, readers a little bit of a tsundere kinda, miguel’s really in love, cunnilings, shower sex, hair pulling, NAWT PROOFREAD!!

4k+ words (longest fic omg!!)

@cheonstapes; hi again…🤗 these hiatuses are killing me. i’ve been absolutely swamped and i lost so much motivation to write but im glad to say i think i’ve found my footing. i found myself again and i’ll work on balancing everything from now on! i apologise for the mammoth amount of time it took me to do this (this is what i get for working chronologically) and i have not forgotten about your requests if you sent one! pyramids and project ex will still be coming but i want to make sure requests are out of the way as they’ve been there for months and it’s not fair for the lovely people who’ve waited so long. thanks again! i love you all🩷

you loved your job, you really did.

not many people can say that genuinely, but when you’re getting the tips you’re getting, seeing the men you’re seeing, you definitely don’t wanna leave anytime soon. working at such an elite club meant you were among the rich of the rich — the big shots of the city that wouldn’t be caught anywhere else.

at the very least, the uniform was modest enough — obviously though, there would always be a few buttons left undone on your shirt, your skirt pulled up just that little bit higher. that window of flesh, no matter how small, was a guaranteed extra thousand in your pocket by the end of the night — and that wasn’t even counting him.

mr. o’hara. that’s all you knew him by. the man was overtly secretive, often arriving alone or occasionally with a very small group of associates. he was by far your biggest tipper. at times, you wondered if he owned the club due to the pure influence he has on your boss — somehow, much to your excitement, convincing him to bump your pay-check up by a lofty sum. the amount of money you make could send you into an early retirement, but of course you wouldn’t do that. it meant you wouldn’t get to learn more about him, and you needed to learn more about him.

summer was always the busiest, the great weather meaning there was more members than usual coming out to play. although, running around and serving for 9 hours a day was extremely tiring — gruelling even. there was sweat dripping down your face, your black dress feeling like a leather coat with the way it clung to you like second skin.

one last drink. you had one last drink to serve and then you could go on your break. double checking the table number, your eyes widened slightly as you saw him. mr. o’hara was not a small man by any means — the bulging muscles tucked away under his tight dress shirt, shoulders almost akin in length with the table. to put it simply, he was the epitome of sexy. you were barely at his table and you could smell him already, the masculine musk of his oud creating a musky, rose scented bubble that ensnared all your senses.

“‘s that for me, sweetheart?”

yes, yes it was. but he really wanted to hear you say it. your voice was such a sweet caress to his ear — he could guarantee an angel got its wings every time you spoke. miguel usually prides himself on being in control of his emotions, his body — but having a pretty, little thing like you just within his grasp was the ultimate challenge of restraint.

the man felt absolutely helpless, his heart pounding in his chest like a hormonal teenage boy when you placed the drink in front of him. “you know it, mr. o’hara — you order the same thing everyday.” fuck. the sip he was having was definitely becoming more than a sip the longer he held the cup to his mouth — chub twitching against the fabric of his slacks.

you were just the sweetest little thing — much more enthusiastic than the other girls that worked there. he might be just imagining it too, but he can feel deep in his heart that you dress up just for him. miguel knows you want him, and he’s more than happy to give himself to you.

“you know me better than i know myself, dulzura. almost like you’re keeping tabs on me, hm?”

“i mean, yeah, i kinda am. it’s my job, mr. o’hara. you’re one of our most frequent regulars, it’d be crazy if i couldn’t tell you your order ‘fore you give it to me.”

oh…yeah.

in miguel’s defence, it’s been a while….a long while since he last flirted — and having an 8-year-old daughter who’s judging your every move means there’s not a lot of time to work on your game. but he’d be damned if he lost an angel like you, he will be yours. plus, gabi does need a woman like you in her life too.

“do you enjoy it, though? your job, I mean — not keeping tabs on me.”

“you probably won’t believe this, but i actually do. the pay’s good, at least, and i can afford to pay my bills, uni, and still have fun. i’m kinda lucky, i guess.”

“you wouldn’t have to worry about that with me, nena.”

miguel knew he was probably breaking some sorta rule, flirting with staff or whatever — but god you were worth it. if being able to take you home meant that he would never set foot in the club again, then so be it.

“sorry, what was that, sir?”

“…quit your job — not in a ‘you’re bad at your job way’ — i’ll take care of you. i can give you everything, anything you want.”

you couldn’t say you were surprised, especially with the nature of your job — old men say stuff like this to you all the time. but, miguel wasn’t any old man. as much as you loved your job, had a stable income and good connections — the thought of quitting and running away with a man like him? fuck, it was so tempting.

“alright then. i hope you live up to those words, mr. o’hara.”

———————————————————————————

mr o’hara (sugardaddy?)

I’m throwing an event at work tonight, I want you to be there.

sent 16:42

(y.n)

hi, mr o’hara. i’d love to but i finish work at 7,i don’t know if i’ll be able to make it. and i don’t really have anything to wear :(

sent 16:50

mr. o’hara (sugardaddy?)

Don’t worry about it, gorgeous. I’ve already got you off work for the rest of the week, and I’ve got you something nice to wear.

sent 16:50

(y.n)

oh, really? well, i guess i’ll see you there then! ;)

sent 16:56

mr. sugardaddy

Mmhm, I can’t wait to see you, babe. And call me miguel.

sent 16:56

———————————————————————————

miguel had promptly sent his driver to pick you up in a sleek black sports car, much to the dismay of your co-workers. a beautifully wrapped box was placed on the seat beside you, a bouquet of orchids and a small note that read ‘for you, las flores más bonitas para la chica más guapa - m’

it was hard to not feel a tinge if heat was rising in your face, for someone whom you’re only just getting to know to be so utterly romantic — it was a new experience! relationships had never been something you were particularly interested in, but there was no denying the allure that someone like miguel held and only time could tell how it would all play out.

arriving at his mansion, which was nothing short of jaw dropping — the halls were mostly desolate aside from the quite bustle of the staff that were preparing for tonight’s ball. an elderly woman escorts you upstairs to the master bedroom, your eyes roaming the area as you take in the grandeur of the building — aged walls paired with a modern nueva york touch.

“where’s mr. o— miguel?” the woman turns to you, an indecipherable smile on her lips.

“mr. o’hara is just getting prepared for the ball. don’t fret over him, he’ll join you shortly.” well, it was a bit rude to invite someone over and not be there to greet them but ok! “ah, i forgot to mention,” she opens the door, stepping aside to let you in. “i left you a little something on the dresser. i believe you both’ll be needing it.” the woman winks, silently closing the door behind her — leaving you alone in the large room.

god, even the room smelt like him. a musky wood and cinnamon smell, with the faintest hint of vanilla from the candle burning by the window sill. it wasn’t everyday you were in the presence of such luxury, especially old money luxury. your eyes flitted over to the dresser the woman was referring to, that sneaky grandma.

a box of xl condoms, birth control, towels, all wrapped in a cute gift basket. “seriously? who does she think i am? i’m not fucking on the first date.” wait— was this a date? it definitely felt like one, but it was hard to be 100% sure. this was too much to deal with now, all that was left to worry about was the ball and getting ready.

on the bed behind you lay a beautifully wrapped box, with a red ribbon to top it off. it fell gracefully onto the bedsheets as you unwrapped it, lifting the lid to reveal the shimmering red dress underneath. a sleeveless satin dress, fabric lined with the finest crystals, a slit raising mid thigh, lined a sheer lace. it was the definition of classy, with a hint of seduction.

putting it on felt like a crime, something so beautifully should be preserved and put into a museum. it took all of your willpower to not tuck the dress away somewhere safe and just go and get one of your own — but alas, it was a gift, the least you could do is wear it. the craziest part was how perfect it fit. practically a glove, clinging onto every curve and crevice of your body — extenuating places you never even noticed before.

smoothing out the wrinkles, making sure it was as perfect as possible — fuck, you looked hot. the colour complimented your skin exquisitely, adding a soft glow to your complexion. in the time it took you to get ready, it seemed like the party was already amping up. you could see the surge of people from the window, flashing lights and an abundance of cars being handed to the concierges. you still had yet to see miguel and what better time to look for him than now?

there was a pair of red heels that matched the dress to a T, slipping them on and bouncing down the steps. the butterflies fluttered wildly in your tummy the nearer you got to the party, joining the line of people being checked in by security. though, from the corner of your eye, you catch sight of him. standing there in all his 6’ glory, curls lightly slicked back, wearing a tight button up shirt and those sexy slacks.

something about seeing miguel like this, so carefree and relaxed, set something off inside of you. even though you were supposed to be his guest, you did everything in your power to avoid his gaze — purely cause you don’t think you’d be able to maintain eye contact him for longer than a few minutes without jumping his bones. but of course, fate was destiny’s whore, and soon enough you were being escorted straight into the ballroom.

“were you avoiding me, cielo?”

a hand splayed across your waist, leading you deeper inside the hall as he whispered in your ear. it was obviously due to the fact that you probably couldn’t hear him all too well because to the loud music, but the way his hands caressed your sides, his lips brushing against the lobe of your ear — it felt all too intentional.

“no…i just didn’t want to cut in line. i figured i’d see you when i see you.”

“is that so?” he slid a champagne flute in your hands, grabbing one of his own as he tilted his head at you — a stray curl unfurling down his forehead. “you’re like an open book, cariño. you think i don’t know what’s going on in that pretty little head by now?”

“so you’ve been studying me, hm?” now it was your turn to raise a brow, tilting your head back as you took a long sip of your champagne. it wouldn’t be a huge surprise if he had been, it was kinda obvious from all the stares he’d give you and when he’d ‘enquire’ about you from your colleagues.

“mmm, studying’s a strong word. i was simply…observing you. can’t blame me for wanting to know someone as enchanting as you better.”

he had quite the mouth on him, didn’t he? you couldn’t stop the small smile that graces your lips, shaking your head in disbelief.

“you’re so stupid, miguel.”

“if falling for you is stupid, then i’m the dumbest of them all.”

it was so bad, so bad that it was actually good. and that comment shaped the rest of your night together. considering your new arrangement, he took the liberty of introducing you to his circle of friends and their wives — conveniently leaving out that he was your new sugar daddy, but that was a story for another day. miguel revelled in the looks they all gave you, seemingly forgetting they themselves had a date nestled on their arms. he really couldn’t have picked a better dress, but damn if it wasn’t killing him.

you really didn’t know how beautiful you were, and he so badly wanted to show you. the dim lighting was a blessing for the tent in his slacks, giving him a flimsy disguise for the arousal he felt at that moment. after more than a few drinks too, wandering hands and lingering words, it was becoming unbearable. however, scaring you off wasn’t on his bucket list tonight. he didn’t take this long fighting for your attention to loose you on the first date. he vowed to do everything at your pace, leaving it up to you to make the first move.

as the party wrapped up, and miguel said his goodbyes — you stood at the door, shivering from the cold air as it nipped against your bare arms. the fun you had was incomparable to any party you’ve ever been to, but you thought you may have overstayed your welcome. shakily tapping on your phone with freezing fingers, ordering an uber to pick you up —

“leaving already?”

“yeah, i had a lot of fun tonight, though.” it was a genuine smile, one that spoke a million words. “thanks for inviting me, miguel.”

for a man so big he sure did move so silently. he stood behind you, gently grasping your hand in his as she looked down on you. “when i invited you, i didn’t invite you as a mere guest — you’re more than welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

it didn’t even sound like he was simply offering, miguel was begging. you could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice — urging you to stay the night, stay with him.

“miguel, are you sure? i don’t even have anything to change—“

“i’ve already organised sleepwear for you, but you could wear something of mine if you’d like?”

that sly smirk slid its way onto his face once again, rolling your eyes as you walked past him — pulling out your phone to cancel the uber. “fine, i’ll stay. i might take you up on that offer too.”

lo and behold, an array of skincare and pyjamas were set out on his bed as you entered the master bedroom once again — and to top it off, gift bags filled with designer items that you’d never thought you’d ever own. “miguel…is this all for me?”

“unless i have another sugar baby, who else would it be for? ‘course it’s for you, darling — consider it a…’welcome’ gift.”

“more like my entire tuition fee, hell. you didn’t have to spend all this money on me, y’know?”

“cariño,” you could see miguel walking up to him from the mirror in front, his arm slipping round your waist to pull you into his back. “i spend my money how i want, and i want to spend it on you. so i don’t want to hear no more complaining from you, understand.” the small nod you gave earned a small grin from him, a hand smoothing up the curve of your back until it reached the shimmering zipper under your neck.

“you look like a goddess tonight, baby. so fucking beautiful…” his words were whispered softly into your neck, gentle breaths caressing your skin. as he spoke, the zipper slid lower and lower — until your dress was held together by the tips of his fingers. the cold metal of his rings brushed against your bare skin, the tips of his fingers dancing on the curve of your waist as he lets the fabric pool at your feet.

“m-miguel, i’m sweaty from all the dancing! at least let me wash up first, or something.” if you weren’t sweating much then, you were definitely sweating buckets now. the heat radiating from you mixed with the heat simmering between the two of you made for a heady cocktail of unspoken desire — and you silently cursing yourself for almost breaking the number one rule: ‘don’t fuck on the first date.’

“we can use my shower then, it’s large enough for the both of us.” we? oh, you’re definitely breaking that rule now. “i didn’t say this was gonna be a joint effort, did i? i can wash myself, miguel.” you weren’t even convincing yourself with the breathy way you spoke, the way he was caressing you, the pure adoration in his voice was something you haven’t felt before. plus, this is the guy who’s willingly paying you to simply be around him — it’s a win-win situation.

“i know you can, baby —“ letting out a deep chuckle, miguel intertwined your hands and lead you towards the bathroom — “but it’s more fun with two, no?” the gentle pitter-patter of the waterfall shower reverberated through the silence of the room, the sound of fabric rustling followed shortly after. glancing down at your feet, miguel’s clothing was promptly discarded — your widened eyes trailing up his hefty frame.

“fucking christ…”

the man in front of you was nothing short of absolutely beautiful. despite spending everyday surrounded by older men, you never found yourself truly attracted to them until now — or maybe it was simply just miguel himself. “i thought you wanted to take a shower, muñeca?” oh, yeah, the shower. before you could even finish your thought, miguel was already occupying half of the space in there, leaving a small pocket for you to slide into.

the expeditious beating of your heart was muffled by the steady stream of water, but it was more than clear to miguel what you were feeling in that moment. the moment was strangely intimate, and dare i say innocent, for the predicament you found yourself in. his hands gently roamed your skin, barely making contact with any sensitive areas aside from fleeting brushes. he made a point to use his hands instead of a rag, claiming he could ‘clean you better than a flimsy cloth’.

it was truly getting unbearable, utterly frustrating. your subconscious and ovaries were in an intense battle of wits, when a third party made itself known in the worst way possible. you really had forgotten that miguel was as naked as you were until you felt the base of his cock slide between your ass cheeks, chest flush against his back. the slightest hitch of your already shaky breath earned another rich laugh from within him, thick fingers playing with the skin of your tummy.

“you feeling cleaner or what? i’m more than happy to keep going if you are, baby.”

of course you wanted him to keep going! you were already as wet as is, in every way possible. “i..i think you might’ve missed a spot.” the hand on your tummy paused, his breath hitting your ear as he bent down slightly. “i did? i like to consider myself very thorough, cariño — enlighten me.” you did your best to turn with the small space you had, looking up at him with a more confident expression than the one you wore previously.

“here.”

now it was miguel’s turn to be surprised, the tip of his finger brushing against your swollen clit before tapping against your slit. it had been so long since you had a real good fuck, and right now you were genuinely about to give this man some babies if he kept on smiling like that. “mm, looks like i did. forgive me for being so careless. i’ll make sure she gets extra attention.” his words trailed off as he sunk to his knees, the gentle spray of water splattering against his face.

he tapped your ass, lifting you up with one hand as he pressed you against the cool glass, legs resting on his shoulders. his pretty lashes were dusted with droplets of water as he gazed at you from between your thighs, nipping and sucking on the sensitive skin as he kneaded your skin gently. his thick tongue was enough to completely spread you open, eagerly collecting your creamy essence.

miguel was moaning like a pure slut, you would think he got more pleasure in eating you out than you did. his eyes were rolled back, hips absentmindedly bucking to the rhythm of the shower as he sucked on your clit. the position was not uncomfortable by any means, but the unadulterated pleasure you were feeling made it hard to stay upright — nails raking down the expensive marble tiles as you practically grasped for straws.

“grab my hair, darling. i don’t want you to fall.”

whilst his words were slightly muffled, the undeniable concern in his voice had you moaning embarrassingly loud. miguel was clearly strong enough to hold you up all alone, so you surrendered the grip you had on the wall to rake your trembling fingers through his hair — tugging on the curly strands.

“nngh..fuck..”

he fucking whimpered. miguel o’hara, the richest and most powerful man in this city, was shamelessly whimpering between your thighs. that was certainly the biggest ego boost ever, the fact that it’s your pussy that has this huge man so drunk. pushing out your hips, you practically smothered his face — riding him mid-air as you felt the delicious sensations bubbling up inside of your stomach. breathless chants of his name left your lips, panting softly as your head fell back against the panels.

“c-cumming! ugh— fuck, miguel!

the jerks of your body made miguel grip your ass tightly, licking his lips of your release as he shuffled upwards, grinning down at your disheveled form. “you’re breathtaking when you cum for me, beautiful. can’t believe you’re all mine.” he whispered against your lips, forehead to forehead as he kissed you for the first time. it felt like a million tiny fireworks going off inside of you, the previous tension in your body instantly melting away as you leaned into his touch — tongue’s pressing against each other as drooled slipped down your necks.

he kept his mouth latched onto yours as he gripped his leaking cock, dipping the pearly tip inside of your sensitive hole. his movements were unhurried, sloppily kissing you as he dipped in-and-out, in-and-out. it was a steady pace that you soon found yourself liking more than usual, a stark contrast to the inexperienced fucking’s you were getting before. “inside, please…i wanna feel you, all of you.”

you were too dangerous for this old man’s heart. having a pretty little thing like you beg for him to fuck you like you deserved, to mold that sweet cunt into the shape of his cock — it was all too tempting. he was more than willing to do anything his sweet baby asked him to, and he wasted no time in giving in to you. “shit, cielo, no one’s ever fucked you right, huh? she’s gripping onto me like a vice.”

he was right, in every sense of the word. you didn’t know how many partners he had before you, and really didn’t want to find out — but one thing was for sure, miguel knew exactly how to please you. your head fell against his chest, his hand lifting it up by your chin as he pumped into you. “tell me, dulzura, i’m the only one that’s made you feel like this? only man to fuck this perfect pussy right?”

he took the tiny nods and breathy whimpers as a yes, grinning like a madman as he revealed in the satisfaction of ruining you for anyone else — not like he was gonna let you go in the first place. his pace picked up vigorously, finding the perfect balance between pounding into your sore cunt and softly rutting against your ass. the skin where you both combined was tinged red, the on-going waterfall above unable to fully wash away the evidence of your cream on his pelvis.

“only you, miguel — no one…no one’s better than you. i’m yours, daddy.”

those words, hushed and warm, pushed his already inflated ego to the edge. his hips bucked widly, prodding at the spongy spot inside of you as she pressed his lips against yours once more. all sounds were trapped between your connected lips, muffling the choked squeal that left your lips and the guttural groan that left his as he came deep inside you. he did promise to clean you extra throughly, and what better way to do that than flushing out your canal with his cum!

he lazily rolled his hips against yours, ignoring the sticky liquid bubbling on the side of his spent cock. “did so well for me, my beautiful princess. i’m so proud of you.” the fluttering of your heart made you instinctively turn away, cheeks flaring with heat as you pouted — you really can’t believe you fucked on the first bloody date. your little tough act didn’t fool miguel, in fact it fuelled him even more. he continued to praise your very essence, worshiping the ground you walk on despite your protests — smiling softly as he sees your fierce resolve weaken. “there she is, you ready to let me love on you now?”

“yeah, yeah. but first, we need an actual shower. no fucking this time.”

“no promises.”

this was the last place you saw yourself in life, but maybe being in miguel’s arms were where you were supposed to be.

- thank you for waiting and make sure to watch ateez at coachella!!!!!

[too-young-to-fall-in-love]

#PLEASE THIS IS SO PERFECT#for one i love this band but like AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA#the 'i wish it was over' with illya getting orders to kill napoleon and i can just image him being So Damn Tired#and 'a shot in the dark' with napoleon throwing the watch PLEASE#'it's all in my hands' with napoleon rescuing illya from the water SURE I'M FINE IT'S FINE#and WHAT THE FUCK at 'i wonder why i still fight i have lost all my fight' IT /IS/ SO NAPOLEON I WILL SCREAM HOW DAREEEEEE#he keeps fighting because he just can't NOT survive he doesn't have it in him#but he's grown so tired and cynical after everything#and now HERE HE IS WITH PEOPLE THAT MAKE HIM HAPPY AND MAKE HIM FEEL FEELINGS#i am so normal about this video why do you ask (via @heytheredeann)

Shot In The Dark

[sturnlace]

we listen and we don’t judge - matt sturniolo

when you’re feeling overwhelmed, matt reminds you that with him, you never have to hold anything in.

fluff, comfort, slight angst, reader feeling overwhelmed, soft and patient matt

matt doesn’t press you for details when he first notices that something’s off.

he just watches, quietly observant, as you go about your day with a little less energy than usual. your smiles don’t reach your eyes. your responses are shorter, not in a mean way, but in a way that makes it clear you’re lost in your own head. your usual enthusiasm is dulled, replaced by something heavier, something he can tell you’re trying to carry all on your own.

but matt knows you. and he knows when you’re holding something in.

he doesn’t push, though. he never does. he just stays close, offering silent comfort through little touches—his hand on your back when he passes by, his fingers brushing against yours when you’re sitting next to him, his knee bumping into yours just to remind you that he’s there.

it isn’t until later that night, when the two of you are curled up on your bed, that he finally speaks.

“you okay?”

his voice is soft, careful, like he doesn’t want to scare you off.

you hesitate, because you want to say yes, to brush it off like you always do, but the look in his eyes makes you pause. it’s patient, reassuring—like he already knows the truth and he’s just waiting for you to let him in.

you swallow, playing with the hem of your hoodie. “yeah, i’m fine.”

he doesn’t react right away. just watches you for a moment before tilting his head slightly. “you sure?”

and that’s all it takes for your resolve to waver.

because no, you’re not sure. you’re not fine. you’re tired, and your mind is racing with thoughts you can’t seem to quiet, and everything just feels a lot right now.

you sigh, your shoulders slumping. “i don’t know,” you admit, barely above a whisper.

matt doesn’t say anything, just reaches for you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against his chest. his touch is warm, grounding, and the steady rhythm of his breathing makes it a little easier to breathe yourself.

“we listen and we don’t judge,” he murmurs against the top of your head.

you let out a small, shaky laugh, because you recognize the phrase immediately—from a dumb tiktok trend, of all things—but the sincerity in his voice makes it feel like more than just a joke.

it makes you feel safe.

you close your eyes, exhaling slowly. “it’s just… everything feels like too much right now,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “like there’s so much going on in my head, and i can’t sort through any of it. and i know it’s probably stupid, but—”

“it’s not stupid,” matt interrupts gently, his grip on you tightening just a little. “not to me.”

you swallow hard, pressing your face against his hoodie. “i just feel overwhelmed, i guess. like, i don’t even know why, but it’s like everything is piling up, and i can’t seem to catch up with any of it.”

he hums quietly, one of his hands moving to run up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes. “yeah. i get that.”

and the thing is—you know he does.

matt has never been the kind of person to pretend like he has everything figured out. he knows what it’s like to feel overwhelmed, to get stuck in his own head, to feel like the weight of everything is pressing down all at once. and maybe that’s why it’s so easy to let the words spill out—to let yourself be honest in a way you usually aren’t.

“i just feel like i have no right to be this stressed,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “like, it’s not like anything huge happened, and there are people dealing with way worse, so why do i feel like this?”

matt pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you. his expression is soft, understanding, but there’s a seriousness in his eyes that makes you pause.

“because you’re human,” he says simply. “because life is overwhelming sometimes, even when nothing specific is wrong. because your feelings are real, and they matter, even if you don’t think they should.”

you blink up at him, caught off guard by the certainty in his voice.

“you don’t have to justify feeling the way you feel,” he continues, his fingers tracing slow circles against your back. “you don’t have to compare your problems to anyone else’s. you’re allowed to be overwhelmed. you’re allowed to struggle. and you don’t have to do it alone.”

his words hit harder than you expect them to, and suddenly, there’s a lump in your throat that you can’t seem to swallow down.

“but what if i don’t even know how to talk about it?” you whisper. “what if i don’t even know where to start?”

matt’s lips twitch into a soft, understanding smile. “then you don’t have to,” he says simply. “you don’t have to have the perfect words. you don’t have to explain everything all at once. we just start with what you do know, and we go from there.”

you stare at him for a long moment, searching his face for any hint of doubt, but there isn’t any. just patience. just warmth. just love.

“we listen and we don’t judge,” he reminds you again, quieter this time.

and it’s that—the steady reassurance in his voice, the unwavering acceptance in his eyes—that finally makes something in your chest unwind.

so you talk.

slowly at first, stumbling over your words, hesitating, backtracking. but matt just listens, nodding when you need him to, offering soft hums of encouragement when you pause. he never interrupts, never rushes you, never makes you feel like you’re taking up too much space.

and eventually, the words come easier.

eventually, the weight on your chest starts to feel a little lighter.

eventually, you don’t feel so alone.

by the time you’re finished, you feel exhausted in a way that’s more relief than anything else. like you’ve let go of something you didn’t even realize you were holding onto.

matt doesn’t say anything right away. he just tightens his arms around you, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“thank you for telling me,” he murmurs, his voice warm and full of something you can’t quite name.

you let out a small breath, sinking further into his hold. “thank you for listening.”

he smiles, tilting his head to rest against yours. “always.”

and the thing is—you believe him.

because matt has never been the kind of person to say things he doesn’t mean. and when he tells you he’s here, that he’s listening, that he wants to be here for you, you know he means it.

and somehow, that makes everything feel just a little bit easier to handle.

you fall asleep like that—wrapped up in matt’s arms, the steady sound of his heartbeat grounding you, the warmth of his touch keeping the weight of the world at bay.

and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you have to hold everything in.

because with matt, you never have to.

a cute little twist on the trend!! i edited and posted this from my phone so sorry if the formatting is off!

[yandereunsolved]

"Don't Stop Me Now" — Five situations where yandere Five loses it

cw(s): yandere themes, non-descriptive self harm, mention of suicide and domestic violence

1 — someone ✗ something is trying to harm you

Pretty straightforward. 

This is the numero uno that comes along with every yandere.  

Five grew up with an abusive, emotionally absent father figure. He was pushed to be the best, the most successful of his siblings, just for an ounce of affection. He was isolated for so many years with nothing more than a department store doll. He has had to put away whatever loose morals he had to slave away in The Comission.

Then you come along and brighten up his life. No, you do more than that. You perfect it. 

Then someone comes and tries to strip that away from him?

It's safe to say you've only seen that crazed look in his eyes when you're in danger. He doesn't care about whatever mission, the greater good, or whatever the fuck when you may end up being killed. He's swift and merciless, just as he was taught. 

After he makes sure you are okay, he'll hold you to his chest for what feels like forever. He just needs to become secure again in the fact you are alive. You are here with him right now. It helps ground him so he doesn't end up going about on a killing spree. 

Yes. That has happened one too many times. 

Klaus now knows not to joke about random people flirting with you. Their spirits won't stop harassing him. In his defense, how was he supposed to know Five would just go out and slowly torture them before letting them waste away into death? Klaus didn't think Five was that unhinged. He knows better now.

2 — you harm yourself (in any way)

He keeps an observant eye on you, so it would be a miracle if you managed to accomplish anything along those lines. 

Two words. no. more. 

He has the internal breakdown. He's just standing there and staring at you. There are tears in his eyes. He wants to yell, to freak out, but his voice cracks far too much when he tries to reprimand you. 

No. Just no. 

That's the only word that encapsulates how he feels. 

He is not going to allow you to hold any sharp objects. He makes sure you have no contact with Diego. Five is paranoid and suspects that Diego had something to do with this. Somehow. 

You are more strictly monitored. 

He has an entire list of mental and physical health questions he asks you each morning. If you tell him to leave you alone or that you are tired, there's about a seventy percent chance that he'll go off. It would definitely be in a Five way. 

He'd be teleporting around you and sputtering out statistics and caring yet demeaning words. 

3 — keeping him out of the loop

Five is meticulous. 

When you keep him out of the loop—which could mean not saying good morning to him or hiding a romantic relationship—he feels so powerless again. He needs to know what is going on with you so he can protect you if need be. 

Don't even try to argue with him. 

He's older than you, so he knows best. 

He has so much more experience at anything and everything. He can solve all of your problems if you just let him in. 

Does that mean he will do the same in return? No. 

There's no reason for you to know what he is doing at any point of the day. You don't need to worry your pretty little head about it. Aka, he's doing things that are morally gray at best and human rights violations at... that's still one of the better cases. 

Just tell him. Or he'll force it out of you.

4 — things being out of his control

This ties in with every other scenario. 

He needs to be in control.

Everything has to be perfect. 

If one thing goes wrong, then you may slip through his fingers. 

That isn't allowed to happen. It can't. 

It eats away at him at night to think something could happen that he can't control. 

The apocalypse happened, and he had to spend decades just accepting that fact. Until there was a chance he could change it. 

Now he has to. He has to change, sort, and neatly put away everything. No speck of dust is out of place. If it is, then he'll end up pushing himself into fixing it, to the point of exhaustion or death—whichever comes first.

5 — escaping successfully

The only time there is a plausible chance he will resort to physical violence. 

Why, why, why, why, why, why!?

How could he be so idiotic? How did you do it? Who helped you? 

Whoever helped you is going to die if they haven't already killed themselves because they know Five is going to be coming after them. 

He will act nonchalant, like he is in control, when he finally finds you once again. He'll tease, poke, and prod at your fear, like a ringmaster taming their lion. A part of this act is the truth. He has you back, and now everything can go back to how it was. The other part of him is still devastated and wants to curl up in your lap and just be safe there.

Yandere Five: fragile—handle with care.  

✗ @clarioscharm

[nerdy-novelist017]

Soaked (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader Reader pt 8)

Hello, my lovelies! Sorry this took forever to write and post but I’ve been very busy with real life (ew) and I’m actually posting this while I’m on vacation. I wrote it on the plane and am posting in the car so please be kind if you see any mistakes hehe 😉

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Word Count- 4.7k+

Summary- Benny’s never wanted anything as much as he wants to marry you, but with such different lives, you’re not so sure it will be as easy as he claims.

You felt the wind surge around you as Benny accelerated down the main road, his motorcycle roaring beneath you both. The world blurred past in a whirlwind of colors, but all you could focus on was the way your heart lifted, how a thrill of excitement shot through you as you zoomed past the rest of the gang. He did it just because he knew it’d make you giggle. And you did, the sound escaping you in a way that felt so carefree, so full of joy especially as you shot past Johnny and the others, leaving them in your dirt.

The wind was relentless, blowing your hair out of its carefully manicured braid, but you didn’t find yourself caring much anymore. The days spent with Benny had a way of shifting everything you thought had mattered. The things that once held so much weight – social status, gossip, public appearances – no longer seemed as important anymore. With Benny, it was almost like discovering a whole new world. No, not a new world. The same streets passed beneath the tires, the same faces you once worried about still existed. The world was still the same, but it was how he viewed it that felt so different. He didn’t care what others thought about him, didn’t pay attention to their expectations. He lived in his own world, surrounded by others like him that didn’t conform to the societal molds – people that you wouldn’t have even approached just based on their appearance. You never considered yourself a very judgemental person, but because of Benny, you have met and befriended people you could have never imagined.

That’s one of the things you loved about Benny. He wasn’t like anyone you had ever met before. He was different. And you were beginning to love that too.

He pulled off the main road, stopping in his signature spot in front of the club house. The roar of the rest of the gang pulling up sounded in the distance as Benny helped you off the bike. He held his grip on your hand, lacing his own fingers through yours as he pulled you gently into the bar. You followed him inside where the Vandals’ laughter and chatter soon filled the air. A familiar buzz of camaraderie enveloped the place, and before long, you found yourself seated around the table with a few of the core members. Benny was close – as always – with his arm draped over your shoulder.

“Hey, Bunny,” Cockroach’s voice cut through the sea of noise as he leaned forward and used his beer bottle to point at you. “When are you finally gonna say yes to our boy Benny, here?”

You stiffened slightly, the weight of the question hanging in the air and drawing the attention of the others at the table.

“Oh yeah,” Corky piped up, one eyebrow playfully cocked in a challenge. “He’s been asking, what, 100 times now? What’s the holdup? He’s not getting any younger, ya know?”

Heat filled your face at their teasing. Though Corky’s words were a bit of an exaggeration, they weren’t technically wrong. Since your kiss behind the clubhouse, Benny has asked you to marry him almost every day, sometimes more than once in a day. It had started by him mentioning married life in casual conversation, and you jokingly pointed out that he hadn’t actually proposed to begin with – not traditionally. And you were shocked to see him abandon everything he was doing in the moment to ask you to marry him. You giggled and rolled your eyes at his dramatics, but something deeper inside you caused your heart to flutter nervously. Since then, he’s asked several times, some in passing, a casual remark slipped into the conversation. Other times, he’d pause what he was doing, drop to one knee and grin up at you as if he were waiting for you to give in. But each time you’d laugh it off, brush it aside as him being unserious.

“Maybe I’m just waiting for the right moment?” you replied as you timidly played with the chain of your necklace, trying to deflect the attention.

“The right moment?” Cockroach parroted in disbelief. “He’s been proposin’ left and right for a week. Hell, I’d have said yes after the first time if it were me!”

The group laughed, and you tensed under Benny’s arm, wanting to melt into the floor from embarrassment. Benny squeezed your hand reassuringly, and he leaned, his voice dropping to a low murmur that was only meant for you, “They don’t mean nothin’ by that, you know that.”

You nodded, not trusting your own voice. He was right, you knew that. They didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but the constant razzing – especially with this particular subject – was start to weigh on you.

“Yeah, c’mon, Bunny,” Cal chimed in from across the way, “What’s it gonna take? Benny’s a catch! He’s got the bike, the looks, the . . . mommy’s issues. If you don’t say yes soon, you might lose your chance.”

That playful jab was too much for Benny who stiffened next to you. You expected him to get angry, to blow up like you had seen your father do when he was upset. But instead, Benny leaned forward, eyes narrowing with a playful glint that you had come to adore. The table was buzzing with laughter, but he wasn’t about to let the spotlight stay on you for too long. Without missing a beat, he flashed a grin at Corky, his hand raised as he said, “Alright, alright. But let’s not pretend you all ain’t desperate for a distraction since none of you can keep a bike upright without fallin’ on your asses.”

The table roared with laughter and Corky’s mouth fell open in mock offense. “That was one time! And I had an oil slick!”

Johnny immediately jumped in, “Yeah Corky, an oil slick you created when your bike was leakin’ everywhere.”

Laughter erupted again and you shot Benny a grateful look as the guys started ribbing Corky about his infamous fall. Benny’s eyes met yours briefly, his thumb brushing your hand under the table in a silent message: I’ve got you. Most of the group knew you were shy and did not appreciate being the center of attention in a crowd, and they respected that. However, there were a few class clowns (as Benny called them) who loved to tease you, knowing it could get a reaction without fail. But Benny never let it go on for long, always shutting them down when he recognized your discomfort.

They’ve never teased you about marriage though. You had to wonder if Benny had voiced his irritation to them at some point or if they had picked up on your hesitation organically. Either way, it left you feeling bad. Excusing yourself, you wiggled out of Benny’s grasp as you stood and made your way for the restroom, needing a moment to breathe, to clear your head. But just as you reached the back of the bar, a voice stopped you.

“You ain’t gotta worry about what they say to you,” Funny Sonny stood leaning casually against the bar top as he sipped a glass of whiskey. “That just means they like you, accept you.”

You paused, glancing over your shoulder at the table of rowdy bikers. “I’m just not . . . used to it. All the teasin’.”

Sonny nodded, his disheveled hair falling into his eyes as he grinned. “You’ll get used to it. Won’t be long till you’re the one throwing out the first jabs.”

He said it so nonchalantly, as if it were the most obvious course of action, as if you weren’t from completely different worlds. You furrowed your brows, eyes casting downwards as you admitted, “I’m not so sure about that. I’m not at all like you guys.”

“You don’t gotta be like us to be with us. We’re family here and family means lookin’ out for each other, even the ones who came from different backgrounds,” he said, his voice lowering a register to a bit more of a serious tone.

His words settled over you like a warm blanket, the concept so foreign yet so familiar. Family. You knew what that was, you had one, you were loved by one. But for some reason, it felt like it meant something different with the Vandals. They chose their family, stood by them despite no blood relation. Your parents loved you, you knew that. They showed it in their own ways every day. But by default, they had to love you. With the Vandals, they chose to care for each other, chose to look out for each other. In a way, it almost seemed more powerful, more profound.

Being Benny’s girl didn’t just mean he alone had your best interest at heart. It also meant having the rest of the Vandals on your side too, all of them looking out for you. You weren’t sure if you’ve ever experienced such an intense loyalty before, even from blood relatives. And it left you with a warm feeling in your chest.

When you returned to the table, Benny was already standing as if he were waiting for you. His eyes met yours with a slight unease, almost like he thought you wouldn’t come back, like he thought you were so upset that you’d sneak out the backdoor.

“Wanna go for a night ride?” he asked, his voice soft as his hand extended out for you.

Your heart squeezed at his thoughtfulness. He knew how much you were growing to enjoy the feeling of blazing down the empty streets under a star-filled sky with him. A smile tugged at your lips, and you took his hand without hesitation, nodding.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips as your hand slid into his own. You were vaguely aware of the groans and exaggerated protests from the table about the night being still young, but you didn’t hesitate to follow Benny as he led you to the door. He pulled you along to his Harley, the cool and fresh air a welcome change.

The tension from earlier still lingered as Benny’s hand touched your leg, helping you onto the back of the bike. You wrapped your arms around his torso, pressing your face into his back, finding solace in the familiar scent from his jacket.

He drove you around the city, stars and stop lights shining above, engine roaring below. He eventually pulled off the main drag, heading down a quieter road that led out of town. The blacktop blurred beneath you as he slowed the speed to more of a lazy joyride. He took a familiar turn, stopping at the small pull off area before a bridge. The sound of the engine faded as he brought the bike to a stop, the air filling with crickets’ song. The night’s air was breezy, but a welcome change from the hot, loud atmosphere of the clubhouse.

Benny dismounted first, reaching out to help you down. His touch – lingering longer than necessary – against your arm felt electric, sending a jolt of butterflies to your stomach, his eyes searching your face as if he was trying to read your thoughts. The two of you walked over the concrete bridge, pausing once in the middle. You leaned over the railing, getting lost in the gentle swirl of the water below. But Benny was lost in the sight of you.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice low, the usual playful teasing replaced by something softer and reserved only for you.

With your heart beating hard at his gentle tone, you nodded. “I’m fine.”

He frowned, reaching out to brush a loose strand of hair from your face. “I know the guys can be a bit much. I don’t like when they tease you like that. I didn’t mean for them to make you uncomfortable.”

You couldn’t help but smile a bit at his words, knowing that wanting to protect you was something he took very seriously, even if it meant from his own friends, his own family.

“I know,” you responded softly, leaning your chin on your hand over the railing.

“I’ll talk to them, make sure they won’t raz you like that anymore,” he promised, his expression serious.

“It’s not that. It’s just . . . I don’t know. It’s a lot to get used to,” you admitted gently. Before Benny, you’d never even been in a bar before, never ridden a motorcycle, never stayed out past curfew. He was a completely different experience than you were accustomed to. And now he wanted you to marry, after only knowing him for a few weeks. He wanted to be your husband, your partner for life. Your life felt like a bit of a whirlwind ever since you met him, but you wanted to be certain it wasn’t just fun because it was new.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stood there, his eyes tracing your features, his hand resting over your own. You could practically see the gears turning in his brain, something in him conflicted. Finally, he released a soft sigh, putting an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in close. “You don’t have to answer them, you know. Hell, you don’t have to answer me. Not till you’re ready.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you breathed in his scent – leather, smoke and something uniquely Benny. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I . . . ”

Benny pulled back slightly, his fingers tilting your chin up to meet his gaze, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “Hey, you don’t owe anyone an explanation, not even me. You’ll say yes when you’re ready. And when that time comes, I’ll be here. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as it was your turn to kid. “How do you know I’ll say yes?”

Benny’s smile was gentle but still roguishly confident. His hand lingered on your cheek, his fingers tracing down the curve of your jaw as if he were mapping every detail of you. “I just know. When you feel it – when it’s real – you just know.”

He said it so simply as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, as if love were the most uncomplicated concept. You didn’t understand that, couldn’t see it that way. You’d seen the love your parents shared and that was beautiful and kind but it was also messy and cruel more often than not. And you understood that your parents were not the only representation of what love and marriage was supposed to be, but it was a constant presence in your life. They didn’t have perfect love, not like what you’d see in the movies or read in books. And you wondered if maybe you were giving too high of expectations for what love was supposed to be, but what you felt when you were around Benny . . . well, it felt exactly like the books described.

The way he looked at you, as if you were the most important thing in the world, made you feel so seen. The way he listened to you as if you were the most entertaining show, made you feel so heard. And the truth was undeniable: you were falling for Benny faster than you thought possible. It was terrifying. Benny was all fire and freedom, a rebel who didn’t play by the rules, who followed his own path with reckless abandon. And you admired that about him, but the thought of stepping into his world permanently felt like stepping off a ledge into the unknown.

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” he asked, pulling you back into the present.

You pulled back slightly, biting your lip in contemplation before speaking your mind, “Don’t you wonder if there are other girls out there that you haven’t even met yet? Girls who are more suited for you?”

He shook his head, his voice light as he said, “Nah, I know you’re the only one for me, kid.”

“But marriage is serious. It’s forever.”

His hand slid down to your hip, turning you to face him fully, his expression solemn. “I never . . . I never thought marriage was real. The way I saw my mom and old man together . . . what they had wasn’t love. And I realized that at an early age. I didn’t think it was something that was real, just a bunch of fairytale bullshit you tell little kids. The girls I’ve been with, girls that may have been more suited for me, have never made me feel what I feel with you, Bunny. This is serious to me too because it proves everything I’ve never believed in.”

Emotion caught in the back of your throat as you pictured the man standing before you as just a boy living in a toxic household, an unloving home. It made you want to hold him tight, to shield him from the rest of the world. The man who held you so gently, who took you for night rides just to cheer you up. The man who came to your bake sale when nobody else did. The man who promised to drive slow so as not to scare you. The man who said he’d follow you all the way to California so that you didn’t have to go by yourself. The man who taught you about his hobbies with eagerness, and listened to yours with attentiveness.

He deserved to be loved in the same way he loved. But the tragic thing was that he didn’t see that, couldn’t comprehend someone loving him like that. He was damaged by his childhood, and you realized that he didn’t think he was worthy of repair. But you’d show him that he was, that he was worthy of everything he never had.

Slowly, you lifted your hands to gently cup his face, and his breath hitched in his throat. There was a shift in his expression – his usual teasing and bravado now replaced with some raw and unguarded as though he was offering you a glimpse into a deeper part of him, one rarely ever shown to anyone.

He pressed his forehead to yours, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “You’re not just some girl to me, Bunny. You know that, right?”

The words sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t playing around now, not hiding behind his usual flirty quips. His sincerity was almost overwhelming. You swallowed thickly. “But what if I mess this up? What if I’m the one who can’t do this?”

Benny’s brows furrowed and he lifted a hand to brush across your cheek, his touch gentle but grounding. “You won’t. You couldn’t, even if you tried.”

“You’re making it sound so easy,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, as if you didn’t quite believe him.

Benny could feel your tremble, the shaky laugh betraying your nerves you were trying so hard to hide. He could sense your heart racing, and he wanted so desperately to be the one to soothe it, to take away the hesitation in your eyes. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, the soft curve of it making his heart ache in his chest. He loved how your lips quivered just slightly under his touch. He loved making you blush, loved teasing you until you looked at him like you were annoyed or completely at his mercy. But this . . . this was different. His touch lingered on your lip, slow and almost reverent as he savored the way you responded to him. It wasn’t about teasing anymore – it was about showing you what you meant to him.

“It is,” he murmured, his voice a little rougher than he intended “It’s easy because it’s you.”

The air between you felt electric as his hand slid down the curve of your neck, his fingers lingering there, feeling the steady thrum of your heartbeat that seemed to match his own wild one. He ducked his head slightly as he whispered, “You’re scared. But you don’t need to be.”

He meant it, more than he meant anything in his life. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes again, searching for any sign of doubt, any sign that you didn’t feel the same way he did. Your eyes – wide and uncertain – met his, and Benny felt the weight of his words over them both.

“How can you be so sure?” you asked, your soft voice almost disappearing in the night.

And how could he explain it, especially since he’s never been good at explaining his feelings? How could he put into words what was so abundantly clear to him? That you made everything – even the most outrageous things – seem possible. That with you, he didn’t feel like just some fuck-up waiting for the next diaster. With you he felt grounded, like he belonged somewhere. Like you saw him for more than just the wild, reckless kid everyone else saw.

“Because you make me sure,” he responded with a gentle, encouraging smile as his hands moved to tilt your chin upwards to him. “You make my life feel like it’s supposed to.”

His gaze moved down to your mouth once more as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, and he simply couldn’t resist anymore. He closed the gap, brushing his lips so softly against your own. The kiss was gentle, tender, but as you responded to his touch, the need that had been simmering inside him for so long flared to life. His hands dropped down to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, smiling into the kiss when he heard your slight gasp.

His heart pounded in his chest as the world seemed to fade away briefly until it was just you and him, just this. He never wanted to stop, never wanted to let you go.

But you did eventually pull away, the need to breathe becoming all consuming. Breathlessly, he pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes remaining closed as he focused on slowing his pulse. His hands remained on your waist, holding you like you might slip away if he let go.

“You see?” he whispered as his lips brushing against your forehead softly. “It’s easy being with you.”

You giggled and his heart soared at the melody. It took everything in him not to pull you back into another kiss, not to hold onto you like you were the only thing that kept him grounded.

His lips still tingled from the kiss, and he could taste the faint sweetness of your breath, the softness of your lips. It wasn’t enough. It never felt like enough for Benny. He wanted more of you. He’d never wanted anything like he wanted you, never craved anyone like he craved you. It was almost unbearable, like every second where he wasn’t touching you was a second wasted.

And yet, he knew you were scared. He could see it in the way you looked down at your shoes, could hear it in the timidity of your voice. It only made him want to protect you more, to make you see that being with him would never be something you had to fear. But he didn’t know how to say that without sounding like he was pushing, without making you feel like you were being rushed into a decision that was as much about you as it was him.

But damn if he didn’t want to make you his.

He opened his eyes and pulled back enough to look at you face again, to really take you in. And my god, the way you were looking up at him with those wide, innocent eyes made his chest tighten. And you didn’t even realize how much power you had over him. One look, one smile, and he was a goner.

Before either of you could speak, thunder cracked off in the distance, bringing you both back to the present, back to the rest of the world. You glanced up at the dark clouds that blew in to cover the stars, wondering how long you had stood on this bridge with Benny.

“Guess we should get back,” you said sheepishly.

“Guess so,” Benny replied with a lazy grin as though the storm could come crashing down and he’d still be perfectly content standing here with you.

“Do you think it’s going to rain?” you asked as you walked to his bike, glancing up at the thick, dark clouds blowing in from the west.

“Nah,” he said as he swung a leg over the bike with that signature confidence that made your heart race. “We’ll be fine.”

Famous last words.

******

By the time Benny pulled up to your house, rain was pouring from the sky like a waterfall, fat and heavy droplets splattering onto the sidewalk. Despite wearing Benny’s Vandals jacket, the rain had completely soaked you. Your hair, which had been meticulously pinned up just hours ago, was plastered to your face, and your dress clung to your body like a second skin.

You didn’t wait for him to shut off the bike before you hopped off and tugged on his sleeve.

“C’mon!” You laughed, tugging on Benny’s sleeve as you ran for the safety of your porch overhang. Your heels splashed through the water pooling on the blacktop, and he followed quickly behind, his warm hands finding your waist to steady you from falling as you both stumbled beneath the overhang.

Breathless and grinning like an idiot, you turned to face him, and you were momentarily stunned by the sight. Rainwater rolled down from his usually swept up hair, sliding down the curve of his cheekbones and falling off his jawline. He only wore a whote t shirt, the wet fabric turning almost transparent as it clung to every ridge, every toned muscle and you blinked before your gaze shot back up to his face. Even as wet as a drowned rat, he still managed to look so effortlessly sexy.

He was grinning at you with that boyish expression, and heat filled your face at the realization that you were just as soaked as he was but definitely not as pretty a sight. You probably looked like a mess — makeup smeared, hair ruined — but he was staring at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

“Not gonna rain, huh?” you teased, quirking an eyebrow at the heavy rainfall just off your porch.

“Just a light sprinkle,” he returned easily, but you noticed he had to bite his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“Do you wanna come in?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. “To dry off?”

He sobered instantly, his gaze raking over your form before moving to your front door. He’d never been inside your house, never seen where you call home, where you lay down at night and replay your memories of him. There was never really an option for him to be inside your house. He’d never met your parents — despite asking multiple times to meet them, but you couldn’t bring yourself to put neither your parents nor Benny though that. Deep down, you knew your father would never approve of Benny, never give him his blessing. It was a disaster waiting to happen when he found out that you were dating a biker. You begged your mother to keep it a secret to which she obliged, but you knew it wouldn’t be long till he found out.

Benny took a full step back from you, hesitation obvious in his face, his voice low and almost regretful he said. “I—I better not, Bun.”

Normally, you wouldn’t ask again after being denied, wouldn’t be so bold. But you weren’t the same girl you were a few weeks ago before you met Benny. Emboldened by the perfect opportunity to have him inside your home, to share a piece of yourself with him, you stepped forward.

You took a step forward, your voice soft but sure. “My parents aren’t home. C’mon, just to dry off and wait till the rain lets up a little. You can’t drive in that anyway. It’s not safe and I won’t let you.”

Benny released a breath that sounded a lot like a laugh as he shook his head, clearly conflicted by your invitation. And for a moment, you thought he might shake his head and turn away. You thought he might face the rainstorm and leave you behind.

But instead, he nodded and your heart soared at the small gesture. Filled with hopeful energy, you shot him a smile, moving to open the front door and invite him inside your home, inside your world.

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