#that is exactly what i'm going to be doing

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae!! Hope you’re doing well💖 sooo last weekend, for the first time, I suffered a terrible migraine that landed me in the er (hated the idea but the iv meds on the other hand… lifesaver 🙏) although I’ll admit I was a nervous wreck (they had to call my bf in to help hehe) so I was wondering if you would be willing to write reader kinda going through the same thing with doc!remus, emt!marauders or fwb!doc Remus (loved the last fic you posted about it!!), whatever makes you the happiest!🤩 love you queen ✨🧡

I'm sorry about your migrane lovely! Ty for requesting

cw: hospital, reader is nervous about needles, vomit, nausea, migraine

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

The damp smell of paper is comforting, though the warmth of your own breath blowing back on your face makes your eye throb all the way to the back of your skull. You’re so focussed on not vomiting you don’t even realize the car has stopped moving. 

James rubs your back. “We’re here,” he says, voice considerately soft. It sends painful reverberations through your head anyway. 

A whimper slips out of you into your paper bag cavern. 

“Let me have that.” Sirius is being quiet, too, though the bag crinkles some when he takes it from you. Your seatbelt clicks off. “It’s okay, you’re not going to be sick. Come on, lovely.” 

You crack your eyes open. Every muscle in your face clenches instinctively at the barrage of sunlight. Sirius waits outside your car door with his hand held out. 

“I don’t want to,” you mumble. Not exactly eloquent, but apt enough. 

Sirius’ mouth pinches with sympathy. “I know. It’s gonna be shit at first, but it’ll be good for you in the end, alright?” 

You hesitate. It’s difficult to think past the pulsing ache in your face and temples, past the taste of bile on your tongue. You know that it’s not your boyfriends’ first time dealing with a migraine, and they probably have a good sense of what warrants medical attention, but you feel strongly that staying where things can be still and quiet is the far superior option. 

“Trust us,” James murmurs. 

You take Sirius’ hand. He helps ease you out of the car, James hovering behind you, and delivers you straight to Remus’ arms. Remus holds you against him like you might crumple without the support. It’s a founded fear. 

“Want to try these?” he asks, transferring a couple of rubber earplugs into your palm. “Might help a bit.” 

You hum your thanks, pressing them in. You walk into A&E with Remus and James on each side of you and Sirius taking up the rear like they can shield you from it all. 

Sirius is right. It’s fucking shit. 

The earplugs do something, perhaps, but not much to deaden the noise of the emergency department. Voices overlapping, machines beeping, some baby somewhere wailing its head off. Anxiety sits in the air like a thick mist, and the low buzzing of the fluorescent lights amplifies it all. 

Your nausea surges. “Bag,” you mumble, but in this environment you’re too quiet for anyone to hear. 

You clamp your jaw shut and try to breathe evenly as Remus walks with you tucked close to his side. Eventually, you squeeze your eyes shut, letting him guide you the rest of the way into a small, curtained-off room. 

“Bag,” you try again. James hands it to you—Sirius seems to have peeled off at some point, you don’t know when—just in time for you to bend over, retching. 

“Oh, my love.” Remus gathers a few flyaways back from your face. One of your earplugs falls out. James grips the side of your bag, too, making sure you don’t drop it. “You’re alright, let it out. We’re done going anyplace.” 

Your temples feel like they’re bulging the whole time you’re emptying your stomach into the paper bag, but eventually you’re finished. James ties it off and drops it in a wastebin. 

“Come here,” he coaxes, helping you up onto the table. You tent your legs in front of you, pushing the aching side of your face into your knee. It helps, strangely. James kisses your shoulder. “That’s it. No more moving, I promise.” 

“Alright, we’re all registered,” Sirius announces as the curtain pulls open. You must flinch visibly, because he lowers his volume, Remus’ hand landing between your shoulders. “I’ve filled out your forms—in fucking record time, if I do say so myself—so we’re all set to get you started on some meds, gorgeous. Where’s the—did we throw up again?” 

“Yeah.” You can hear the grimace in James’ voice. “Can we get another bag? Just in case…” 

“I don’t think I have anything left,” you admit. 

“Okay,” Sirius says smoothly. Remus has begun massaging the taut muscles of your neck, your boyfriends’ combined caring wrapping around you like an embrace. “That’s alright, we’ve got you. Let’s have some medicine, yeah?” 

There’s a good amount of shuffling around. Remus’ hand stays on your nape, but you hear equipment being moved, something crinkling and something else squeaking. When you eventually risk opening your eyes again, Sirius and James are nearly done setting up and you find you haven’t completely emptied your stomach, after all. 

“No,” you moan. 

James blinks up at you. “Angel, this is going to help.” 

“I don’t want an IV,” you say. Pleading, but already your sinuses are throbbing with defeat. 

“You can’t have anything oral if you’re going to throw it up.” Sirius looks you in the eyes. His gaze is steady, if not a tiny bit pitying. “It’s going to make you feel better, I swear.” 

“It’s going to hurt.” You start to cry. You’re already dealing with enough hurt. Between the bright lights, and all the noise, and your eye socket feeling like someone is trying to hammer an ice pick through it, you really feel like anything more could do you in. You don’t think you can take it. 

“It only hurts for a second.” James is pleading now, too. He gets up on the table with you, maneuvering himself until you’re sitting between his legs, the warmth of his body wrapped around you. Remus continues soothing the pain at the base of your skull. “Trust us, sweetheart, please. We wouldn’t have put you through all this if we didn’t think we’d be able to help.” 

“Sirius is good at this,” Remus murmurs. “Let him.” 

You sniff, throbbing and nauseous and overwhelmed, but hold out your arm. Sirius presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist. 

“We’re gonna take care of you,” he promises, wiping the crook of your elbow. “Close your eyes, baby.” 

You push your face into your knee again and let Remus’ gentle fingers ease the tension in you. Between his hand on your neck, James’ arms wrapped around your shoulders, and Sirius probing at the inside of your arm, all the contact should worsen your sensory overload, but your boyfriends’ touches ground you. Remus shushes you gently when the needle pricks your skin, though you don’t make a sound. 

“There we are,” Sirius murmurs, still messing with your arm. “Doing so good, almost done. And…that’s it.” 

He flattens a piece of tape with his thumbs. When he pulls your fingers to his mouth for a kiss, you squeeze his hand. 

“Thanks,” you mumble. 

“Anytime, sweetness.” 

“You are good at that.” 

Sirius laughs, trying to quiet himself halfway through. “Well, I am a professional. Did no one mention that?” 

You hum weakly. 

James sets his lips to your shoulder. “You did good, angel. The medicine should kick in soon, okay? Just bear with us a little while longer.” 

You lean into him in thanks, and you wait. You all wait, practically unmoving, you tense with pain and your boyfriends tense with their own torment. You’re the quietest stall in the hospital. 

The meds don’t work all at once. It’s a slow, seeping sort of relief, and you don’t even fully register it until you notice that you’re not pressing your face into your knee as harshly. You don’t feel the need to create your own ache to supersede the one already there. The taut muscles at the base of your skull aren’t so taut anymore. 

You let out a breath. 

“Yeah?” Remus murmurs. 

“Yeah.” 

James plants a happy kiss on your shoulder. “How is it?” he asks. “Scale of one to ten.” 

“I think…probably a seven? But it was a nine before.” 

“That’s good, sweetheart.” You can hear the smile in his voice without raising your head. “It should keep feeling better.” 

You take another full breath. It feels good to do it without worrying you’re going to trigger your nausea again. 

“Want to try laying down?” Sirius asks softly. 

You nod, letting yourself list to the side. James helps you down the rest of the way. Sirius has pulled up a stool to the side of your little cot. He presses his thumb and forefinger to the top of your nose, just under your brow bone, and pushes gently. Something almost like a whimper escapes you. 

“Okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah. Feels good.” 

“It’s because his hands are so freezing,” Remus teases. You think you hear the soft sound of a kiss landing on Sirius’ cheek, but Sirius’ hand never falters. He slowly works his way upward, drilling little circles in the center of your forehead before setting his thumbs to both of your temples. You feel the wound-tight knot of your head softening and unspooling. 

“Think you might be able to go to sleep?” Remus hums after a while. 

“I don’t know if I can help it,” you reply. You’ve been weathering this for days, the pain relentless and taxing. You’re exhausted. 

“That’s good, lovely. Get some rest.” 

“Will you…” 

“Yeah. We’ll be here.”

[mwphisto]

LaDs: How they’d propose

~ just some fluffy head canons!

~ all love interests included, reader’s gender not specified

A note from Soul: my friend just got engaged the other day and now I’m in the mood to brain storm how the lads men would do it! Gotta love fictional men because I can mold them however I want (jk) lol - I started drafting this before the wedding banner was announced so I'm not really going off of anything seen in the trailer!!

Xavier

He and Jeremiah spent months preparing this.

The back of Philos has been perfectly prepared for Xavier's grand proposal idea. He and Jeremiah had tediously grown and tended to some of your favorite plants for what felt like forever. Treating them as if they were real babies, nurturing them with only the best soil, water, and daily sunlight.

Now, they were all in glorious full bloom. The greenhouse smelt of the prettiest florals, decked out in warm fairy lights, and a table for two with a white table cloth and fancy dinnerware was set up in the middle of it all. It was perfect, exactly what Xavier had envisioned.

"Woah, Xavier..." you had been starstruck the moment he guided you back there. Your eyes twinkling as you took in all the flowers, the decorations, the soft melody playing from a speaker hidden somewhere among all of this. It was breathtaking.

"You did all of this for me?" Mentally, you were trying to recall if you had forgotten an anniversary or an important date. but you came up empty handed. "Yeah, with Jeremiah's help of course, but the ideas were all mine." There is a light blush on his face, the hand holding yours squeezes suddenly and you can't help but feel nervous.

"What's the special occasion?" You two stop right before the table, and Xavier turns to you, pulling your other hand into his and bringing both to his lips. "Do I need a special occasion to shower you in love?" Of course he didn't, but this felt so... special.

"I love you, my little star. More than you would ever be able to comprehend." He starts slowly, eyes lingering on your hands before traveling to your face. Your heart is pounding in your ears, you can feel the anticipation radiating off of his body.

"I cannot fathom spending another day without you by my side. I don't dare to dream of a future that doesn't have you in it. I don't want to wake up to bed without you snuggled beside me." And your heart jumps into your throat as Xavier slowly gets down on one knee.

"My starlight, my universe. I love you so much it hurts. Would you do me the gracious honor of being my wife?"

Your vision is blurred with tears, so blurred that the ring he presents you is nothing more than a sparkling blob in his grasp. You're nodding before the words can leave you, a babble of "yes" and "of course" and about ten million "I love you too"

Zayne

He didn't tell a soul what he was going to do, he had only told his parents of his intent to propose to you.

A week long trip to the Arctic in the middle of a grueling summer. A rented cabin just for the two of you, and a well thought out itinerary so you can see the aurora each night. It would be at its strongest, brightest, and most vibrant on your first night. That's when he'd do it.

"It should start any minute, right?" Your eyes were full of child-like wonder, staring excitedly up at the stars in the night sky. "Yes, any minute now." Zayne was a bundle of nerves, surprising himself when his voice came out steady and unwavering.

You two had just finished eating dinner. A comfort meal you prepped together in the cabin's kitchen. Sharing some wine, light music playing on an antique record player, the fireplace a blazing warmth. It had been so perfect, so cozy, that Zayne nearly popped the question as you two ate. But he held off, he had a vision in mind.

He sat back against the cushions, watching his breath puff out in front of him as you excitedly stood at the railings of the cabin porch. Your head unmoving in its upward tilt towards the cosmos.

The moment the aurora made itself known, Zayne would get down on one knee and pop the question that he's been dying to ask. The custom ring he designed sitting safely in a velvet box, just inside of his pant pocket, his fingers a little clammy as they held it.

Then he heard it, your gasp of wonder as the skies filled with greens and blues and even touches of purple. "Zayne! The aurora!"

You were bouncing on your heels, pointing as if he couldn't see the image filling the sky, and whirled around with a smile on your face. Except, Zayne wasn't sitting on the couch anymore. Your smile faltered - but not in a bad way - no, it turned into a look of awe.

Zayne's ears were red, his cheeks flushed all soft and rosy as he presented himself on one knee, a dazzlingly ring sitting in a navy blue velvet box just inches from you. "I had a whole speech written in my head, and now I'm finding that I've lost all my words..." He laughs a little before glancing down at your hands.

"You know me well enough to know I have never been great with expressing myself through words. But for something as special as this, I have been giving it my best practice for months to make it worth while." You can feel your throat tighten, staring at him in the same way you had stared at the aurora.

"I can't imagine going on with my life without you by my side. You have turned my dreary world into one full of color and wonder." He takes your hand, and you realize it is trembling just as badly as your own. "Meeting you changed the entire trajectory of my life. Meeting you gave me purpose, and I never thought I’d get so lucky.”

"Would you do me the greatest honor of spending the rest of your life with me?" And you can barely get the "yes" past your lips before you're falling into his arms and hugging him like he'd disappear if you didn't. "I love you so much." It's a gentle whisper as he takes your hand, slipping ring onto your finger.

Rafayel

Only Thomas and Talia knew vaguely of what Rafayel planned. For once, Thomas restrained himself with pushing deadlines - not that Raf would have cared either way. He appreciated the sentiment.

His goal was for you to be completely surprised, to not suspect a thing. So, he didn't plan anything grand leading up to the actual event. He just did things that you two loved doing together. Dinner at your favorite restaurant - the same one you had your first real date at. Then, the little desert shop just down the road for ice cream.

Only when you arrived back at Mo Art Studio did your suspicions raise. "What do you think?" The sun was setting, bouncing off of the ocean water and creative a pretty spectacle across all the art that Rafayel displayed for you to see. "Rafayel..."

You had a million and one questions on the tip of your tongue, eyes glossing over as you jumped from piece to piece. Each one was so distinctly you. Some detailed portraits, others abstract, some of just you, some with the both of you, you couldn't breathe.

Rafayel stood by the entrance and watched, watched as you circled each piece with bated breath. "Rafayel when in the world did you have the time for all of this?" You spun to look at him, noticing the smile on his lips as he unfolded his arms and pushed off the doorway. "Every time we were apart, every time I missed you, I got to work."

He took your hand in his, squeezing it gently before lifting it to his lips. "Painting, sketching, sculpting you, us, it helped the loneliness be a little more bearable." Only then did you notice the lit candles, the ambiance accompanied by waves crashing on the shore. The ocean breeze cascading through the open windows. Rafayel had used his evol to light the candles, they wouldn't do any harm.

"Speaking of loneliness." His throat cleared, drawing your attention back to his face. "I don't like being alone. I don't like waiting, either." And then? You were gasping, eyes wide as dinner plates as Rafayel got on one knee before you. "I intended on doing this down by the water, with the sunset as our backdrop. But now, right here in this moment, seems like the best time to ask you this."

"You have renewed my life with the most vibrant color palette. Not a day goes by that you don't bring a smile to my face." His hand is trembling as it squeezes yours, his other fishing for something in his suit jacket's pocket. "I never want to lose that vibrancy, nor the joy that you have colored my days with."

He pulls out a box, flicking it open with his thumb to present you with the most stunning ring you'd ever laid your eyes on.

"My beloved, my heart, my entire world... will you marry me?"

You're choking on a sob, "Of course I will, Raf. Yes." He can barely the slide the ring onto your finger before you're pulling him up and into your arms, crashing your lips together as tears leak down your cheeks. It's only when you part that you realize he is crying too.

Sylus

He didn't trust anyone with this information. Not even the twins.

Coming from him, you'd expect something larger than life. But, instead, Sylus had a much more intimate idea in mind. "Why won't you tell me where we're going?" But you're giggling, playing with the rings on his fingers as his private jet cruises the sky. "Because it will ruin the anticipation. You know how much I love seeing you squirm."

The destination was a sprawling flower field. The kind you'd never find in the N109 Zone, and one that would be a lot less grand a much more artificial in Linkon. He'd seen so many pictures of this place, and not a single one did it justice. Just as he had suspected, which is why he flew the two of you all the way out here.

"Oh my god, Sylus! It's gorgeous!" You were entranced, turning on your heels to stare at him with wide, glittering eyes. The sun was making its lazy decent, casting the field in a warm orange glow. The breeze was warm, rustling the flowers - which were as far as your eyes could see, disappearing into the distance.

"I knew you'd love it." With the rental bike parked and your helmets secured, Sylus entwined his fingers with yours. "A picnic?" You looked at the old-fashioned wicker basket hooked on his arm, a lopsided grin gracing his lips. "Yes, c'mon let's go."

He guided you through the rows of flowers, chuckling softly as dragonflies and bumblebees dances around the blossoms, making you jump and cling to him a little tighter. "Don't worry, there won't be this many where we are heading." And the destination in mind was one of the large trees spread out among the flower field.

By the time you got there and set up the picnic, the sun was ready to disappear beyond the horizon. As if on queue, fireflies began popping up among the flowers. The sight was mesmerizing, and the conversation flowed easily between the two of you. "So, are you going to tell me what the occasion is?" You brought a napkin to your lips, dabbing the strawberry juice - that Sylus desired to kiss - off.

"I wanted to make this as grand for you as possible, but in a way that it was still only you and me." He starts carefully, crimson eyes boring into your soul as you give him your full attention.

"I adore you, more than words can possibly convey. The love I feel for you is so strong it knocks the wind out of me sometimes." And he shifts, moving from his lounging position to one knee. And you swear the entire world begins to spin as he pulls a maroon leather box from his pant pocket. "You are the other half of my soul."

"Sylus-" but it's carried away on the wind, that same lopsided smile on his face as he lets you process before continuing.

"I want to keep building my life with you, I don't want to keep going on without you bound to me for the rest of eternity. Just as I am forever bound to you. I would be the happiest man alive if you promised to stay with me as my wife, until we both cease to exist."

You're nodding, eyes glossing over as stray tears leak down your cheeks. "Yes, Sylus. I'd want nothing more than to be your wife." And you can barely breathe as his trembling hand slides the ring onto your finger. Your knuckles graced by the warmth of his lips.

The soft whispering promise of "I love you, more than anything."

Caleb

Not a soul knows of his intentions, and he feels its better that way.

Everything was planned meticulously, you just had to come along. Caleb had set up an entire mental itinerary of everywhere he'd be taking you. The last stop being Skyhaven, aboard his personal aircraft. Then, he'd pop the question.

"Last stop on our adventure, pips. Almost there." He's smiling at you, noting the slightly tired look in your eyes as you stare mesmerized out the window of his aircraft. "We did so much today! How are you not tired yet?" But even as you spoke, your eyes were widening at the sight of cotton candy clouds. The sun had just set only moments prior, the last few rays gracing the world until morning.

"I could never be tired if I'm spending my time with you." And he could hear your eyes rolling without you having to say a word never mind look at him. "Trust me, pips. This last stop is worth it." But you could only chuckle. "I must be missing some sort of anniversary. How come we've done so many special things today?"

"I just enjoy doing things with you, isn't that a good enough reason?" But you could always see right through him. Yet, for some reason, something in the back of your mind told you to stop pressing and just let things be. "It is, I suppose. I like doing things with you too."

Luckily, your last stop was Caleb's backyard. He had set it up before leaving to get you in Linkon earlier that day. Blankets and pillows set up in the grass, lights adorning the large apple tree that resided in his yard, music playing softly thanks to Otto, and lastly two glasses and a bottle of wine. It was intimate, meaningful, and you could both crash right after. Because with all the tension in his body, he knew he'd be lucky if he didn't pass out after hearing you answer.

"There is a meteor shower tonight, I figured we could watch it together." Warmth filled your chest, a smile spreading from ear to ear as you took his hand and dragged him towards his own set up.

"I totally forgot about that, Caleb! This is perfect." The ring was already grasped in his other hand, letting you sit down first before getting on one knee. The look only your face was utterly priceless, worth every ounce of stress it took for him to get his timing right.

"I've beens struggling for over a year now to figure out what to say to you when I finally did this." And the ring was presented to you, no box, just between his fingers, and it was as if he held the whole world right there instead. "And even now, I still don't have a clue how to put everything you are to me into words."

"Though, I'm sure you know very well by now that you are my everything. You've always been my everything, since we were kids." The first meteor is streaking through the sky, but nothing can draw your attention from him. "I want you to stay with me, and I promise you that I will never leave you alone ever again."

Your throat is tightening, eyes brimming with tears as you're nodding before he even says the words. "Will you marry me? It would be my greatest achievement in life to be your husband." And your answer leaves your lips like a never ending prayer. Yes after yes, I love you after I love you. The ring is slid onto your finger, and you've never felt more whole in your entire life.

"I love you, with every fiber of my being, Caleb."

Hope you enjoyed!! - Soul

[lucidfairies]

— mess around (finale!)

part one • part two • part three • part four

synopsis: it wasn't everyday you moved to the south, surrounded by cowboys and their women, but here you were, and your new neighbor simply couldn't get any more enticing

pairing: rancher!sevika x married housewife!reader

warnings: dom!sev, sub!reader, breeding kink, squirting strap, eating it from the back, size/strength kink, praise, borderline voyeurism, pet names, sevika being head over heels in love, fem!sevika if you squint, pregnancy

wc: 3.5k

a/n: Nashik is a wine region in India! it's hinted that Sevika's background is Indian, but I mainly did that for the wine! I'm so sad this is ending, spinoffs are most definitely coming 😭

Marrying Sevika was everything you could’ve ever wanted.

It wasn’t just the wedding, it was everything to do with it. She took you out on her horses after teaching you to ride, to a special little spot on the back corner of her acres of land. It bordered a lake, the mountains and a sunset painting the background, and she dropped to one knee. You didn’t stop crying until the next morning, you were sure, for a number of reasons (most of which were not appropriate).

To make matters even better, she offered to pay for the entire thing, and she kept her word. Anything you wanted was yours, she told you. And so, you had a massive venue, every kind of food, a phenomenal photographer, and the dress of your dreams. It wasn’t like anything you’d experienced in your life.

Sevika wrote her vows like her hand had been blessed by an angel. And when she said them, accent thick and deep from crying, you couldn’t help kissing her on the spot. This was your heaven, your sanctuary, and where you sought to remain for the rest of your life. With her, in her arms, surrounded by all the people that loved you most.

The night only got better when she took you home.

You both created a plan several months prior; you were going to begin the journey of getting pregnant via donor sperm. You, of course, wanted to do whatever the doctor said, but Sevika insisted that you try at home. You hadn’t realized her malicious intentions in the moment, but you were quick to find out that she had no intention of doing things the medical way.

You spent months picking the donor, almost as long as it took for the wedding to come. You insisted that the donor look exactly like Sevika - down to the height and muscle mass. Eyes, hair, bone structure, all of it. And finally, after months of searching, you found a man who met all of the requirements. You cried hard that day, overcome with the feelings that you had truly been blessed.

Unbeknownst to you, she had prepped the strap that morning - the donor cum was already in it and waiting when you returned home, stumbling through the door as she grabbed onto every part of you. Sevika loved your dress, she adored the way you looked in it, but she loved the way it looked on the floor even more.

You were on the bed before you even had time to process what was happening, and soon enough, she had you coming… and coming, and coming, and coming. You often joked about going until the sun rose, but that night, it wasn’t a joke. She kept you in bed until you couldn’t form a coherent thought.

And, of course, your last round had you bent over and her strap buried as deep in you as she could get it. She held you in that position for a moment, obsessing over the sight of your spent cunt still so desperate for her, still sucking her in even though you whined and cried that it hurt and you couldn’t go any longer.

You could’ve blacked out when she grabbed you by your hair and dragged you up until your sweaty back was pressed against her front, whispering in your ear, “y’r gon’ make such a pretty mommy, bunny. ‘s gonna feel so good when I fill you up.” your eyes rolled back and a string of drool rolled out of your open mouth.

She wasn’t kidding, either. The feeling of her filling you and knowing that this time it could stick was an otherworldly one. Just like the first time the two of you messed around with something like this, she plugged you and had you keep it in you, legs in the air to make sure that it stuck.

The two of you spent the next day at home together, since the sperm had to sit in you for several hours. She had planned ahead for this, too, not booking the honeymoon flight until two days after the wedding. She made that day just as good as she made every other; planned a movie marathon, made all your favorite food, smothered you in love.

You were sure, when you landed on the first island of your honeymoon, that it was going to be better than the wedding. You didn’t even know that that was possible.

Sevika handled everything, even though you fought her on it. She carried your bags for you, got the rental car for you, made all of the reservations. She made you sit in the airport while she got the car, insistent that you couldn’t push yourself too much.

She booked an all inclusive stay at a resort, in a bungalow with an unlimited view of the water. The blue traveled as far as the eye could see, and when you leaned over the side of the patio railing, you could see the sand beneath the water. Shells and rocks, fish and seaweed mixed in the clear water, and you were beyond excited.

“Vika,” when you turned around, she was leaning against the doorframe between the room and the patio. “Vika, you’ve outdone yourself. I didn’t think I’d ever get you out of the south.” She grinned, coming to you and wrapping her arms around your waist.

“I’ll do anythin’ for my girl. Even if it means leavin’ the farm.” You giggled, looping your hands around her neck and pulling her in for a kiss. She pulled away moments before you could push your tongue into her mouth, instead opting to spin you by the hips, so that your back was against her front. “Y’know what’d make this view even better, peach?” Her hand slid over your stomach.

“What?” You teased, knowing exactly where she was going.

“You bent over the railing with no panties on,” You gasped, still perplexed by her ability to say such dirty things. “Think we can make that happen, bunny?” Her mechanical arm fisted your hair and pulled it back so that your head was against her chest. You nodded embarrassingly quickly. “Good girl. Go strip f’r me.” She released your hair and slapped your ass to get you going.

Sevika’s strength had always been admirable, but especially now. She had you bent over the railing as she said she would, except she was holding your entire body up and on her face. She was on her knees, eating you with a fervor that you hadn’t ever seen in her before - something more than just eating you out. She had both hands wrapped around your hips, lifting you off of the ground so that she could get the exact angle she wanted.

You could tell that this was about her. She had you at an angle she wanted, she was doing as she pleased for as long as she wanted, and she had such a tight grip on you that you couldn’t even grind back into her face. With the way she was moaning into your clit, you just knew that this was for her. Your cunt was hers.

“Fuck,” she groaned, pulling away from you for a moment, ignoring your whines. “Can’t wait to make you a mommy, y’r all mine.” When you looked back at her, it looked as if she was in a trance. Her pupils were dilated, all but filling the grey of her eyes as she looked at your cunt. “Y’r so.. fuckin’ pretty.”

Your stomach coiled at her words and you clenched around her tongue when she dove back in. She tongue fucked you until you came, whining and whimpering like a bitch in heat. She wasn’t done, though - still consumed by her fucked out craze as she picked you up and placed you over her shoulder with ease.

She kept you in bed for hours, indulging every want of hers that she could. She had you on her fingers, on her strap, on her face, she even let you scissor for the first time, something you were sure she wouldn’t ever be comfortable with.

The days passed slowly, the nights fast. You went on expeditions, lounged at the beach, went into town. Everything you could’ve wanted, she made sure it happened. You did the same for her too, though. Booked a massage to unwind her knots of shoulders, took her out to restaurants you were sure she’d love. In total, the first week was nothing but magic.

The trip was two weeks, with the two of you packing up and leaving the first island at the end of the second week. When the day came to pack, you felt bad for Sevika - your body was so tired, practically leaving you bedridden. You were sure it was from fucking all day every day on top of expeditions, but Sevika had no problem packing for you.

The next island was definitely better than the first. By some miracle, the water was even clearer than the first place, the plants even more luscious and colorful. You couldn’t help yourself from squealing when you arrived at the first beach. “Sevi, can you believe this?”

She wasn’t looking at the water.

Sevika was sure before you that her life was comfortable without another person in it. She liked her house and her dogs, her horses and ducks. She was fine without anything or anyone else. But then there was you. Sun and stars and everything beautiful that exists in the universe. She knew from the moment she saw you that she had to have you.

The moment you appeared at her door, introducing yourself with your stunner of a smile, she knew. Her heart leapt out of her chest and her eyes grew wide, and she hoped you hadn’t noticed. She couldn’t fathom how someone like you simply existed in the house across the street, sweet as sugar and fine as wine.

It was easy for her to be everything you wanted. Anything was better than your ex husband. She loved doing things for you, buying things for you, teaching you to ride her horses and finally buying you a nice pair of boots. As she was everything you wanted, you were everything she could’ve dreamt.

Her love for you was the deepest, purest, most true feeling that her body held. There weren’t any questions, or any ‘what if’s’ when it came to you. You were simple, you were always the right choice. There wasn’t a lifetime that she wouldn’t pick you in, no matter any other option. It would always be you.

“Yeah baby, I believe it,” she grinned at your excitement, fluffing out a towel for you on the warm sand. She wanted to pluck the little blue suit you had on right off and show you just how much she loved you right here on the beach. “I love you, sugar.”

You giggled, taking a seat next to her on the large towel. “You haven’t called me that one in a while.” She laid back smiling, her flesh arm behind her head, mech arm reaching out to hold your hip where you sat on your knees. “I love you more.” You laid with her, and it wasn’t long before you were both sound asleep, together, on the beach.

The final week came and went with haste.

That being said, Sevika surprised you with the nicest dinner date you had possibly ever been on on your final day. She took you shopping in the morning, bought you a dress and some heels, and then took you to the beach again. Your muscles ached of fatigue and it began to worry you.

She helped you get ready when the time came, curling the ends of your hair for you and brushing it out pretty, holding your makeup palettes for you, clipping your heel strap around your ankle. Her knuckles brushed against your spine as she pulled the zipper for your dress, causing you to shiver.

“You look gorgeous,” she murmured while she kissed her way from the spot under your ear down your exposed shoulder. “We ain’t gotta be at dinner f’r a few minutes,” her hands slipped over your hips and pulled you against her.

“Sev, you haven’t even gotten ready,” you spun, placing your well-manicured hands (by her dime) on her chest as her hands found your ass. “Go get ready. We have all the time in the world after dinner.” With a groan, she took her dress bag and went to get ready.

You didn’t actually know what she bought as she did it while you were trying things on, but the moment your eyes landed on her, none of it mattered anymore. She walked out of the bathroom in a tightly fitted button-down and slacks, her shirt unbuttoned deep enough to subtly flaunt her cleavage. Her slacks were widely cut, but they weren’t wide enough to hide the muscle in her legs, putting them effortlessly on display.

“Y’r lookin’ at me like we ain’t gotta be at dinner for a few minutes.” She grinned, tooth gap on display as she leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. “C’mon, peach. Wanna get you somethin’ nice before we go home.” She grabbed your purse for you and kissed you, soft lips finding yours like they were made for them.

The venue was nothing short of breathtaking. The ambiance made it dark, candles and floor lights lighting the room just barely. The patio, where Sevika booked the two of you a table, overlooked the ocean with a magnetic view. You gasped when the hostess saw you to your seat. Sevika pulled your seat out for you as you sat when then took hers, picking up her menu.

When you picked yours up, your eyes widened to the max that they could. “Sev,” you whispered through clenched teeth, “every entree on this menu is at least two hundred dollars.” She smirked, eyes dragging down her menu and then up to your eyes.

“Want the best for my baby. ‘s not that much.” You restrained yourself from crawling across the table and slapping her across the face. “Pick out whatever you want, peach. ‘s not y’r job to think about money anymore.” Your jaw hung open but you were quick to close it, blush coloring your cheeks like a child’s painting.

It was difficult to believe that people ever said “marriage is hard”. Being with Sevika was easy. She knew what you liked and what to order you, she let you talk about whatever you wanted and was interested in it, she explained the farm and your role in it (hint: you didn’t have a role outside of homemaker unless you wanted one).

Conversation came and went with the food, the both of you commenting on the people around you and the dishes you were served. Even the wine, an intelligent conversation you never would’ve had with your ex husband. It was then that she revealed to you that her family owned a winery in Nashik, and you were beyond baffled.

Everything was going swimmingly until your main entrees came out.

The smell of your order had you reeling. The meal was something you loved, and you ordered regularly - but the smell of it this particular time had your insides twisting the second it was on the table. Sevika looked up from her plate before cutting into her food, brows twisting. “Y’okay, baby?” You were paler than she’d ever seen you. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” You pushed your chair back and shot up, clutching your stomach.

“‘m gonna be sick.” You mumbled before running in the direction of the bathroom. You ignored the waiters’ concerned looks, bee-lining it to the bathroom. Sevika was chasing behind you, and caught up with you just in time to grab your hair as you threw up into the toilet.

She rubbed your back and nursed you until you were finished. She wiped your mouth for you and pulled you against her as you slumped against the wall. As she went to speak, she glanced at your expression and paused. “What’s wrong?”

“Vika,” you said quietly, “I think I’m pregnant,” you looked up at her with tears in your eyes - some from puking moments prior, some from the fact that you were sure you were about to be mothers. “It’s been two weeks, my symptoms have started.” You sniffled, and Sevika pulled you into her tightly.

“Holy shit,” you both sat in silence while the gears in her brain ticked. “Holy shit,” she repeated. “You taken a test yet?” You shook your head.

“I wanted to wait and do it with you. I wasn’t sure until this.” Sevika’s head fell back against the stall door, eyes blown wide. “We could go take one now?” You suggested, knowing that you couldn’t go out and eat the food waiting for you.

“You get cleaned up and I’ll pack up the food ‘nd pay. ‘s that okay, sugar?” You nodded and she effortlessly helped you up off the ground, dusting the dirt off your ass while you giggled. She kissed your forehead, still looking like a deer in headlights. “I’ll be back, I love you.” You said it back, and she was off on her mission.

The two of you looked funny in a convenience store at nine o��clock at night. Her jacket was over your shoulders and you were giggling with her as you grabbed four tests. “Why so many?” She looked concerned as you placed test after test in the small cart.

“To be sure. No false positives, y’know?” She hummed. The man at the register gave the two of you strange looks and Sevika glared at him. He was quick to turn away and you smiled. This was it, this was heaven. Standing at a counter, late at night, buying pregnancy tests with your wife. It couldn’t get any better than this.

Sevika paced outside of the bathroom like a mad woman. You peed on all four tests and sat them on the counter and came out to her. You immediately caught her attention and she scanned you, looking for the tests. “Take a breath, they have to sit for a few minutes,” you giggled, walking past her to change.

She stood in the middle of the room simply looking at you for quite a while. “Y’r gonna be the best mommy, y’know that, peach?” You looked away from her, tears welling in your eyes. That was another thing - your emotions were stronger than ever.

“If I’m even pregnant, we don’t know yet,” the alarm rang and you looked at each other.

You made Sevika stand outside the bathroom while you checked the tests. She was more nervous than she had ever been. More nervous than marrying you, more nervous than asking for your hand, more nervous than traveling north to meet your parents and asking for your father’s permission to marry you.

“Close your eyes,” you yelled from the bathroom and she did. “Open your hands, palms up,” she did, and you placed two tests in each hand. “Open,” she opened her eyes and looked down at the four positive tests in her hands.

“Oh my god,” the tests crashed onto the floor as she pulled you into the tightest hug she’d ever given you. “Oh my god, oh my god, y’r pregnant.” she was crying before she could even register it. “‘m gonna be a mom, y’r gonna be a mom. We’re gonna be moms, peach.”

You were both ugly crying. You’d only seen Sevika cry one other time - your wedding day, when you began your walk down the aisle. When she fell into a squat, hands covering her face as she cried. She cried harder today than she had in her entire life.

And she kissed you, lips salty with tears. She kissed you with all the love in the world, every drop of emotion that the world contained. She kissed you to the stars and the moon. She kissed you with a promise. “I love you,” she pulled away, just to kiss you again, “so fuckin’ much, sugar. You mean the world to me.” She pecked your lips before falling to her knees, lifting the shirt that you had changed into to kiss your stomach.

“I love you, Vika.” you cradled her face in your hands, and gazed into the same eyes that you fell in love with all those years ago, on her porch, looking at her dirty boots.

above all else, I owe all success and glory of this series to @sevsgiirl . Sarah is the reason this series exists. they convinced me to write it and bounced ideas back and forth with me for every part. she helped me in every aspect of this and this would not exist with them. please please go follow her and like their work!!! they're a phenomenal author and person 💖

taglist: @chaosisclassy @ilovesevika88 @2hiigh2cry @glass-apothecary @zthebean27 @sli-v3r @carotenoidstereo @hbwrelic @savedforlaterr @sunflowerwinds @megamultifandomtrashposts @thatsmadiculous @thehoneybeesting @moodient @jinxvex @lez-zuha @sookaihrts @belovedisappointment @rereanduselessbird @sksksscarlet @coneyislandhorrorqueen @prwttiestbunny @ghostlylittlemoths @half-of-a-gay @aiden-slayyyys @womenlover360 @luphelia @maximoff-jp @losernb @dayfeelinglighter @powderpinkandsweeet @gumboug @andyslovingwife @hello222things @ayooooohush @yoursimhannah @yesplstodaysatan @purplehazzes @xblinkx2 @mistershotz @lilithyys @abbyanderswife @stmvivs @theoreticalfreak @deliciouslydeviantsatan @lonely-nerd-sodaholic @misswannadieqwq @wingedhallows @vixy-vix @slut4acotar @runawaybaby3 @deeznutssthings @possessedmagpie @d3adbrainer @t-0-riv @skullsbown @sadie6sinks6slut @nymanas @xielangit @l4dyf1ngers @mcqueeferson @razbunz @nymanas @prettyinpink69 @aprilshireath @rosesfornoses-blog @d1psht @reneesub @cupcakequeefer @mdoesthinxgs @euphoricnyctophilia @ultraviiiolet @strawberrylipglossx @sharki-100 @sevikasoneandonlywife @krisziepowlet @sevikaswife135 @unadulteratedcoffeetastemaker @nochetila @elliesbabygirl @vxtanne31 @pearldaisy @daughterofthemoons-stuff @klallx @izzy-sevika

[ddejavvu]

i keep thinking about ur casual dominance hiccup hcs theyre so good

i walk fast and i keep thinking about him just like. gently grabbing my ponytail and tugging me back to his side (hc he walks slow cus his prosthetic) and not even missing a beat in whatever we were talking about likkeee

Hiccup won't judge you too harshly for walking twice his speed, because the baby dragons you're raving about really are incredible, but when he can barely hear you anymore as he lags behind, he takes an extra long step and reaches for your hair that's swinging back and forth in its ponytail.

"And the littlest one is the fattest." You're laughing, demonstrating its size with your hands, "He's short but he's chubby because he eats the most- ah- hey!"

"Too fast." He murmurs, the thunk of his prosthetic leg hitting the bedrock beneath you a reminder that he can't exactly go for a sprint around the island anymore, "Keep going- what about the fat little baby?"

"He eats all of the rocks," You laugh breathily, feeling Hiccup's hand drift to the small of your back instead of hanging onto your hair, "I'll walk slower, sorry."

"I'm missing a leg, just in case you forgot." He sends you a cheeky, knowing grin, "The prosthetic chafes really bad if I rush too fast."

"Well we don't have to rush." You resolve, slowing yourself down to a snail's pace as you trek through the woodlands of Berk, "We can spend all day here. It'll give me a chance to get some fresh air, and it'll give you a chance to avoid your dad!"

"Hey! I'm not avoiding him," Hiccup gripes, but he gives in almost immediately, "I'm just- trying not to walk by him so that he doesn't suck me into a four-hour-long lecture about providing for our people when what he's really talking about is tending to Mildew's cabbage farm because he's too lazy to do it himself!"

"Well then," You snicker, bumping your shoulder into his and nearly sending him to the ground, "It'll give you a chance to not walk by your dad so that he doesn't suck you into a-"

"Alright- Walk faster again," Hiccup cuts you off, using the hand on your back to propel you forwards an extra step as you yelp with laughter, "If you're gonna make fun of me I don't want to hear it."

[sweetcalebb]

hii I love ur work bookie!!

brat tamer caleb nsfw? looks around nervously ..

Brat tamer Caleb ! ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

wc: 2.6k

a/n: hi bookie!! LOL no need to be nervous 😏 thank u so much!! that seriously means so much to me ‹33 hope this was okay. i can totally see caleb being a brat tamer, but only if u wanted him to be bc that man is DOWN BADD. like otherwise he would totally give in.

as always, DM me, comment, or send another ask if u wanted something else! i won't get butthurt. if anything i just get an excuse to write caleb more

——

Everything was completely fine. You were completely fine.

Until Caleb rolled his sleeves to his elbows and leaned back in his chair like he didn't know exactly what that would do to you.

Maybe you were a little desperate, but that wasn't news. You were always desperate for Caleb.

You shifted closer, brushing up against his side like it was just some innocent gesture. "Calebbb."

Caleb grinned, leaning down to hear you over the clinking glass and passing conversations. "Pipsqueaakk."

You pursed your lips and batted your eyelashes. It was an overused look, but one that always won Caleb over—he claimed it was "too pretty to resist."

"Aren't you a little bored?" You trailed your heel up his shin under the table, the touch drawing out a small chuckle. He knew that move. Knew that look.

"Mm.. maybe a little," he admitted. "But it'd be rude to leave a dinner you're supposed to have with your friends."

You frowned, leaning in even closer. Who cared about modesty anymore? Caleb looked too damn good to not be bending you over the table right now.

Alright. Down, girl.

"C'mon." You nudged him lightly. "We can just say a quick goodbye and be done."

But he still wasn't budging. If anything, he was liking this, letting an amused little grin tugging at his lips.

You chewed your cheek. What an ass.

"Please?" You brushed your lips against his ear, the gesture innocent enough to pass off as nothing. "I need you."

Caleb watched as you sat back. Oh, you were going all out.

The thought made him laugh. He loved you like this. Loved how desperate you were to be put you in your place. "You're being naughty tonight."

You sucked your lip between your teeth, shifting uncomfortably in your seat.

"I'm sorry, Pips," he huffed, shaking his head and taking a small sip of his drink, "but I think you can wait a little."

"Caleb—"

"You really wanna act all needy in front of your friends?" Caleb mused, casting you a sideways glance. Any protests you had left instantly melted away. It was hard to think when Caleb looked at you like that—all smug and sharp like he already had you exactly where he wanted.

"Just sit pretty. You'll get what you want in a little."

You huffed.

Just sit pretty?

No. No, absolutely not. Caleb had never resisted that look. Why the hell was he starting now, when you needed him so badly it hurt?

You crossed your arms and sat back in your seat, your eyes darting over your friends who all looked completely unbothered—laughing, drinking, eating.

God.

They had no idea that Caleb had just denied you.

And that you were going to make him pay.

The rest of the night you teased him.

You trailed your fingers up his thigh, flashing him an innocent smile when his eyes darted towards you. Sharp. Suspicious.

You didn't stop though. Instead, you brought your hand higher, stopping dangerously close to his groin. And when he didn't even flinch, you went higher. His hitched little breath was your cue to pull back.

Two could play this game.

You pulled your dress a little too low to expose more skin. You brushed your ankle against his more suggestively. You texted him the filthy things and watched as he read them, then spread his thighs subtly and shifted in his seat.

You were getting to him.

Deny as he might.

But he never broke. No. Caleb was too cool for that. He could give your leg a warning little squeeze and murmur dirty promises in your ear, but he didn't break.

Not even on the car ride home.

You sat there, elbow resting on the window and legs squeezed together.

"Tired?"

You blinked, glancing over at Caleb. He wasn't looking at you. Not then, anyway. But you saw it, heard it—the little upward curl of his lips and mocking lilt in his voice.

You sucked in your cheek. "Mmn. No, I'm feeling great. Actually," you shifted, squeezing your legs together a little tighter, "I think I'll help myself when I get home."

Caleb tensed slightly, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "Play nice, Pips."

"I am playing nice," you hummed, turning your gaze back out the window.

Caleb let out a disbelieving laugh. You were annoyingly stubborn and he loved that. You gave him the perfect challenge. The perfect chase.

"Maybe I shouldn't."

Caleb's eyes darted toward you again. "What do you mean?"

You met his gaze again, lips soft and sweet, curled into the cute smile that told him you were up to.

"I'm just so—" you sighed, arching your back off the seat. Not too dramatic. Just enough to look real. "I'm so pent up. I don't know if I can wait 'till we get home."

Caleb scoffed. "You wouldn't."

You shouldn't.

You knew what he'd do to you when you got home. How'd he'd put you back in your place and God, if that isn't what you were asking for all night.

"I would," you murmured, eyes glued to him as you pulled your dress up and bunched it around your stomach.

Caleb let out a stuttered breath. But he didn't speak. He couldn't. Because were you seriously about to get off in front of him? In his passenger seat? To taunt him?

The answer was a resounding yes when he heard the first, slick slide of your fingers over your swollen bundle of nerves.

And you just smiled, lazily rolling up into your touch. Caleb's eyes narrowed.

THAT was it.

You finally had him.

You could feel it.

Without warning, he swerved onto a different street, pulling into an empty, dimly lit parking space, and turned the engine off.

"Get in the back." He stared at you, his chest falling and rising just a little too quickly. "Now."

A small part of you wanted to put up more of a fight. Reject him the way he'd so rudely done to you this evening. But the bigger, more needy part of you was already scrambling to the back seat.

You watched with bated breath as Caleb slipped out of the car, only to slip into the back seat with you.

He didn't tease or wait, just grabbed you and pressed you into the window. You gasped, hands grasping for something to hold onto.

Caleb leaned over you, his stomach pressing against your lower back as he murmured into your ear. "You're lucky I love you so much, you know?" He dragged his hand down your leg, then back up to slip it between your legs, and pressed two fingers against the damp fabric of your underwear.

"I could've made you wait 'till we got home, but I'm taking care of you right now."

You whined, helplessly nudging your hips back against his hand. "Thank you."

You didn't care how breathy or pathetic you sounded. You needed Caleb now.

Caleb huffed, nudging your panties to the slide to run his fingers through your drooling cunt. "Don't thank me yet."

But your body was already doing that, fluttering around nothing, begging for him to do something. And when he finally did, you nearly buckled.

You would've collapsed into the window if he hadn't been holding you.

"You're so wet," he awed, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over your puffy clit. "Were you like this the whole dinner?"

"Yes," you moaned out, your body jolting when he teased your entrance. It was barely the tip of his finger, but you were desperate and overeager. Any touch had your mind spinning.

"Naughty girl," he breathed, dipping his finger in your clenching hole for a second before pulling out and going back to rubbing.

You whined, pushing your hips back again.

You thought you had him.

That he was finally giving you what you were begging for all night.

Until he pulled his hand away.

"Uh-uh."

You breathed out a shaky sigh.

No, no, no.

Why was he stopping?

"Caleb—Please."

"Nope."

You fought every cell in your body not to push your hips back again. You knew you'd find nothing, but it was like instinct.

"You don't get to take after tonight. You just get to look pretty while I do this." His fingers found your slick folds again, but he didn't move. Not yet. "Understand?"

You bit your lip.

Caleb nipped at your ear. "C'mon, baby. Understand?"

"I understand," you whimpered.

"There you go." Finally, he started moving again, rubbing you in maddening little circles. He knew just the way you liked it. Knew you liked to be teased just a little.

So he'd slip his finger down and pump a finger in. Slow, steady, then go back to your clit when you thought you'd had enough.

But you weren't getting enough.

"Caleb, this isn't fair," you exhaled, dropping your head against the window like that might ease the ache between your legs.

"No? You don't think so, Pips?" He mused, words a little breathy.

Your skin prickled at the teasing lilt you heard. You knew it was pointless, but you shook your head away, the movement slow and pathetic.

"What isn't fair is you thinking you have the right to anything after you were touching me and sending me those dirty texts all night," Caleb gritted out, plunging his fingers in and curling them to hit that perfect spot inside you.

You gasped, unable to help the way your hips jerked back. "Yes! Oh, God!"

For a second, you had some semblance of relief before he was pulling out again.

"Pipsqueak... I thought I told you to keep still."

"You..." You paused, a whine tearing from your throat when he went back to the same agonizing movements on your achy clit. "You didn't explicitly say to stay still. You just—you just told me to look pr—"

"Don't get smart with me unless you want me to stop completely." His breath fanned over your neck. "And I really don't want to stop."

"Please don't stop!" You sunk your nails into the leather seat. "I'll be still. Promise."

Claeb groaned, moving his fingers slightly faster now. Maybe it was a reward, or maybe he just couldn't help it. You didn't know. Didn't care. He was moving faster and that's all that mattered.

Your breath left in uneven pants as the heat in your stomach coiled tighter and tighter with each pass of his fingers.

You were close.

So close.

Caleb was hitting all the perfect spots, circling the little bud between your thighs like he knew your body better than he knew his own.

You were almost there.

Just a little more.

Your lips parted with a silent gasp.

Then—

He stopped.

Gently eased his hand away and started pumping you, slowly.

You nearly cried. "No, no, no. Caleb—" You bit your lip to keep the pathetic sound from tumbling out. "Ca–Caleb, please! Just—I—"

"Shh, you're okay."

If you hadn't caught the mocking edge in his voice, you would've melted at the sweet words.

"Next time, don't tease me if you can't handle this."

You sighed, the sound breaking off on a whine. Your window was all fogged up, sweat and tears clung to your cheeks. You were a mess, and Caleb was completely fine. Teasing you. Feeling you, like you weren't losing your goddamn mind.

"I won't do it again," you blurted. "Just let me come. I wanna come..!"

Caleb huffed out a quiet laugh. "A brat and a liar." He slid his slick fingers back in your throbbing cunt, giving you just enough to make your toes curl, but not enough to push you over the edge. "Suchh a naughty girl today, huh?"

"'Mmno! I promise!"

Caleb sunk in knuckle deep and started curling his fingers, brushing over the spongy spot that made you see stars.

"Ah-ahh," Caleb murmured. "You know how I feel about broken promises."

"Caleb—P-please! Pro–promise!"

He laughed again, the sound making you clench around him. "You're making this worse for yourself, Pips."

You were close again. He was touching all the right spots, curling and uncurling his fingers in a way that made your eyes roll to the back of your head and your thighs tremble around his hand.

"You're close," he rasped, listening to the obscene squelch that told him you were so worked up it hurt.

You grit your teeth, nodding.

So close again.

He had to give it to you this time. He had to. You earned it, right?

Fucking wrong.

Just when you were about to come, he pulled away. Again. Fingers slick and warm.

Your whole body was screaming for release. He couldn't leave you like this. He wouldn't.

"I'm sorry!" you cried. "I'm sorry I teased you! Please let me come!"

"Yeah?" Caleb brought his fingers back to the mess between your legs and tapped them playfully against your slick flesh. The sound it drew was sinful. "I don't believe you."

"Caleb—!"

"Show me how sorry you are." Slowly, he pushed his fingers back in. "Fuck yourself on me."

Your breath caught in your throat. "I—I can move?"

Caleb's fingers twitched, eager to watch you lose yourself. "Mhmm. You can move."

"I can come?"

"Yep. Move, cum, whatever you want—as long as you do the work. Can you do that, Pips?"

You didn’t even answer—you were already grinding down, fucking yourself on his fingers like you needed it to breathe. You were moaning and panting on every filthy slide of his fingers.

"You look so pretty like this." Caleb gawked, watching every shift and twitch of your hips as you sank on his fingers over and over again. "Using my fingers to get yourself off—Fuck—"

He bit his lip at the little curse slipped out. He wanted to keep up the facade of indifference, but it was impossible when you looked and felt like that.

"Faster. C'mon," he rasped. "Don't you want it?"

"Mm'yes! I want it!" You didn't miss a beat. You moved faster, filling the car with your moans and cries.

The corners of your vision blurred as you chased down your orgasm like a woman possessed. You didn't stop. Didn't hesitate, not even when you felt your arms shake and your head lull forward against the glass.

"Caleb! I'm—Yes! Oh, God!"

"That's it. Right there, right there," Caleb encouraged.

And then you were finally coming.

Your orgasm ripped through you with a guttural cry. Your body twitched, wave after wave of arousal gushing around his slender fingers.

Caleb held you through everything, making sure you didn't collapse against the door when the aftershocks finally washed over you.

"Hey, you okay?"

When you didn't answer, panic flared in his chest. Had he been too mean? Did he hurt you?

Caleb shifted, sitting back and holding you in his lap.

"Hey, Pips."

"Mm."

He sighed.

"Don't do that to me. Are you okay?"

You didn't answer, just lazily curled into his chest and wrapped two shaky arms around his neck.

Caleb instantly melted into you, peppering your head with kisses. "You did so good, pretty."

You gave another quiet hum in response and he chuckled. "Are you sure you're okay?"

You nodded. "I'm.. very okay."

Caleb smiled. "Good." He pressed another kiss to your head. "Wanna stay like this for a bit?"

"Please."

He huffed. "Anything for you."

—

taglist <3

tags: @exe-toby @seungkwansflower @floatinginaer @halfawakeblobbu @heartyluv @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @walrusbreath @sylvieisoffline @awquaz @purpleamethyst25 @pinksaiyans @beaconsxd @haleaf @politefawn @colonelpantysniffer @villainessobsessed @lioria @inlovewithsylus @tired7o7 @justwinginglife @itsmysmut @bitewiththis @littleboomerang @aenishas @honeymoonfleur @stargirlygirl @peachlycheetea @calebsbabyapple @goochfiddler99 @lewdcifer778 @minivia @bidisasterforevermore

[dating-eveeything]

can you do romance hcs with an autistic mc? any characters you want really, but i would love dorian, cam, skips, johnny, betty, idk i'm not picky!

Them with an autistic S/O

Featuring: Dorian, Johnny, Betty, Amir

Fic type: fluff, comfort, headcanons/scenarios

Gender neutral reader, I'm using my own experiences of being autistic as a reference- please keep that in mind. Length varies for each

In all honesty, he's a decent person to be around, especially if you're overstimulated or about to have a melt down.

He's an overall quiet guy, and can easily recall stories or just talk about something random if you need the distraction.

His build is firm, and while he doesn't do it often, his hugs are just as firm and are a good way to calm you down, the pressure of his big arms a wonderful way to ground someone who's out of it.

Honestly, he doesn't really know anything about autism, nor does he quite care- he's a busy guy guarding doors, but post-relationship he pays attention more. He's watching out for you, making sure you don't stress yourself out; especially if you're leaving the house.

Very helpful when it comes to remembering things, he can help you find anything you might've misplaced. He always goes over a list of essentials needed when you leave the house.

If you're someone who gets overwhelmed quickly, he's your guy. Like earlier, he's a pretty quiet guy, so go ahead and sit against him- he'll keep quiet for you. And if you ask real nicely (though you really don't have too), he'll crouch down and pull you into his side, humming a quiet melody. The melody doesn't really matter, he knows the deep vibrations of his chest are what's helping you.

His outfit isn't as textured as you'd expect- he's a simple guy- but if you really like textures he'll let you touch and play around with his suit. Secretly enjoys it when you wrap your arms around him to feel the inside of his suit jacket (which is most definitely silk).

He stands at the door, barely letting a muscle twitch as he stares ahead. It would've been an intimidating sight if it weren't for you hugging his legs, leaning your head on his thigh like he was a pillow.

It had become a somewhat common occurrence after your relationship with Dorian started to truly blossom, you started going to him when you felt stressed and needed a moment of silence. The soft texture of his pants was enough to get some sort of sensory to help you calm down.

His hand slips down from his chest where it was crossed and rests his hand on the top of your head, not doing anything else put lightly resting it there. What a sweet door.

THIS MAN. He is the person you go to when you need to TAAALK. Lemmie tell you.

Johnny is open to hearing all about your hyperfixation or special interest. He knows so much about how it feels to be ashamed for his passions, for simply liking what he likes, and he would never want to make anyone feel that way.

He'll sit on the floor with you and listen about whatever it is you like, doesn't even have to know anything about it! He'll try and ask related questions to understand more.

Will be so excited when you come to him all excited to tell him about something that happened with your favorite topic. Go ahead and tell him all about your favorite show or game, the plot twist in your book or maybe an animal you saw that isn't usual for the area!

Absolutely remembers the little things about what you like, and when he sees you (even in passing) he'll ask for updates or just to see if he can chat you up.

Just for fun, he would write little songs just for you about your special interest! It's not exactly related, anyone but you wouldn't be able to tell what he's singing about, but you? You hear him say a single line similar to what you've told him and you're basically jumping up and down and leaning in while he sings. He does his best work just for you.

Johnny sits on the floor, legs stretched out, and listens as you speak. He has a huge smile on his face as he listens to you yap about this TV show you've been watching recently, going episode by episode about the plot and how the characters are cool or stupid.

You sit on his knees and hold onto his shoulders, every now and then shaking him when you get really excited about something. His smile never fades, and you can tell it's the most genuine smile he's ever had on his face- well, other than when he sings.

Another amazing object to go to when it comes to sensory/stimulation.

Her honey smooth voice is like a favorite song you play on loop when everything gets too much, and she knows it.

She holds you close, but doesn't whisper in your ear knowing it's uncomfortable, her head lays on yours and she practically suffocates you in her hole; just like you want. Often she repeats things she's said before, quiet funny stories she remembers about other objects in the house, repetitiveness is good for you.

Telling you something you know already is calming. She doesn't get it herself, but if it helps you she'll repeat the same thing over and over.

The blankets and pillows that decorate her are almost always the perfect temperature for you. Never too hot nor ever too cold, she makes sure of it.

Absolutely let's you play with her hair. The curls as soft as a freshly washed pet, easy to brush your fingers through and mess with, making little braids before brushing them out and starting again.

She's one of the few objects that can get anyone to shut up with a polite ask, especially if the other lives in the bedroom as well (the Hanks). It's real nice to know you have a guarantee of a quiet space whenever you want.

"There you go, lover" Betty mutters, her arms keeping you close to her. Your hands are wrapped around her and playing with the ends of her hair, the soft texture relaxing against your fingers.

She rests her hands on your head and places a big kiss on the crown of your head, resting down and slowly recalling a story she's told a million times, something about Jean Loo and Dorian- probably a silly fight- she knows you don't pay attention to the stories; just that you like to hear her voice verberate though her and to you.

Amir is GREAT for self image help and helping set routines. No one knows how to help get you out of an episode funk like this guy, let me tell you!

He'll sit next to you on the bed and rub you back as you lay away from him, not able to do much but lay there. He can be quiet if you really want, but he enjoys giving you compliments; we know this, it's like second nature for him.

Eventually he does get you out of your bed, at least getting you to sit up and lean against him. His arms wrap around you and a hand of his will come up to run through your (let's be realistic here) greasy hair and just sit there for as long as you need.

Of course he can't go a true minute without giving you a compliment. He's stroking your cheek and talking about how gorgeous you are, even with how out of touch you look after sitting in bed for who knows how long, he still takes the time to tell you how gorgeous you are.

When it comes to setting up a routine, Amir is your object. He's supportive every step of the way, holding onto you to help. When you forget to do something he's reassuring you it's alright, when you can't bring yourself to do something, again, he's there to reassure you it's alright and that you'll be able to do it tomorrow. Routines are made to be broken sometimes.

Even at your worst, when you haven't taken care of yourself in days, he's still giving you the sweetest- most genuine compliments; it's hard to believe him at times, but he has never lied about how much he finds you to be the most stunning human he's ever seen.

Amir sits on the counter, holding you- who's standing- in-between his legs as he holds onto your face. He's got a bright smile on his face, looking at you with nothing but love. "It's alright" he murmurs, moving his thumbs to brush up on your face.

Your routine had been ruined for after you had slept in and refused to get out of bed when you had woken up. It was a minor setback, but to you it was the destruction of something you had worked so hard to set up. Amir believed otherwise, helping you into the bathroom to help start up when you would've done a few hours ago.

"It's alright my darling, so you're a few hours behind. No problem, there's no better time to start than now." He leans down and kisses your forehead, grabbing the brush behind him to bring up to you. "What do you say, Sweetheart?"

[itsnesss]

Hi Ness! Could you possibly do a imagine where Charles leclerc and reader go to the new "f1 the movie" premier (that just happend) and they are having a fun time, maybe a couple of their friends tease them a bit for being to "couple like" tyy

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 | charles leclerc × fem!reader

summary | you and charles attend the f1: the movie premiere, sweet moments, and your friends can’t help teasing you for acting like a totally smitten couple

warnings | fluff, romance, light teasing from friends, public affection

word count | 1.3 k

🖇 more cl16 🖇 f1 masterlist

The red carpet smells like a mix of expensive perfume, freshly unpacked cameras, and barely contained nerves. You're not used to all this glamour. Still, your hand stays firm in Charles’ grasp, as if that’s enough to remind you you're still on Earth.

Although, with that perfectly tailored suit, his charming-boy smile, and the way he looks at you every time you turn his way… you're not so sure.

"Are you okay?" he asks, leaning down a bit so you can hear him over the noise. The cameras keep flashing with every step.

You nod with a nervous smile.

"I'm okay. Just… a little overwhelmed."

Charles gently squeezes your hand and whispers,

"Don’t let the show scare you. At the end of the day, it’s just you and me. And a movie. And… maybe 200 journalists," he jokes with a raised eyebrow.

You can’t help but laugh. Your laughter relaxes him too.

You walk down the carpet together, stopping for a few photos. He never lets go of your hand. Some people definitely notice. You hear a couple of voices shout his name, then yours, and a French journalist throws out a comment:

"Charles, vous êtes adorablement assortis ce soir!"

("Charles, you two are adorably matched tonight!")

You lower your gaze, trying to hide the smile threatening to give you away. Charles just grins wider.

Inside the venue, the lights dim a bit, but not enough to hide a few familiar faces. Lando is there, dressed like it’s an award show, with that “I’m here because I had to be but I’m kinda enjoying it” vibe. He shoots you a knowing look as you and Charles walk past.

"Oh my God," he says dramatically in a low voice. "Could you two be any more cliché couple? What’s next, a kiss under fireworks?"

"Don’t tempt them, Charles might actually do it," Pierre replies from the other side, taking a glass of champagne from a tray like it’s his birthday.

You roll your eyes, laughing, but your cheeks are definitely getting warmer. Charles doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you again with that expression that isn’t quite a smile… but definitely not indifferent. Something else.

"We’re just happy," you reply, raising an eyebrow at Lando.

"Uh-huh. ‘Happy’. Is that what they’re calling it these days?" he retorts, sipping with a teasing grin.

Charles wraps an arm around your shoulders and whispers close to your ear,

"We could be happier if you want. You know. Just to annoy them more."

You don’t even answer. You just rest your head on his shoulder, ignoring the soft chuckles around you.

When the lights go fully out, the chatter in the room quiets immediately, like everyone instinctively knows the world needs to be left outside for the next two hours. The opening credits of F1: The Movie flood the screen with epic music and close-ups of engines roaring over asphalt.

But you barely watch the first few minutes.

Because Charles hasn’t let go of your hand.

You don’t notice at first. At the beginning, it’s just your pinkies brushing, like he’s making sure you’re still there. But now, with the darkness covering any too-intimate gesture, his fingers are fully laced with yours, tracing slow circles on your thumb that make you forget what’s happening on screen.

You turn your head just slightly, enough to glance at him without drawing attention. He seems focused on the movie, but there’s a slight curve to his lips. A silent smile, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

"You’re more into my hand than the cars," you whisper, barely audible.

"Your hand doesn’t need special effects to captivate me," he replies, still not looking your way.

And there it goes again: that warmth rising in your chest, the soft knot in your throat. Sometimes, when Charles talks like that, you feel like you’re not sitting in a theater seat but walking a tightrope of emotions you can’t quite name.

A few seats down, you hear a stifled giggle. Someone, probably Alex or Pierre, mutters a soft "so cute, please" that triggers more quiet laughs from the group. Charles hides his face with one hand, amused, and you sink a little lower in your seat.

"This wouldn’t happen if you weren’t so adorable," he murmurs, finally turning his head to look at you. So close, so calm, so him.

"And you?" you reply, raising an eyebrow. "Who told your smile it could act like that without my permission?"

Charles smiles wider now and lowers his voice even more.

"Believe me, if this were a movie, you would’ve stolen the scene the moment you walked in."

You’re speechless for a moment. You kind of hate him for that. But just a little. Because mostly, you want to hug him for saying it so easily, so naturally.

On screen, engines roar, there’s a tense scene between drivers… but between you two, there’s only this comfortable, shared silence. Like you’ve already lived through many scenes together. Like you’re writing a new one now, unscripted, in this cinema row.

And just when you're about to cuddle into him, not caring what anyone says, Charles leans in a little and whispers:

"After this, you owe me ice cream. Because I officially survived the stares of half the press knowing you're by my side."

You laugh. Because that’s not something you survive.

The movie ends to applause. The kind that lasts a bit too long and feels almost ceremonial… but when you turn and see the proud looks on everyone’s faces, you find yourself clapping with a smile too.

Charles doesn’t stop looking at you.

"What did you think?" he asks once you’re standing, exiting with the group through a more private side door.

"I loved it. Though if it were up to me, I’d have added more Leclerc scenes. Especially without the helmet," you say, crossing your arms in fake seriousness.

He laughs, slightly surprised. Steps a bit closer, lowering his voice.

"That can be arranged. But in private."

You nudge him gently with your shoulder, just as Lando and Pierre jump at the chance.

"Did you see how they walked out holding hands the whole time?" Lando says, like you’re not right behind him.

"They’re not a couple. They’re a Valentine’s Day campaign on legs," Pierre adds, sipping from a water bottle that’s very clearly disguised champagne.

"Enough already!" you say with a laugh you can’t hold back.

But Charles replies with a calmness that catches everyone off guard.

"And what if we are?"

They go silent. Not awkwardly. More like… surprised. Like no one expected him to say it so plainly.

You look at him, raising a brow.

"That casual, huh?"

He shrugs, but his fingers brush against yours again, like he’s searching for more than just contact.

"I’m with the person I want to be with. Why would I hide that?"

You don’t know if it’s the warm hallway lights or the way the night already smells like summer, but that comment leaves you floating a little.

"Well, well… couple confirmed," Lando murmurs like a breaking news headline. "So what’s next, rings or ice cream?"

"Ice cream," you reply without hesitation.

"Definitely ice cream," Charles adds, now holding your hand with zero shame.

Minutes later, you've escaped the flashbulbs and designer suits. You’re walking down a quiet street, far from the theater, with a couple of discreet bodyguards in the background and ice cream in hand. Charles chose vanilla with chocolate chips. You picked something different just to mess with him, though you ended up stealing from his anyway.

"You know what the best part of the movie was?" you ask, sitting on a bench facing an empty park.

"The sound of the Ferrari engine?"

"No. This moment. Right now."

Charles looks at you for a long second. The kind of look that lingers. Full of intention.

"You always make the ‘afters’ worth it," he says softly.

And just when you’re about to say something equally cheesy, someone in the distance yells:

"Kiiiss! Come on, you’re right there!"

You turn. Lando again. With Pierre next to him, raising his ice cream like he’s toasting in your honor.

Charles just sighs. Leans in slowly, brushes your nose with his, and says, against your lips:

"Should we give them what they want?"

"For them or for you?"

"For us."

[elliot-gay-boi]

Okay hi, this is my first time publishing fanfiction so please just leave it if you think this isn't good enough.

But this gif set and cinnonyms tags just inspired me to write a small ficlet.

So here:

Mary Margaret is standing in the kitchen making coffee. It was early enough and she luckily still had a bit until she had to go to school. She really hoped Emma would have a moment for them to talk since lately she felt like she didn't see her best friend at all. Sometimes Mary Margaret wondered if something was up and if Emma was avoiding her. But she quickly shoved that thought aside. Surely Emma would tell her if something bothered her. And besides it was very plausible that work and Henry was keeping her busier than usual.

Mary Margaret took a sip of her coffee looking up when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Suddenly nearly choking on her drink when she recognized who was coming down into the kitchen.

It was the Mayor. Regina Mills.

What was Regina doing in her flat?

Why was Regina coming downstairs in the morning?

Mary Margaret head spun.

"Are you alright Mrs. Blanchard? You are looking a bit pale" Reginas voice was as always icy with an unusual tense hint of sarcasm.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." Mary Margaret answered automatically without thinking.

Despite not feeling fine at all.

However before she could find her footing again and ask Mrs. Mills, Mayor of her town, what she was doing in her kitchen at 6:30 am she heard a second person descending down the stairs.

Mary Margaret suddenly felt like she was in an alternative reality.

Emma came down the stairs her eyes on Regina with a huge smile, looking like she was best friends with Regina despite hating her and only recently telling Margaret what a pain she was to work with and just all around such an unpleasant incredibly smug person.

Additionally Emma was clearly wearing her bed gown, an oversized, hole riddled T-shirt that just barely reached over her underwear.

It took everything in Mary Margaret not to clear her throat to make Emma aware she wasn't alone with Regina.

"Do you want some coffee?" Emma asked Regina easily only for her smile to freeze completely when her eyes (finally) fell on Mary Margaret.

"Oh." Emma breathed.

'Oh indeed!' Mary Margaret thought. She increasingly felt irritated over the sudden closeness of the two and being completely ignored in her own home no less! And anyhow why didn't Emma ask her if she could invite someone over at 6:30 in the morning?

Of course it would have been okay for her, even if Regina Mills would not have been her first guess, however it was about the principal of things! Wasn't it?

"Good morning Emma." Mary Margaret said as neutral as possible. Though it ended up sounding cold since her usual demeanor especially with Emma was always so warm and carefree.

"Why are you alre... I mean good morning Mary Margaret. I thought you have a later class today?" Emma interrupted herself mid sentence only to say something only marginally less rude. Clearly having not expect to see Mary Margaret today in the morning.

Clearly not wanting for her to see Regina Mills leaving.

Regina Mills who, now on a closer look, was not in her usual Mayor attire. It was a tick too... much. Nearly like an outfit one would wear on a date. One that you would wear again in the morning for your way home after ... after staying the night.

Mary Margarets head wiped back to Emma.

"Did you guys, uh....." she let her words fade not entirely sure how or even what exactly to say.

It was so obvious, yet her whole body still felt like that could just not be.

Emma hated Regina.

Emma talked about her constantly how horrible she was, how much of a pain in her ass, how annoying she was about every little detail, how caring she was with Henry, how annoyingly self confident, how infuriating hot she looked in her small red dress.

Now that she thought about it Emma had at some point started to sound more and more like she had a crush on Regina then actually disliking her...

Mary Margaret was not sure what to make with that.

It was sinking in more and more.

Her best friend was in Love with the bossy, over controlling Mayor.

Her best friend had taken said Mayor on a date and then brought her home, home to Mary Margarets house to.... to hopefully only sleep.

But suddenly with growing horror Mary Margaret remembered she woke up in the night because an unusual loud fox was screaming in the back yard.

Mary Margaret closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Okay so apparently, unfortunately, now completely undeniably, her best friend had fucked the Madame Mayor in Mary Margarets flat while Mary Margaret was asleep.

She let out a deep sigh and opened her eyes again.

Infront of her Emma was looking like a deer caught in the headlines. Then put her bright red head into her arms groaning like a teenager who got caught looking at porn.

Next to her Regina took it better. Or what if Mary Margaret didn't know her could have seemed like taking it in stride. But Mary Margaret knew her, sometimes more than she thought made sense with them only interacting as teacher and mother of a student.

Her neutral smile fell for just a moment and then it was back but she looked down and then elegantly found an interesting spot on the counter to stare down on.

It was the most obvious 'yes' they both could have given.

After another moment of uncomfortable uninterrupted silence Mary Margaret spoke up:

"Soooo.... how long are you two already an item?"

Emmas ears turned even redder and she let out a breath but didn't manage to answer.

Regina looked at Emma, realised she was completely useless, cleared her throat and answered herself.

"I'm not sure it's any of your buis- ouch!"

"What Regina wanted to say," Emma quickly took over, after very not discreetly kicking Reginas foot under the counter, "is that this is all very fresh and we... we haven't yet told anyone and... and thought we still had some time to prepare before....... making it official."

After a beat she added a bit too quickly:

"Of course I would have told you first!"

"Of course." Mary Margaret repeatedly slightly sarcastic. Not sure if Emma was telling the truth. Not sure Emma was as close to her as she assumed just moments ago.

"Of course." Regina whispered while rolling her eyes, clearly thinking noone would hear her, only to be hit by Emma again.

Mary Margaret didn't feel any empathy for her. She had it coming.

"Sooooooooooooooo....... what do you think?" Emma asked looking like a beat puppy in desperate need of approval.

"About?" Mary Margaret asked confused for a moment only to catch herself a moment later "Ah. That."

"Yeah that." Regina said with venom dripping from her voice. Clearly not liking her relationship to Emma being referred to so negative.

Mary Margaret shot her a -seriously?- look she usually only used on especially stupid comments from her students.

Which worked surprisingly well on Regina who looked, for the first time Mary Margaret known her, somewhat guilty.

"I...." Mary Margaret decided to be honest with Emma, "I am caught off guard. I didn't expect it. However it also, somehow, impossibly so, makes a lot of sense."

Emmas look turned hopefully and happy in a way Mary Margaret hadn't seen on her, ever.

"I get it's sudden," there Emma laughed and turned to Regina shooting her a fond smile, that made them look so much closer than they physically where, "it has been sudden and surprising for us as well."

At Emmas smile and words Regina smiles the fondest smile, Mary Margaret has ever seen on the stone cold face of the Madam Mayor, at Emma.

It makes Mary Margaret involuntary suddenly also smile. She's always been a sucker for love stories that work out against all odds. She's always felt like hers was somehow still on a path to work itself out, her still being stuck in the difficult before stage where she's alone and unhappy because her second half was missing.

But she was surprised to find that she was genuinely growing more and more happy for Emma and Regina who very evidently have found their person.

Reginas smile fell when she saw Mary Margarets smile, but before her face could turn that venomous cold that she sported so often especially when looking at Mary Margaret, Emmas pleading look to play nice, made her force the smile back again.

"You two make a good couple." Mary Margaret couldn't help but note surprising herself and the other two looking at her shocked.

"You are okay with the two of us being... an item?" Emma asked a insecure look at Regina at the definition of their relationship.

Regina was too busy looking at Mary Margaret completely shocked and stunned. Her mouth slightly open and her eyebrows furrowed.

"Don't get me wrong it was a shock seeing the Mayor walking down my stairs in the wee hours of the day. But I can see that you two," she briefly paused there assessing the two, searching for the right words, "you fit together. You two look at each other with so much care despite both claiming to hate each others guts only weeks ago." she finishes a bit awkwardly.

At her words Emma turns bright red again evading Mary Margaret and especially Reginas eyes.

Regina on the other hand looked like a sculpture. One that blushed ever so slightly and suddenly didn't look quite as challenging at Mary Margaret but rather discreetly looked at the cabinets behind her.

"Thanks." Emma squeaked hoarse, only to look even more embarrassed at her voice failing her.

Mary Margaret chuckled, not being able to stay angry at Emma, and answered warmly:

"You're welcome."

"Just don't have a sleep over again without asking before. I'd like to get earplugs in before I wake up from fox screams again." Mary Margaret adds half serious, half wanting to make Emma suffer at least a bit for surprising her and keeping something so big from her.

Emma looks confused for only a moment until realising just how exactly the fox that sometimes visited their backyard sounded like.

Upon realising turning red again and hiding in her arms with a long suffering groan.

Regina looked at her, eyebrows slightly knitted until realization what Mary could mean dawned on her. Clearing her throat and trying desperately to keep her voice even, despite her cheeks also blushing, she answerd diplomatically:

"I will make sure to not come by unannounced again."

Emma lifted her head again all embarrassment leaving her as she looked, oh so hopeful at the implications of Regina coming by again, wanting to repeat last night again.

And Mary Margaret couldn't help but smile at the two and feel like something just shifted to the better.

[unikhroma]

the spamton puppet-ification thing

spamton. Spamton. once an addison, now a puppet. what the hell is wrong with him and how the fuck did this happen. i know i've mentioned my theory but i didn't put down the supporting details so here it is

when asking him about himself, spamton says:

he tells you that he's gone through a transformation, and the way it happened was through meeting someone/something. the thing with unintelligible laughter wasn't something that we could parse that well back in chapter 2.. but now with chapter 3 and 4, there's something that reoccurs, particularly in chapter 3, that has a distinct, distorted laugh:

i highlighted these particular appearances since it laughs in all of these

i've said it before but i don't think it's a coincidence that spamton resembles this thing. i feel that it's incredibly likely that FRIEND was who spamton had a "communion" with, and is the reason why he now looks like it.

it's stated that eventually he stopped going to his own room in queen's mansion and instead just the basement, which is where we first saw FRIEND.

the way that the swatchling mentions that he became obsessed with the NEO robot when things were getting bad suggests that he was there prior for something else.

in the spamton sweepstakes Q&A, he says that he looks different from the addisons because he started doing what gets censored as "the spamton method" every day.

the way those facts line up, it seems to imply that this method had something to do with FRIEND. now what exactly it did to him is a different story... i just don't think we have the pieces yet.

also. there is just . something about the way the pipis tenna owns makes these strange distorted noises if you keep it in the inventory and stay still for too long that sounds a little too similar to FRIEND's laugh for comfort. i'm telling you people there's other lore going on here

additional things that suggest that the glasses might not just be glasses and are permanently part of his face:

-jevil's reward items are the jevilstail, which is his actual tail, and the devilsknife, which is his weapon. spamton NEO's reward items are the puppet scarf, which is likely made out of the wires that held him up, and the dealmakers, the glasses he seems to have. since the jevilstail is jevil's actual tail, it's possible that the dealmakers are actually part of spamton.

-the spamton plushie's glasses are glued to his face while the ralsei plushies' are set like regular ones. the spamton nendoroid has nothing underneath his glasses which i find suspect as well.

-the paper mache spamton face in the susiezilla minigame has its eyes covered by a censor bar.. despite the actual sprites having eyes on them. idk it just makes me wonder if there's a meta reason for it and that's to put emphasis on his eyes

big shot side note: the transformation seems to have something to do with him becoming a big shot.

tenna mentions that spamton was going to tell him how he became a big shot, but this had to have happened pre-transformation because tenna doesn't recognize him in his current puppet form. it seems to suggest that, if spamton continuously meeting with FRIEND is what made him become a puppet, it also has something to do with the whole big shot thing.

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (59/59)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: The end.

Warnings: heavy on the angst, heartbreak, mention of panic attack

Word Count: 3.8k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: the end of deal. thank you for coming on this ride with me. it's been over two years and I couldn't be more grateful for every single one of you. for every like. every comment. every message. I love you.

The iron railing he clutches with his fingers as if it were a lifeline is freezing cold. The frosty wind creeps under his layers of clothing, his shirt and the normally soft sweater, which now feels like steel wool and scratches his skin. But he doesn't feel it, the biting cold that envelops him and tugs at him. 

Somehow, he doesn't feel anything anymore.

In front of him lies his home, warm lights illuminating the night, and on other days, this would be a sight that would calm him, that would feel like a welcome home after a grueling race weekend. But all he sees now is a city that no longer feels like home. 

And he knows why.

He sees it every time he closes his eyes. The moment that destroyed everything. The moment he thought would never happen. 

The moment he lost you. 

Charles notices the patio door opening behind him, but he doesn't turn around. After all, he knows exactly who is keeping him company right now. And he also knows the look he's being given, without taking his eyes off Monaco. 

“I've got you a hot chocolate.” His best friend's voice is quiet, as if he doesn't want to interrupt the race car driver's train of thought. “If you want.”

Charles hears ceramic on glass as Joris sets the cup down on the table behind him, but he keeps his gaze fixed on the houses in front of him. Whether he drinks the hot chocolate or his favorite tea or eats the hottest chili pepper, nothing can dispel the cold inside him.

It has taken hold there, its claws dug into his guts and its teeth sunk into his heart. It is so cold and icy that it feels like anesthesia, as if his organs are shutting down and refusing to continue working to keep him alive. As if his body knows exactly what it needs to do to kill the pain.

But unfortunately, the pain is omnipresent. 

Joris stands next to him at the railing of his terrace and also looks out over the houses. Charles sees his breath in his peripheral vision as he exhales. “You'll have to go back inside at some point. You'll freeze to death out there.”

He doesn't care enough about his best friend's concern to respond. Charles knows he can't stay out here forever. Eventually, he'll have to go back to the living room or go home or pack his bags to race somewhere else on this godforsaken planet.

He'll have to go on living as if he hadn't lost the love of his life. As if he hadn't pushed her away in the cruelest way he could imagine. As if everything were fine and the only person he ever truly loved hadn't fled the country and moved away to start a new life.

A life without him. 

He deserves the pain, in his opinion. The emptiness inside him, that hole in his heart that can never be filled as long as you're not with him. The weight of the fact that he alone can be blamed for all of this rests on his shoulders, pressing down on his chest like a panic attack that won't go away. He can't breathe, can't think. 

He can't be without you.

“Charles,” his friend tries again. 

“I'm begging you. You have to take care of yourself. I know how you feel, but it -”

“You have no idea how I feel,” he interrupts his best friend harshly, without looking at him. He notices that Joris is raising his hand to put it on his shoulder to comfort him, but the Monegasque takes a step to the side. The friendly hand drops again. 

“Charles -”

“Just stop.” His tone is hard and cold, and he doesn't sound like the man Joris has known all his life. Not even after that crappy race weekend here a few years ago, when Charles didn't even start the race, did he sound so - unfamiliar. 

The men just stand there staring ahead, only the whistling of the wind around them filling the otherwise silent night. Not even cars are driving through the streets, not a soul is to be seen. It's oppressive. 

Charles' fingers cramp around the metal. He takes a breath, then another, and then: “I'm sorry.” The usually warm voice that can light up any room with its laughter sounds tired and exhausted, as if the man it belongs to hasn't slept in days. 

He hasn't, at least not properly. Only a few hours at a time, and his sleep is plagued by nightmares, by your face, by the feeling of having lost you. And when he wakes up, there's that brief moment, that millisecond, when he forgets that you're gone - and as soon as reality catches up with him, his heart stops. 

Joris looks over at him, sees the emotionless expression on his best friend's face, and feels completely helpless. As the race car driver's longest friend, he usually knows what to say to help, to be a support - but how can he help someone who can't really be helped?

It hurts him to see him like this. So passionless, so detached, so unrecognizable. As if everything positive about Charles had also vanished with your disappearance. As if Monaco had become a little colder since then. 

“I'd really like to help you,” he tries again, looking at Charles' hands, which are reddened from the cold. “I just don't know how.” Or if his friend would even let him.

The Monegasque shakes his head slightly. “No one can help me.” His warm breath rises in little clouds in front of his face. 

“You sound like you've already given up,” Joris says quietly, almost reproachfully, but more out of concern than anger.

Charles shrugs his shoulders and lets them drop again. “Maybe I have,” he murmurs, as if he doesn't care whether anyone understands him or not. “Maybe it's easier that way.”

Joris scrapes his foot across the cold stone, as if movement could chase the helplessness from his body. He looks at his best friend, searching for something to hold on to - a glance, a word, anything. But Charles remains frozen, like a statue in the middle of Monaco's wintry silence. 

“Do you want to go somewhere? Have some tea if you don't want hot chocolate? Or just... be inside?” It sounds awkward, almost banal, but Joris means it. Anything would be better than standing there in the cold next to this broken man, unable to do anything. 

But Charles just shakes his head. “I don't want anything.” His voice is calm, but it sounds like glass about to shatter.

Joris nods slowly, more out of uncertainty than understanding. He had seen many sides of Charles - the loud, ambitious, focused athlete, the loving friend. But this side, so sharply indifferent, is new. And frightening. 

“You don't have to tell me everything,” he says after a while. "I don't want to pressure you, especially because I can't. I don't know what happens behind closed doors, but... I'm here. Even if I don't know how I can help you."

Charles doesn't respond. His gaze remains fixed on a point somewhere in the invisible nothingness of the night. But then, for just a split second, his face twitches. His jaw tenses as if he's trying to hold something back - a word, a tremor, a tear. 

His best friend sees it. And although Charles immediately regains his composure, smoothes the expression on his face, and lowers his gaze, the moment has not gone unnoticed. And a little hope flares up in Joris's chest.

“You still feel something, right?” he asks quietly. 

Charles breathes in through his nose, long and controlled. When he answers, his voice sounds cold again. “It doesn't matter.”

Joris shoves his hands into the pockets of his thick jacket and wonders for a moment how Charles isn't freezing in his sweater. He wants to say something, anything to dispel the coldness in his voice, but everything that comes to mind sounds too grand or too empty. So he remains silent for a moment. 

He looks over at him. “It matters to me,” he says finally.

Charles doesn't answer, continuing to stare straight ahead as if his friend isn't even there, but something about his gaze has changed. It's no longer the rigid emptiness of a moment ago—more like a kind of escape. As if he doesn't want to be seen. Not now, when something inside him is threatening to crumble. 

“I know you don't want anyone to get close to you,” Joris continues. “But I'm not just anyone. I'm not here because I feel sorry for you. I'm here because you're my friend. And because I can't stand by and watch you destroy yourself. And because I miss you. The real you.”

Again, no response. Then, very quietly: “The real me... is gone.”

Joris's heart tightens. “No,” he says gently. “He's hurt. But he's not gone.”

Charles's lips press together. For a moment, he looks like someone caught between two impulses - the need to push everything away and the desire to simply be heard. 

Joris takes a tentative step closer, carefully, as if walking on thin ice, trying to close the distance between them. “Let me at least do something,” he pleads, almost begging. “You don't have to go through this alone. I mean it, Charles.”

His jaw muscles tense again, his eyes stubbornly fixed on the darkness in front of him. “I'm alone,” he says in a strained voice. “And that's better this way.”

“For whom?” Joris' voice becomes firmer, more urgent. “For you? For her? For anyone?”

Charles' eyes narrow and his shoulders stiffen noticeably. “What do you mean?” he asks sharply, without looking at his best friend.

“You know exactly what I mean,” he replies calmly but unwaveringly. “Who is this better for? For you - because you're punishing yourself for what happened? For her - because you think you have to protect her? Do you mean the one who left you? Or do you mean Elena?” He pronounces the name carefully, as if touching a fresh wound. 

Charles's gaze hardens. A muscle twitches on his cheek. “Don't do this,” he hisses.

“No.” Joris's voice grows firmer. "You talk about how it's better to be alone, but everything about you screams that you're going down. And I want to know if you're doing it for yourself - or for her. For the one who took your oxygen away when she left, or for the one you showed up with on that damn red carpet, even though—“ He breaks off, shaking his head slightly. 

Charles snorts through his nose, his tone bitter. ”You don't know anything."

“Then explain it to me!” Joris snaps. “Explain it to me so I can finally understand why you act like closeness is poison and help is an attack. I was there, Charles. I was there when you broke down, when you stopped talking. And I'm still here, but you - you're doing everything you can to keep me out.”

Charles' hands are shaking now. Only a little, but enough to be noticeable. He takes his fingers off the railing and crosses his arms as if to hold himself together. The anger in his voice is cutting. “You don't understand, Joris!” Charles blurts out, his words sharper than intended. “You can't understand!”

His voice echoes between the walls, carrying the harshness of a man who has long since given up on saving himself. For a moment, it is not the controlled Charles who always knew how to behave, but someone standing on the edge - of the abyss, of exhaustion, perhaps even of himself. 

Joris remains calm, does not flinch, even though the blow hits home. “Then help me understand,” he says quietly. “I'm not here to judge you. I don't want to lose you.”

Charles laughs bitterly, without any joy. “You've already lost me,” he says. “Everyone has.”

“That's not true.”

“Yes, it is,” Charles snaps, and now there are tears in his voice, though not in his eyes. “She left me, Joris. Because I lied to her. Because I -” His voice breaks, he bites his lip as if he can hold back the truth. 

Joris's gaze softens. Finally, he thinks. At last, a crack in this impenetrable wall. 

Charles struggles with himself. The coldness is deep in his voice, his movements, his thoughts. Everything about him seems tense, on the verge of snapping. “I had to do it,” he whispers finally, barely audible. “It was the only way.”

“What was the only way?” Joris presses, taking half a step closer. “What exactly did you do that justifies all this?”

The athlete shakes his head vigorously, his gaze hard and at the same time haunted. “I can't explain it. It was - it was necessary.”

“Why? Because of Elena?” Joris' voice grows louder again. “Because of that damn gala? You took her with you even though you knew exactly who should have been standing by your side.”

Charles Kiefer tenses up but says nothing.

“Say something,” Joris presses, now completely stunned. “Say something, damn it!”

Charles looks up, his eyes flashing with suppressed anger—or perhaps overwhelm. “What am I supposed to say, Joris?” he asks sharply. “That I regret every day how things turned out? That I miss her every damn night? That I hate myself for letting her believe I didn't care about her?”

The words echo in the air, raw and unprotected. But as soon as he says them, Charles immediately withdraws, almost as if he has frightened himself. 

“Then tell her that,” Joris demands. “You can't just leave everything like this!”

Charles's gaze hardens. “You don't understand.”

“Because you won't explain it to me! I don't want to lose you, Charles. And I don't want to watch you destroy yourself.”

Another bitter laugh, hollow and cold. “Too late.”

Joris wants to say something in response, grab him, shake him - anything to break through that armor. But Charles takes a step back. The distance between them grows with every moment, not just physically, but tangibly. Inevitable. 

“Charles, please. You don't have to carry this alone.”

A flicker in Charles's eyes, barely noticeable. Maybe doubt. Maybe longing. But he immediately erases it, as if he can't bear it himself. “Yes, I have to,” he replies. “Because otherwise everything I've done has been for nothing.”

“You mean with Elena.” Joris' voice is cautious, tentative. “Was she - was she a protective measure? For the press? For her family? For your career? Or - for her?”

The Monegasque shakes his head. “Don't ask. Please.” He almost begs him, unable to talk about it.

Joris's chest tightens. He can see how hard it is for his friend to keep up the façade. How much strength it takes not to just break down. “I'm not asking because I'm curious,” he says quietly. "I'm asking because I understand you. Or at least I'm trying to.“

Charles looks away, turns away. The cold paints a thin film on his lips, but that's not the only reason he's shivering. For a moment, he looks so young, so vulnerable. Then he narrows his eyes, forcing himself to control himself. ”You can't understand,“ he says tonelessly. ”No one can."

“Try anyway.”

Charles just stands there, motionless and silent. It's as if he's fighting an internal battle - between the urge to finally say what's tearing him apart and the panic-stricken fear of what might be left behind.

Joris waits. Silent, caught between hope and helplessness.

But Charles just shakes his head, barely noticeably. Not defiantly, not dismissively, but simply—tired. 

“If I could say it,” his voice almost breaks, “I would.” And with these few sad words, he turns away. He leaves, not abruptly, not dramatically, but with the bitter determination that comes from despair. He hears Joris calling his name, but he doesn't stop, can't stop, as his footsteps fade quietly but definitively. On the street, the fog quickly engulfs him, the darkness behind it doing the rest.

Charles runs. Fast at first, then hurriedly, then slower again—but he keeps moving. As if he could run away from what is eating him up inside. The memories. The guilt. You.

Every street he crosses knows your shadow. Every streetlight reflects a night when you laughed, argued, understood each other without words. Even the wind carries your name in its cold breath. It's unbearable. 

His apartments – each one a prison of glass and luxury. Everywhere there are things of yours that you didn't take with you in your haste. Plants, books, a bottle of your favorite wine that he can't drink or even take out of the fridge because the emptiness in the compartment would be worse. A testament to the fact that you were his. A testament to the fact that he is still yours. 

He can't go there. He can't go near a bed where you once slept. No coffee machine that used to be the first thing he turned on in the morning for you. The walls whisper there. And he doesn't know how long he can stand not listening to them. 

So he walks on, further and further. The streets lose their familiar appearance, the city limits blur. At some point, he is no longer sure whether he is still in Monte Carlo. The lights become fewer and fewer. The night grows colder. But Charles keeps running. 

He runs until his legs grow heavy, until his thoughts are nothing but a single noise. Until he reaches the top.

The viewpoint.

Charles just stands there, staring out into the darkness, where the sea and the sky merge almost seamlessly. Only a few lights glimmer in the distance - boats perhaps, or houses on the coast. Everything seems far away, unreal. The wind tugs at his sweater, but he hardly notices. Only a single moment echoes in his head - the day he brought you here. 

It was shortly after you met, after the first night you shared the small apartment. Not love, not even friendship, but that strange, vibrant thing that arises when two souls recognize each other before they really know each other. 

He had hesitated to bring you here. It's a quiet place, a personal one. Not a place for superficiality or games. But one that laid him bare in a world where he constantly has to pretend and bend himself out of shape to live up to what is expected of him.

But you had looked at him - calm, open, curious. And he hadn't regretted it for a moment. 

"I like to come here when I'm stuck. When I'm stuck in a situation where I wish I could ask him for advice. Or I'm feeling lonely. I may not get an answer here, but somehow – I don't feel quite so alone anymore when I'm here," he had confided in you. He had spoken the words with such gravity that they lingered in the air for a long time, supporting you in your helplessness, even though he didn't know if it helped you in the slightest. 

Words that he now repeats alone on this cold earth, in the silence of the night, as if searching for an answer that would never come. 

Whenever he was here, he spoke to his father - not always out loud, often only in his thoughts. He felt his presence as if he were very close, despite all the years that had passed since he was no longer among the living. Back then, this place gave him stability, comfort, and a kind of inexplicable connection that helped him find his way. 

But today it feels different. Empty. Lonely. As if his father is gone, disappointed in his actions, in the man he had become - or the man he had not become. The closeness that once seemed so natural has disappeared, and with it, all sense of security. 

Charles bites his lip, silent tears on his cheeks, the cold creeping deep into his bones, but not as much as the weight on his heart.

He did it to protect you - from the glare of the spotlight, from the relentless scrutiny of the public, who knew too much about you. He had to pull the ripcord before you were completely lost in the maelstrom of rumors and expectations.

It wasn't a decision made out of recklessness or betrayal, but out of desperation. Out of a desire to create a refuge for you, even if it meant breaking himself in the process.

He couldn't warn you. You probably would have told him you could handle it - the stares, the rumors, the opinions. But that didn't matter. The press would have found out sooner or later. Your last name may not be particularly well known, but a Google search and a little digging would have been enough to bring everything to light.

Your parents are responsible, having done things that would have cast a shadow over your future long ago if they hadn't been dismissed earlier – decisions that made headlines at the time and could still distort your image in Formula 1 today. One wrong move, one wrong connection, and suddenly you would no longer be the subject of discussion, but your origins. Your family. Their mistake.

The public would have been merciless, judging you by their standards, condemning you for something you didn't do. And Charles couldn't let you break under that burden – not when you've already suffered so much.

So now he sits here, on the edge of the world, alone with the cold wind blowing through his tousled hair. The stars above him seem unreachable, as does the comfort he so desperately seeks. His hands are numb from the cold, his heart heavy with pain. 

On this night, he is nothing more than a shadow - lost between guilt and love, between what was and what will never be. And as darkness envelops him like a cloak, he knows that he will carry this pain with him forever. 

He thought of all the deals he had made in his life - promises he had made to give himself and others something to hold on to. But none were as important to him as the one promise he made to protect you.

No matter how deep the darkness, no matter how painful the journey. No matter how much you would hate him for the heartbreak - he would never break that promise.

And he would rather die than break that deal.

💫 end of deal - book one 💫

[sharieb]

I love your works as always💌 may I request a headcanon where the boys lay their heads on your lap clearly asking for attention but instead of saying it. They just keep looking up at you as your eyes are glued to fav show playing on your laptop. You might caress their head or play with their hair but wouldn't turn your eyes to them.(the scenario is you guys are on bed.) Thanks!🩷🩷🩷🩷

Lap Pillow Stare-Down

Pairing: LADs x Non MC reader Genre: Fluff Writer's note: I found this request so lovely that I couldn't help but indulge myself in this one, so I added a little bonus for all my adorably squishy lovelies, in mind like myself.

Subtle but Persistent

He doesn’t say a word. Just walks in, slides onto the bed, and gently rests his head on your lap like it’s part of his routine now.

You’re deep into your comfort show, practically glued to the screen, barely acknowledging him except for a casual hand threading through his hair.

He closes his eyes at first, pretending to be satisfied.

But after a few minutes, his eyes crack open again.

He looks up at you. Stares. Observes. Memorises.

You don’t notice.

He shifts slightly, just enough to make his weight more obvious.

Still nothing.

He sighs, then gently taps your thigh once. Maybe twice.

Still nothing.

He starts tracing little circles on your leg with his fingertip. Huffs quietly. Sighs again. Glares softly at the side of your face like it's personally offended him.

Finally, in a whisper that’s way too dramatic for how long he’s been sulking: “You like that laptop more than me?”

You giggle and finally glance down, and Caleb immediately looks smug, like finally. “Don’t mind me,”

He murmurs, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Just needed a better view.”

But now he refuses to look away from you, even as your eyes return to the screen. His attention? 100% yours. He's really just going to stay there like a golden retriever? No. No, do not blush. Keep watching. You're stronger than this... oh no, he’s smiling.

When you finally pause the episode and smile down at him, he looks up like he's just won a war. “There you are,” he says, smug but soft. Bonus:

He starts absentmindedly kneading your soft thighs like it helps him focus.

Spoiler: it doesn't. In fact, he forgets the show even existed.

When you finally look down at him with a fond little smile and brush his fringe aside, Caleb’s ears flush pink. “You're really warm,” he mumbles. Then adds, “...And squishy,” as his fingers gently press against your thigh like he’s testing a pillow.

Brooding Stare of Doom

He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t even announce himself.

Just crawls onto the bed, lays his head squarely in your lap, and sighs deeply like a man carrying the weight of ten underworld empires.

Your hand instinctively begins petting his hair.

But your eyes remain locked on your screen.

Sylus is not amused.

His eyes open. Slowly.

He watches you. Patiently. Intensely.

When you still don’t look at him, he raises a brow. Still no response.

He shifts. Lightly drums his fingers against your thigh. Then pokes your waist. “So this is what neglect feels like,” he deadpans.

You laugh and keep watching.

He sighs again, dramatically. “I'm literally in your lap and you're watching animated space pirates instead of me?”

You finally glance down. He's already got that smug smile ready, like he won.

“Now that I have your attention...” he murmurs, stretching luxuriously like a spoiled cat.

You roll your eyes, but he swears your hand starts stroking slower, gentler. Victory. He’s such a brat. A beautiful, dangerous, annoyingly smug brat. And he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You shift slightly to give him a real look, brushing his cheek gently. He hums and closes his eyes, the satisfied smile deepening. Bonus:

He playfully squishes your plush thighs and murmurs, “You’re too soft, dove. How am I supposed to get up ever again?”

Then pretends to fall asleep with one hand gripping your squishy tummy like it’s his most prized possession.

Silently Yearning

Zayne enters the room quietly, not wanting to disturb you.

He notices your eyes on your laptop and instead of interrupting, he silently lays his head in your lap, hoping that’s enough.

You hum, gently carding your fingers through his hair. Your touch is so soft, and he savours it immediately.

But you never look down.

He closes his eyes, trying to relish the moment, but... you still don’t look at him.

Slowly, he opens one eye. Then both.

He shifts his head slightly, just enough to make you aware of him.

Still no eye contact.

His brows knit faintly.

Finally, in the softest, most pitiful voice: “Are you ignoring me?”

You blink, glance down, and smile warmly. “No, Zaynie.”

He lets out a tiny breath and gently nuzzles closer. “Okay. Just checking.”

But now your fingers are combing through his hair in those long, soothing strokes he secretly lives for.

He closes his eyes again, completely at peace, even if your eyes are still glued to the screen. Being near you is enough. He’s like a cat. A really pretty, emotionally repressed cat who just wants cuddles. I can’t believe he’s pouting so softly.

When you finally tilt his face up and kiss his forehead, he glows. Quiet, but visibly warmed. Bonus:

He tries to return to reading a file but ends up just tracing shapes on your thigh in soft little loops instead.

Definitely not focused anymore.

He hums occasionally, and when you look down again, he’s watching you, not the screen.

He gently presses your tummy like he’s testing a stress ball and immediately flushes. “...You’re very soft.”

Drama King on Lap Duty

Rafayel doesn’t walk—he glides into the room, full of flair, shirt half-unbuttoned, the scent of paint clinging to his skin.

Without a word, he flops onto the bed, head in your lap, letting out a sigh that belongs in a theatre.

“Alas,” he mutters. “Ignored by the one I adore.”

You don’t even blink. Just stroke his hair as your show continues. “Guppy, am I not as interesting as this episode?”

You hum in reply. Still no eye contact.

He stares at you like you just committed high treason. “Do I not deserve even a glance?”

When you finally look down, he gives you the biggest puppy eyes ever. “Oh! She sees me.”

You snort. “I always see you.”

He grins. “Then see this.”

He kisses your palm like he just declared war on your attention span.

A moment later, he lifts your hand dramatically to his forehead. “If I perish from neglect, know that I died in beauty.”

You can’t stop laughing. He smirks in triumph, finally satisfied. He’s such a showoff. Why does being dramatic make him cuter?

You lean down and kiss his nose. “You're ridiculous.” “And adored,” he beams. Bonus:

He gently squishes your plush thighs and murmurs, “You know, cutie, your lap is the softest throne I’ve ever rested on.”

He then mimes being lulled to sleep like a spoiled prince.

At one point, he pokes your tummy and dramatically gasps, “You’re made of marshmallows! This must be heaven.”

Quiet Craving

He doesn’t even say hello.

Just silently walks in, careful not to disturb your space, and rests his head gently in your lap.

Your hand finds his hair automatically. You’re used to his quiet affection.

But you don’t look down.

He stares at you. Eyes wide. Hopeful.

You don’t look.

He tugs lightly at your sleeve. Still nothing.

So he does the unthinkable. He pouts.

Still nothing.

Finally, in the gentlest voice: “You’re very beautiful when you’re focused.”

You glance down with a soft blush, and his pout transforms into the faintest, most victorious smile. “I like it here,” he murmurs. “In your orbit.”

He nuzzles gently against your thigh, arms wrapping around your waist in a quiet embrace.

For the rest of the evening, he just lies there, heart full, basking in your nearness like you’re the sun and he’s lucky to even orbit. He’s too pretty to ignore. Too soft to resist. How was I supposed to focus?

You cup his cheek gently, and he leans into it with a look that could outshine the stars behind him. Bonus:

He softly murmurs, “You’re really warm,” and gently nuzzles closer.

You swear you hear him whisper, “My favourite gravity,” as he drifts off, his hands now gently squeezing the soft part of your lap like it’s his favourite pillow.

At some point, he shyly pokes your tummy and then buries his face in it, mumbling something about stars being overrated compared to you.

[awfulsiteforcemetomakeaccount]

"All monsters must die bloody, and by a hero's hands, and soon," one of my colleagues says as we eat brunch together. They doesn't think it's a dangerous thing to say in front of a monster.

"Don't worry," they quickly say after a brief pause between bites, "You're one of the good ones."

I don't say anything cause I know they are wrong.

As my human colleagues talk amongst themselves and pick at their meals I am amazed that they can forget what I am. I know I can't. With every bite of sausage and egg I can feel the strength of my powerful jaws. I can feel how sharp and jagged my teeth are. I can tell that biologically I'm doomed to be only able to eat flesh. My claws aren't like the fingers of a human. The delicate nimble hands of a human are made to do many things: to create, to love, to care for others. On the other hand the awkward sharp claws of a monster is only good for one thing: killing. I'm a predator and no matter how much I want to pretend that I'm not, I can't escape that fact.

As a monster with morals it can be hard to simply exist, knowing that my purpose in life is to do evil. I can't blame the humans who hate and despise us, who want to kill and purge us from civilized society. Monsters are designed to kill humans, that is our main purpose to exist. It is only logical that they want to get rid of those who are their natural predators. The only thing that is stopping monsters like me from slaughtering every human on sight is human morals, and human morals are full of so many holes, holes that if I know if I pick too deeply I will be lead to places I don't want to go. I keep having these horrible thoughts, thoughts where I question if human morals even make sense.

"They claim that our desire to hunt and kill, to eat human flesh, is immoral and worthy of punishment, yet they say this while snacking on the flesh of lesser creatures that they industrially slaughter," I thought to myself earlier this morning. "Why is murdering a human even different than murdering a chicken or a pig? And why is a humans murderous urges seen different than the urges of a monster? Even the biggest human hunter, the ones that fill their homes with the numerous corpses if the animals they killed themselves, are still repulsed when a monster brings up their urges to hunt and kill. Why is okay for a human to be a predator but wrong for a monster to be?"

I know that this argument is flawed (I can't exactly say where, but I know it is) but the fact that I have these thoughts tell me that I'm likely no better than the monsters who kill humans without thought. My morals are built on a shaky foundation, and if they fall, what will happen to me? What will I do?

"Isn't that a little harsh?" says another one of my colleagues, as they finish off a stack of pancakes. "We don't have to kill monsters, the problem monsters should just be jailed. And, of course, a monster should be allowed to live freely like any human if they never do anything wrong."

I want to tell them that they are wrong, that we monsters are a danger to all humans and that we should be exterminated. But I don't. Probably cause like all monsters all I really care is self-preservation. Being selfish is in our nature. I will always be a monster, and a monster is all I will ever be.

"All monsters must die bloody, and by a hero's hands, and soon," he says over brunch.

He doesn't think it's a rude thing to say in front of a monster. There are no rude things to say to monsters, only rude things monsters say.

"Don't worry," she says between bites, "You're one of the good ones."

"But I am still a monster," I do not say. I do not say that I love my claws and teeth, my prehensile shadow and my glowing eyes. That I cannot imagine giving them up even for survival, that to hide my shadow and trim my claws for them makes me feel diminished. In public I cannot say that I do not wish to be human.

They're progressives, this bunch, even if he carries a hero's banner with its proud history and none of them ask him to put it away. They know there are good monsters, monsters who can speak eloquently and hold the fork right, monsters you can be seen with in public. Some of their best friends are monsters.

They do not know the monster who is invited to brunch knows solidarity with the monster who is not. Believes and understands the monster who is not invited more than the human who does the inviting.

"Isn't that a little harsh?" says a third human, and I have not forgotten I am outnumbered. "We have ways of killing monsters without blood now, painlessly. And, of course, a monster should be allowed to live if it never growls."

He has never seen me growl. Yet how loudly and endlessly I will, when I'm out of earshot. He's talking about killing monsters who cannot stoop to civility, about mother and brother and lover who were never able to mute themselves like me, and does he not know how small a child who can only growl is?

"To growl is not to kill," I say, and all heads turn toward me. It is one of those rude things monsters say.

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Pairing: Mafia Ateez OT8x Reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, angst, poly ateez, violence and weapons, mafia ateez, organized crime, parental death and grieving process, bullying, possessive and controlling behavior,

Summary: When Y/n Ricci is forced to marry Kim Hongjoong—leader of the notorious ATEEZ organization and one of eight men who cruelly abandoned her seven years ago—she finds herself trapped in their heavily guarded compound with the ghosts of her past. As she navigates the dangerous world of mafia politics and her own wounded heart, Y/n discovers that all eight powerful, irresistible men still harbor deep feelings for her, suggesting an unconventional solution to their shared dilemma. But before she can consider forgiving them, let alone loving them again, she must uncover the dark secret that tore them apart—a truth that could either heal their fractured bonds or destroy them all completely.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

18+ only- No Minors

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Masterlist

Chapter 6: Walls

A few days later, Hongjoong cornered you in the library to inform you there would be a security meeting that evening. Your response was swift and succinct: eat glass.

An hour later, there was a soft knock at your door. When you opened it, you found Mingi standing in the hallway, all six feet of him radiating an almost puppylike hopefulness that was completely at odds with his intimidating stature. His dark eyes held that same gentle pleading expression that had gotten him out of trouble countless times as a child.

"Y/n," he said quietly, his deep voice somehow managing to sound both respectful and utterly vulnerable. "Would you please consider joining us for the meeting tonight? We... I would really value your perspective."

The bastards. They knew exactly what they were doing, sending Mingi—sweet, earnest Mingi who had never been able to lie convincingly, whose genuine expressions could melt stone. It was emotional manipulation of the highest order.

And damn them, it was working.

"That's a dirty trick," you told him, crossing your arms and fixing him with your most withering glare.

Mingi had the grace to look slightly ashamed, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "Maybe," he admitted. "But we really do need you there."

You stared at him for a long moment, watching the way he fidgeted under your scrutiny, the way his hands hung loosely at his sides like he wasn't quite sure what to do with them. Seven years later, and he still had that same nervous energy when he was asking for something he wasn't sure he'd get.

"Fine," you said finally, your tone suggesting this was a tremendous burden you were shouldering purely out of the goodness of your heart. "But I'm only coming because you asked nicely."

The smile that broke across Mingi's face was so bright, so genuinely relieved and grateful, that you had to look away to hide your own reluctant softening.

"Thank you," he said, and the sincerity in his voice made something in your chest tighten uncomfortably.

"Don't thank me yet," you warned. "I haven't decided whether I'm going to participate or just sit there and judge all of you silently."

"I'll take silent judgment over absence," Mingi replied with a small, self-deprecating smile.

The security meeting was held in a state-of-the-art command center hidden behind what had appeared to be an ordinary wall in Hongjoong's office. 

As the panel slid open to reveal the room beyond—filled with monitors, weapons, and advanced technology—you worked to keep your expression neutral despite your genuine surprise.

"Impressed?" Hongjoong asked, catching your reaction despite your efforts.

"I've seen better," you lied smoothly, following him into the room.

The others filed in behind you, each taking what was clearly their usual position around a large central table. There was an empty chair between Hongjoong and Seonghwa that was obviously meant for you. You considered refusing it on principle, but decided that would seem childish. Instead, you took the seat with all the casual confidence of someone who belonged there.

"The Russo family has been unusually active near the western district," Seonghwa began without preamble, pulling up a digital map on the main screen. "Three of our informants have reported movement suggesting they're establishing a new base of operations here." He pointed to an industrial area marked in red.

"Why there?" Jongho asked, leaning forward to study the map. "It's not strategically valuable."

"Unless they're trying to get closer to something—or someone—in this direction," Yeosang observed quietly, his finger tracing a line from the marked area toward the ATEEZ compound.

"They wouldn't be that bold," San argued, but he didn't sound entirely convinced.

Throughout the briefing, questions flew, theories were proposed and dismissed, and strategies were debated. You remained largely silent, observing the dynamics at play. Despite their occasionally heated disagreements, there was a seamless efficiency to how they worked together—Hongjoong making the final decisions but clearly valuing each person's unique perspective. Seonghwa provided logical analysis, Yeosang noticed patterns others missed, Jongho focused on defense, San thought like their enemies, Yunho considered innocent bystanders, Mingi evaluated resource needs, and Wooyoung, surprisingly, had an uncanny ability to predict unpredictable variables.

They were good at this. Very good.

Occasionally, someone would glance your way, as if expecting or hoping for your input, but you offered little beyond a nod or shrug. Let them handle their business. You weren't really part of this, no matter what the marriage certificate would eventually say.

"Y/n," Hongjoong said finally, drawing your attention. "You've been quiet. Thoughts?"

You met his gaze levelly. "I think it's interesting that you're all so concerned about the Russo family when my father has been handling them for years without issue."

A tense silence followed your observation. Hongjoong and Seonghwa exchanged a glance that contained an entire unspoken conversation.

"Your father's resources have been... stretched thin recently," Seonghwa said carefully.

"And the nature of the threat has changed," Hongjoong added.

You raised an eyebrow. "Changed how?"

Another loaded silence.

"That's classified," Hongjoong said finally.

You laughed, the sound sharp and without humor. "Classified? From your fiancée? The one you're supposedly protecting from this very threat?"

"We're gathering more information tonight," he said, avoiding your question. "Once we have a clearer picture, you'll be briefed accordingly."

Your eyes narrowed, but before you could press further, Wooyoung jumped in.

"Hey, it's almost dinner time! And I've been cooking all afternoon—something special," he said, his enthusiasm barely containing his obvious attempt to change the subject.

"We'll continue this tomorrow," Hongjoong decided, rising from his seat. "Gear check at nine. We move at ten."

As everyone began to file out, you lingered, studying the map on the screen. Something about the pattern of movement didn't make sense if the Russos were truly targeting the ATEEZ compound. They were circling too far west, approaching from the least strategic direction.

"Coming?" Yeosang asked quietly, waiting by the door.

You nodded, filing away your observations for later consideration. "What's Wooyoung so excited about? He's not usually the chef, is he?"

A small, knowing smile touched Yeosang's lips. "No. But he's been planning this dinner for days."

* * *

The dining room was filled with an aroma that stopped you in your tracks the moment you entered. It couldn't be. There was no way.

The table was set more casually than usual, with platters of food arranged family-style in the center. Your eyes were immediately drawn to a large ceramic dish containing what appeared to be—

"Pasta alla Norma," Wooyoung announced proudly, watching your reaction closely. "With caponata and arancini di riso on the side."

Your mother's signature dishes. The meals she had prepared for special occasions, teaching you the recipes that had been passed down through generations of her Sicilian family. Dishes you hadn't tasted since before she died, because you couldn't bear to make them yourself.

You looked up at Wooyoung, unable to completely mask your shock. "How did you..."

"I remember," he said simply. "She taught me too, remember? That summer when you were sick with pneumonia and she needed extra hands in the kitchen for your father's birthday dinner."

You did remember. Wooyoung had been the only one with both the patience and enthusiasm to learn your mother's exacting techniques, spending hours with her in the kitchen while you recovered upstairs. The memory hit you with unexpected force—Wooyoung appearing in your bedroom doorway afterward, his clothes splattered with tomato sauce but his face triumphant as he brought you a plate of perfectly prepared pasta.

"It won't be the same," he added quickly, mistaking your silence for disappointment. "I did my best, but Elena was an artist with these dishes. I—"

"Thank you," you interrupted softly, the words escaping before you could stop them.

His entire face lit up, surprise and joy transforming his features. "You're welcome."

Dinner began with an unusual quietness, everyone watching surreptitiously as you took your first bite of the pasta. The familiar flavors exploded across your tongue—the slight char of the eggplant, the sweet acidity of the tomatoes, the sharp bite of ricotta salata—and suddenly you were twelve years old again, sitting in your mother's sun-drenched kitchen, her laughter filling the air as she taught you how to properly salt the eggplant.

You hadn't realized you'd closed your eyes until you opened them to find everyone staring at you. Emotion threatened to overwhelm you—grief and gratitude and anger and longing all tangled together in your chest. It was too much, too confusing, too raw.

But when you glanced at Wooyoung, the hope and nervousness in his expression so painfully evident, you couldn't help the ghost of a smile that briefly crossed your face before you returned your attention to your plate.

It was enough. Wooyoung beamed like you'd handed him the moon, then launched into animated conversation with the others, allowing you to eat in peace, processing your emotions without an audience.

As dinner continued, you found yourself observing them through new eyes—not as the enemies who had abandoned you, but as the boys you had once known, now grown into men. They spoke of everyday things—a movie Yunho wanted to see, a book Jongho was reading, a new training technique San was developing. Their interactions were comfortable, punctuated by inside jokes and good-natured teasing. Family, in all but blood.

Hongjoong caught you watching and held your gaze for a moment, something unreadable in his dark eyes before you looked away.

They were still beautiful, all of them, in their different ways. Hongjoong's commanding presence, Seonghwa's elegant features, Yunho's warm smile, Yeosang's soulful eyes, San's dangerous charisma, Mingi's gentle strength, Wooyoung's vibrant energy, Jongho's steady reliability. But they had hardened too—their bodies more muscled, marked here and there with tattoos and scars that told stories you didn't know. Stories from the seven years you'd missed.

You had loved each of them fiercely, in different ways but with your whole heart. When they left and your mother died soon after, the double blow had nearly destroyed you. There had been days—weeks—when you hadn't been sure you wanted to live. Only Marco's unwavering presence had pulled you through that darkness.

And now here you were, sharing a meal with the very men who had broken you, feeling the treacherous tendrils of those old feelings stirring beneath your anger.

You finished your meal in silence, the food both a comfort and a heartache. When you excused yourself to return to your room, no one tried to stop you, though you felt their eyes following you out.

* * *

Hours later, from the top of the grand staircase, you watched a flurry of activity in the foyer below. The eight men moved with practiced efficiency, checking weapons, adjusting tactical gear, and communicating in shorthand that spoke of years working as a unit.

Hongjoong was at the center, his usual fashionable attire replaced by all black tactical clothing that emphasized his lean, powerful build. He moved with the assurance of a natural leader, his commands brief but clear as he directed final preparations.

Your curiosity finally overcame your determination to remain distant. You descended the stairs, your footsteps announcing your presence before you spoke.

"What's going on?" you asked, surveying the scene.

Hongjoong glanced up, his expression briefly surprised before settling back into professional neutrality. "Mission. Nothing you need to concern yourself with."

"A mission," you repeated. "To the Russo site you were discussing earlier?"

He nodded once, returning his attention to checking his weapon. "We'll be back before dawn. Yunho and Wooyoung are staying behind to maintain security here."

"I want to come," you said, the words surprising even you.

Hongjoong actually laughed, the sound both genuine and dismissive. "No. You're too fragile for this."

The words hit like a slap. Your eyes widened, brow raising in a gesture they were all too familiar with from your childhood—the look that had always preceded you proving someone catastrophically wrong.

"I can pick a lock in 4 seconds, hot wire vehicles, use a blade with precision, and take down a man three times my size without a weapon, I might add," you stated coldly. "I can handle more than you think."

Eight pairs of eyes turned to you, expressions ranging from shock to disbelief to... was that pride on San's face?

"Why do you know all that?" San asked, voicing what they were all clearly wondering.

Your smile was sharp enough to cut. "Because I had eight protectors, then suddenly had none. I had to learn to protect myself." The insult landed exactly as intended, several of them flinching visibly.

"We still protected you, you just couldn't see—" Mingi began, but Hongjoong cut him off with a sharp "Mingi."

You frowned, not understanding what Mingi had been about to reveal. Protected you how? When?

Hongjoong shook his head, his decision unchanged. "The answer is still no."

You crossed your arms, a calculating smile spreading across your face. "You're right. Since all of you will be gone, it'll be easier to snoop, possibly escape, and maybe go to a bar and live up my bachelorette life before the big day."

The effect was immediate and gratifying. Jealousy flashed across eight faces in various degrees of intensity—from Seonghwa's subtle jaw clench to Hongjoong's darkening eyes to Wooyoung's comically outraged expression.

Hongjoong sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "You are the most maddening woman I have ever met," he growled. "Fine. But you stay in the car with Yunho. No arguments."

Your victorious smile was answer enough.

As the others finished their preparations, Seonghwa approached, handing you a small earpiece. "This is for emergency communication only," he instructed. "Channel is secure, but minimize chatter. If you absolutely need to speak, press once to activate, release when you're done. Clear?"

You examined the sleek device, turning it over in your palm. "Minimal chatter? Then why do you let Wooyoung have one?" you asked, your tone lightly teasing.

Wooyoung's indignant "Hey!" was drowned out by unexpected laughter from the others. He beamed at you despite his protest, your teasing tone clearly registering as the most significant breakthrough since your arrival. To him, it might as well have been a declaration of love.

"She's got you there, Woo," San chuckled.

"I'll have you know," Wooyoung retorted dramatically, pressing his hand to his chest, "that my 'chatter' has saved our lives on multiple occasions. Remember the Nakamoto operation? Who spotted the secondary security team because he was 'chattering' about the guard's ugly shoes?"

"He's not wrong," Yunho admitted, grinning. "Wooyoung notices the strangest details, but they often turn out to be important."

You found yourself fighting back a genuine smile, the familiar banter momentarily breaking through your defenses. It felt... normal. Almost like before.

The realization was jarring.

Hongjoong seemed to notice the shift in your demeanor, his perceptive eyes studying your face before he called everyone to attention. "Time to move out. Y/n, you're with Yunho and Jongho in the second vehicle. Remember—"

"Stay in the car," you finished for him. "I heard you the first time."

"And yet, I remain unconvinced you'll actually do it," he replied dryly. “Stay low, stay quiet, and for the love of God, don't do anything reckless."

"Me? Reckless?" you asked with exaggerated shock. "I'm the picture of restraint and good judgment."

"You threw a knife at my head," he pointed out.

"And missed," you replied sweetly. "See? Restraint."

Despite himself, Hongjoong's lips twitched toward a smile. "Just... try not to get shot, okay?"

"I'll do my best," you promised, though the gleam in your eyes suggested that your definition of "best" might differ significantly from his.

"That's what worries me," he muttered, but there was something almost fond in his exasperation.

As you followed them out to the garage, your heart beat with unexpected excitement. You had pushed your way into their world partly out of boredom, partly out of spite, but now that you were here, a part of you—the part that had always craved adventure and action—was genuinely curious to see ATEEZ in operation.

Whatever else they were, whatever pain they had caused you, you couldn't deny they were impressive. Dangerous. Powerful.

And tonight, you would finally see exactly what they were capable of.

* * *

The sleek black van sat hidden in the shadows of an abandoned warehouse, positioned perfectly to maintain visual coverage of the Russo compound while remaining undetectable. Through the tinted windows, you could see the occasional movement of security guards patrolling the perimeter—men with the distinctive bulge of concealed weapons beneath their jackets.

Inside the vehicle, a different kind of tension filled the air.

You were in the back with Yunho, surrounded by an impressive array of technology that had transformed the van into a mobile command center. Multiple screens displayed different camera feeds, thermal imaging, and a detailed map of the area with eight blinking dots representing the team members currently infiltrating the compound.

You watched as he worked, his large hands moving with surprising dexterity across keyboards and control panels. He had rolled up the sleeves of his black tactical shirt, revealing muscled forearms decorated with a few tasteful tattoos—geometric patterns that somehow suited him perfectly.

"Got eyes on the south entrance," he murmured into his comm, his deep voice softer than you remembered. "Hongjoong, you're clear to proceed. Seonghwa, hold position until the guard changes."

As he reached to adjust one of the monitors, the focused concentration on his face transported you back in time. Despite the tactical gear, despite the hardened muscles and new tattoos, in this moment of quiet competence, he looked just like the boy you had grown up with.

The boy who had been the first to change in your eyes.

* * *

Seven Years Earlier – Age 15

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon at the Kim estate, the kind of sweltering summer day that made even the simplest movements feel like swimming through honey. The eight boys had been playing basketball on the outdoor court, and you had been perched on a nearby bench, ostensibly reading but mostly watching them through your sunglasses.

They had been playing for nearly an hour when they finally called a break, sweaty and laughing as they collapsed on the grass near your bench. Yunho, who had scored the winning point, pulled off his shirt to wipe his face before tossing it aside.

And that was when it happened.

You'd seen the boys shirtless countless times before—at pools, at beaches, during countless summers of growing up together. But something was different now. Yunho had... changed. When had his shoulders become so broad? When had his chest developed those defined muscles? When had his arms...

You felt your face grow hot, and it had nothing to do with the summer heat. For the first time, you were seeing Yunho not as your childhood friend, but as a *boy*—a very attractive boy who made your stomach do strange flips when he smiled in your direction.

"Water?" he asked, approaching your bench, still shirtless and glistening with sweat.

You fumbled with the bottle, nearly dropping it as you handed it over. "Here."

"Thanks," he said, taking a long drink that made you inexplicably fascinated with the movement of his throat.

"You okay?" he asked, catching your stare. "You look kind of flushed."

"Fine," you squeaked, mortified by the unfamiliar pitch of your voice. "Just hot."

Yunho grinned, completely oblivious to your internal crisis. "We're heading to the pool after this. You should come."

The pool. Where they would all be shirtless. Where you would be in a swimsuit. Where this new, confusing awareness would have nowhere to hide.

"Maybe," you managed, hiding behind your book again.

But as the boys resumed their game, you found yourself unable to focus on the words. Instead, your eyes kept drifting to Yunho—and then, with growing horror and fascination, to the others as well.

When had Hongjoong's intense focus become so captivating? When had Seonghwa's elegant movements started to seem so graceful? When had Mingi gotten so tall, Wooyoung so energetic, San so charismatic, Yeosang so mysteriously appealing, Jongho so strong?

When had your eight best friends become eight boys who made your heart race in a way that had nothing to do with friendship?

* * *

Two Weeks Later – The Lake

"Are you sure about this?" Elena asked, eyeing the bikini you had laid out on your bed. It was modest by most standards—a deep blue two-piece with more coverage than most—but compared to the one-piece swimsuits you'd worn your entire life, it might as well have been lingerie.

"I'm fifteen, Momma," you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. "Everyone wears bikinis now."

Your mother's knowing smile made you blush. "And this sudden fashion evolution has nothing to do with eight certain young men who will be at the lake today?"

"Momma!" you protested, mortified at being so transparent.

Elena laughed softly, coming to sit beside you on the bed. "Oh, my darling girl. I've been waiting for this day."

"What day?"

"The day you finally realize what I've known since you were twelve—that those boys would eventually become more than just your friends." She brushed a strand of hair from your face. "At least in your heart."

"It's not like that," you mumbled, though it was exactly like that. "I just... I want them to see me differently. Not just as the little girl they need to protect."

Your mother's expression softened. "They will, in time. But bambina, be careful with your heart. Loving one boy is complicated enough. Loving eight..." She shook her head, a hint of worry creasing her brow.

"I don't love them," you insisted, the very word making your stomach flip. "I just..."

"Want them to notice you," she finished for you. "I understand. Just remember that you are precious, Y/n. Your heart is precious. Guard it carefully."

Two hours later, wrapped in a cover-up that concealed your new swimsuit, you arrived at the lake with your mother's warning still echoing in your mind. The boys were already there, having claimed the best spot on the shore. You could see them from the parking area—horsing around in the water, lounging on beach towels, looking like they'd stepped out of a summer advertisement with their sun-kissed skin and carefree smiles.

Your courage nearly failed you then. What were you thinking? These were your best friends. What if your awkward attempt at being "noticed" ruined everything? What if they laughed at you? Worse, what if they were uncomfortable?

But then Wooyoung spotted you, waving wildly. "Y/n! Finally! We've been waiting for you!"

There was no turning back now.

You made your way down to their spot, your heart pounding so hard you were sure they could hear it. Casual greetings were exchanged, jokes were made, and then came the moment of truth.

"Aren't you hot in that?" San asked, gesturing to your cover-up. "It's like a thousand degrees out here."

With a deep breath, you removed the light fabric, revealing the blue bikini beneath.

The effect was immediate and dramatic. All conversation ceased. Eight pairs of eyes turned to you, expressions ranging from shock (Wooyoung's jaw actually dropped) to something darker and more difficult to interpret (Hongjoong's intense gaze made your skin tingle).

"You... um... you look different," Yunho managed, his ears turning red.

"Good different?" you asked, your voice smaller than you intended.

"Yeah," he replied, his eyes meeting yours briefly before darting away. "Really good."

An awkward silence fell, broken only when Jongho, the youngest but often the most practical, cleared his throat. "Who wants to go swimming?"

The moment passed, but something fundamental had shifted. Throughout the day, you caught them looking at you when they thought you wouldn't notice. Their usual casual touches—an arm around your shoulder, a playful push, a hand helping you up—became more hesitant, more charged.

And when Mingi offered to apply sunscreen to your back, his large hands gentle but trembling slightly, you knew with absolute certainty that they were finally seeing you as more than just their childhood friend.

You were being seen as a young woman. And it was thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.

* * *

"Earth to Y/n," Yunho's voice pulled you from your memories. "You okay? You zoned out for a minute there."

You blinked, reality rushing back. You were in an van on a surveillance mission, not at a lake seven years ago.

"Fine," you said, the echo of your fifteen-year-old self's same response making you smile despite yourself. "Just thinking."

Yunho studied you, his eyes somehow both familiar and different. "About what?"

"The past," you admitted. "When things were simpler."

A small, sad smile touched his lips. "Were they? I remember those days being pretty complicated."

The knowing look in his eyes made you wonder if he was remembering the same moments you were—that summer when everything changed, when friendship began its inevitable, complicated evolution into something more.

"The lake day," you said quietly, testing the waters. "Do you remember?"

His smile widened, a hint of his old playfulness returning. "When you showed up in that blue bikini and nearly gave all eight of us simultaneous heart attacks? Yeah, I remember."

Heat crept into your cheeks. "I wasn't that obvious."

"You were," he assured you, his attention divided between you and the monitors. "But we weren't much better. Hongjoong actually pulled us aside afterward and gave us a whole lecture about respecting you and not staring and..." He trailed off, chuckling at the memory.

"Really?" The thought of a teenage Hongjoong lecturing the others about proper behavior toward you was both surprising and strangely endearing.

"Really," Yunho confirmed. "He was always protective of you. We all were, but Hongjoong..." He glanced at you. "Well, you know."

You didn't know, not really, but you didn't press. The comfortable moment between you felt too fragile to risk with difficult questions.

Instead, you watched as he set up a small drone, his fingers deftly making final adjustments to the sleek black device.

"Launching surveillance drone," he reported into his comm. "We'll have aerial coverage in thirty seconds."

You leaned closer to see the screen where the drone's camera feed would display, your shoulder brushing against his. The casual contact sent an unexpected jolt through you, your body suddenly hyperaware of his proximity in the confined space of the vehicle.

Yunho felt it too—you could tell by the slight catch in his breathing, the momentary stillness of his hands over the controls.

"Sorry," you murmured, though you didn't move away.

"Don't be," he replied, his voice dropping to a lower register that sent a shiver down your spine.

You risked a glance at him and found him already watching you, his eyes dark and intent in the dim light of the vehicle. Something electric passed between you, seven years of distance suddenly collapsing into nothing. He was still Yunho—your Yunho—the first boy who had made your heart race, whose kiss by the bonfire had been your first.

His gaze dropped to your lips, and you knew with absolute certainty what was about to happen. You should stop it. You should pull away, maintain the walls you'd built, remember all the reasons you couldn't trust him.

Instead, you found yourself leaning closer, drawn by a gravity neither of you seemed able to resist.

"Y/n," he whispered, your name a question and a plea.

You were close enough to feel his breath against your lips, close enough that the slightest movement would bring them together. Your eyes began to flutter closed, years of anger and hurt momentarily overpowered by memory and longing.

The sharp crack of gunfire shattered the moment.

You both jerked back, training and instinct taking over as more shots followed in rapid succession.

"Status report!" Yunho barked into his comm, all traces of the vulnerable moment gone as he transformed into the professional operative. "Hongjoong! Seonghwa! Anyone!"

The comm crackled with bursts of communication—fragments of shouted orders, the unmistakable sounds of combat.

"Ambush—" Hongjoong's voice, tight with tension. "North side—"

"—multiple hostiles—" Seonghwa, unusually breathless.

"—need backup—" Mingi, followed by what sounded like an explosion.

Yunho was already moving, grabbing a tactical vest and weapon from a compartment behind his seat. "Stay here," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. "If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, there's an emergency protocol programmed into the navigation system. Press the red button under the dash and the vehicle will take you back to the compound automatically."

"Yunho—" you began, but he cut you off.

"Please," he said, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that silenced your protest. "I can't help them if I'm worried about you."

Before you could respond, he was out of the vehicle, moving swiftly toward the compound where flashes of gunfire illuminated the night.

You watched him go, your heart pounding with fear—not for yourself, but for him. For all of them.

The almost-kiss forgotten, you found yourself facing a stark realization: despite everything they had done, despite the years of pain and abandonment, the thought of losing any of them again was unbearable.

And that terrified you more than any gunfire ever could.

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[solargeist]

Would.... would tegg call scar by parental honorifics.... I'm assuming she would with grian, since you already have xelqua who sorta calls him papa

(Ganted scarian isn't together in the tegg au grian was just nest brained so I guess it wouldn't make sense but yk)

Also I think they're ssoso cute their the dads ever , I love tegg <33

The reason why Xelqua switches between "grian" and "papa" is just bc he was technically adopted, and old enough to be aware of it and feel embarrassed sometimes ! As he ages, he gradually calls him papa more often. He feels more comfortable and secure ! Grian also makes it pretty clear to him that its okay. I think at some point he'd also go to Grian and ask if its okay to call Scar something parental too, so sweet.

As for Tegg, she's a baby, so she'll grow up used to using honorifics. Tho I do imagine it'll be a little difficult since everyone else around her would be calling Grian by his name, and thats what she'll hear a lot lmao (theres a brief period of time where she's calling him "G")

But by time she starts saying her first words, Grian and Scar would've already talked abt this. Scar wants to stay involved, he knows Grian was just bird brained, but they're both clear headed right now, and he wants this. The baby looks exactly like him, it's eaten his code to grow, Scar just can't let that go so easily ! All of Boatem have already stated that Tegg is Boatem's baby, anyway.

She'd grow up calling them both the same titles that Xelqua does, even though they're from different AUs--I'm picky with parental titles--Papa et Pa !

[mrs-weasley-reid]

PRETTY FACE

bau team x liaison!reader

Synopsis: As the BAU's communications liaison—with a pretty face—you're in charge of peace. But what happens when you're not feeling so peaceful? Word count: 2.2k WARNING: fluff. but also fem rage lol. a few curses. not proofread oopsie A/N: I'm still rusty, so sorry, my lovelies (; _ ;) but I tried my best I promiseeeee. I missed writing so much <3 let me know what you think!

Three years.

Three years of grueling hours. Three years of sweat and hidden tears. Three years of nonstop compensation for multiple skills you aren't born with.

You take pride in your work. You show up. You follow through.

It's no secret. No surprise. You're a beaut, and you don't feel shy. It's normal. So be damned if you curse the parents who gave you such wonderful genetics. 

But that does not make you just pretty.

If anything, it just makes your learned skills, strong will, and assertiveness much more credible. You're not just beauty, but also brains and brawn.

With that in mind, one shall have the mature intelligence to understand the itch on your palms to smack the shit out of the man right before your eyes.

"We told you that I'll be taking care of the media." You start as you follow behind the local precinct's detective. Might as well call it chasing. He's been walking around like you're a fly he's been trying to ward off.

"Like I said, Miss—" He says that to diminish you. To make you smaller. He ignores the fact. He can't grasp the idea. The truth. That you're not just a pretty face. "—The press was there. I didn't know they were going to ask questions that can make things worse." Oh, yes, he did. A liar. And a bad one, too.

That is exactly why the plan is solid. To have you right on the podium, fighting the urge to blink from the flashes. The plan is preventative. To keep the UnSub from thinking that they are winning. 

You manage to keep your eyes from rolling, subtly grinding your teeth. "And we made the plan for that certain reason. I'm used to questions that we have to avoid. I'm more skilled in—"

"Are you saying I'm incapable? That you're better than me?"

His voice rises. Loud enough to shut the entire precinct up. Loud enough to get your team's attention. To prompt judgment and, worse, to make you seem weak.

"You're twisting my words, Detective. I'm telling you what I'm trained for and why we're making use of that advantage." It's simple. It's clear. A grade school level of intelligence can understand just what you said.

But the issue remains the same.

You can't teach someone to fish if their goal is to hunt.

"Listen, doll face. I'm not going to let my city live in false hope by some chick."

If the silence isn't deafening enough, his words are. They exploded like a bomb made to leave you into fine dust.

Three years.

Three years of constant backlash to the idea that a communications liaison can do more than just pick up the phone and connect two vessels of justice into one.

That's why you chose to stay in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They give you the freedom to do your job. They aren't filled with cheap people who'll mansplain as simple as using a copier. 

Three years, and you learned a lot. You learned your role and their role. You learned how to read, observe, and listen.

So, you know just how much the team filters you from violence. You know how much the BAU team expects less from you when it comes to battling UnSubs. Or going against prideful local detectives, police officers, and more. 

You knew, but you didn't mind. Because despite that, you knew they cared for you dearly. Respected the hard work you put in. Wanted your job to be as easy as possible.

Today, however, is a different story. You're not about to let the team fight your battle. Not when it's with a guy like him. Not when you know damn well how crucial the case is. Not when you're more than some chick he tries to insist you as.

As usual, Hotch is about to step in when gasps echo throughout the room. He stopped in his tracks, bolting his feet on the tiled floor. Maybe even wide-eyed.

Swift.

One swift pull on the detective's tie and the height difference between the two of you shifts. You glower at him as if it’s a crime to be the type of person that he is. And in the back of your mind, you agree.

He's sitting on a chair now. Your left foot is between his thighs. The point of your heels sits three inches from his crotch like a gun to his sorry proof of manhood. 

And even with the stretch, you're nowhere looking lewd despite wearing a skirt. Emily thinks you look badass. Her wide grin can testify to that.

"It's Agent." You announce softly. So soft that the back of Derek's neck shivers in fear. "And if it weren't for this chick's team, another dead body would’ve made your city much, much worse."

Fire spreads inside your body. Rage seeps in. A strong rope that finally snaps. 

“Should we stop the kid?” Rossi asks lowly without batting an eye. He’s worried that if he blinks, you’ll turn into a criminal he can’t bear to catch. 

Hotch only shakes his head in response. Nonetheless, he moves one step every five seconds. Steadily approaching a lion to tame her. It’s not that he thinks you need taming. It’s the fact that he has no idea how to. You’ve never snapped before. The team is at a loss for words.

The grip you have on the detective’s tie can easily choke him then and there. But one thing you're great at is control.

Terrifying control, that is.

"So unless you cooperate, I'm not afraid to pack up and pull us off this messy case." You lightly tug him closer. You watch as a bead of sweat run down the side of his face. "And if you think you can drag our hands into the mud. You'll have your hands dirty all by yourself, because I'm damn great at keeping ours clean. Do I make myself clear, Detective?"

No one’s ever thought it’s possible to mock a worthy title such as detective, but you’re as shocked as everybody else.

How far can your beauty get you? The answer is nowhere, but he doesn’t need to know that. He's already too busy blinding himself from the fact that you're not just that. What more is tricking him into thinking it can get you farther?

A light hand lands on your shoulder. You turn to find Rossi with an unreadable expression. It's his way to pull you back to reality, to calm you down.

Hotch reaches for your hand on the detective's tie. "I think he understands," He insists. Stern but not harsh. More of a plea if you had to say so yourself.

Then, again, he’s always been confident with his words that most of them turn into law, which the entire team abides by without question.

Your hand lets go of the tie, blinking as if you’d been possessed, overwhelmed with rage. Tension dissipates from your body. The furrowed brows on your forehead finally separate.

"JJ and Morgan are going back to the dump site. Go with them."

An order.

Cool off, then we’ll talk later. That’s what Hotch meant, and you know it by heart, considering the amount of times you heard him utter the same words to the team.

It’s first for you, though. So it stings. Embarrassing, for lack of a better word. Part of you knew it was coming. It’s not you to step over a line you know you’re not allowed to cross. Still, it doesn’t change the suffocating feeling in your chest. 

You nod and turn around. Your fists clench so tight crescent indentations sting your palms. Even Rossi's gentle tap on your back didn't make you feel better.

You'd done it.

You broke their trust.

Who are you to say those things anyway? You're just a communications liaison. You have no power.

You can’t even bear to look up ahead to where the others stood. You're afraid that the indifferent looks on their faces will be the final blow.

Despite that, another feeling brews. It creeps right from the marrow of your bones. 

Disappointment. 

A feeling so familiar you can’t bear to feel it at all. Not when it comes to the team. Not when it comes to the people you find comfort with.

The detective coughs loudly as if you really did choke him to death. "You better control your liaison, Agent Hotchner. It’s not a good look to have someone rogue in the FBI." He demands. A snide comment about the team’s power. He’s been intimidated from the start, and he chose you to relieve himself of any jealousy that runs in his blood.

What a wimp, you thought. And unbeknownst to you, your team did too.

"Sorry," Your ears perk as soon as it comes out of Hotch's mouth. "I don't control the person that keeps my hands clean. If anything, I give them soap."

You're out of the door before you can even hear more, getting into the driver's seat without realizing your tight grasps on the wheel.

"Remind me never to piss you off," Derek immediately implores as he sits on the passenger seat next to you. “I’m glad I don’t wear neckties that often.”

Tears uncontrollably fill your eyes and soon enough trail down your cheeks. The adrenaline finally crashes down, and you're back to the realization of what just transpired.

You feel JJ's arms around you despite being in the backseat, "Thank you for being there for us. I know how hard it is to be in your position."

And the sobs come second. "Oh, my gosh! I almost choked a detective. What am I supposed to do? I’m just a liaison. I’m going to jail or something." You cry in almost inaudible tangents, earning a chuckle from the other two, to your dismay. “And did Hotch just make a joke about giving me soap? What does that even mean?” You think you’re going insane. Laughing and crying at the same time like a lunatic. 

“Yeah, I think he likes that one lemon scent you brought in the kitchenette,” JJ adds, rubbing your side to calm your senses down. There’s a motherly feeling in the way she tries to comfort you, and you wouldn’t want it any other way.

Derek grabs your hand and places a small tissue pouch. “Listen here, Agent.” He smirks proudly. “You’re not just a liaison. You’re our liaison. The behavioral analysis unit’s communications liaison. You’ve worked more than what your job description says. None of us would be here if you didn’t show up. Do you have any idea how many times the group almost fell apart when JJ left us? Left the role empty? This team needs you.” He ruffles your hair, to which you're quick to swat before grabbing a napkin.

Sobbing in front of the team is a first, too. Albeit just JJ and Derek with you, it feels like all the members somehow know you’re crying like a child, too. 

A phone ring momentarily distracts the three of you. Emily’s name flashes on JJ’s phone. She waves it with a knowing look before putting the call on speaker.

“Yes, Emily?” JJ answers as if to inform Emily that the three of you can hear her.

“[I’m gonna need pointers how to get a man in line.]” Emily starts, clearly talking to you. Though, you don't think she needs any pointers.

“Is that for self-defense or some freaky stuff?” Derek playfully interjects, grinning at the sight of the screen.

You can hear the way Emily rolls her eyes despite not seeing her at all, “[Wouldn’t you like to know, you dog.]” Laughter erupts inside the van. “[Also, I think Reid’s traumatized for life. He’s clearing out the table from all his folders, something about our liaison asking him to stop hogging the table.]” 

The tears stop, then. You shake your head while you wipe under your eyes. “I can’t believe I did something stupid. I’ll have to write a report about this.” You groan, leaning against the headrest.

"If you ask me, I have no idea what you're talking about.” Derek shrugs nonchalantly.  

JJ nods, “You're going to sound crazy if you add that to your report because none of us wants our hands dirty." She bites her lower lip to sound more serious, but it doesn’t help her at all.

“[Oh, guys, here’s Hotch.]” Emily interjects, prompting static from the other end of the line.

Hotch clears his throat, signaling everyone. “[Can you take me off speaker phone for a moment?]” He directs.

JJ passes you her phone, and you step out of the van.

You take a deep breath before attaching the device to your ear, “Hotch? I’m so so—”

“[I’m going to stop you right there, Agent.]” He cuts you off. “[Don’t ever think that defending yourself is a fault. That’s not how I run my—our team.]”

“I know, but I technically assaulted a cop. And technically threatened him.” There’s nothing technical with what happened. You did them exactly as is, and not to be braggy, but you did so with poise and assertiveness.

“[Well, that’s something we can talk about never. I just wanted to give you a formal apology for not stepping in before it even happened. You’re essential to this team. An insult to you is an insult to all of us.]”

It's as if a heavy weight has been lifted off your shoulders. You can breathe better. And the embarrassment completely melts off your skin. Better yet, the disappointment with your team downright disappeared. 

You shouldn’t have doubted them. 

You snap out of your trance when Hotch says your name, “Yeah?”

“[Where do you buy those scented soaps?]”

You bit your lower lip in hopes of keeping your tears from drowning your eyes. You really should’ve known better than to think the team would ever believe you are just a pretty face.

[thevoidstaredback]

I'm a bit late to the party, but this was too cute not to expand upon.

After Boxy and Bitty Bute left, word spread quickly aiming the ghosts. They'd always been huge gossips.

At first, just after Box Ghost and Box Lunch, only a few ghosts dropped by Gotham in a month. Kitty, Johnny and Shadow; Skulker; Desiree. They all came by to ask Phantom to teach them how to hide.

He helped them and they went on to teach the others. Those who couldn't quite get it found their way to Gotham, asking for Danny to teach them.

Watching Danny made Jason feel warm. This was the side of Danny he'd never been allowed to see before, the side that was hidden for fear for his life. Sure, Danny was nice to the kids he encountered everyday, and he could never not help someone whenever he could, but to see him teach people who he never would've met otherwise?

Jason fell more and more in love with him every day. Had since they met, had since they got married, and will until the end of their eternity.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" That was the very first thing Jason had ever said to Danny.

Danny had raised an eyebrow. "Not quite. I believe that first impressions are useless. What really matters is in the moments that happen afterwards."

Jason had smiled dumbly at that. "Will you give me the chance to have those extra moments?"

"Sure,"

It was a moment he remembered more clearly than anything else in his life. He was so beyond happy to watch Danny prove how much he loved the people around him again and again.

"What're you thinking about?" Dick asked

Jason's eyes never strayed from where Danny was helping another ghost, this one a child named Poindexter, learn how to 'let go of the sky'. "About how lucky I am."

Dick fakes a groan. "Don't go mushy on me, Little Wing. I do not need to know anything about your love life." He paused. "Unless it's anything but healthy." He looked between Danny and his brother before saying, "Though, I don't think that'll ever be a worry."

"I am way outta my league," Jason sighed, "I love him so much."

"Even a blind man could see that,"

"Don't worry," Danny chimed, the ghost he'd been helping no longer in the field, "You'll find someone some day, Dick."

He spluttered while Jason laughed and kissed his husband. "Traitor!"

Danny shrugged. "I could refer you to a great fortune teller? She's great at granting wishes."

Dick cringed back a bit. "No, thanks."

"Suit yourself."

"Anymore news on those GIW bastards?" Jason asked.

Danny sighed and shook his head. "No one knows exactly where they are, just that they're tracking me."

"Do you really think staying in one place is safe?"

A nod. "If worst comes to worst, I can escape them faster than they can catch me."

"And if they do catch you?"

"Then I know you'll be right behind with a rescue team and the wrath of a titan."

Dick mimed gagging. "You guys are way too cute, it's actually sickening."

Jason shrugged this time. "You'll understand one day, Dick Wing."

I've been playing with a no-one-knows AU where Danny has been married to Jason for years but hasn't told him his secret. Jason knows that Danny isn't human, but hasn't pressed because Danny is so terrified when he approaches the topic. The Batfamily do not know.

Presently, the GIW are in Gotham and closing in, and the Box Ghost has come to Danny seeking help.

----

“You’re a ghost,” Jason said gently, pulling one of Danny’s hands away from his face to wrap it in his own. Danny let him. “Aren’t you?”

Danny’s breath hitched again.

Surprisingly, the Box Ghost looked almost as horrified as Danny.

“What? NO! I, the BOX GHOST, would not out Danny Fenton to his human family! For he is as human as I once was!” He flailed his arms in blatant panic. “There is nothing to reveal, for Danny Fenton is most certainly NOT a ghost!”

“What’s wrong with Danny being a ghost?” Box Lunch wanted to know, tilting her head up to peer up at her father in confusion. “Is it a secret?”

“BOX LUNCH!” the Box Ghost wailed, every inch a mortified parent.

“Yes, it was, or your father would not be so blatantly lying about it,” Damian told her, taking pity on the child ghost.

“Oh!” Box Lunch nodded seriously. “Danny isn’t a ghost!”

Danny let out a slightly hysterical laugh, and then started to cry, gasping quietly with tears pouring down his face, hunched down to hide from them. He didn’t pull his hand out of Jason’s.

“It is no longer a secret here, as it has become apparent,” Damian elaborated.

Box Lunch scrunched up her nose. “Oh.”

“Ghosts are not bad,” Cass said softly, “if ghosts are Danny.”

“Danny.” Jason scooted closer and pulled Danny against him, and Danny let him, pressing into him without unwinding at all. “Danny, I already knew. I’ve known for years.” Danny tilted his head up to give him an incredulous look, and Jason grinned at him. “You’re not good at hiding it, stardust. Your freckles glow when you’re excited and your eyes flash green when you’re frustrated. You walk through closed doors when you’re sleepy and things fall through your hands when people startle you. I’ve known you aren’t human since we moved in together.”

“…Oh,” Danny murmured, guilt and relief and wonder swirling together in his still-wet eyes.

“Phantom!” the Box Ghost scolded. Jason took note of the sudden change in address. “You are the worst secret keeper ever!”

“Shut up, Boxy,” Danny snapped. He pulled away from Jason and wiped his eyes, sniffling. Their hands stayed locked together. “We, we need to hide you and bitty-bite b-before we talk about this any more. I wasn’t joking about the Guys in White.”

The Box Ghost flapped his arms dismissively. “They will not find us! They are looking for YOU, and their instruments will not be prepared for such subtle spirits as Box Lunch and I!”

“They are looking for me while I am hiding,” Danny said, soft but barbed. He wiped his face again and turned around to better face the other ghost, glaring sharply. “Something I am well known to be very good at. Far better at than you.”

The Box Ghost went so pale he was almost translucent.

“You don’t look like a ghost at all,” Tim said, studying Danny. “Your skin is pink, you don’t glow… most of the time, no pointed ears or fangs. Your eyes are normal.” His eyes narrowed. “Is this… not your natural appearance?”

Danny flinched. “I… I…” He swallowed, staring at nothing, and then forced his attention back onto the Box Ghost. “Your base signatures are pretty low. If you stop using your powers and suppress your auras as much as you can, you can probably bring them low enough to hide.”

No answers would be forthcoming for now, Jason understood. He signaled sharply to Bruce and Tim, the most likely to try to interrupt. Wait. Time-sensitive, finish operation before proceeding.

Bruce didn’t look pleased, but he nodded sharply. Tim just watched, thoughtful eyes fixed on Danny. Damian was scowling, Dick frowning faintly, but Cass’ curiosity looked borderline idle. Jason watched Danny interact with the other ghost with a healthy blend of interest and concern, and tried not to wonder if Tim was right.

“Box Lunch, do you know how to land?” Danny asked. It seemed like a silly question until Box Lunch wrinkled her nose and cocked her head.

“Land?” she asked, audibly uncertain. For that matter, her father looked vaguely baffled too. “Like… with my feet? On the floor?”

Danny managed a smile and nodded. Box Lunch eyed the floor, then drifted down to hover at floor level. “Like this?”

“Not exactly,” Danny said, sounding more fond than anything. He slid off the bar stool and knelt down in front of Box Lunch. Jason couldn’t look away; he’d been deprived of any open knowledge of Danny’s nonhuman side for so long that his curiosity was damn near insatiable now. And Danny teaching a kid of his species? That was doing things to Jason. Good things. “Close your eyes.” Box Lunch did. “Feel the energy in the air. Do you feel gravity? Do you sense how it pulls things down?” She nodded uncertainly. “Hold onto that feeling. Let it hold onto you. Do you feel it?” Nod. “Good. Now- let go of the sky.”

The instructions didn’t make a lick of sense to Jason, but Box Lunch dropped right out of the air and landed on her feet. Her eyes flew open, and she pinwheeled dramatically until Danny caught her.

“Ahh!” she squealed, looking dismayed. “I’m heavy!”

Danny chuckled. “No, bitty-bite, you’re still light as a feather.” He picked Box Lunch up and held her out in front of him, smiling. She squealed again, kicking her feet, her eyes bright with delight. “Good job. Do you think you can hold that?”

“Um, sure,” she mumbled, not looking at all sure.

The Box Ghost landed on the floor with a grunt - Jason suspected that he’d been listening to Danny’s instructions too. He held out his arms for Box Lunch, and Danny handed her over willingly.

“Now what?” the Box Ghost asked tentatively, staring at the floor like it would eat him. Yeah, Jason could definitely believe that he’d never landed before either.

“Now, you listen to me,” Danny said seriously. He reached out and grabbed Box Ghost’s arm, demanding his attention, and forced eye contact. From the Box Ghost’s wide eyes, this behavior was as new to him as it was to Jason. But then Danny continued, speaking as firmly as if he were willing his words into existence. “You are not a ghost. You are not a ghost.” Understanding flickered across the Box Ghost’s face, and he screwed his eyes shut. His glow started to dim. “You are solid. You are heavy. You are warm. You are made of flesh, blood, and bone. You are not a ghost. You are not a ghost. You are human.”

The Box Ghost’s glow receded and disappeared. Except for his blue skin, he almost looked human now. He opened his eyes uncertainly, and Danny gave him a weary smile and a nod, letting go of his arm and leaning back.

“But what about Box Lunch?” the Box Ghost asked anxiously, looking down at Box Lunch. She’d squeezed her eyes shut to try and follow Danny’s instructions, but didn’t seem to be meeting with the same success.

Danny sighed. “I’m not sure how to explain it to her,” he admitted, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair as he looked at the little girl with worry. She opened her eyes and gave him an anxious look, and Danny gave her a small smile. “It’s not your fault, bitty-bite. It’s just… you’ve always been a ghost, so you don’t have your dad’s memories of what it felt like to be human.”

Box Lunch stomped her feet. “I can pretend!”

“Then pretend,” Danny said seriously. “It doesn’t have to be perfect. Just do your best.”

“Wehh!” Box Lunch flailed her arms, brow furrowed in concentration. “I am human! My body is super solid and I crash into things a lot! And I run around on the ground and eat human food! Fear me!”

It was so cute that Jason muffled a laugh, and he wasn’t the only one. Box Lunch ran a circle around the floor, then crashed into a wall on purpose and bounced off, giggling. Even Bruce’s hard expression softened into a fond look.

“That should keep you off the sensors,” Danny said to the Box Ghost, voice low. Something about his eyes looked exhausted. “Just make sure Box Lunch maintains it. Maybe keep playing human with her.”

The Box Ghost nodded uncertainly. “Thank you, Phantom,” he said quietly. “I know that we can count on you.”