#Hicks injuries

[glitterybouquetchaos]

The Weight Of Yankees Pinstripes Fells Aaron Hicks - Reflections On Baseball

The weight of Yankees pinstripes has finally crushed Aaron Hicks, a player who joins a long list of players who couldn’t cut it in New York. After eight unremarkable years, Yankees outfielder Aaron Hicks has been exiled and freed to explore other opportunities in baseball. Oddly, the Yankees’ decision to DFA(Designate For Assignment) Hicks came at the height of a team resurgence and a modest…

[vintagegeekculture]

The Hall of Amazing Men: Branscombe Richmond

A new admission to the Hall of Amazing Men, Branscombe Richmond is best known for being an actor where he played Lorenzo Lamas’s friend, the Lando Calrissian-like sharpie Dallas Sixkiller, or as Moki, the smartmouth Hawaiian friend of Magnum, P.I. But behind the camera, as a tough as nails stunt coordinator and stuntman, Branscombe Richmond created and developed nearly all the eccentric and eye catching events in the TV series American Gladiators: Atlasphere (the one where people roll around in giant balls), Powerball (done simply because they needed a sport that could be created cheaply because they ran out of money for development) and all the various ones where musclemen shoot tennis balls at people, and where you have to avoid muscular women by jumping on a bungee cord. I don’t think it would be inaccurate to say that with his development (on a really thin budget, no less) of memorable, eye catching sports and events that, with his stunt training he knew could be done safely enough so that even kinda-sporty housewives from Illinois could do them without injury, Branscombe Richmond created American Gladiators. He turned an idea into a realized, practical show that can be done – I don’t think it is inaccurate at all to call him the uncredited creator of American Gladiators.

In his career as a stuntman, Branscombe Richmond, meanwhile, is another one of those faces that shows up over and over playing evil henchmen, members of motorcycle gangs in rough biker bars the hero brawls with karate (if there’s ever a rough scummy biker bar out there, you can bet Branscomb Richmond is in it), and hordes of nunchaku wielding ninja, to the point where if you are, like me, an 80s-90s action aficionado, his face makes you go “oh, hey…it’s that guy!” Can you really call yourself an action fan if you don’t start identifying “your” evil henchman? His IMDB page is mostly roles that are named “Gunman In Jeep,” "Biker #2," and "Terrifying Clown."  

If there is a Evil Henchman Hall of Fame, Brandscomb is there alongside the great Al Leung. You can spot his face as a henchman in Never Too Young to Die (with John Stamos), Action Jackson, Batman Returns, the Hidden, Iron Eagle III: Aces High (objectively the best one as it had Ms. Olympia Rachel McLish), and Star Trek III, where he was a Klingon henchman to Christopher Lloyd who almost got disintegrated and had to feed his disgusting slimy monster dog-salamander. It's comforting to know the profession of henching is alive and well 300 years in the future.

On television, Brandscomb Richmond was on every single cool show from the 80s: Tales of the Gold Monkey, TJ Hooker, Manimal, Airwolf, Knight Rider, Baywatch, and many times attempted to kill the A-Team, especially from motorcycles. Like Chiba, another stuntman-actor, Branscombe Richmond specialized in motorcycle stunts, and he was admitted to the Motorcycle Hall of Fame in 2003. He is, to this day, the guest of honor at whatever motorcycle rally your embarrassing hick uncle attends. I have no evidence for this, but I have long suspected that the reason Richmond was hired to be Dallas Sixkiller in Renegade with Lorenzo Lamas was so they could get his unpaid advice on motorcycle stunts (much like how I have always suspected Warner Brothers hired Ben Affleck as Batman as a "backdoor" way to ask him to direct).

He also played the older brother of the Rock in the Scorpion King, which is an interesting choice because despite getting roles as American Indians (and being beloved in the American Indian community, who, as a whole, deeply love characters who are smartmouth, wiseass sharpies/scammers who get one over on everyone), Brandscome Richmond is in fact, like the Rock, of Hawaiian origin. His first major role in television, that of Moki in Magnum PI, was in fact Hawaiian.

Why are there so many Pacific Islanders in stuntman careers, MMA, and professional wrestling? The answer is surprisingly pedestrian. It’s because Pacific Islanders are a sizable ethnic population in Los Angeles, where movies and television are made, so if you need someone in L.A. that are tough as nails and can take a hit, a Samoan or Hawaiian is a good choice.

Happily, Branscombe Richmond is alive and well, mostly retired as a traditionally large Hawaiian family patriarch. He does occasional voice work, as Gibraltar in Apex Legends, a character physically based on him as well. I imagine he is relieved to be working in showbiz and no longer risking brain damage to do it.

[scarlethexelove]

Heyyyy!!! " Growing family" literally is curing me lmaooo, ur so awesome sauce 🤠🙌

Could you make a part 3 where reader gives birth??? I would appreciate it smmm!!!

I hope you have a good dayy!!

Not As Planned

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 1744

Warning: Shoulder injury, A bit angsty I guess, giving birth, angry reader, fluff at the end, Wanda coming in clutch

Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 4

A/n: Sorry it took a bit to get to this and I hope you enjoy. I liked writing this and it honestly got longer than I was expecting it to be.

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

“Lizzie, sweetheart, can you come here please.” You call out to your daughter as you hold your stomach. You had felt off and more bloated today than normal. Pain started to slowly increase over time signaling you to the fact that you are going into labor. Normally you would have ignored it thinking that it was braxton hicks but you know better than that. The twins are coming now and you need to get to the compound quickly. 

Lizzie runs into the room with a big smile on her face that quickly drops when she sees your face contorted in pain. “Mommy what wrong?” You put on the best fake smile that you can. “Mommy is ok.” She shakes her head not believing you. “Mommy hurt.” You try your best to get down on her level. “Do you remember how Mommy and Mama told you that you are going to have siblings and that they are growing in Mommy’s tummy.” Your daughter nods her head and you smile. “Well your siblings would really like to meet you soon.” The little frown that once covered her face now replaced with a wide smile. “I can’t wait Mommy.” You can’t help but find her excitement heartwarming. “Remember how Mama packed a bag and left it by the door?” She nods her head. “Can you go get that for Mommy?” Without a word your daughter scurries away towards the bag that is most definitely as big as her. 

You pull out your phone but have to stop when another contraction hits causing you to gasp in pain and hold your stomach with one hand. “Fuck.” You mumble under your breath. As it passes you pull up your wifes contact and dial the phone. The phone rings through but she doesn’t answer. You let out a frustrated sigh before dialing again. “Damnit Natasha pick up the fucking phone.” You mumble as the call goes to voicemail again. 

“What does fucking mean Mommy?” Your head snaps to the direction of your daughter who has dragged the bag into the room. “That is an adult word sweetheart you don’t say that.” She thinks for a moment before nodding. “Otay.” You breathe a sigh of relief but not for long as you grunt in pain as another wave hits you. “Mommy!” Lizzie yells as she comes over to you. She does what she can to try and comfort you, following what she has seen Nat do for you in the past. As it passes you let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. “I’m okay baby.” You look at your phone and look for Wanda’s number quickly dialing it. 

The phone rings through before you hear Wanda’s voice on the other end of the phone. “Y/n what’s wrong?” Wanda sounds a bit panicked. “I’m in labor and my wife isn’t answering the phone, that's what’s wrong. Ah fuck.” You groan the contractions getting closer together. “I’m coming to get you.” Wanda says and you can hear rustling in the background as she hurries herself to get to you. “Wanda, where is my wife?” You ask as the pain passes once again. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Wanda evades your question. “Wanda you better tell me where my wife is or so help me-” Wanda cuts you off. “Don’t be mad.” You grunt. “Wanda I’m already mad.” Wanda sighs on the other end before speaking. “While training a new recruit who has enhanced strength she may have dislocated her shoulder. She’s in medical right now.” You can’t help but feel anger bubbling up. “I’m going to kill her and maybe that recruit too.” You mumble. Wanda does say anything as she drives as fast as she can to you. 

You take the to go bag and Lizzie’s hand as you lead her outside and lock the door. You have to press your sweaty forehead against the door as a new wave hits you. You hear as the car rolls up but you don’t move waiting for the pain to subside. “Y/n/n you shouldn’t be carrying that. You hear Wanda’s voice as she quickly makes her way over to you. She takes the bag off your shoulder and wraps her arm around you to support you. “Well when my wife isn’t here I have to do it myself.” You mumble as Wanda leads you to the car. She gets you into the passenger seat first before throwing the bag in the back and getting Lizzie into the car seat she has in her car just for her. She quickly runs around the car and gets back in before taking off towards the compound. 

Nat made you promise that you will have the twins at the compound and nowhere else. With Tony hiring the best medical staff in the world she wasn’t taking any chances by having you go anywhere else. You understood and thought it was for the best so you put up no arguments about it. 

It didn’t take long before you’re pulling up to the compound. Nat is waiting outside worry etched into her features and a sling holding her arm to keep from moving her shoulder. Wanda barely has time to stop the car before Nat is pulling open your door. She reaches out for you but you swat her hand away. “Don’t touch me.” You turn to get out of the car on your own Wanda coming up next to Nat before you're doubled over by another more intense wave hitting you. “Detka please let me help you.” You grunt. “This wasn’t the plan Natalia. You aren’t supposed to be hurt. How are you going to hold our babies if you can’t move your fucking arm.” She looks like a wounded puppy at your words and almost makes you forget about the pain. She knows that a part of it has to do with your hormones, the pain, but also your fear of her getting hurt. “Detka please. I can still help and it’s only for 2 weeks.” You shake your head and Wanda moves to help you out of the car. “You can’t hold a newborn with one arm, Natalia. You could hurt yourself more or worse yet one of our babies.” You know you’re being harsh on her but you're upset and scared; and your wife is injured when you need her the most. 

Nat doesn’t fight back. She gets Lizzie out of the car and does her best to sling the to-go bag over her good shoulder. You see how she struggles slightly as Wanda hurries to get you inside. “Natty please be careful.” Nat smiles as your mood changes slightly. While Wanda gets you quickly to the med bay, Nat has Pepper who just so happens to be visiting today to watch Lizzie. She then quickly joins you. 

The doctors are already getting you ready to push the pain overwhelming but it’s already too late to have anything. When your eyes meet Nat’s you give her grabby hands and she quickly joins you by your side. Her hand slipping into yours with her good arm. Wanda is about to leave when you grab her hand. “Where do you think you’re going? I need you.” You tell Wanda she smiles and settles in back next to you on the other side. 

The doctor settles in front of you with nurses moving around the room preparing for your twins arrival. “Alright Mommy and Mama are you ready to meet your babies?” You both nod and the woman smiles. “When your next contraction hits I want you to push. Can you do that for me?” She asks and you nod. It doesn’t take long before the next wave hits and you're pushing. It takes everything in you to keep pushing. Nat and Wanda encourage you and hold your hands as you continue to push. 

Soon the room is filled with the cry’s of your baby. “A beautiful baby girl.” The doctor holds her up. Tears fill your eyes as you look at yours and Nat’s daughter. You look up to Nat who has tears running down her cheeks. You look back to your daughter as she wails and her cry fills the room. One of the nurses took her away to get her cleaned up. You’re brought back to the fact that you still have one more baby to push out with another contraction. “Come on Mommy, let's meet your other little one. Push!” You do as you're told. Pushing and crying. Soon after more cry’s fill the room. The doctor once again holds up your baby. “A beautiful baby boy.” 

You’re now fully crying at your beautiful babies. Nat and Wanda are constantly telling you how well you did. Nat kisses your forehead letting her lips linger there. “You did amazing detka, I’m so proud of you.” You’re sweaty and tired but you feel nothing but happiness. “I love you Natty.” You mumble tiredly. “I love you too Y/n/n.” 

Soon your daughter has been placed on your chest while Wanda holds your son. Tears stream down your cheeks causing Nat to gently turn your face to look at her. She cups your cheek in her hand and wipes your tears with her thumb as she brushes it against your cheek. “Are you ok detka?” You give her a small nod. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.” You mumble your gaze falling. “No detka I should be sorry.” Your eyes lift to her emerald eyes. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” You nuzzle her hand. “Everything is ok moya lyubov’.” 

The room is silent for a bit as you stare down at your sleeping daughter. Your voice is low as you speak. “Thank you Natty.” She looks at you confused but your gaze doesn’t lift. “For what?” You let out a sigh. “For being here.” You can’t bring yourself to look at her. Nat knows exactly what’s going on. Your ex wasn’t there when Lizzie was born and you had to do it alone. She left the moment she found out you were pregnant. Your words break her heart. She brings your gaze to her once again. “I’m not going anywhere detka. I will always be here for you. For our family.” Nat leans down gently kissing your lips. Today might not have been how you planned it but it turned out just fine.

[shhhsecretsideblog]

You have to go see your professional athlete husband play in the championship game: only problem is you're 42 weeks pregnant. You've been having contractions all day, but you tell yourself they're just Braxton Hicks, and you can go to the hospital after the game and have the baby. But once the game starts you can't ignore the urge to push any longer...

Great prompt! Exactly what I was in the mood to write this evening, ty! Hope you like it (fyi written in an hour and very much not edited or checked or read-through lol)

Half-Time Full-Time Baby-Time

Despite being overdue, suffering practice contractions all day, and having a baby nestled deep in my pelvis - I was not going to miss the big game. I’d never missed any of my husband’s matches and I wasn’t going to start now.

Thankfully, as my hubby was a star player on the team I was watching the game from the Executive Box. My parents were supposed to have joined me but they couldn’t make it, so I was on my own in the luxury private suite that had a large window and a glass door overlooking all the action on the pitch below. Inside the room was a fancy dining table with chairs, a mini bar, and a few high stools beneath the tall bench table lining the window so people could sit and drink and eat while watching the game.

Unfortunately I wasn’t able to do any of those things. My tight and round belly and the pain flaring in my hips had me pacing around and around the room. Cupping the underside of my bump I breathed deeply through each rising wave.

“Hmmmmm… not now baby, please.” I whimpered.

The practice pains had gotten closer and closer together during the first half. I’d tried to ignore them, breathe through them and walk around to stop the braxton hicks, but they didn’t disappear. They only got worse. Just before the whistle blew at half time my waters broke and I was forced into the realisation this was no false alarm.

But it would be fine; labour took hours and hours and the game would be long finished before we would need to go to the hospital. That’s what I thought.

Midway through the second half I’m standing by the window, my hands clasping the high bench in a white-knuckle grip, my hips swaying side to side. My throat rattles as I release involuntary groans with the constant squeezing and tightening of my belly. The baby felt so damn low… my legs were in a wide stance and my belly hung down off my hips. I was glad to be wearing a lightweight summer dress with the amount I was sweating. I wanted to open the door, to let in a breeze, but I was scared to with the labouring sounds I was emitting. I didn’t want to attract attention and I did not want to go anywhere and miss the game. I would stay here until you were finished and then we would go to the hospital together.

Another contraction rolled across my belly and the pressure built and built towards boiling point. It felt like I was going to explode, to burst, that feeling of fullness paired with an urgency and pressure was becoming too much to handle. My legs started to tremble as I fought against my body’s instincts, a low rumbling roar slipping past my lips.

I leant forward over the tall tabletop, my arms folded on its surface and my head dropped against my arms. My legs were buckling, sinking lower into a squat. The pressure was building, the round and heavy bowling ball of a head was so low… I wanted to push— my body needed me to push—

“Noooo…. Oh god! Don’t- hoooo- don’t push. Just stay in there baby…. Wait for your daddy to f-finish the g-game—mnghhhhhh!!!”

There was no controlling it, the head was getting lower and pressing against my opening. My body was pushing and I couldn’t stop it. More amniotic fluid hit the floor as I pushed, my bare feet standing on the damp carpet.

In between uncontrollable pushes I glanced up desperately and looked at the timer hanging over the pitch. There was still 15minutes to go, plus injury time. Oh god, the baby was not going to last that long. It felt like it was already starting to crown.

With a trembling hand I feel under my dress between my thighs and nearly vomit when I feel the curved surface of the head pressing against my underwear.

“Oh baby, no… you can’t come out yet…”

But my body and mind are not in sync and a second later I’m back to uncontrollably pushing. I sink into a deep squat, my arms stretched high above my head as I cling onto and almost swing from the high rise table.

“Nnnmghhhhh!!!!” I grunt and low, bearing down into my bottom, running completely on instinct. The baby was slipping further and further out, my labia was stretched thin and the burning of a full crown made me howl.

At the same time one of the teams had scored and the stadium erupted with a frenzy of screams and cheers. The crowd’s jubilance was my own encouragement and I gasped a breath and pushed again, hard. My body was shaking head to toe, the burning… the fullness… the desperation for it all to stop… I had to get the baby out, and it had to come out right now. Giving it my all the head popped out dramatically into my underwear and I collapsed down onto all fours.

The game was nearly over and the baby was almost here. I scrambled to pull down my panties before the next contraction hit. I could hear the noises in the stadium, the crowd cheering and chanting, the final minutes being played. Meanwhile the baby was turning inside of me, the shoulders beginning to press and stretch me open once more. When the next contraction hit I submitted to it entirely, rocking forward and back with each push as my body worked hard to birth the babe. I roared and pushed with the final whistle of the match and raised up on my knees, my hands flying between my legs to catch my newborn baby.

“Oh my goodness… hi little one.” I sobbed as I brought the child up to my chest, wiping its face and blowing gently against their cheeks. The newborn gave a cough and started crying and relief and exhaustion took hold. That was when I noticed the crowd around the Exec Box was cheering. I crawled to the door, babe in arms, and awkwardly got back to standing.

Looking out across the pitch I could see my husband’s team had won, all the men jumping and hugging each other. I could spot my husband easily amongst the sea of coloured jerseys.

“That’s your daddy.” I said to the baby.

My husband looked up at the box, knowing where I’d be, and his jaw dropped when he saw me standing at the glass door, a newborn baby wailing in my arms.

[violetflowerswrites]

I’ll Be Here

Summary: After a traumatic injury, your SWAT roommate turned boyfriend (?) Jim Street strives to take care of you, and meet all of your needs.

Pairing: Jim Street x (Female) Reader

Disclaimer: Minor mentions of leg injury, meds, and recovery with wheelchair, casts, and crutches. Reader has a protective older sister. One scene of nightmares, mentions of trauma. Discussion of child abuse, drug use, drunkenness, in Street’s family history. Filthy Smut. Oral sex (female receiving). Consensual P in V sex. 18+ for explicit smut, and language

Word Count: 4.0k

A/N: I felt like there needed to be one more epilogue / ending to this Street x Roommate fic series. It picks up directly after the ending of Part Two (Taking it Slow). I got a little caught up fleshing out her backstory and recovery journey, but there’s a bit of angst, a bit of fluff, and quite a bit of smut. I added some details from Season 4, Ep 2 as well. It’s a slower paced story than what I normally like, but I still had a fun hell of time writing it. Enjoy!

Part One Here - “Too Complicated”

Part Two Here - “Taking It Slow”

Masterlist Here

…

The click of the door makes the two of you startle, and quickly.

“Commander Hicks is gonna put you on armory duty for a week for pulling a stunt like that.”

“Hey, Tan.” Street smiles at his teammate’s lack of greeting. Classic Tan — a bit of hard-ass, but always means well. “Hicks already chewed my ear off on the phone earlier.”

“Figured. I just wanted to come down, see how my friend’s sister was doing. I already briefed her on what happened. She’s on her way back from a case up in Burbank.”

“Thank you, Victor.” You breathe out a sigh of relief.

Victor Tan was co-workers with your older sister back from his days in LAPD’s Hollywood Vice division. When you decided to move to LA, she figured you being roommates with a SWAT officer was the safest place you could be.

But the world is a dangerous place, even if you live with Jim Street, LAPD SWAT.

Victor looks you up and down, noticing that besides being a little pale, and having a massive cast on your leg, you don’t seem to be in pain.

Then, he notices the way that Street is standing— body turned to yours, hand hovering on the bedside protectively, as if he wanted to hold your hand at any given moment.

“Hold on, don’t tell me you two are a thing now.”

A hot flush creeps up your skin and you and Street immediately stumble over your responses.

“We were trying to take it slow—“

“and not make things too complicated…”

“but then this happened so…”

“We don't really know what we are, but I do know that I am so so grateful for you Victor. You and Street helped save my life.”

You end your rush of words with a watery smile, emotion cracking your voice.

Tan looks down sheepishly, immediately trying to be casual about it.

“Nah, Y/N. It was the tourniquet you made that probably saved your life. You gave us a big scare today, but I am glad to see you’re okay.”

“That makes 3 of us.”

A petite, fierce-looking female cop stands in the doorway of the hospital room, her hand sweeping back some stray hairs that fell out of her tight bun in her rush to get to you.

…

Your bad-ass cop sister stays over for a week while you recover, watching Street like a hawk. You’re so hopped up on pain-killers that you barely notice the tension between them.

Street on the other hand, feels like he’s being evaluated in some test he didn’t train for. He couldn’t take time off, so he’s eager to see you whenever he gets home. But most of the time, your sister is hovering over you, helping you adjust to moving around in the wheelchair, and making sure you are eating your meals and taking all your meds correctly.

One late evening while you’re supposed to be sleeping, you overhear your sister confront him.

“So. When were you gonna tell me you’re fucking my sister?”

Street spits out the beer he just took a sip of. He’s barely exchanged more than a few sentences to your sister, and that was when she helped you move in a few months ago.

“Uh…”

“I see the way you look at her. I’m pretty sure I warned you that this arrangement was solely to keep her safe while living in this neighborhood. Didn’t expect you guys to fuck so quickly.”

Damn. Your sister is known to be blunt, but this is next level. You remembered how she reacted when your dick-head of a college ex-boyfriend broke your heart. He was sorry to have ever known you after that.

“About that…” Street starts, but gets cut off with a raised palm in his face.

“Before you say anything, I’m not an idiot. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She hasn’t told me yet, but I know. She’s down bad for you, Street.”

You automatically pull your covers up in embarrassment, hearing your sister lay all your feelings out in the open like that. She’s right though, you’ve fallen hard for him and it’s not just because he saved your life a week ago.

It’s because he's an empathetic listener to your rants about work, LA traffic, anything.

It’s the way he notices the small things, like when you're stress baking, or when you have your shoulders hunched up in frustration at the kitchen counter.

It’s how he gently pries your closed off doors open, helping you heal from your past.

It’s how he loves you, in such a sweet, gentle way that only he can.

“So you have 2 days before I go back to Vice to show me that you can take care of her.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Well, I don’t want to, but we’re about to make a big drug bust and my team needs me. Y/N is strong. She can take care of herself, but I worry about her. Her surgery was intense, and it’s gonna be a long recovery. I was gonna have her live with me for a few months, but I don’t think she wants to be away from you.”

“Thank you.” Street lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He may be a big bad SWAT officer, but your 5 foot nothing of a cop sister scared the shit out of him.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

…

That weekend, you get the full princess treatment from Street. He helps train your upper body strength to be able to lift yourself on and off your wheelchair. He takes you to the park to get some sun, and makes sure the entire house is wheelchair friendly so you can move around independently. He rearranges the fridge and pantry so that your favorite foods are all easily reachable from your lower height. He even meal-preps some home-cooked lunches to have while you go back to work on Monday.

Working with your sister, he re-arranges his schedule so he can drive you to the office in the morning and your sister can take you home.

On Sunday evening, you read out a long string of dates as Street writes all your upcoming appointments on the fridge-calendar and your sister says which ones she can take you to, and which ones she needs Street to help drive you.

“Well…fuck.” Your sister swears, which only happens when she’s particularly exasperated.

”What? What’s wrong?” You look up from your laptop with your Google calendar open.

“Y/N, I didn’t wanna admit it, but you got a good one here.”

An ear-splitting grin spreads across Street’s face as he realizes what she means.

You obviously told your sister that you overheard Friday night’s conversation, and all of what’s been going on between you and Street…minus the mind-blowing sex.

“He passed?” You ask eagerly, hopeful stars in your eyes.

“He never had to pass anything in the first place, Y/N. If you chose him, that’s all the approval I needed to know. I trust you. I was just giving him a hard time, because I love you.”

You burst out laughing while Street spits out a flabbergasted “The hell did I try so hard for?!”

“That’s what big sisters are for. Y/N deserves all the princess treatment she can get. We put our lives on the line every day, but she doesn’t normally have to. She’s gonna need you, Street.”

Street places a reassuring hand on your sisters’ shoulder.

“I’ll be here.”

…

Street lives up his promise, taking care of you through some of the worst physical and emotional pain you’ve ever been in.

He’s there at your physical therapy appointments, making sure you’re practicing the exercises at home even when you just want to lie down from exhaustion.

He’s there holding your hand even though you squeeze him until his fingers go numb. It hurts him to see your face contort with unexpected pain when the meds wear off and you try putting some weight on your leg for the first time in weeks.

He’s there when the trauma sets in. He notices when you’re on the couch in the evenings, the TV on, but you’re not really watching. He holds you tightly while you wake up in the middle of night crying, reliving the moment you almost died.

He’s there through it all.

…

“How do you deal with it?”

You’re sitting upright in bed, the soft yellow glow of the bedside lamp warming the darkness of the middle of the night.

“Deal with what?”

Street’s sitting next to you, holding your hand while your sweat-soaked forehead leans against his shoulder, your racing heartbeat finally slowing down.

Your breath draws in and out in a steady rhythm as you calm yourself from your latest nightmare with his comforting presence.

Street ran into your room when he heard you. That’s been the third night in a row that you’ve woken up to the sound of your own screaming.

“Deal with trauma. Not the physical pain, but those horrible moments that just keep flashing before your eyes every time you close them.”

“Well, I’ve been dealing with trauma my whole life I guess.”

Street has already talked to you about growing up in the foster system, because his dad was a drunk. You knew that his mom was in jail for killing him, but Street didn’t go into details. You knew as much as he hated talking about his past, he hated talking about his complicated relationship with his mom even more.

“Last week, we were surveilling a house, trying to get someone for the CIA, and I saw a kid. A little boy, covered in bruises on his back porch. He looked so alone, and so scared.”

“What happened?”

“I got into it with Hondo a bit, almost compromised the mission because I wanted to get him out of that abusive home.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. But it brought back a lot of memories, and none of them good.”

It was your turn to comfort Street as you could hear his breath come in shudders as he thought back to his rough childhood.

“Have I ever told you that my earliest memory of kindergarten was my mom putting makeup on my chin to cover up my dad’s crappy weekend?”

“No.” The word comes out in a saddened whisper. “You’ve never told me that one before.”

“Well, it’s not something that comes up in casual conversation. And I’ve tried a lot of things to make sure I never have to mention those moments.”

“What kinds of things?”

Street lets out a wry chuckle.

“What haven’t I tried? Drugs, alcohol. Thrill seeking. Street racing. Driving way past the speed limit.”

“You still do that one.”

Street laughs genuinely now. “Yeah, but not where I’ll get caught by cops.”

“You are a cop!”

He chuckles again, but quiets down into contemplative silence.

“For many years, I just poured myself into my job. Climbing the ladder until I could make something of myself. Run away as far as I could from that childhood me. The one with the drunk dad, jailed mom. The helpless foster kid.”

“It didn’t help, did it?”

“No. Not really.”

“Then, how did you heal?”

Street looks down at you now, his heart breaking to see tears streaming down your face. He’s certain those are empathetic tears, tears for his hardships. His rough childhood. Pangs of guilt wash over him.

He doesn’t deserve your tears.

Then, he sees the way you’re looking at him. The way you’re holding him in a bone-crushing embrace. Well, as tightly as you could possibly hold all of his heavily-muscled torso.

So, he sucks in a grounding breath and reminds himself that you’re crying because you care about him. Because you love him.

And it’s okay to accept your love.

Street caresses your cheek with a strong hand, and thumbs off a few of your tears.

“I’m still healing. But when those moments come, I’ve learned that it helps to talk about it.”

All those late-night bike rides down the California coastline could never truly help him escape from his problems.

He thinks back to all the people in his life who’ve helped him open up. Who’ve confronted him on his bullshit and made him stop running away.

Hondo and Buck.

Chris, Deacon, Tan, and Luca.

Even his ex-girlfriend, Molly Hicks.

As much as he hates to admit it, putting his trauma out in the open was better than keeping it in.

Your hand in his starts trembling and that small movement pulls him out of his thoughts.

“What if I’m not ready to talk yet?” You choke, as if you could barely get the words out.

“Then I’ll be here waiting until you are.”

…

Weeks pass in a whirlwind of work, doctors’ appointments, and recovery exercises at home. Eventually, the nightmares subside, and you start seeing a therapist to help you work through the trauma.

You graduate from the wheelchair and giant full-length cast to a bootie on your calf and ankle. The hardwood floor is littered with little dents from the first few days you learned to hobble around on crutches, but you get the hang of it quickly.

Both Street and your sister feel much more at ease leaving you at home alone, knowing that you can take care of yourself more easily now.

Except today.

Because your idiot brain put the crutches by the bathroom door instead of next to the towel rack.

And here you are, butt-naked in the shower, the floor wet and a slipping hazard, and 6 feet away from independence.

Just as you debate bear-crawling across the cold tile to grab your crutches, you hear the front door open and close.

“Street!” You call out.

Heavy footsteps rush over to the bathroom and skid to a stop as Street quickly leans his head against the door and asks urgently, “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine! I just left the crutches by the door and I can’t reach them. Can you help me get out of the shower?”

Street breathes out a sigh of relief. Ever since the accident, he finds himself panicking easily about any situation that has to do with you getting hurt.

“Of course. I’m coming in.”

You’ve managed to dry yourself off, wrap your body in a fluffy white towel, and sit on the edge of the tub.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Street how your damp hair clings to your skin, flushed from the hot water. Lavender-scented steam hits him in a rush as he opens the door, a familiar smell to him. You love lavender shampoo, soaps, lotions, candles, anything.

He scoops you up gently, trying not to think about the last time he carried you like this was when you were bloodied, unconscious, and barely alive.

A small moan draws him out of his head immediately.

Not a moan of pain.

A moan of lust.

What?

Street freezes and gently places you on the bathroom counter, carefully holding your injured leg against his hip.

His eyes dart across your flustered face as you realize just what kind of inadvertent sound escaped your lips as soon as you were in Street’s strong arms, and you inhaled the familiar leather of his bike jacket.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Street kisses you breathless and pulls your towel down, inhaling your damp skin and that damned lavender soap that is making him dizzy with lust.

Water drips from the ends of your hair down your body, and Street licks up the river trailing from your shoulder, down the swell of your breasts, all the way to your core.

He pulls you to the edge as he kneels down in front of you. Ever-conscious of your injury, he lifts your hurt leg onto his shoulder, which only serves to widen your thighs, giving him full access.

Your knuckles tighten against the counter and your moans bounce off the tiled walls the second he licks your dripping pussy.

Street is a master at oral and it’s been weeks since you’ve had the pleasure of being his pupil.

His tongue dives first into your center, stretching your hot, leaking core. Then his lips find your clit, sucking it in gently, until the nerve endings in the sensitive nub light your body up with pleasure.

Before you have a moment to recover, his fingers find your entrance and enter with ease. Your slick gushes out, dripping onto the towel as he thrusts two fingers in and out. His knuckles curl up, searching for the spongy spot that he knows will drive you absolutely wild.

Filthy sounds of wetness fill the bathroom as he eats you out and fingers your clenched center, once, twice, three times.

Before long, his moans mix with your own as you voice your pleasure, cumming on his face in moments.

“Keep going.”

Street freezes at the first words you’ve uttered since he kissed you. It was an impulse, a lack of self-control that got him to this point in the first place.

It was seeing you nearly naked, with that damned lavender filling his nostrils that drove him crazy.

But he was going to stop. It was enough to get you off.

”I’m not done yet, Street.” You demand arrogantly, and look pointedly at the hard erection pushing against his dark-blue jeans.

“But—“

“I’ll be fine. Just hold my leg up and fuck me.”

You pull him up by the collar of his leather jacket, and kiss him roughly, panting in his ear as you lick and suckle the skin of his cheek, his neck, the underside of his jaw.

It’s been too long since you’ve had his body, his touch, his cock. You crave him with a hunger you’ve never known before.

And now that you’ve had a taste, every cell in your being is vibrating with one simple word.

More.

Needing no other encouragement, Street strips off his jacket only for you to take it and pull it over your bare shoulders.

The sight of you, fully naked except for his jacket, makes him suck in a breath.

His eyes darken immediately and he can hear his heart beat in double time.

You make him go feral.

It takes no time at all for him to rid himself of his remaining clothing, and line himself up with your pink entrance.

“You’ll tell me if I’m hurting you?” Street asks, still hesitant, even as the pre-cum of his throbbing member mixes with your juices.

“Yes.” You affirm breathlessly, feeling the round tip of his hard cock start to breach your center.

“You’ll stop me if you can’t handle it?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure about this, Y/N?”

“Yes! Street, fill me with your cock already!”

He blushes at your filthy words, feeling the heel of your good leg dig into the small of his back, trying to draw him into your waiting core.

You finally feel him push through the tight circle of your center. You’re especially tight, having not had sex since the accident over a month ago.

Street lets out a growl as he feels your pussy gripping him, struggling to push in deeper.

But instead of pain, you only feel pleasure.

“Fuck—! That feels incredible. Go deeper, Street. Please!” You beg him, desperate for more.

He grabs your thighs, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he pulls you towards his pelvis. You can feel his cock thrust to the end, finally completely filling you with all of him.

You throw your arms around his waist, breathing heavily as the heady lavender steam only serves to make the two of you even more sex-drunk.

You hear Street suck in another deep breath before he pulls out, and slowly inches his way back into you, experimenting with how fast he should go.

How much you can handle.

But the slower pace feels heavenly to your hot, needy core. His cock stretches every part of you, pressing against your spongy center, all the way to your cervix as he thrusts down to the hilt once more.

”How’s that, Y/N? Does it hurt?” Street checks in with you again, a vein popping out of his neck as he strains to maintain his self-control. All his cock wants is to fuck you with total abandon, but he refuses to put himself first.

Your voice comes out in a stream of incoherent whimpers as you wordlessly express just how good it feels to be filled by him.

So Street cups the back of your ass, and presses you flush against him, and you cry out, feeling him impossibly deep inside.

“Oh my god! Street!”

“I’m just getting started.” He grins, licking the side of your neck as he starts to roll his hips into you.

You feel his cock slip out just a few inches only to thrust back in as far as it can go, over and over.

As you look down, you are blessed with the magnificent sight of Street’s abs clenching with every sensual roll of his body against yours.

Every slight motion pushes you to the brink of orgasm, your body almost unable to handle all the stimulation after having only known pain and discomfort for the past several weeks.

Impulsively, you bite down on Street’s shoulder, trying to expend all the pleasure you’re feeling somewhere else, muffling your moans against his muscled flesh.

“Shit! Are you biting me?” Street growls, incredulous, but also massively turned on.

“Does it hurt?” You grin mischievously, pulling his lower lip in between your teeth next.

“Yeah.”

“A good hurt, or bad hurt?”

“Good.” Another sharp inhale. “Fuck, I’m already close!”

Street’s body shudders as you feel his grip slide back to your hips, his slow thrusts giving way to a faster, more desperate rhythm.

You nibble and nip the side of his neck, the bottom of his ear, as you feel just how hot his skin is under your tongue and lips.

Another loud moan is wrenched from your throat as he hits a particularly sensitive spot inside you. His cock satisfies your body in a way you can’t describe.

You can’t wait any longer.

“Cum for me.” You whisper into his ear, demanding his obedience. His brow furrows as he tries to delay his incoming orgasm, and you kiss it, giggling as you watch him come undone by your body.

Street pushes his cock into you, your wetness making the movement easy, but your tightness gripping him like he is never supposed to separate from you again.

You lock your fingers behind the small of his back, pulling him in and clenching down until you feel his cock spurt out jets of hot cum into your core.

Street grits his teeth and heaves out the sexiest, most overstimulated moan you’ve ever heard from any man.

Your own orgasm follows right behind his, your entire being vibrating with pleasure, wetness repeatedly gushing around his cock. Your pussy stutters, muscles spasming as it tries to recover from the best sex you’ve ever had, with the biggest cock you’ve ever had.

With the most loving, caring man you’ve ever had. Your heart fills with love and contentment at the moment the two of you just shared.

This is what sex should be like - intimacy, pleasure, love.

It is truly something else.

“Y/N?” Street murmurs against your damp shoulder, slowly regaining some semblance of control and coherent thoughts.

“Mmm?”

“You know I love you, right?”

“I know.”

“I never want to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“I’ll always be here for you.”

You find the rough skin of his jaw and pry him off your body, and instead, pull his face towards you, your forehead pressing against his. As you lock eyes with the emotional gaze of your lover, you notice that he’s a little teary, and your heart melts for him even more. Jim Street. The love of your life.

“I know.”

…

[crazyoffher]

COLLAPSE IN THE KEY OF FIREWORKS.

lorraine day x fem!reader

summary: growing up in rural texas circa 1979 wouldn't have been so hard if you didn't have an attraction to your best friend.

warnings: eventual smut. - mentions of homophobia, canine injury, religion / religious rebellion, paragraph mention of suicide (in a joking manner), umm that's it i think.

word amount: 4100+

a/n: not really sure how i feel about this. sorry for the long wait </3

You loved her, and you wanted to express it more than anything in the world, even if it meant being condemned to the sins your father warned you of.

You wanted her, and the feeling was more than likewise, but you just couldn’t have her.

The realization did not take you forever to realize—your feelings for her, anyway. You knew that you wanted to drown in her gaze, love, smile, and soul the day you laid eyes on her in the back of that stone-cold silver pickup truck. It was a present given to your brother, the eldest, from your father the day he had completed his required service as a missionary, and the first thing that hick-of-a-man did was throw you over his shoulder and hurl you in the back bed.

You were twelve then, lonely as can be during the summertime, before that adorable girl with a voice sweeter than anything you ever tasted crashing down into your life, quite literally.

“Holy shit!” The truck stopped abruptly, and you had to hoist yourself to the far edge of the railings to prevent yourself from flying. You cursed under your breath the words your father would smack you day and night for if said out loud, shaking your head while jumping out of the back to see your brother fast out of the driver's seat, crouching down in the front of the truck.

“The heck did you do, Aziel? Burrow over a rock, ‘cause you know Daddy will kill you if you’ve already scratched this masterpiece.”

“Not no rock, no, but a dog. Cute one at that; I’m so sorry for this.” He spoke solemnly, and you found his frame hunched over as you cornered the truck's front, petting the head of a dog that 

whined in pain. “Come on, little miss. I’ll take him to the hospital for ‘ya, just join this devil’s spawn in the bed,” he pointed to you, though your eyes were glued to the dog, “and we’ll be there in no time, alright?”

“Okay,” and it was that saccharine tone that caught your ears, head perked up to lock your gaze on a girl, quite the small one for the age that matched yours, with cute little freckles spread out across her cheeks and her eyebrows furrowed. Concern laced her voice, and her face too, for the dog that you assumed to be her pet, and you felt bad for the girl that made your heart flutter instantly at just the sight of her.

She wore shorts that rode just to the edge of her knees and a tight white top tucked inward. Your father would have dealt you well for even thinking of such an unwomanlike outfit, contrasting her choice of clothing to your pink skirt and fitted light-blue long-sleeve, your denim jacket hanging over you loosely that you clung to when the winds picked up. The girl was beauty in a jar, if that even made any sense, and you knew from the start that you wanted nobody else but her.

“Here, hold off for just one second,” you warned the girl with a tight expression, being sent a nod as your hands clung to the metal of the bed’s railings, hoisting yourself up greatly to get yourself over and into the open space. You turned the knob and let the bed’s opening fly down, lending a hand to the girl with an injured dog cradled in her arms, to which she joined you on the bed with the utmost struggle.

“I’m sorry about him, by the way." The girl’s head perked up at your voice, a bit gruff from a sickness that seemed to loom over you. “My brother. He hasn’t always been the brightest, and I’ve been juggling in my mind for the past ten minutes or so about why my Daddy decided to gift him a darn truck.”

A small smile etched her face at your words, her hand mindlessly petting the dog cradled in her arms, and a sort of glint in her eyes that you seemed to pass over. God damn, did you still hate yourself to this day for how awkward you grew to be in that moment, failing to make direct eye contact with the girl who wanted nothing but her small ‘ol doggie to be well.

Your eyes subtly lingered over her shirt, stopping abruptly at the crimson-colored stains that donned the fabric with hatred. The girl was more than aware of the stains—she could feel her shirt melting into her—but she could have cared less at that moment when her canine, whom she loved more than herself, was itching and writhing in pain.

“Here,” you got up from your spot against the metal railings, kneeling in the middle of the bed, to the girl’s confusion. “Getting stains on that shirt, yeah? Wrap this over ‘em,” and in front of her, resting in your hands, was the denim jacket that you always wore, stolen from your brother the day he left town, and with no intentions of returning it upon his arrival.

A small “thank you” left those chewed-up lips of hers, bitten and torn from her stressful mind that hoped for her dog to be alright, and you know you’d be getting on Aziel after the situation had died down and the girl was long gone. Long gone, you hoped she wouldn’t be, because you hadn’t seen a face as pretty as hers in your short lifetime, and you didn’t want to imagine how long it would be until you saw it again.

Sooner or later on that breezy day, you found yourself perched on a chair in the waiting room of an animal hospital, feet swinging to the soft guitarra tunes mixed with solid tapping noises from beside you. The girl had her finger curled, her nail hitting the wooden armrest of the chair and scratching it ever so lightly, seemingly in need of taking her mind somewhere else.

Aziel was elsewhere, outside in a small payphone box that would trigger anyone’s claustrophobia, the dirty black-wired phone clinging to his ear while his head was drawn back; you could only assume he was growing tired of your father's voice through the transmitter, berating him for his reckless actions. You almost felt bad for him.

“What if he’s dead?”

That sweet, worried voice tore you away from your brother's frame, turning to face the new-found girl whose eyes bore into your face, tears brimming at the edges of her eyes just at the thought of it, and your heart sank.

“That’s no way to think, uh..."

“Lorraine.” She answered simply, eyes never tearing from yours, and you grew mildly uncomfortable at the continuous staring. You didn’t hate it—no, of course not—but you weren’t accustomed to having a pretty girl stare at you like that.

“Well, Lorraine,” you managed to turn your head away from her, resting them back on your brother’s frame, his posture slumping as time went on. “I love him to death—my brother, I mean—but oh,” your eyebrows raised, and your breath hitched when you felt a cool, soft palm brushing over yours on the wooden armrest, knowing the girl was only ever looking for comfort.

You finished your sentence with a new-found shake in your voice. “I’ll kill that son of a bitch.”

Before Lorraine could reply, the door where the veterinarian had previously taken her dog opened, and you surprised yourself at how quickly you rose from your seat. Lorraine gave you a look before standing up as well, sighing in the utmost relief when her eyes laid on her dog wrapped in a blanket, his chest heaving up and down to signal that he was alive.

"Oh, thank God!” Your head twisted to see Aziel at the front entrance, and his head hung in relief at the living animal. “I was going to bury myself in deprivation if that cute ‘ol thing died.”

“There would have been no need for you to bury yourself because I would have gotten to your Bible-praising ass before you could even shed a tear.” You barked, and Lorraine paused a second of her relief to react, a small smile etching her face at your words of protection.

“You better watch that mouth, sissy, because Dad would rip you a new one if he were to find out.” He threatened though you waved him off; he was all talk, managing to tick off every nerve that held patience within you whenever he pleased, and you still held shock in the back of your mind whenever you’d admit you couldn’t live without him and his childish attitude.

“He’s going to need care. He has two ankle fractures and stitches on his back that you ought to watch out for to make sure he doesn’t bite at them.” Lorraine and Aziel were the only two to listen to the veterinarian, while your mind took you elsewhere; the sun had gone down by then, as it had been over two hours since the truck-dog massacre, and you were sure Lorraine’s parents were concerned about her whereabouts.

“We should probably get her home now, yeah?” You had proposed after the veterinarian had retreated and the small dog rested in Lorraine’s arms, earning a nod from Aziel, who seemed to collect in his mind that Lorraine had a family that she needed to return to, pulling keys from his pocket and ushering the two of you out.

You settled in the backseats of the truck, finding it dangerous enough to ride in the bed, while Aziel got cozy in his driver seat. “Where do you live, girl?”

“The east.” Both you and Aziel turned your heads at her answer, seeing as the two of you resided in the North—hell, you picked her and her dog up in the North—before Aziel questioned her. “Ya positive? What were you doing out here in the North?”

“We were heading to a relative’s house, and my Daddy needed some gas; his truck stopped in the middle of a dirt road because the thing was empty, and he told me to go up to a gas station that was about five minutes out to ask for a gallon. Told me to take Atticus here too,” she said, bending her head down to kiss her dog on the forehead. “They ain’t give it to me, and I was on my way back when..."

Aziel visibly cringed at the remembrance, and he gave Lorraine one last look of sorrow before turning in his seat, cranking on the engine, and setting off east. “So, what? Your parents are worried sick now that you’ve been gone for hours, yeah?”

“Guess so. Daddy’s always been protective of me, calling me his little girl and telling me to always stick by him, but he needed to watch the truck, and I guess he figured Atticus would be enough protection.” Your eyes trailed to the dog in her arms, and you tried to understand how her father could think a dog that small could protect her. “God, he’s never going to let me out of his eyesight ever again.”

“I wouldn’t either if I were him.” Aziel’s grip on the wheel was harsh, his eyes searching the road every second to keep watch of anything. “His little girl ain’t come back; I’d think you were kidnapped.”

The rest of the ride was silent after that, disregarding Lorraine’s soft coos to her drowsy pup when he eventually woke, and you could see Aziel’s hands shake when the truck grew closer to the home address Lorraine had previously given. “Your fault.”

Your voice rang when you pushed yourself up to whisper in his ear, his hand finding your chest to push you back in your seat and away from him. Soon enough, the truck came to a stop outside of a house—a ranch, to your surprise—with a man in a cowboy hat and tucked flannel top sitting on the porch, clearly in distress, while a woman sat right beside him.

Before Lorraine could open the truck door, you put a hand on her shoulder to stop her, and she turned to you with curiosity in her eyes. “Do you think—uh?" Your voice caught in your throat, searching for the right words, while Lorraine had a small smile tug at her lips. “Uh, what’s your house number? The phone number, I mean, to the house. You know, how every house has a phone number because there’s a house phone in every-”

Her voice cut you off, and you could only thank the night sky for covering your reddened cheeks. “82-97, 500.” She gave you a sweet smile before turning the door handle, letting herself out while continuing, “First three numbers are the state code!” and shutting the door, soon embracing her worried father's arms.

When you returned home, you were instructed to sleep in your room while Aziel was forced into the living room, and the numbers recited from Lorraine repeated in your head as you trudged up the stairs, ignoring the shouts of your father toward your missionary brother.

“5…2…9—no! 8…2…9,” you scratched the numbers on a blank piece of paper in ink, "7, 500."

You were lost in your thoughts, trying to accumulate the state code numbers from far in your mind to let the sound of footsteps become known to you, and before you knew it, your mother was standing in front of you with her hands settled on her hips. “I thought I told you to go to sleep, (Y/N)! Stop whatever it is that you’re writing, read off your nightly verse, and go to sleep!”

That day was one you could never forget. It was the day you met your best friend, your teenage-long crush, and also the day you got to ride in a truck bed for the first time. Lorraine’s father, to his continuing demise that you refuse to call him anything other than Mr. Day, was more than reluctant to let Lorraine out of the house after the incident, but your natural charm didn’t take long for him to put trust in you—that you’d take care of his little girl—and soon enough, you were forcing Aziel to drive you down east every weekend to go hang out with the girl that clouded your every thought.

Your feelings toward her never mattered anyway, right? She certainly never felt the same toward you, or so you thought. You knew that the trajectory of two girls together would never be accepted in the eyes of your parents, in the eyes of your church, and in the eyes of the man whose verses you read in a book every night and whose practices forced and consumed your everyday life.

Soon enough, it started to concern your parents as to why you hadn’t found a lover at the growing age of seventeen, having overheard a conversation between them one night about the possibility of lining up suitors, shocking you to the very core. So when the next boy came around, annoying you more than life itself at your school locker before popping the question, “Can I take you on a date?” You could only swallow your pride with a choked-out, "Yes,” leaving your lips before scurrying away.

That relationship didn’t last long—maybe three months—before you had enough of his continuous attempts to shaft his hand into your pants. You ended your relationship with him after a dull day at the state fair, and he could only accept reality after being knocked out by Lorraine after attempting to assault you in a bathroom stall.

The day after, you sealed in place your love for the girl. How could you say anything to her, though? Express your feelings and get something out of her besides rejection—a scenario that you deem impossible. The internal battle kept you up at night, and deciding not to fight it any longer, you forced Aziel to drive you up to Lorraine’s ranchhouse on a cool Friday night.

You probably should have just stayed home, because that would have temporarily avoided the heartbreak words that left her mouth after you had settled in her room. They were not ones of rejection.

“I have a boyfriend!”

“What?” The words came out of a nervous impulse, your face falling to sadness. That went unnoticed by Lorraine, whose face had lit up in excitement at finally being able to tell you. “Yes! His name is RJ, and he’s in my film studies class. He’s so sweet, charming, and so nice, (Y/N)!”

If only Mr. Day had shotgun bullets pre-equipped in the barrels, you would have taken yourself down to the garage, where the weapon lay, and shot yourself without another word. You felt sick, and you felt sicker when that fateful day came around the next week when you had to meet the boy she raved about.

Boy, did that only make you question your self-dignity? He looked to be eighteen going on thirty-five, and you bathed in anger at the way Lorraine looked up at him with such admiration glistening in her dark-brown eyes. You yearned for that look.

Then, alas, the day you waited for came eight months later. 

You had accompanied Lorraine and RJ with your “boyfriend”, Danny, who in reality was just playing along to the toy game of you and him being either’s significant others, benefiting you for hiding your true identity and for Danny’s mother to get off his back about never having a woman by his side.

You had a limp in your leg, trying your utmost hardest to recover from the death trap that was the spinning teacups, berating yourself for trusting Danny to not send the two of you spinning like a couple of toy fidgets. In the end, his actions were limited to himself, and to keep himself upright as his head spun as quickly as he did, he tightened his hold on your shoulder.

The sky was fading to darkness, reminding you of the upcoming end of your day, but you couldn’t think about that when you heard the deafening cries of a girl sounding in your range, a cry that you knew all too well.

“You hear that?” Danny plugged a finger in his ear, fidgeting around the canal with the assumption that his mind was getting the best of him. “Get your finger outta your ear, will ya?” You put a hand to his forearm, yanking the limb to the side with a slouchy cry from the darning boy. “You made me scratch my ear!”

You only hushed him with the sound growing louder as if it were heading toward the two of you. It took a one-eighty to find the source of the problem, coming face to face with a crying Lorraine headed in your pathway at a directionally fast pace, no intention of stopping set in her quick feet as salty tears dribbled down her cheeks.

You held the girl without question when she crashed into you, burying her face in your chest with a mighty clutch to Danny’s—secretly yours—leather jacket, and your heart broke at the sight of her in such a distraught state. Why was she crying? Where was RJ? Was he the cause of her crestfallen shadow?

But you couldn’t pester her with questions; no, that would be irresponsible of you and rid you of all the mannerisms you were forced to learn growing up. You turned to Danny with a solemn look on your face; he was already looking back at you with a sense of confusion laced in his furrowed eyebrows, and you wordlessly cocked your head to the side to give him a signal of your temporary departure.

He shook his head, headed in the other direction with a slight pat on Lorraine’s shoulder, and you drove the other girl in the silenced direction of haystacks originally laid out to be used as sitting stations. However, nobody at the fair seemed to pay any mind to the location. Her crying never let down, sobbing in her hands while you rubbed her back in comfort.

It was only when she finally came down from her teary state that you carried the question, “What happened?” When she looked at you, your reassuring smile fell, analyzing her furrowed eyebrows and narrowed, red eyes, which made you wonder if she was agitated at your question. Should you not have asked?

Her staring never faltered; it looked as if she were analyzing you—your face, to be precise—and your breathing grew heavier as your mind grew less shallow at the impending thoughts that infiltrated your mind. “Raine, I’m dearly sorry if I said somethin’ wrong. I’m just worri-”

“Shut it.” Her voice came out in a whisper, and like a trained dog to its commander, your lips were sealed. Lorraine’s tone was cracked, weary, and dried out from all the crying she had endured not moments before, but now she had formed into a new human. If it weren’t for her reddened eyes, stuffy nose, and pinkish ears, you wouldn’t have had a clue she was in a former tainted state, and there before you, her pupils scanned you all over. Like… if you were someone she hadn’t recognized for years beyond that point, as if you were a whole new person to her.

You had no idea what thoughts circled in her mind at that moment, and if you did, you might have burst.

“I’m not crying because of RJ.”

“Then why are you-”

“I said shut it.” Your lips sealed once more, obedient to Lorraine’s words in the same way you had always been. It was never like you had anything better to say, anyway.

“I broke up with him, but that’s not why I was crying. I was scared of the truth ‘cause it’s nothing but wrong in other eyes, and I’ve always wanted to perfect myself in the eyes of myself and others. Now, I can’t.” You could see from your peripherals that her hands were shaky, fiddling with one another, and her mind was a swarm of second questioning. She couldn’t go back by then, though.

“I don’t think I ever liked RJ entirely. I feel bad about it all ‘cause I think I was just using him to cover up my truth.” Lorraine’s eyes had flickered off of yours for a moment, eyeing her fidgety hands before looking back toward you with a different glint in her eyes. You had never been more confused in life than then, and you wanted nothing more than to question her for miles ahead.

“I think this entire time, I’ve loved someone else.” To your oblivious mind, you couldn’t pick up the secretism behind her words or that glint in her eyes, and your heart broke at the idea of Lorraine finding attraction to another man, another person that wasn’t you.

“What’s his name?”

The corner twitches of Lorraine’s lips vanished, and the gleam that once filled her eyes left to form confusion before realization. “God damn it, (Y/N)!” She pushed herself back with a huff, and it was then that you recognized how close she had been toward you.

“What?”

Lorraine gave another large breath, filled to the brim with annoyance. “What? What? I had this entire thing planned out since last month, just for you to not understand it!”

“Understand what? Raine, you’re really confusin’ me he-” But you couldn’t finish your sentence when something was blocking your lips from moving—more noticeably, someone—and you didn’t move. You didn’t kiss her back, no, but it wasn’t because you didn’t want to. You dreamt of this moment every night, and you didn’t fucking move.

The three second reign it took for Lorraine to register that you had frozen in place rushed her out of her tranced state, the ecstasy coursing through her to finally feel your lips on hers. Her former relaxation and calmness at the ability to finally let her feelings out turned to fright. Did she just ruin a friendship with someone she labeled her lifeline because of her stupid, homosexual thoughts that she figured you would reciprocate?

“(Y/N), uhm, I-” But she couldn’t finish her sentence either, because, like you, there was someone blocking her lips from moving. That fright, the one that her body turned to, disappeared just as quickly as it settled in, and she sighed in relief as she wrapped her arms around your shoulder to bring you in closer. That feeling she felt in her stomach was something she had never felt kissing RJ or any other boy, and man, did it feel fucking amazing.

“Just- just one thing, Raine.” Your voice came in a hushed whisper, moving forward to rest your forehead against the girl you claimed to be your whole word. “Yeah?”

“We ain’t gonna tell nobody about this, ‘cause you know we can’t.”

That was the truth, one that broke both of your hearts. “I know.”

☟

taglist: @grandpatrolnut @annalestern @rhythm-catsandwine @yara124 @daryldixonsw1fe @alexkolax @red1culous @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @n0vabug @idkwimdtbh @yolehiho @likefirenrain @ctrlamira @lovelyy-moonlight @dunohilly @jjsmaybank20 @xzennypennyx @mfd-101

(all tagged are from the list that are originally tagged in jenna content. if you don’t want to be tagged in lorraine cont. please let me know!)

[fluentmoviequoter]

Don't Touch Her

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!SWAT!reader

Summary: You and Deacon are abducted by men who want revenge on you. After Deacon is forced to watch them hurt you, it is up to him to comfort you and keep you calm.

Warnings: angst, chloroform, beating/torture of reader (not overly graphic), depictions of injuries, fluff/comfort at the end, I stand by my opinion that Street would always pick rock and fall right into 20-David's trap every time they asked him to play

Word Count: 3.0k+ words

A/N: I am a Deacon uses pet names apologist. Sweetheart, gorgeous, babe... He only uses the good ones; which I know for a fact. I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!🤍

Picture from Pinterest

“He always picks rock,” you whisper.

Deacon nods, continuing the streak of tricking Street with something as simple as rock, paper, scissors.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” Street says, presenting his fist as ‘rock’ while Deacon lays his palm flat as ‘paper.’

Deacon’s eyes widen, nodding to himself. “I can’t believe I beat you!”

You snicker behind your hand as Deacon shakes Street’s hand, a pleased smile on his face.

“I can’t believe he falls for that every time,” Hondo laughs as Street leaves.

Hicks yells for 20-David to prepare to roll, and your quiet morning of pestering Street becomes a distant memory in the long hours that follow.

✯✯✯✯✯

Through your years of friendship with Deacon, you’ve grown incredibly close. Whether in the field or out to dinner, you can talk without speaking, understand without hearing, and show your care from great distances.

After a series of bank robberies turned hostages, 20-David returns to HQ just past the thirteen-hour mark after leaving. It’s a few minutes after 9 p.m., but you’re all exhausted and hungry. Street, Luca, and Tan decide to go to a nearby 24-hour diner before going home, but you want to go home, not sit in a greasy diner.

“Want to come over for dinner?” you ask Deacon, removing your gear and stowing it in your locker.

“Sure,” Deacon answers happily. “You cooking?”

“Oh, yeah,” you play along. “I was thinking a three or four-course meal, worthy of a Michelin tire - star or two.”

Hondo chuckles at your joke before waving over his shoulder on his way out.

“Sounds delicious,” Deacon replies with a smile. “But I’m in the mood for something a little faster.”

You nod, leaning against Deacon as he takes your bag. After years of spending time together after work, you have created a well-calculated habit. If you go to your house, Deacon drives, but if you go to his house, you drive. Most nights, one of you leaves your car at S.W.A.T. HQ, accompanying the other to work the following morning.

Deacon wraps his arm around your shoulders, leading you to the parking lot and stowing your bag with his. Offering you a hand, he helps you into the car and ensures you are buckled in, safe, and comfortable before shifting the car into gear and driving away from work for a few hours of rest.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Careful,” Deacon says as he helps you out of the car.

“Ricky, who is that?”

Ricky shrugs, hiding just out of sight in your hallway. 

“Should we bail?”

“Are you crazy, James? No! This is our chance to get him out. He’s our brother,” Rick argues quietly. “Just get ready for two fighters.”

The door opens, and you step in before Deacon. As you close the door, you raise a hand to stop Deacon. Something feels off, though you can’t place what.

Walking toward your hallway, Deacon is right behind you when two masked assailants attack you. Approaching from behind, you and Deacon are at a disadvantage as you try to keep them far enough away to keep the rags in their hands away from your faces. You elbow the man behind you in the ribs, but when he leans forward, the rag covers your mouth and nose as the smell of chloroform invades your senses. Even as your reflexes slow, you continue fighting, looking over at Deacon in a similarly poor state.

 “Don’t touch her,” Deacon growls through the rag, fighting against the arms holding him still.

A dark chuckle sounds as Deacon watches you fall to the floor, his own consciousness fading soon after.

✯✯✯✯✯

When Deacon opens his eyes, his first thought is you. He immediately feels the cold steel chair under him and the tight handcuffs on his wrists, but he ignores his own conditions as he scans the room for you.

Across the room, your hands are suspended and tied above a rafter. Your feet are still on the floor, but the position is straining your muscles and leaving you open to anything.

You blink your eyes open, coughing as your senses return one by one. Deacon tucks one leg under his chair, prepared to lunge toward you and free you, but the two men from your house walk in before he can.

One points a gun at you while telling Deacon, “You move, and she dies.”

Closing your eyes as you take a shaky breath, you level your expression before sending Deacon a sad smile and a nod.

“You remember my brother?” one of the men asks as he raises his mask just long enough for you to place him.

“Ricky,” you begin.

A metal pipe hangs from Ricky’s hand, and he swings it up toward you before you finish. Your breath rushes out quickly, and when you tip forward, your shoulders catch the brunt of your weight.

“So, you know me, but you don’t care that my brother is still in there,” Ricky replies, pushing your legs back with the pipe.

You yelp at the strain on your arms, and Deacon’s jaw clenches when the second man spins the gun to remind him he can’t do anything.

“Stay, boy,” he taunts.

Deacon can only watch as you’re beaten, catching Ricky’s comments about a past case riddled between his hits. Trying to get more information, he can’t place the case until he hears another name.

“James, care for a turn?” Ricky asks.

James and Ricky, Deacon realizes, are the brothers (in the Los Angeles gang sense of the word) of a man you arrested several years ago on a drug charge.

You scream, pulling Deacon from his memory as his eyes find you again. James has a large piece of rubber wrapped around his hand as he swings his arm, punching you in the face and knocking your balance off again. Deacon’s eyes fall momentarily, looking away when he sees the growing puddle of blood on the concrete floor below you.

Deacon wants to look away from you, but he can’t. When you find the strength to look up at him after a harsh blow from the pipe, your face is bloody and tear-stained. Deacon’s nostrils flare in anger as he tenses every muscle to keep himself from running to you and making it worse.

With tears building behind his eyes, Deacon continues watching as James and Ricky alternate blows, slowing as you stop reacting. When your head drops forward, the pain getting the best of you, they decide they’ve had enough for now.

James stops in the doorway, turning to Deacon as he jokes, “Release, boy,” before locking you and Deacon inside.

Deacon rises slightly, worried about your lack of movement until you speak.

“Don’t,” you say, more blood falling to the floor as you speak. “It’s a trap, Deac.”

“Why now?” Deacon asks quietly. “That was years ago.”

“I testified against his parole,” you answer weakly. “He was doing better with the psychiatric help and he’s so close to getting his degree. He’s changing, but they want their running buddy back.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You flinch as a truck roars to life outside the wall behind you, grumbling as gravel is sprayed onto the wall. Deacon waits, and after several minutes of silence, he stands and walks across the room to you. Kneeling before you, he gently lifts your legs one at a time to wrap his linked arms around you.

Your small gasps, groans, and winces of pain are met with a quiet but reverent apology as Deacon slows his movements. He raises his arms to your hips, lifting you to remove the strain from your arms.

“Move your arms forward,” he encourages, “the nail is straight out, so you should be able to slide the rope off.”

With a jerky movement forward, you feel the rope slide before freezing when a door slams.

“Go,” you command, worry in your voice as you squirm to encourage Deacon’s arms back down your legs. “Please, Deac, go now.”

He obeys, hesitantly returning to the chair just before the door swings open. James walks in, shaking his head as he walks behind Deacon. Expecting another comment comparing him to a dog, Deacon keeps his eyes on you.

He can’t see what James is doing behind him, but your eyes widen suddenly, the now-visible whites a stark contrast to your blood-soaked face.

“Don’t- don’t do that, James. I will do whatever you want me to,” you beg, your voice too strong for the situation.

Deacon can tell from the tone of your voice that you’re worried about him, whatever James is preparing to do to him. However, the puddle of blood below you concerns him far worse than anything they can do to him.

“You’ve survived all night,” James says with a small sigh. “I guess I can give you a few more hours to come to your senses.” He walks around Deacon and squeezes your jaw harshly to whisper, “And when the parole office opens, you better be ready to call.”

James pulls a knife from his pocket, and Deacon fights his panic as he watches it rise over your torso, past your face, and to the bindings holding you up. He pulls the knife carelessly, and you fall to the floor, curling in on yourself as he steps over you.

When James leaves, and you and Deacon are alone again, he rushes to your side, gently moving you as he searches for the source of so much blood. 

“If it’s been all night, and it’s tomorrow now, do you think they know?” you ask weakly.

“Hey, look at me,” Deacon requests kindly, waiting until your chin turns toward him. “They’re on their way. Nothing else is going to happen to you before our team gets here. You trust them.”

You nod before a pained exhale exits you, rolling onto your back to ease the sudden pain. With your torso exposed to him, Deacon can now see the particularly nasty gash spanning your right side, from the bottom of your rib cage to your hip. He assumes it is from the metal pipe, and the amount of dried blood surrounding the wound makes him think it is from one of the first blows.

Deacon pulls his jacket down to his hands, balling it around his cuffed hands, and presses it to your bleeding side. You whimper at the pressure and close your eyes tightly.

“You’re going to be okay,” Deacon promises. “Just hold on for me.”

“It hurts.”

“I know, I know, sweetheart. Just a few more minutes and help will be here, remember?”

The door opens suddenly while your mind is still caught on Deacon’s pet name. Someone laughs before grabbing Deacon’s shoulder to pull him away from you. He falls back out of your sight, and you don’t feel strong enough to look up. You hear something metallic hit the floor, followed by a duller thudding noise before the door closes again.

Worried they did something to Deacon, you take a painfully deep breath and prepare to sit up.

“Don’t do that,” Deacon chides, laying a gentle hand over your shoulder to keep you down.

Deacon’s handcuffs are off, and though James said the first aid kit is supposed to get you ready to call the parole office and sound believable, Deacon’s first and only priority is you. He doesn’t care about their goal; he only wants you safe and alive.

You watch Deacon, grateful for the distraction of his focused, caring, yet angry expression as he cleans your wounds, bandaging them as well as he can with the limited supplies. He finishes wrapping the gash on your torso before moving toward your face. Sending you a small, sad smile, Deacon raises his hand to catch the tear that leaks from your eye.

“Don’t lose hope. Not in our team,” he whispers.

“Thank you,” you reply, watching as he gathers a handful of supplies from the kit beside you.

Deacon rubs an antibiotic wipe across your face, staining it red before ripping another open. He feels a bit like Lady Macbeth, stained by your blood and unable to remove it. It takes every wipe and a dampened towel to clean your face enough to evaluate the bruises and scrapes littering your skin. When Deacon can clearly see your mouth again, his eyes narrow before he gently parts your lips.

You whine, and Deacon sees that your lip is split on the inside from one of the countless hits to your face. Deacon nods, glad that the source of the blood present every time you talk is from that and not something internal. 

“We need to get you upright,” he mutters, looking between your head and your injured side. “It’s going to hurt, but I don’t want that blood draining into your stomach.”

“Help me?” you ask, raising a hand toward him.

Deacon nods, tucking his shoulder under your arm and pulling you with him before setting you against the wall, turning so that your deeper wounds aren’t pressed against the wall. Your breathing sounds labored, more so when you tilt your head forward to slow the bleeding, but you’re still conscious and breathing, so Deacon is counting every blessing, no matter its size.

✯✯✯✯✯

Resting against Deacon’s side, you’re harshly distracted from his presence by a gunshot on the other side of the door. You flinch backward into Deacon’s arms, which tighten around you as everything silences. The doorknob rattles, and you turn toward Deacon.

“Deac? You in here?” Hondo yells. “20-David, locked steel door in the basement,” he tells the team.

“Hondo!” Deacon replies with a surprised chuckle. “We’re both in here. Get that door open and call an ambulance!”

Deacon smiles as he kisses your less-battered cheek, thanking God for getting you out. When he hears the charges are set, Deacon moves around you, shielding you from any possible debris.

“Ambulance for who?” Hondo replies just before the door blows open. He sees you behind Deacon and says, “They’re two minutes out.”

Deacon nods, staying by your side as the paramedics load you onto a gurney and transport you to the hospital.

✯✯✯✯✯

“I’m getting discharged,” you cheer, sharing the good news when Deacon returns to your hospital room.

“So, I heard,” he responds, smiling as you extend your hand.

Your doctor wanted you to take several walks throughout the day, and Deacon has offered his company on each of them. He smiles as he walks beside you through the hospital hall.

“You’re going to stay with me for a few days,” he tells you. “As long as that’s okay with you.”

Part of Deacon was worried that seeing him would be a reminder of what you’ve been through. You smile every time he returns, even if he only went down the hall, so he’s confident that you still enjoy his presence.

“So, I’m driving?” you ask with a smile, referencing your habit of trading responsibilities.

He shakes his head, smiling as you wink at him. Your bruises are lighter after several days in the hospital, and your bandages are changed often, signs that you are healing. Your demeanor isn’t that of someone who was beaten and nearly killed just a week ago.

“Thank you, Deacon,” you tell him as you return to your room.

He hovers, ensuring you’re safe as you sit on the lowered bed. “Any one of us would have done it.”

“Even the kiss on the cheek?”

“You don’t remember any such thing,” Deacon replies playfully, pulling his chair to your side.

“I remember that you looked really worried,” you admit quietly, picking at the thin hospital blanket. “But you did what they said so they didn’t kill me.”

“I was worried. Watching that was- I honestly don’t know how I kept myself calm enough to stay in that chair.”

“Your calmness saved my life, Deacon.”

You pull Deacon’s hand into your lap, placing both your hands around his larger one, content in his presence and his care for you.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you get inside Deacon’s house, you sigh as you sit on a comfortable chair after far too long in stiff hospital beds and seats. You watch Deacon as he gathers your things, moving into the kitchen before bringing you a blanket.

“I guess this means we’re done?” you ask.

Deacon looks up quickly, his brows furrowed while his eyes are fixed on yours.

“You’ll never want to come to my house again,” you add.

Deacon releases a panicked breath, the worry that you meant something different escaping. He sits beside you before speaking, laying the blanket in your lap and placing his arm across the cushions behind you.

“I can’t think of a single thing that would drive me away from you,” he says.

“Not even all my scars?”

“You’ve never had a problem with mine.” Deacon shrugs before finishing, “You’re a survivor, that is what those marks mean.”

“I- I want to tell you something, but I don’t want you to think it’s just because you saved my life.”

“Then let’s say it later,” Deacon responds, quickly pressing his lips to your temple. “Maybe we can try dinner again in a few days; enjoy that four-course meal you promised me."

You nod as you laugh, leaning against Deacon’s side. You’ve loved him since long before he saved you, and you’re ready to tell him. Luckily for you, Deacon feels exactly the same, though his protectiveness may be a bit more prevalent for a few weeks.

Each moment spent with Deacon is a gift, and you count down the moments until you can tell him exactly what he means to you. Deacon is your best friend and always will be, but he’s easy to love and willingly gives his love in return. Though his protectiveness swells and his anger rears its head at the court hearing, you lean against his side, a reminder that you are still here because of him. And the dinner after is plenty of incentive to stay calm… for you.

[beetlecakes]

More lightning McQueen headcanons

I’m on a long ass roadtrip back home bc I’m moving. Things aren’t going slay so I’m projecting :D

Doc forces him to take sleeping pills or else Lightning won’t fall asleep at a decent time

He tends to get restless and overthinks

Most of it is due to media and racing

Gets horrible panic attacks

He had one in front of Doc and got super embarrassed after

Doc reassured him and was shockingly really good at comforting Lightning

He ended up prescribing him anxiety meds

Lightning tends to overdo it during practice and races

It’s a way to prove his worth

He has a fear of failure and doesn’t want to let anyone down

Months after Doc became Lightnings pit crew chief, Lightnings ended up pushing himself to sickness and injury

Obviously he kept going and said he was fine

Until sheriff dragged a half asleep Lightning back to Doc’s

Lightning thought Doc would be mad but he just got a lecture

Lightning never believed someone could care so much for him (besides Mack)

Doc will take Lightnings phone when the media becomes too much

Occasionally starts Twitter drama on accident

His stans will go to war with Chick Hicks stans

Lightning, Cal, Bobby, and Brick will bully each other online

It’s usually small jabs at each other

[mushroomnoodles]

tw bodily fluids

was simons pregnancy more painful than any other ones?? was there a gigantic mess of like blood and "other stuff"?? like.. birth takes soo long to do seriously like 4-8 HOURS on average or are we just gonna like not include this for the sake of not being nauseous ( + old mans remaining sanity )

tw/cw for sfw and non kink mpreg, as well as labor, water breaking.. and discussion of birth details + injury while trying to keep it vague.

ill go into it once- yeah, it's pretty safe to say simon had a rough time with the labor. i've stated this before, but he was experiencing labor pains for a few days before he went into active labor- see, he didn't think much of it because every now and then his body would try to have morrigan and be unable to because of the seal, so braxton hicks and actual false labor was.. not something he was unfamiliar with.

it wasn't until the contractions got so bad they were nearly debilitating and he felt morri shift inside him to get ready to be born that he went, oh no, oh no no no, he's having the baby.

more under the cut, there's art down there too but like heed the tags. i'm still trying to keep the discussion.. not super heavy.

we all know what happened next, with marceline bringing him into the woods and not being able to make it. because like, right after she set him down, his water broke.

blah blah, they run into finn, explain simon is like, pregnant and about to give birth, set up a location, and then simon (and marcy) are faced with another problem.

it's pretty obvious to everyone that simon's bump was huge. morri is huge. the actual place they'd be born from.. not so much. but that doesn't dissuade morri, who has been trying to get that gd seal off them for months, and is not going to waste another second hiding in their old man. things are going super fast.

and things do not look great down there. marcy is totally winging this delivering a baby thing. simon kept going from silence- just trying to ride through the contractions, to screaming like a dying animal. marceline was terrified the whole time, especially when simon said he felt like he was gonna rip open.

(pretend the fallen tree is behind simon.)

so yeah, it was pretty messy. simon did not make giving birth to a twelve pound baby out unscathed, he definitely tore. when morri was out marceline gave him what little medical attention she could, which honestly wasn't a lot- pb had to do some quick fixing when she showed up, and i don't think he would've made it if not for the cosmic energy radiating through him from carrying morrigan.

it was a good while before simon recuperated enough to be moved, and it sorta spooked everyone when he just.. got up like he didn't just finish pushing out a 12 pound baby. those pain meds were a godsend, by the way, simon was never happier for them in his entire life.

victory! they got him home and in bed with his brand new baby, and marceline stuck by for a few weeks to help take care of morri while simon healed. simon was zonked out but very happy to have a baby in his arms, his baby.

also bonus: simon wakes up the next morning

he feels like five trains ran through his entire lower half. homedawg lived on those pain relievers from that point on

[solesommerso]

“you lay a hand on them one more time and i’ll take it clean off of you.” - SWAT Chris x reader please?

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ just a shove ⋆ﾟ⊹

|| chris alonso x reader

warnings: mentions of a drug case, reader with very slight injury, swearing

-

You roll your shoulder back to stretch out where it was slammed up against the wall by the suspect Chris has got pinned down on your cruiser. It’s patrol day, again, and while you and Alonso had hoped that meant it’d be a slower ride, it’s been quite the opposite.

You’ve already called Hicks to alert him of the drug lab you two uncovered by accident while trying to return a lost dog. The two people inside the lab put up a pretty good fight, one already sitting in the back of the cruiser pouting like a toddler from Chris’s rather aggressive words. The other looks absolutely shocked that Chris has him pinned down so harshly.

“You lay a hand on them one more time and I’ll take it clean off of you.” She spits the words out before hauling the tall man up and shoving him in the back next to his partner in crime.

“It was just a shove, it’s fine.” You tell Chris despite knowing it’ll do nothing to subside her anger. It really wasn’t that bad, the suspect just happened to get enough room to throw his elbow into your side and knock you over into the houses siding.

“He’s still an ass.” She practically growls before you raise a brow and watch as she deflates the smallest amount.

“Let’s take them back to Hq and let Hicks deal with them.” You place a hand on the small of Chris’ back, leading her over to the passenger side as driving will only stress her out more.

“I’m sure he’ll chew them out throughly.” You smile once Chris has sat down, relaxing in place and playfully rolling her eyes at you.

“Not as throughly as I will.” She states, earning another eye roll that at least makes her lip flick up into half a smile.

[melswifeasf]

Find my way back to you pt 1

next chapter || series page

Pairing: Samantha Carpenter x Fem!OC

Summary: Estelle and Sam were each others first love until one day she leaves without a goodbye leaving her behind with only the memories of what they once were. until Tara is attacked by a fucking ghost face.

Warnings: minor description of injury.

word count: 1225

Estelle Garcia had been many things growing up, a cheerleader, the sister of a drug dealer and an addict amongst many more she couldn’t list off the top of her head.

she just never thought she’d be a cop. the twenty three year old had been one for a year now. she was an amateur which she was reminded of everyday, fortunately for her she had connections which helped her see a higher ranking in just one year.

Sheriff Judy Hicks made sure the girl saw properly taken care of which resulted in her making a lot of enemies in her line of duty. not that she cared, anyone else would’ve done the same if they were in her position.

the raven haired girl sighed as she drove around Woodsboro aimlessly. she was on patrol duty which although was considered the most dangerous, it was also extremely boring. most of the crime seemed to always happen across town from where she is which always annoyed her to no end. she spent most of her nights handing out tickets to reckless drivers or to teenagers who thought speeding at eighty miles an hour in a forty would be deemed safe.

the girl sighed as she took a sip out of her redbull and listened to the muffled dispatch beside her, hoping there would be reinforcements needed near her.

the patrol car came to a stop as the red light shined above her illuminating the bottom half of her face the bright red color. most of the streets were empty, it was a school night so most of the partying was put off until the weekend. just as she thought her night would consist of her driving around aimlessly for the whole night her phone rang. her eyebrows furrowed as she reached for her phone and pulled the patrol car to the side of the road, never one for reckless driving.

the small screen reflected on her tan skin as she looked at the text message on her phone.

Tara:

SOS

Estelle felt her heart rate pick up for a second as she shot the girl back a couple of question marks, confused on why the girl would be sending her a message so late at night and when she’s on duty. three bubbles popped up on the chat before they disappeared. the raven haired girl let out a small breath as she began to type again when a loud alert popped up causing her to flinch.

emergency call from Tara Carpenter

without a second thought Estelle turned on her sirens and stomped on the gas. she was only five minutes away thankfully, having been assigned to the nicer side of town by Judy’s orders. she always thought it was because the woman knew it was the safer side of town which meant less danger for the young girl. she wasn’t very appreciative of that, the whole point of her job was to be around danger twenty-four-seven so it was quite stupid that the women tried to protect her from it.

the girls grip on the steering wheel tightened, her knuckles turning white, the patrol car going fast enough it shook the cars around her as they pulled to the side to let it through. in minutes - she wasn’t quite sure how many, not able to focus on anything but her rapidly beating heart and the road in front of her. she had already called in backup but they were all more than five minutes away.

the tires screeched to a halt as the young girl quickly opened the door and got out of the car, not even caring to turn the ignition off.

Estelle pulled her gun out of her holster and ran to the front door when she heard a loud scream.

Tara.

the house looked as it did every other day, no cars parked in the driveway or on the street but Tara had called SOS which she knew was only for emergency’s and there was something in there causing the girl to scream.

Estelle quickly reached for the doorknob but it wouldn’t turn which meant it was locked. she cursed silently before she took a step back.

“Tara!” she yelled loudly but the only response she got was an ever louder scream.

Estelle didn’t think twice before lifting her leg and bringing it down onto the door. it shook for a second but it didnt buge. three kicks later she knew the lock she had set up wouldn’t be breaking, she was counting on that when she put it on.

her heart was pounding against her chest as she turned around and grabbed the nearest rock to her and rushed over to the small windows beside the door. Estelle threw it to the smallest one, the glass shattering on impact. It broke apart with a loud bang and fell to the floor. she avoided the small pieces of glass stuck to the window as she put her hand through an unlocked the door from the inside.

Estelle threw the door open, “Tara!” she called ourtpointing her gun up. she took slow steps at first, her boots causing the glass to crush under her. she turned her body quickly to the first room which was the living area, her eyes scanned it in a singular second before she heard yet another scream.

the kitchen.

she ran toward it expecting to see a man or woman with a gun or some kind of weapon about to attack Tara, maybe expecting the house to be empty but they were instead met with a teen girl and were trying to harm her for fucking up their plan.

but that wasn’t it at all. the color drained from her face as her eyes trailed over a person wearing a Ghostface costume hovering over Tara with a knife in their hand.

her reflexes sprung into action as she began to unload her gun, the bullet hitting the top left side of their back, a groan leaving their lips. Ghost face turned quickly, obviously surprised anyone else would be in the house before they bolted out of the house, gun shots echoing as Estelle emptied out of the clip but missing each one.

she moved her body in an effort to run after them but hey eyes glanced down to see Tara’s body causing her to put her gun away quickly and drop to her knees. she could hear the echo of sirens meaning there was back up and they could go after Ghostface themself.

she couldn’t leave Tara alone.

Tara was unconscious with piles of red liquid surrounding her body. her bright clothes were soaked with blood, and the way small drops of it rolled down the sides of her lips made Estelle’s heart drop.

she saw there was a huge gash on the girls stomach causing her instincts to kick in. she reached for the injury and applied pressure with one hand as the other reached for her neck where she found a quiet pulse. it was soft but it was there meaning she was still there.

“it’s okay, i’ve got you” Estelle whispered as she heard loud footsteps coming in with the shout of her name. she didn’t say anything as the paramedics began to do their job, simply watched from afar.

[hooked-on-elvis]

Want to read yet another story of Elvis being generous?

How Elvis' friendship with Tom Jones gathered the King with The VOICE

[1] Elvis wearing the 1973 Arabian jumpsuit. Hilton Hotel, Las Vegas. August, 1973. [2] Donny Sumner, letf, Shaun "Sherrill" Nielsen* and Tim Beaty of the Voice, a pop-rock-gospel trio, warm up before their performance at The Villa at 1711 Hayes St. in Nashville on March 1, 1975. They are still recovering from injuries causes by when their van veered off the highway and rolled down an embankment a month before.

LATE JULY - EARLY AUGUST, 1973 Elvis was in Vegas to rehearse for his second 1973 Las Vegas engagement (Las Vegas, Season 9 - From August 6th to September 3rd 1973) While in Las Vegas Elvis had the opportunity to help out his friend Tom Jones, who was facing the possibility of having to replace his vocal group the Blossoms on his current show. When Elvis heard about his predicament, he thought he might do Jones a favor by presenting him with a substitute group. One of the members of his entourage, Kenny Hicks, knew that former Statesmen Sherrill Nielsen and Tim Baty and J. D. Summer’s nephew Donnie had formed a new Nashville vocal group called Voice. Elvis knew all of them well; he had worked with Sherrill in 1966 on How Great Thou Art, and once introduced him to an indifferent Las Vegas audience as “the greatest tenor in gospel music.” Why not fly their new group out to Las Vegas to help Jones out?

#FYI

On the picture above, Elvis is leaving the Anaheim Royal Inn to perform his evening concert on April 24 1973 at the Convention Center in Anaheim, CA (8.30 pm). EP is with his entourage, some of them known Memphis Mafia guys, and his father, Vernon Presley. Kenny Hicks is the one guy on the left, next to Red West. There's not many pictures of them together. Kenny worked as a valet/aide to Elvis, between 1973-1975. In 2010, Hicks published the memoir book, "Elvis, As I Knew Him" (photo 2, book front cover). Kenny is told to be the one letting Elvis know about the Voice group has been formed.

Transported by private jet, the nervous trio arrived at Elvis’s suite, only to be put on the spot to sing for Elvis, Tom Jones, and country singer Bobbie Gentry. Jones was impressed with the group, and he was touched by the offer — but as it turned out, he told Elvis, he had an unbreakable contract with the Blossoms. It may have been the opening Elvis was looking for all along: After giving the group the bad news, with a flourish he produced a piece of paper for them to sign — a year-long contract, he explained, guaranteeing them $100,000 to serve as his backup group and sing with him in private whenever he felt like hearing them, while signing them to his new publishing company. They couldn’t help being shocked, but they gratefully accepted. Before the group left the suite Elvis called his father to announce the news; Vernon, though, was less than enthusiastic to learn of his son’s latest whim, which only supported his constant fear that his son’s indulgences would someday leave them all bankrupt. Excerpt: "Elvis Presley: A Life in Music" by Ernst Jorgensen. Foreword by Peter Guralnick (1998)

Cool, isn't it? EP didn't need to do this, he was in no need for another gospel group (he already had signed The Stamps Quartet to back him in concert for a while now - since 1971), but he signed the Voice, aside from admiring their talent, clearly just to make up for something that went not quite as expected — something he was actually doing to help another one of his friends.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

FURTHER INFO

"Sherrill" is Shaun Nielsen's birth name, and it is the name all Elvis fans best know him with, but he changed it to "Shaun" at some point. He said that after enough instances of hearing himself paged 'Phone call for Miss Sherrill Nielsen', he thought changing his name would be a good idea. (Source: elvisoncd.com). Sherrill is a gender-neutral name but, since is not very common for a male, people currently take it as a female name right away.

[yanderes-galore]

I’m reading your Xenomorph works, and I got curious as to how you would think a Xenomorph, Queen or otherwise, would react to a darling who’s on the firing team from the 2nd movie? Like, they go with their team, find them, and after attacking and escaping, is 100% on board with nuking the area. They accompany Ripley to go free Newt, and maybe sacrifice themselves so they can escape?

Sure! To refresh my memory I watched the Aliens kill count by Dead Meat. I'll link it here if you're interested. Aliens is one of the best movies in the franchise to me. This focuses on a new Xenomorph OC, Tip, and her mother who just likes seeing her happy. I do hope you enjoy Tip.

Fun Fact: Alien: Prototype (A book I am reading) described what Xenomorph eggs smelled like. The more you know~

This is an AU of the movie Aliens. It does not exactly follow the plot except for the start.

Sacrifice

Yandere! Xenomorph(s?) Scenario

Pairing: Animal/Pet-like

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, OOC Xenomorphs (obviously, my bad-), Obsession, Stalking, Violence, Injury, Stockholm syndrome, Alien/Human, Kidnapping, Aliens, Slobber, Scenting, Marking, Intelligent Xenomorph.

"We're looking for a kid? In all of this mess?"

You had already seen many of your fellow colonial marines die. You all were originally checking to see why a colony suddenly went silent. Now you've met something straight out of your nightmares....

They were creatures known as Xenomorphs. Creatures that were insect-like and attacked in groups. They killed your friends... they eradicated this whole colony.

They were fast with sharp claws. They had a second mouth they loved to shove deep into your skull. They even had acid for blood.

Throughout the entire Hadley's Hope mission you had some close calls. You didn't dare dwell on the times you were up close and personal with those things. A full glimpse of their slobbering mouth, sleek shell, and hissing vocals.

You're surprised you lived this long.

Now, you and Ripley were looking for a young girl trapped in the remains of this colony. You wanted all of this over with. Yet Ripley and Hicks wanted to push ahead to find the source and end it all.

Your chances of survival only decreased as time went on....

"We can't just leave her here." Ripley says, turning towards your worried figure. "I saw that Xeno drag her through the water tunnel. The tracker says she's still alive."

Holding your tongue, you stay beside your fellow marines. You might as well help the best you can. You're in too far to just back out.

While you three stroll through the ruins of Hadley's Hope, you're unaware of prying eyes. Xenomorph Warriors hide in the vents and walls, dark skin unable to be seen on the dark walls. Their lips curl back with drool at your smell.

Something about you made them hunt you. The closer you got to their queen nesting away, the more curious they got. They had told their queen about you....

The queen wanted to take you into their numbers, originally for a host.

The young female human was great bait. You were under watch by the queen's drones. According to one of her drones... you were worth keeping an eye on.

A drone had caught you earlier... caging you against a wall. Out of fear, you had tried to talk it off you. The drone didn't entirely understand you and you couldn't shoot it due to being unarmed. Although... your touch was scared yet soft. Your voice was filled with meek fear but made the drone coo. You didn't want to be here. You barely got any kills anyways, you're better with tech.

Your vulnerability made the Xenomorph mark you for later, sparing you after scenting you with a bite.

What happened to you next... was up to the queen to decide.

You had no idea that the bite wasn't a failed attack from a Xenomorph...

It was a message for later.

---

"God damn it, Ripley! Take Newt, Hicks, and leave!"

Your grip on the pulse rifle was shaking. A group of Warriors that have been hunting you stalk closer to your group. Ripley had been hesitant when you said you'd buy time.

"No! We can make it!"

"No... we can't!"

You scream when a Warrior screeches, a quick whip of the tail smacking you onto your back. You shoot the rifle, missing only for Ripley to nail it in the tail... the tip flying off. Another screech echoes through the nest while acid spills onto the floor and on your skin.

"(Y/N)-!"

"LEAVE. NOW. WE'VE LOST ENOUGH!"

As more Warriors made their presence known, Ripley shoots off rounds while fleeing to the evac point. You cry in pain at the acid burns on your legs and stomach. If it didn't eat your skin and bones, it would certainly cause scars.

The Xenomorph Ripley wounded backed off while the two others covered you. You struggle, the gun torn from your grasp and injuring your fingers before you can fend off your attackers. Chitters and screeches fill the air before you're dragged back... deeper into the nest.

You shake your head and struggle. The Warriors notice, chitter to each other, then place you down. You try to flee but they stop you easily.

A webbing like substance is applied to your burns. Then while that thickens, more nesting material is placed on your mouth. It's sticky and foreign... an alien gag to keep you quiet.

Then they continue to drag you to hell, demons obedient to their master.

You can only hope Ripley got what she wanted.

---

When you awaken, webbing is heavy on your body. Your mouth is still covered... which at least means you weren't used as a host. However... you couldn't move.

Despite the gag you could still smell where you were. You were in the Xenomorph nest in a more humid area. The smell was reptillian... and like strong chemicals. Your weary eyes look around to see...

Eggs.

You panic softly at the amount. What's worse? The creature you were next to.

A creature that resembled a Xenomorph monarch or mother of sorts.

Upon hearing your beating heart, the walls move. Warriors come into view to sit in front of their newly caught prey. You can see one of them was the one who Ripley shot the tip of the tail off of-

You hoped they did not keep grudges.

When the queen sensed her children, she turns to meet your frightened eyes. Her lips curl up to slobber, hissing softly. Not... aggression, just... you couldn't even read it.

The Warrior with the tail blown off leans closer, you decided to call it 'Tip' just to tell it apart from the others. You laugh to yourself... you're naming them now? Was the smell getting to you?

Tip hisses before chittering, then looking to her mother. This human's friend had hurt her... but her mother said you wouldn't hurt them. She decided to give you a chance... restrained.

Tip looks over to her sister, gauging how the other Xenomorph reacted to you. You had been marked by a fellow drone, but why?

Mother said you were no host, not anymore atleast...

You were quite a vulnerable human, though.

Not understanding the Xenomorphs staring, you look away. Why weren't you dead? You didn't even feel like you had a creature inside you.

Tip hears her mother call her, the scarred Xenomorph turns to the queen obediently. She wanted her to move you.... Tip hesitantly looks between you and her mother. You were unarmed....

You then feel Tip dig into the webbing and pull you off of the wall. Doing as her mother told her, she holds you tightly and shows you to the queen. You freeze when the queen inspects your wrapped figure before chittering to Tip.

Tip understood it as you being put under her care... you understood it as being dragged off again.

You didn't know what they wanted from you or how intelligent these creatures really were...

You wondered just when you'd die here.

---

You lost count of how long you were here and Xenomorphs had no track of time. All you know is the Xenomorph you've "affectionately" named Tip had served as your personal caretaker for the time you've been trapped in the nest. It was nearly impossible to leave with the amount of Xenomorphs here, too.

Tip, while at first being scared and irritated of your kind for hurting her, had grown attached to this human of hers. Her mother instructed her to keep you fed. Tip soon began to adore you as her mother did.

You were a good catch.

You haven't seen human contact in a long time now. The only contact you had was Tip webbing you enough to curl around you. The bluish scarred Xenomorph cooes you to sleep whenever she feels you need it, claws wrapped around you tightly. The only time you slept was when you passed out.

You felt you were going insane when you thought of the creatures touch as comforting. The alien acted like an affectionate beast, replicating human emotion by watching you. She hugged you when you felt hopeless, she gave you space when afraid, she even reacted positively to your accidental pets.

Tip was a beast you feared, yet could not live without. This Xenomorph had been your only sense of comfort since your kidnapping. That may just be the stockholm syndrome.

While Tip was the Xenomorph around you the most, she was not the only Xenomorph that liked you. The queen herself appeared to enjoy the much smaller human that roams her hive.

You made Tip, a name that she heard you give her daughter, extremely happy. The queen often got reports from Tip about you. You had taught the Xenomorph how to be oddly human with you.

Even as a nub, you saw Tip's tail flick around whenever she saw you.

Your sacrifice for Ripley's safety wasn't your life... it was your freedom. You had been reduced to an alien's playtoy. The worst part?

You didn't entirely mind it.

Escape was impossible without fire or a gun. Your only companion had been Tip, an alien intelligent enough to cater to you. Part of you felt she was different...

Or perhaps you're just crazy.

[midwestmade29]

Christian Cage Request 🥰

To anonymous: This was such a sweet idea! I hope what I wrote matches what you had in mind. Enjoy 🖤

Original Anonymous Request: "Can I request a Christian Cage x Female!Reader where the reader is Christian’s wife since he first started with WWE (Basically as if he married the reader when he did instead of his ex wife) and he comes home from being on the road with AEW to his wife, who’s heavily pregnant and has been having some slight complications, curled up in bed with their daughter, Isla, who’s cuddling with her mom because she knows she hasn’t been feeling the best and Christian can’t help but melt at the sight of his girls. He ends up taking a few weeks off to tend to his girls and make sure his love is okay?"

Disclaimers: None really! This story is fluff. It does cover pregnancy and high blood pressure but that’s it. Read at your own discretion.

Word count: 1,096

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

Braxton hicks: false contractions

Paternity leave: The time off a new father is given after the birth of his baby.

Your 20-year wedding anniversary was rapidly approaching, along with the birth of your 2nd child! A lot has happened during the last 20 years, first meeting Christian when he was working for WWE, getting married and eventually having your daughter Isla, and Christian being forced into retirement due to his injuries he sustained in the ring. Not every moment was good, but you worked together to get through the challenging times. Seeing Christian as a dad was the best thing in the world, Isla had him wrapped around her little finger! Ever since Isla could talk, she had always begged for a little brother or sister. Time marched on and she remained an only child- until now! When you and Christian saw the positive pregnancy test, both of you were shocked! Even though the timing is a little off since Isla is almost 10 years old now and with Christian officially coming out of retirement to wrestle again, you just knew everything would work out somehow!

Christian’s travel schedule with AEW was hard to adjust to at first since you and Isla were so used to having him home every day. He often missed out on the big and little things that were going on with you and Isla, which made being a part even more difficult. Phone calls, text messages and Facetime helped ease the sting of his absence, but nothing could compare to the feeling of being snuggled up with him in bed or the sound of laughter echoing through the house as him and Isla played together! Lately his popularity amongst the fans had skyrocketed which put him in high demand for being on TV more often. Christian was on the road more than he was at home now! The stress of being as pregnant are you are along with trying to take care of Isla on your own was starting to wear on you. At your most recent doctor’s appointment, your blood pressure was elevated and was most likely caused from the anxiety you were feeling about Christian leaving tomorrow for 2 weeks. On top of your high blood pressure, your anxiety made you as nauseous as you were during your first trimester! Your doctor informed you that she was going to be keeping a close eye on you, and if your blood pressure didn’t lower within the next week, you would be given medicine or placed on bed rest. You didn’t care for either of those options, so you promised her that you would do your best to lower your stress!

Isla was such a trooper while Christian was gone! She always helped around the house and very rarely complained about it. Her caring and nurturing soul shinned through every time she asked if there was something she could get you or do for you. She always tried to make you laugh or offer you a hug when she could tell you needed it the most. One of her favorite things to do at bedtime is to snuggle up next to you and rest her head on your belly. She loved feeling the baby move and kick! Isla kept one of your ultrasound pictures on her nightstand and you often caught her staring at it instead of trying to fall asleep. It made your heart happy seeing her so excited about the baby, and you just knew she was going to be the best big sister ever!

During your Facetime call with Christian, you informed him about the good report your doctor had given you earlier in the day! “She said that my blood pressure is exactly where it should be. No medicine or bed rest for me! I told the doctor that my nausea hasn’t been as frequent as it was, but she did give me some over the counter medicine suggestions in case it starts up again. All in all, the appointment went great, and mom and baby are healthy!” you explained. Christian’s smile was contagious, and his words were heartfelt when he spoke, “That’s wonderful news baby! I’m so glad that you’re feeling better. I miss you and Isla like crazy! Hopefully the rest of this road trip goes by quickly so I can come home to my girls!” What Christian didn’t tell you during your conversation was that Tony Kahn informed him that they had everything they needed from him so he could go home a few days early! The very next night when you had finished reading a book with Isla, both of you had fallen asleep in her bed. It had been a little bit of a rough day since your feet and ankles were swollen and you had a headache you just couldn’t shake. When Christian walked into Isla’s bedroom, he saw both of his girls snuggled up together in a sea of various stuffed animals. You still had the book open on your chest and Isla had her hand on your belly. He made sure to take a picture of the sweet moment before he woke both of you up and surprised you.

The next couple of weeks were filled with several ups and downs regarding your pregnancy. You had caught the flu leaving you dehydrated which led to you being admitted into the hospital for a couple of days. Thankfully you felt much better afterwards, but that good feeling didn’t last very long. You started having minor contractions late one night, so Christian called your doctor. She explained what to look for if they continued, but ultimately determined they were just Braxton hicks. Because you were so close to the end of your pregnancy, Christian started his paternity leave early! He took the next several weeks off so he could be home and make sure his girls were taken care of. He waited on you hand and foot and took care of everything around the house. Isla and Christian were the dream team whenever they worked together to complete a task, their love for each other made your heart swell! He embraced homework duty, went with you to all your remaining doctor appointments, ran all the errands, went out late at night to get you whatever you were craving, and even took care of everything during Isla’s sleepover she had with her friends. In the end, it was a good thing Christian had taken time off from AEW because your baby was born within the first week of him being home. Your beautiful and healthy baby boy was born on your 20th wedding anniversary, the perfect gift to celebrate such a milestone!

[wangxianficfinder]

Mafia / Cop / Detective / Thief

~*~

Cop/Detective

When a Bird Flies, It Leaves Feathers by Bem_Kofi (Not Rated, 75k, WangXian, Modern AU, XuanLi, Police, Police Officer LWJ, Medical Examiner WWX, Minor Character Death)

Keep Track of Losing Days by giraffeter (T, 74k, WangXian, NieLan, Modern AU, Case Fic, Police, Missing Persons, Getting Together, Flashbacks, Detective LWJ, antifa WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sharing a Bed, First Meetings, Seattle, Mutual Pining, nonfatal car accident, mafia wens, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers)

🧡 CSI: Gusu Edition Series by Stratisphyre (M, 39k, WangXian, WWX & LQR, Modern with Magic AU, College AU, Golden Core Reveal, Single parent WWX, Good Uncle LQR, Hospitalization, Allusions to violence and murder)

medium blues by darkterrible (E, 193k, WangXian, Modern AU, Horror, Spooky, Opposites Attract, Fluff and Angst, Gore, Ghosts, Necromancy, Mojo’s post)

Detective, please. by Pitycup_hearts (T, 124k, WangXian, XueXiao, Modern AU, Paranormal, Detectives, paranormal unit, csi, Crime Fighting, Ghosts, Fluff, Angst and Humor, Thriller, WY doesn't die this time, OOC, plot heavy)

🧡 Where's Your Emergency? by trippednfell (M, 64k, WangXian, 911 Dispatcher WWX, Single dad LWJ, Kid fic, Modern AU, D&D Games, Angst with a happy ending)

Torch Song at Nightless City by ArcadianMaggie (M, 11k, WangXian, Film Noir, Detective LWJ, Singer WWX, 1940s, Chinatown, San Francisco, Murder Mystery, Noir, Modern with Magic)

hey now by mellowflicker (E, 8k, WangXian, Modern AU, Detective LWJ, Mutual Pining, Hurt WWX, Hurt/Comfort, a sprinkle of, Gloves, Major Character Injury)

Good For Betting by ana_cp (E, 16k, WangXian, Modern AU, Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV) Fusion, fake date, Police, Getting Together, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Oblivious WWX, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Co-workers, Police Officer WWX, Police Officer LWJ, POV Alternating, Blow Jobs, Top WWX, Bottom LWJ, Horny WWX)

critical path analysis by chinxe (T, 14k, WangXian, Modern AU, Police, Brooklyn Nine-Nine AU, Pining, Misunderstandings, wwx and lwj are simultaneously the smartest and densest detectives)

Everything’s glacial shine by letterando (T, 3k, WangXian, JC & WWX, WWX & WQ, Modern AU, Bar Room Brawl, Alcohol, Comfort, Fluff, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Pre-Relationship) - modern mundane AU, featuring the Yunmeng Jiang as gentrified river hicks given to daredevil stunts and barroom brawling. Detective LWJ keeps having to drag WWX off in handcuffs, a ritual both enjoy altogether too much. (The author hints at such a rich backstory, with traumatic military service standing in for the Sunshot Campaign, that I hope they someday continue this universe.)

Mafia

LAOZU (1989) by Machinebender (E, 33k, WangXian, Andrey/Goncharov, Modern AU, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Organized Crime, 1980s Shanghai Triads AU, Angst, Oblivious WWX, Goncharov fusion)

Loyalty and Betrayal by VkShinkarenko (E, 100k, WIP, WangXian, Modern AU, Detectives, Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe mafia, Fluff and Smut, Slow Build, Developing Relationship, Spies & Secret Agents, Falling In Love, Domestic Fluff, POV Multiple, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Blood and Gore, Heavy Angst, graphic description of violence, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Time, Love Confessions, Explicit Sexual Content, also on Wattpad, Lealdade e Traição by VkShinkarenko)

🧡 Rule Number One: Never get attached. by KizuKatana (E, 130k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O, Criminal underworld AU, Fluff and angst, Crime boss LWJ, Rouge criminal genius WWX, Explicit Sex)

Miscalculated Misreckoning by LadyVamp (E, 5k, WangXian, Modern AU, Organized Crime, Attempted Kidnapping, Murder Husbands, Blood and Violence, Violent Sex, Married WangXian, BAMF LWJ, BAMF WWX, YLLZ WWX, Hair-pulling, Office Sex, Desk Sex, Dark LWJ, Protective LWJ, Dark WWX, Partners in Crime, Gun Violence, Gun Kink, Crime Syndicate Qíshān Wēn Sect, Arranged Marriage, Crime Lord LWJ, Crime Lord WWX)

Say What's In This Drink? by Pancho (E, 2k, WangXian, Established Relationship, Gun Violence, Violence, Mild Blood, Dark LWJ, Organized Crime, Murder, Crime Boss LWJ)

herd 'em like cattle by mdzsed (E, 3k, WangXian, Modern AU, Blood and Violence, Torture, Murder, Mutilation, Blood and Gore, Age Difference, dark LWJ, Older LWJ, Mafia Boss LWJ, Kidnapped WWX, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Guns, Sexual Assault, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat)

Due Process by Kytrin, Mslead (E, 279k, WangXian, XiChengSang, Poly Junior Quartet, Modern AU, Foxxian, dragonji, Genderfluid WWX, WWX identifies as male, Organized Crime, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, mentions of child abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Found Family, Reincarnation)

Take Some Advice Paesano by FeelsForBreakfast (M, 8k, wangxian, modern, mob au, mafia the 🤡 version, humor, mistaken identity, getting together)

You & Me Baby, We'll Eclipse The Sun Series by 2501987 (M/E, 130k, WangXian, XiCheng, MIND THE TAGS, Modern AU, Mafia, Murder husbands, Torture, Possessive Behavior, Blood and Violence, Older JC, Younger WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Dark)

of demons and the good they bring by mimi123meg (M, 1k, WangXian, Modern AU, Mob, Crime Boss LWJ, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JC, Slight Violence, not too graphic, but definitely there, Established Relationship)

You Only Die Twice by Mikkeneko (T, 11k, WangXian, Modern AU, Assassins/Spies, Assassins & Hitmen, Mafia AU, Action, Moderate Violence, a lot of people die but no named characters, not exactly lan sect friendly, not exactly lan sect critical either, Assassin LWJ, Kindergarten Teacher WWX, coffee shop meet cute, Let LWJ Say Fucks, lightly cracky, Non-Linear Narrative)

Thief

disappear like smoke by jade token (jianghu) (T, 10k, ZhuiYi, Modern AU, Detectives, Thieves, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Meitantei Conan | Detective Conan References, Secret Identity, Pre-Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Crossdressing, First Meetings)

The Weight Of A Badge by Pancho (M, 19k, wangxian, 1920s au, femme fatale, genderfluid WWX, cat burglar WWX, detective LWJ, mob au, death, guns, violence, implied/referenced incest, QS lives, pining, YLLZ WWX, angst w happy ending)

(i've got) trouble in mind by seularen (E, 76k, wangxian, JGY/LXC, modern w magic, heist au, thief WWX, forger LWJ, consigliere JGY, epistolary, long-distance relationship, d/d elements, Canon wangxian kinks, happy ending)

Crime & Chaos by NebulusCharlie (Not Rated, 24k, WangXian, Crime AU, Modern AU)

~*~