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dem-obscure-imagines · 3 days ago

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Midnight Rain

Bob Reynolds x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Note: We are so back babey.

Warnings: Allusions to Bob’s past as a drug user (light withdrawal symptoms). Otherwise, just fluff.

Word Count: 1.3k

Reader Is: A healer. Gender-neutral, I believe.

It was pouring outside. Rain trickled down the windows of the tower you now called home. It was…interesting living there. By the time you joined the team, the original team, they were all broken up already, so you’d never gotten the pleasure. Sam had found you around the time he found Scott. You were a healer.

Healer was a loose term, actually. You had healing powers, yes, could use energy to patch nearly any wound, but you had soothing powers, too. Like a living heating pad. That was why Sam found you. To calm the Winter Soldier when he’d been set off, just in case he and Steve needed one last ace in their back pocket.

It was why Bucky had called you now. And why you were sitting in the Tower where you now lived, watching the midnight rain, nursing a mug of Chamomile.

You could feel him walking down the hallway before you heard or saw him. It had only been a week since the Void Incident. You’d been in the Tower for a grand total of three days. You had only seen him in passing, as he’d been keeping mostly to himself. For obvious reasons.

Bob Reynolds aka Sentry aka the Void.

He stood in the doorway in a pair of pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt, trembling. You scanned over him like a doctor, noting his symptoms, but it was clear from the very start, based on the file you’d been given. He was in withdrawal. Apparently the super-soldier cocktail they’d given him hadn’t fixed everything.

“Um h-hi. I’m Bob.” He waved, hand swallowed up by his sleeve, messy brown curls falling in his face.

You smiled warmly. “Hi, Bob. I’m (Y/N).”

“I knew that. I, uh…Yelena said you’d be in here. Bucky said to find you if I ever felt…uh…like this, I guess.” He motioned down to his trembling form. “But if you’re busy, I…”

“I’m not busy. What’s going on?”

“Just cold. Really cold. I…can’t sleep. Can’t stop shaking.”

You sat up a little straighter. “Did they tell you how my powers work?”

He nodded, fiddling with the ends of his sleeves.

“Do you want me to come to your room with you? Or we can do it out here?”

“Here is fine. I don’t think the others would ever let me live it down if I took you to my room…”

“John’s an asshole, but he’s getting better. I’m sure they’d understand if you want the privacy.”

He shook his head. “Here is fine.”

You adjusted the pillows in the crook of the large gray sectional couch, grabbing the thick blanket you’d crocheted back in college from the back of it. Bob hovered at the armrest, waiting for instruction.

“So, when I’d calm Bucky, and heal his headaches and stuff, I would stand behind him and just kinda…touch his head. Scalp massage, that kinda thing. But you’ve got other stuff going on, huh?”

“Muscle aches.” Bob added. “And the tremors and stuff…”

“I don’t bite.” You promised, in an attempt to relieve the tension.

He gave a tentative little smile at that, taking a step closer. “So I just…get on top of you? Well, not like that. I just meant…”

“We’re gonna cuddle, Bob. Simple as that. Come here.”

It didn’t take more convincing. He swung a leg over awkwardly, arms settling in unsure positions on either side of you, face ever so close to yours, deep blue eyes counting the pores on your cheeks. He was shaking, heart hammering against your chest. You tangled one hand in his hair, the other tugging the thick blanket down over the two of you before finding a steady rhythm on his back.

A deep breath in. When you breathed out, you began to emit your healing energy, glowing faintly, your whole body warm like a heating pad.

Immediately, his body went slack and heavy atop yours, head heavy on your shoulder, a slow breath drawn out from his open lips. His eyes fluttered shut, the shaking stopped, and for the first time in a long time, there was no pain, just peace.

“You still with me, big guy?” You asked, unsure if he was still conscious or not.

“Mmmmm…”

“Feel better?”

He nodded, but it took him a while to find his words. “Yeah. Y-yes. Thank you. Feels…really good.”

“No problem.”

“I haven’t slept in days.” He confessed quietly. “I knew eventually I’d need to…come find you, but…you just got here and I didn’t want to crowd you. Or make you think that this was all they called you here for or…?”

“Oh I’m fully aware of that, Bob. That’s okay. It’s my power. Sam found me to help Bucky, back when he was weaning off of his mental conditioning. And whatever it is you’re going through, I’m going to help you, too. It’ll get easier eventually. Not right away, but…”

He nodded. “I know. I kind of…thought the serum they gave me would, uh…speedrun that process. I don’t think it did. Might have made it worse, really. My body is expecting another hit. Patterns and all that…”

“Mmm.” You toyed with his curls, gently petting his head in a way that was habit for sessions like these. Not that you did them often. Special occasions only. You studied the way his hair caught in your light, the patterns that struck the ceiling through the stitches in the blanket. Like a disco ball.

“How long can you…glow like this for?”

“At this frequency? All night. This kind of energy I can literally put out in my sleep. It’s why I don’t get invited to sleepovers.”

He laughed at that. “Would you? Tonight?”

You nodded. “Get some rest, buddy. You need it.”

“’M not crushing you?” He adjusted a little. As much as he could with your energy kneading his muscles into Jell-O.

You chuckled, shaking your head. He was a little heavy, but he wasn’t doing any serious damage. “No, this is fine.”

He was quiet for a long moment. So long, you wondered if he really had drifted off. But then he asked, “How long are you staying?”

“Probably a while. Since the big breakup, I’ve just kind of been…wandering. Trying to pick up the pieces. It’d be nice to have something stable. You?”

“Forever, I think.” Bob replied, sounding fairly sure of it. “I mean, as long as they’ll have me, I guess. I’m not much use without…the other guy around, but…I can do the dishes.”

“Trust me, in a place like this, someone has to do the dishes. They’d appreciate it.”

Another long patch of silence stretched. You anticipated a snore. Instead, you could almost feel him spiraling.

“You’re not scared? Of me? Did they tell you who I am?”

“If I was scared of you, you would not be on top of me right now.” You said with a chuckle. “I wasn’t afraid of the Winter Soldier or the Hulk. I’m not afraid of you. But yes. I know who you are. I’m not worried about the other guy. My only concern is Bob. And making sure Bob gets sleep.”

“Okay.” He exhaled a sigh. “Thank you. For this. I, uh…I owe you one.”

You felt his eyes on you for a long moment before his eyelids started to get heavy. His anxiety and the adrenaline that came with it weren’t strong enough to overpower you for long. But even so, his gaze was soft, curious, until the very moment it was gone.

Rain continued to pour on Manhattan, the wind blowing the droplets onto the glass every so often. Thunder rumbled softly in the distance. You wondered if Thor was out there somewhere still, causing it. And in your arms was a new breed of supersoldier, his body heavy with sleep, slow, deep breaths entering and leaving his lungs for the first time in what you knew was forever.

You were sure when he woke up the next morning, you’d figure all of this out. A routine for healing sessions until his symptoms stopped and whatnot. You’d get him a sleep mask so you weren’t glowing right in his eyes. Of course, right now, that wasn’t a problem, since he was so sleep deprived you could have knocked him out standing up. But it would be nice for him to have, nonetheless. All of these factors were familiar to you; you’d get them worked out.

But it might take longer, however, for you to figure out the new warmth that was swirling around your heart.

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #robert reynolds #sentry #marvel #avengers #the new avengers #the thunderbolts #the thunderbolts imagine #bob reynolds imagine

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faithsmadhouse · 2 days ago

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Miss gurl your max fics are giving me everything I want and now I see you posted about chubby reader?? Please would u do a piece about strong max manhandling chubby reader who doesnt believe he can handle it and he proves her wrong 😼

Prove me wrong||Max Verstappen x Chubby!Fem!reader

Summary— reader thinks she’s too much for max and he proves her wrong

Warnings— brief mentions of oral f receiving, ��spanking, praise, manhandling, shower sex/wall sex. I also can’t remember what else

Word count — 2245

You were lounging on the couch, curled up with a book when Max came up behind you, hands slipping around your waist. His fingers brushed the soft curve of your belly, and you immediately stiffened, instinctively pulling away. “Careful,” you muttered with a laugh. “I’m not exactly lightweight, you know.”

Max scoffed, his hands tightening their grip. “You think I can’t handle you?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m just saying… you’ve got cars to drive, not—”

Before you could finish, you found yourself lifted off the couch, strong arms securing you effortlessly. A gasp escaped your lips as your feet dangled off the floor, and Max’s smug grin appeared inches from your face. “What were you saying?”

“Max!” you squealed, hands clutching his shoulders. He didn’t even falter, his grip firm as if you weighed nothing. His hands slid to the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up until your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

“Light as a feather,” he teased, voice dripping with confidence. “Maybe I should carry you around all the time. Keep you close.”

Your cheeks burned, heart pounding as he began walking, steady and sure, as if he carried you every day. “Proved you wrong, huh?”

You swallowed hard, eyes meeting his. “Maybe you should try again…just to be sure.”

His grin widened. “Oh, I intend to.”

Max’s eyes darkened at your challenge, the flicker of something dangerous and thrilling sparking behind that familiar blue. Without another word, he tightened his grip, fingers pressing possessively into your thighs as he carried you effortlessly towards the bedroom.

You barely had time to process the shift before your back met the mattress, and Max followed, hovering above you. His hands didn’t leave your body—not for a second. They roamed over your curves, mapping the softness of your hips, the plushness of your thighs, the gentle swell of your stomach.

His eyes met yours, blazing with determination. “You think I don’t want this? That I can’t handle all of you?” His hands squeezed your thighs for emphasis, spreading them wider beneath him. “You’ve got no idea what I can handle, schat.”

Your breath hitched as he dipped his head, mouth tracing the line of your jaw, down to your neck. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer—closer than you thought possible. His touch was firm, possessive, like he was staking a claim. “I’ve been dying to show you,” he murmured against your skin, lips trailing fire down your throat.

You gasped when his hands slid under your shirt, fingers brushing bare skin. He pulled back just long enough to peel the fabric over your head, his gaze drinking you in. There wasn’t a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, only raw hunger. “Perfect,” he whispered, almost reverent, before his hands gripped your hips and yanked you towards him.

The strength of it made you cry out, back arching as he settled between your thighs. His mouth was on you again—hot, demanding, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the swell of your breasts, your stomach, your hips. He kissed every inch like it was something to be worshiped, and you were losing yourself in it.

“Max,” you breathed, fingers tangling in his hair as he looked up, eyes blazing. “I didn’t know—”

“That I could handle you?” he finished for you, lips quirking up into a grin. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, spreading them wider. “Let me show you just how wrong you are.”

Max didn’t wait for permission. His hands, strong and unyielding, gripped your thighs and pulled—hard. You yelped as he dragged you closer to the edge of the mattress, your body sliding effortlessly under his control. The grin he shot you was wicked, eyes glimmering with unspoken promises.

“See?” he rasped, voice low and rough. “Told you I could handle you.” He didn’t give you a moment to reply before his hands slid beneath your hips, lifting you clean off the mattress with a strength that had your breath catching.

“Max!” you gasped, but he only chuckled darkly, turning you with ease until you were on your stomach, hips raised, knees digging into the soft sheets. His large hands spread across your ass, squeezing possessively before one slid up your back, pressing you deeper into the mattress.

“You’re always so quick to doubt me,” he murmured, voice husky as he leaned over you, his chest flush with your back. His hand was still splayed firmly between your shoulder blades, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. “Guess I’ll have to remind you.”

You shivered as his lips traced the shell of your ear, his teeth grazing the lobe. “Gonna take everything I give you, aren’t you?”

A whimper escaped your lips, but that wasn’t enough for him. His hand came down sharply on your ass, the smack echoing in the room. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” you gasped, fingers curling into the sheets. “I’ll take it.”

“That’s my girl,” he growled, his hand soothing the sting with slow, deliberate circles. He shifted behind you, the mattress dipping under his weight as he positioned himself, his hands spreading your thighs wider, thumbs digging into the soft flesh. “Look at you,” he murmured appreciatively. “All spread out for me… ready to be handled.”

Before you could even catch your breath, he gripped your hips again, pulling you back to meet him. The force of it sent a shockwave through your body, and you cried out, his name tumbling from your lips. He didn’t relent—instead, he set a rhythm that was unyielding, powerful. Every snap of his hips was punctuated with a grunt of satisfaction, like he was proving a point with every thrust.

You tried to push back, to meet his movements, but he wasn’t having it. One of his hands slid up to the back of your neck, pressing you deeper into the mattress, holding you firmly in place. “Stay still,” he commanded, voice dripping with dominance. “Let me do the work.”

And God, he did. He drove into you with a force that bordered on brutal, but you loved it, craved it. His grip was ironclad, pulling and pushing you exactly how he wanted, manhandling you like you weighed nothing at all. His hands roamed, squeezing your hips, sliding up to your waist, gripping you tight enough to leave marks.

“You still think I can’t handle you?” he panted, breath coming hot and heavy against your back.

“N-No,” you choked out, fingers clenching the sheets. “You can…you can.”

His laugh was rough and dark. “Damn right, I can.” His hand came down on your ass again, the sting mixing with the pleasure until you were trembling beneath him. “And I’m not done with you yet.”

Max didn’t give you a second to catch your breath. His grip on your hips was relentless, large hands holding you steady as he picked up the pace, each thrust harder, deeper, like he was determined to make you feel him everywhere. Your moans spilled out, unrestrained and desperate, but it only seemed to spur him on.

“That’s it,” he growled, voice thick with satisfaction. “Let everyone hear how well you’re taking it.” His hand came down again with a sharp slap, and you cried out, the sting sending a fresh wave of heat through your body. He bent over you, chest pressing into your back as his mouth found your ear. “Knew you could handle it. Knew you could take everything I give you.”

His hand slid from your hip to your throat, fingers wrapping around the sides, tilting your head back until you were arching into him. The stretch of it made you gasp, eyes fluttering shut as his teeth scraped along your neck. “Feel so good,” he murmured against your skin, voice dripping with pride. “So perfect… just for me.”

He straightened up, hands gripping your waist once more, and suddenly you were lifted—hauled up until your back was flush against his chest. His hand splayed across your stomach, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he held you up, your feet barely touching the floor. “See?” he whispered, his other hand slipping down between your thighs, fingers rubbing slow, deliberate circles. “Told you I could handle you.”

Your hands flew back to grasp at his shoulders, holding on as he moved you with an effortless strength that made your head spin. His hand on your stomach pulled you tighter against him, making you feel every inch, every flex of muscle as he thrust up into you. It was raw, powerful, and you could feel how much he loved it—how much he loved you.

“You like that?” he growled, breath hot against your ear. His hand slipped lower, teasing you with just enough pressure to make your knees shake. “You like knowing I can do this? That I can throw you around however I want?”

“Y-Yes,” you gasped, head falling back against his shoulder. His grip tightened, and you felt the low rumble of his chuckle against your back.

“Good,” he whispered darkly. “Because I’m not stopping until you forget your own name.”

Without warning, he turned you in his arms, your feet barely hitting the floor before he lifted you again, your back hitting the wall with a thud that knocked the breath from your lungs. His hands were everywhere—gripping, exploring, owning every part of you as he buried himself in you again, hard and deep. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, holding on as he drove you higher, every thrust sending sparks down your spine.

“You still doubting me?” he panted, teeth grazing the side of your neck, his hands bracing your thighs as he held you there like you weighed nothing.

“N-No,” you stammered, nails digging into his shoulders. “Never… never again.”

“Damn right,” he growled, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “Now hold on, because I’m nowhere near done proving it.”

Max’s grin was feral as he held you against the wall, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, his hands gripping your thighs with bruising strength. His breathing was ragged, eyes fixed on you with a hunger that made your stomach flip. “Still with me, sweetheart?” he asked, voice rough and dripping with satisfaction.

You could only nod, breathless and dazed, and his grin widened. “Good,” he murmured, shifting his grip. His hands slid under your thighs, and before you could process the movement, he lifted you—effortlessly—and began walking towards the bathroom.

“Max—” you started, clutching his shoulders. He didn’t break his stride, his grip firm and unyielding as he pushed the bathroom door open with his foot. The room was cool against your flushed skin, and you shivered as he set you down on the counter, his hands never leaving your body.

“Think I’m done proving my point?” he asked, eyes glittering as he leaned in, his hands braced on either side of you. His gaze roamed over you—disheveled, breathless, completely under his control—and the corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. “Not even close.”

He reached over, turning the shower on, the water splattering against the tile with a hiss of steam. His hands returned to you immediately, sliding under your thighs to pull you to the edge of the counter, his mouth crashing against yours. It was messy, all teeth and tongue, his hands gripping you like he never wanted to let go.

“Up,” he growled, tapping your thighs, and you barely had time to comply before he lifted you again, carrying you under the hot spray of the shower. Water cascaded over both of you, soaking your hair and slicking your skin, but Max didn’t seem to notice. His focus was entirely on you—on the way your body reacted to his touch, the way your breath hitched every time he pulled you closer.

Your back pressed against the cool tile, and he caged you in, his hands spreading your thighs with practiced ease. “I want you to hold on,” he commanded, voice husky as his hands slid to grip your ass. “I’m not letting go until you understand just how strong I am.”

You barely had time to react before he lifted you again, pressing you up against the wall. The water streamed down your bodies, mixing with the heat and urgency between you. His hips snapped forward, and you cried out, nails clawing at his shoulders as he set a relentless rhythm. The steam curled around you, fogging the glass as his hands held you firmly in place, your weight supported entirely by his strength.

“Max,” you whimpered, the sensation overwhelming as he drove into you with powerful, precise thrusts. He chuckled darkly against your neck, his teeth scraping your skin.

“You feel that?” he growled, voice vibrating through your bones. “You still think I can’t handle you?” His hands gripped you harder, pulling you closer, deeper, until you couldn’t think—couldn’t breathe. All you could do was hold on, trusting him to keep you steady as he unraveled you.

Your legs tightened around him, hips moving with his, and his hand slid up your back, pressing you even closer. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice rough and thick with pride. “Take it. Take everything I give you.”

The water continued to pour over both of you, washing away the evidence of his dominance only for him to mark you again, harder, deeper. His fingers dug into your skin, leaving bruises that you’d find later—reminders of just how thoroughly he’d proven you wrong.

#f1 smut #f1 x you #formula one x you #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #formula one x reader #f1 x female reader #formula one x y/n #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x female reader #max verstappen smut #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen one shot

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moyazaika · 1 day ago

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yandere! childe (genshin impact) x fem! reader

cw; (1.9k wc) darling wears glasses, obsessive + possessive themes, allusions to violence, implied non-con, nsfw themes, mdni 18+

genie's notes; commissioned piece by @lucienbarkbark who was an angel to work with! it's always fun to dive into fanfic so thank you for giving me the opportunity to do so; have fun reading! ♡

the snezhnayan winters are deathly cold, but even then, they are not nearly as chilling as your husband’s ire.

rarely are you ever the object of his interrogation, but there are those inevitable few moments you’re reminded of how old habits really do die hard—you slip up, in spite of all your best efforts—and hell freezes over.

take, for instance, right now.

because although his lips curl into something akin to a smile, you know childe far too well to believe this is anything but a deception, returned in favour of your own omissions.

the heat of the nearby fireplace’s flames lick at your feet and are, you recognise, the last remnants of warmth in the room. even the heavy fur coat draped over your shaking shoulders does little to protect you against childe’s blue eyes, cutting into you like shards of dark ice.

“ajax,” you plead. “i’m—”

“a liar.” childe finishes for you; his voice is deceptively gentle, soft as a lull. it devastates you when he laughs. “you’re a liar, my love.”

he’s got all of your letters in his hands. already, you know you’ve lost. the envelopes have been ripped open and the codes deciphered. how stupid of you to believe you could make a fool of the eleventh harbinger.

the silence that follows; settles down into the space between the two of you, is long and languid. your husband is in no rush to speak, seemingly content in merely taking in the way you’re squirming before him. he is eager, yet impassive, in his appraisal. it’s not the reverent sort you’ve gotten so used to, for there are no sweet nothings whispered against your skin as he lets his eyes linger on the softest parts of you.

tonight, his observation is more akin to an examination. an analysis, perhaps. like he’s looking for something—finds it, you realise with a sinking feeling, as his gaze snags on your hands, curled up by your sides, and marred by deep, black, ink.

damning markers of your disloyalty.

instinctively, you let the sleeves of your coat fall past your wrists. it’s a futile attempt at delaying the inevitable, and it makes you feel like nothing more than a guilty little girl having been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. you can’t stand the silence anymore. you really need to just—

archons—

the hair on your skin stands on end when he finally deigns to meet your eyes. beneath the weight of his cold gaze, you think anything would be better than this. it’s difficult not to walk right into the fireplace; lie down amidst the welcoming warmth of the flames that burn so brightly.

“i tried to trust you, y’know? i let you send your family little letters, and i never opened any of them even when all i wanted,” he confesses, “was to tear those pretty envelopes apart. i’ll admit, i even thought about breaking a finger or two a couple of times, did you know that? nothing to post if you can’t write.”

he looks to you for an answer, and it’s all you can do to stare back. he shakes his head, then. “no, no. of course you don’t know. how could you? you thought you had me all figured out.”

you have to force yourself to speak, because the words don’t come easy when you’re on the verge of a meltdown. you don’t even recognise the strangled sound of your own voice. “i’m sorry. i’m so, so sorry. please don’t hate me.”

“sweetheart,” he chides, fingers pulling the corners of his lips down into a melodramatic frown. “i could never hate you. i’m just, y’know, curious.” he lets his hand fall back to his side, pale mouth splitting into a sharp grin as he takes a step closer. “only wondering where i went wrong with you, that’s all.”

“nowhere. you didn’t.” your eyes are burning, though his are still crystal clear. lucid. sharp. he is immovable. you feel like the yielding force of weightless waters that split apart before a glacier’s path. “it’s all my fault.”

“i thought we put all this behind us. that you’d finally gotten it through your head.” he stalks closer, even steps far too measured to be casual. “imagine my surprise when i read these letters my wife begged me to let her send to her family and, ohh! would you look at that?”

“my little wife,” childe's voice falls completely flat, “thinks she can leave me.”

you cast a quick glance around your bedroom, scanning the space in your immediate vicinity for anything to hold onto. the vacant eyes of porcelain dolls and ornately carved figurines from your favourite novels all stare back at you emptily. a typewriter gathering dust by the windowsill. how it used to delight you at first, filling your monotonous days holed up within the walls of your husband’s prison by decorating it with pretty things.

they’re all useless to you now.

you wonder why childe chose not to cut off your fingers. he should have, you think. then you would never have ended up here. then maybe you would never have had any hope.

but you know the answer to your own question. after all, you’ve known him long enough to understand that childe finds great amusement in the way you still manage to carry that quiet hope within you.

oftentimes, he’ll catch you roaming the halls of this maze-like palace, attempting to mentally chart your way out. and every time he catches up to you, he’ll laugh, and press a kiss to your cheek, as if he knows exactly what you’re up to. as if it’s some sweet, private jest the two of you share.

“please, ajax.” you try again, “tsaritsa’s soul, i never meant to—”

“yeah, yeah. save it, love. there’ll be plenty of opportunities to beg for forgiveness later on.” you know it’s all for show when he pretends to think something over; nothing more than a performance when he suddenly snaps his fingers with an eager grin. “oh, that reminds me! i actually have something i needed to tell you.”

you watch as he thumbs through the stack of opened letters in his hands. you catch glimpses of your familiar scrawl; the desperation painfully obvious in your every etching onto the papers, begging your family to send a saviour, to reach out to the adventurer’s guild or the archons and send a cavalry to come knocking down the doors of the tsaritsa’s palace.

“you’ll love this one, sunshine.“i mean, well, you kinda have to. don’t have much of a choice, huh?”

all of it is a performance. from the ease with which he tosses the envelopes into the fire down to the very cadence of his voice as it takes on a familiar, sickeningly sweet lilt. you know this because you remain acutely aware of the fact that childe knew exactly what he was going to do with you the moment he finished reading those letters.

that doesn’t mean you’re ready for it.

“we’re going to liyue, lovely. i’m going to let you see your family again. i mean, isn’t that so much nicer than sending a letter? we’ll even catch the lantern rite whilst we’re there.” you sink deeper into your furs, stumbling away from him for every step he takes closer. “figured it’d be good for you.”

childe’s voice dips an octave lower, and the curl to his lips is a mockery of the usual smile that sits there just for you. “good for the baby, too.”

“tartaglia.” it’s impossible to see his face through the tears; everything in the room takes on the haze of a distant memory, and you wish, so desperately, that this moment would be over sooner. you could tuck it away within the recesses of your mind and never visit it again. let it be another lesson. “what baby?”

“your mother was overjoyed at the news.” he hums absently, “she said something about your haircut? mentioned already working extra hours to commission new baby clothes.”

your back hits a wall. and finally, with nowhere left to go and no saviour here to help you, childe takes his sweet time in catching up to you; and when he finally does, it’s all you can do to keep your neck painfully craned and looking up at him without falling to your knees.

“aren’t you excited, sweetheart?” he tilts his head, lifts a palm to cup your face. he’s smiling so earnestly, but his eyes are completely dull. you try searching for a sliver of the sunny man childe can sometimes be, and find, in place of the sunshine, the cold rays of light that hit shimmering snow and dissipate into nothing, instead. “finally, a family of our own making. it’ll be nice to go back to liyue, too.”

“i don’t understand.”

“it's simple, my love,” childe’s lithe fingers creep beneath the heavy fur coat you’re wearing. with deft hands, he slides it off your shoulders in one fluid motion. it falls onto the floor, dangerously close to the fireplace. a shiver rolls down your spine as you instinctively inch closer to your husband, seeking any semblance of warmth within the freezing halls of the palace. “it’s only tradition. it takes a village to raise a baby.” he laughs. “trust me, i know. my sisters were the sweetest little girls, but the boys have been a handful since birth. we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

“…ajax? i never—”

“i’m trying, y’know?” he takes off your glasses and presses a lingering kiss to your cheek. sighs against your skin as he folds up the frames and tucks them aside. “i’m trying very hard to be a good man for you, sweetheart.”

"listen to me, i—"

"you missed your family, sunlight. i get it, i’m a busy guy. i clearly wasn’t giving you as much attention as you needed. you obviously had too much free time on your hands. i figured if we had a family to tend to, that’d keep you busy. plus,” he grins. “i wouldn’t need to take your fingers! you’d never turn to anyone outside of zapolyarny. maybe, finally, you would also have something to love.”

you can barely breathe. “no, no i don't want—”

“you’ll learn to,” childe smiles. this time, finally, it reaches his eyes. “you’re going to adore our little one. trust me, sunlight; we’re going to be the only family you’ll ever need.”

you search his face for something, anything—and your heart breaks at the sight. you turn to the side, can’t even bear to face the man before you for a second longer, when all you find is a terrifying absence of anything but the deepest depths of conviction.

in the distance, as childe works to shed your body of all these elaborate furs between flittering kisses, you can already hear the sound of fireworks. when he sinks into you; a baby’s wailing cry.

the fire crackles cruelly, as your letters of desperation turn to ash, going unanswered for eternity right before your eyes.

#tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin x you #yandere tartaglia #yandere childe #yandere childe x reader #yandere childe x you #yandere x darling #commission

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metellastella · 1 day ago

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I would imagine so.

Remember that official protein requirements are a lot lower than most people imagine them to be. Afaik it’s broadly believed by researchers that Americans greatly over-consume protein. Your body can only absorb a certain amount a day before it merely starts breaking it down to get at those 4 calories a gram, or storing via the bloodstream carrying it to the liver and converting it to fat. Just like literally any other macro you ingest. It’s not that special, as much as the diet industry wants you to think so, in order to buy into their marketing and shell out for their products.

“Biology of being omnivores” would, according to nutrition and health outcome studies, justify maaayyybe eating meat a few meals a week. Chimpanzees only eat the equivalent of 1 meal a week, despite the fact that they could eat it at any time they want! This is the closest natural blueprint we have to what early hominids would’ve eaten instinctually, without cultural influence or tampering of ‘cleverness in what’s easiest to get.’ They share 98% of our DNA, so it’s very doubtful our DNA and therefore physiology in the form of digestive system, has changed that drastically.

Anthologists have proposed switching our name for early people from ‘hunter-gatherers’ to ‘gatherer-hunters’ to more accurately reflect the reality of what archeological evidence and modern study of most indigenous groups tells us.

Basically, that period right before we invented tools, when we were truly cavemen, (which if I remember correctly is more of a Hollywood term: African tribes didn’t have need of caves?) which is like a TINY BLIP in terms of evolutionary time, doesn’t even indicate for much outside of plant matter.

And regardless of any of that, Appeal to Nature is not valid in the field of philosophy. ‘We’re omnivores’ is not a morals-related argument anymore than ‘well a good number of men naturally want to dominate and/or r%pe women’ is a moral argument for that type of violence. If someone thinks it’s a biological obligation to eat meat, (it isn’t) then they’d need to name an essential nutrient that can’t be synthesized in the body or met elsewhere. (there isn’t one). No major dietetics organization affirms this premise. And still that would be entirely unrelated to morals. Maybe vaguely related to praxis? No, I don’t think even then.

Also,

I just think that 'animals are living intelligent creatures that have feelings and deserve to be respected' and 'when done properly farming is beneficial to both people and animals and there's nothing wrong with raising and killing animals for food, clothing, and other products' are concepts that very much can and should coexist

#animal behavior #human evolution #herbivore #carnivore #< and why those terms are a little misleading to the more complex reality #humans are frugivores #nutrition #meal planning #diet culture #hunter gatherer #anthropology #philosophy #logical fallacies

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moesthoughts · 3 days ago

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right where you left me

pairing : ex lottie matthews x reader

warnings : angst, hurt and comfort, exes to lovers, cannibalism and blood mentions, wilderness lottie

summary : lottie’s mind hasn’t left you ever since you broke up before the crash, luckily she’s the one to find you when you get lost in the forest.

So many months passed by since the plane crashed in the middle of nowhere, leaving you and your whole team stranded in a forest. Nobody has come to rescue you, everyone has lost hope. You try to remember the person you were when you got on that plane, how happy you were to get out of the house for once and fucking play in nationals. You aren’t that girl anymore, how could you return to that state of mind? Blood coating your hands, eating other human beings for survival, you’re no longer innocent.

Now that the summer has come, and the harsh heat controls everybody’s mood even more than the winter has, you decide to take up the job of foraging. It’s an easy way to get away from everyone, and you get to use the knowledge you’ve learned thus far for good. Picking berries that won’t make people sick, mushrooms that won’t kill, you wonder if you stab into a tree hard enough you’ll get maple syrup too.

You’ve been walking for hours, and no markers you previously made are visible. You’re starting to worry; there’s no way you can be lost. No matter how much your feet are screaming at you to stop walking you keep going, and going, and going. Until you stop, giving up entirely. You sit on a log a bury your face into your hands, the reality of being lost settling in. You wonder how Javi survived all that time, especially in the winter. Could you do that? Tears sting the corner of your eyes, your shoulders starting to shake from the stress. The best thing you can do is stay put and hope for the best.

You’re finally thinking about getting off your ass when you hear footsteps from behind you, your head perks up and turns to see who it is. Though, you’re disappointed to see it’s your ex girlfriend, Lottie Matthews. You two broke up before nationals, you’ve never played so well at a soccer game. It wasn’t like she was a bad person, she was emotionally distant from you, and you couldn’t handle that. So you split up. Now here she is, somehow finding you at your worst.

“You shouldn’t be this far.”

Lottie speaks, making a chill run down your spine. You can’t help but nod in agreement, that much was obvious. You don’t know how you managed to lose your way around woods you’re so familiar with. She sat down next to you, resting her arms on her legs. She has that same soft look as always, minus the malice that shined in her eyes.

“Did they send you to find me?”

You mumble in response. You wipe your face, wet with tears. Lottie’s face expression softens, a small huff coming from her mouth. You want to believe that she was forced to come out to get you, that you’re a burden on her back, you want her to hate you. Her fingers caress your arm, your wants washing away at her touch. Lottie could never hate you, she’s constantly worrying about your health, your feelings, but she stays away for your sake.

“I came out here to find you, because I was worried.”

She was whispering, her tone being sickeningly sweet. Your eyes fall on her, welling with tears. You feel so many emotions, yet you don’t know how to express them. She walked all this way just to find you, and god knows how far you are from camp. You feel warm inside, knowing that Lottie still cares about you. You didn’t stop loving her, and you never had any harsh feelings towards her. It was unfortunate what happened, you know, you shouldn’t get that close with her again. However, with the look she’s giving you and her gentle touch on your skin, you can’t help but scoot closer to her.

“Lottie..”

You stare at her, taking in her beautiful face. She softly smiles, her hand traveling to your back. You two are closer than ever, you feel her warm breath on your face. Her lips are the prettiest pink, and her eyes are drawing you closer. You shouldn’t do this, get yourself intertwined with her again. It feels so right though, her touch, her smile, her tone. It brings you back to the person you used to be, the girl you want to have back so desperately.

“I don’t want to make you uncomf—“

Lottie shushes you, her free hand resting on your cheek. You press your lips together, trying to maintain eye contact with the girl in front of you. Memories flood your mind, the make out sessions in your bedroom, the phone calls, the pregame kisses, her touch lingering on your body every time she left. Unlike you, Lottie embraces the person she’s turned into. You wonder if you should ditch the nostalgia, and accept yourself.

“This is supposed to happen.”

Her words are all it takes to convince you to bridge the gap between you both. Your lips are on hers, the kiss is gentle, needy. Lottie’s hands are idle on your body, while yours travel hers, trying to cover every curve you’ve missed so much. She presses her body against yours, giving you the warmth you’ve needed so desperately. That same dizzy sensation you always felt before the crash hitting you hard. Maybe this was supposed to happen, fate pulled you both back together, or whatever “it” is was the cause. You know fully that’s what she believes.

You break off the kiss and stare at her plump lips, a breathy giggle escapes her. It’s like looking at an old painting, relishing a sight you’ve longed to see. Lottie pulls you up to your feet, her eyes lingering on you before grabbing your hand.

“Let’s head back.”

not a req BUT I ADORE THIS IDEA UGHHHH

req me!

masterlist

#yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets #lottie matthews x you #lottie matthews x reader #lottie matthews #yellowjackets imagines #yellowjackets smut #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets imagine #moeswriting #moesthoughts

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luvyeni · 23 hours ago

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whore in theory ๑. ( 스트레이키즈 )

[ req? yes / no ]

𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗘 ─── skz thinking you’re innocent but what you’re saying is totally opposite…

( 対 ) ot8!skz + fem. reader wc. 1k genre smut · contains! mentions of sex , language , no actual sex mature content. / back to library

﹙ 𝐢𝐯.ㅤ 방찬 : bang chan﹚ .ᐟ

his ears are bright red; he laughing his ass off not to embarrass you , but he’s in such a state of shock. “ah you’re so cute.” he pulls you into his lap , kissing your cheek. “someone has been doing some reading.” whispering in your ear. “where did you learn this from princess?” yeah he’s turned on , but he also thinks it’s such a funny thing , hearing you speak so dirty even though you have no idea of what you’re talking about. rubbing your thighs. “you me to teach you how to do a few of those things hm?” his voice darker than before. “you gotta be a good girl though.”

﹙ 𝐢𝐯.ㅤ 리노 : lee know﹚ .ᐟ

he loves this shit bad , it turns him on — hearing the filthy shit you say throughout the day , it doesn’t phase him , he just smirks .. because he knows you have no idea what you’re talking about , he literally taught you everything you know. he’s gonna play with you , pinning you down to your bed as soon as you get home. “you’re so shocked.” he smirked. “wh-what are you doing?” he’s got you sweating and flustered. “remember everything you were saying earlier? you sounded like a whore.” he said. “i wanna see you do it.” you gulped. “come on show me.” slowly unbuckling your pants. “i want you to do everything you were talking about.”

﹙ 𝐢𝐯.ㅤ 창빈 : changbin﹚ .ᐟ

much like lino , he’ll let you keep going , the smuggest look on his face , arms folded — but when he gets you home alone , he’s quick to pin you down on the bed. “b-binnie.” you whimper. “isn’t this what you want?” his head tilting to the side in amusement. “for me to pin you down and use you? isn’t that what you said?” he said. “i’m only doing what you asked of me baby.” grinding his hips , you whimper. “what kind of man would i be if i don’t satisfy my woman? not a good one that’s what i know.”

﹙ 𝐢𝐯.ㅤ 현진 : hyunjin ﹚ .ᐟ

just a giggling mess , he can’t believe how dirty you’re talking right now. how did you even know what to say , he never even did anything that you’re saying… but now he wants to try. “you sound confident pretty.” he says. “do you know what you’re saying right now?” your words are finally catching up to you. “no-no.” the giggle he lets out makes your stomach drop. “but you were sure , you want to show me what you meant?” he said beckoning you over to sip on his lap. “you’re shaking like a leaf.” he said , rubbing your thighs. “let’s try a few of those naughty things you were so sure of a few minutes ago.”

﹙ 𝐢𝐯.ㅤ 한 : hanji﹚ .ᐟ

he’s turned on and shocked from the first comment that comes out of your mouth. “baby.” he’s scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “hmm.” you don’t even know what you’re doing to him , turning to him. “what’s wrong?” you said completely oblivious to what you were doing to him. “please stop talking like that.” he can’t take it. “you’re turning me on.” he said , cheeks flushed. “sorry.” you said , unclear of what to do. “do you need my help?” he nods. “fuck yes , yes i do.”

﹙ 𝐢𝐯.ㅤ 필릭스 : felix﹚ .ᐟ

he’s in shock; his sweet baby talking like this? much to his knowledge the only thing you knew how to do is lay back and be pretty while he eats you out — but the words you were saying; my god he was hard as hell now. “princess come here.” he watched you smile , as you plop down in his lap , eyes widening as you feel how hard he is. “fe-felix you’re– why?” he does a little smirk. “why? because all the shit you were saying earlier that’s why.” he said. “oh i didn’t know.” “of course you didn’t , but you’re gonna be a good girl and learn today okay.”

﹙ 𝐢𝐯.ㅤ 승민 : seungmin﹚ .ᐟ

another one like lino , he knows you’re lying , but hearing you say how much you want to ride him — it intrigues him , he wants to see you do it. so as soon as you get home he’s telling you to go to the room. “strip.” you’re confused because so far the only thing you’ve done is suck him off. “wh-why?” he scoffs. “didn’t you say how much you want to ride my cock?” he said. “what is it you said? i won’t be able to last long if you ride me.” he said , laying down , pulling his pants down enough to release his cock. “so come on, sit on my cock and ride me.”

﹙ 𝐢𝐯.ㅤ 아이엔 : i.n﹚ .ᐟ

at first he’s flustered; why are you saying such things even though he knows that he basically has to explain everything to you when it comes to sexual stuff. after a while , he starts to get turned on , hearing you say all this stuff … so he wants you to repeat it , while he’s replicating exactly what you were telling him. “no , no don’t shy away now.” grabbing your cheeks forcing you to look up at him. “you said you wanted to choke on my cock right , make a mess right?” he said with that crazy smirk. “come on baby let me teach you , teach you how to do exactly what you said.”

©️LUVYENI

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pencilofawesomeness · 16 hours ago

Text

Danny blamed the new environment for his forgetfulness. Getting used to university life was a lot, and getting used to Gotham was even more. Danny liked to think he handled it well, and Gotham with her perpetual musty ectoplasm grew on him quicker than he imagined, but he could only allocate so much brainpower to this stuff, and that meant that the passage of time evaded him, and so did his Death Day. Whoops.

Granted, he didn’t have the familiar ghosts of Amity clearing out in a polite gesture or even hovering nearby to help alleviate the symptoms. Death days were touchy subjects and private moments; it went unspoken not to heckle each other on those days.

Nobody here knew his Death Day in advance, of course. Aside from this being his first year, he wasn’t part of the community yet, even though he was quickly becoming respected by reputation and might. (There weren’t even as many fully realized Realms ghosts around anyway.) However, when Danny ducked into an alley to ride out the phantom (ha) pains of being electrocuted for the fourth time in his life, halfway through he became distantly aware of another ectobeing hovering over him, solid and comforting hands on his shoulders. It must have been obvious to a spectral passerby what was happening. Back in Amity, or in the depths of the Realms, no stranger would approach without implicit permission, but etiquette was different in Gotham. He was still learning, but ghosts tended to be even more brazen—for good or bad. This one hadn’t done anything yet, so Danny doubted they would. He simply let it be and resolved to cringe over it later.

With the realization he wasn’t alone, the delirium started to fade, slowly but surely. That was worse than the pain, in Danny’s opinion. The pain fucking sucked, and he hated the way his body spasmed, but he was used to all manner of injury. It wasn’t as jarring anymore.

Danny heaved for breath, belatedly realizing he shot himself in the foot by having this episode in living form. What a fucking idiot. Granted, he was already an idiot for spending today anywhere but his bed. Or maybe in the Far Frozen. Ah, well, the worst of it was over and Danny would endeavor to do better next year. (And the next year. And the next. And the next.) That was all there was to it, now.

“I can’t believe I gotta go through that every year,” Danny bemoaned with a weak chuckle. His throat rasped. Had he screamed this year? Ancients he hoped not. He couldn’t decide if that would be more or less embarrassing in front of a stranger—although one who might be a neighbor. Gotham ghosts didn’t like wandering far from their haunt or person of interest, even though the city itself was one massive territory thanks to the city spirit. Okay, yeah, Danny settled on being embarrassed.

His companion stiffened, pulling back as Danny tried to straighten himself, rubbing and blinking the annoying black spots from his eyes from the fake-electrocution.

“Kid?” a tight, deep voice questioned. “You with me?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s over,” Danny assured. “Mine is at least quick.” He leaned back and finally got a good look at the guy who decided to keep him company. He reminded Danny a little of himself, tall and dark haired, except with broader shoulders. Very… solid broad shoulders…

Shit, wait. Was this guy alive?!

Danny miscalculated. Another gigantic L for today. Fantastic.

“Sure, sure,” mysterious living guy muttered, before scrutinizing him with a crease of worry. “How many fingers am I holding up? What was the last thing you remember?”

“Three, and uh… I remember walking back here. Yeah.” What was he supposed to say? This was suddenly not a safe place, even though the guy didn’t seem predatory in the classic Gotham fashion. Just concerned. That almost made it worse, because Danny couldn’t bail on that.

The man dragged a hand down his face with a ragged huff. “Shit, kid, I thought you were about to OD from heroin, or something, but you’re suddenly lucid. What the fuck was that? And don’t bother lying. No cops are going to be involved.”

Oh. Ohhhhh. This guy must have seen Danny twitching and delirious. In a dirty alley. In Gotham. The least favorite part of Gotham for the living, in fact, called “Crime Alley” in a stunning display of creativity. Of course he must have thought it was something like that.

If Danny was smart, he would roll with it. Maybe make up some BS about trying mushrooms for the first time and use it to skedaddle away. However, as established for the day, Danny was a fucking idiot, so instead he opened his big, unfiltered, idiotic mouth and blurted, “Overdosing looks like being electrocuted?”

“...what?”

Good job, Danny. “What?” he parroted dumbly. Now would be a good time to slide into the earth and become one with the Gunk of Gotham.

Wait. Wait. He might be near the infamous ectoplasmic Sewer Slide but he hadn’t mistaken the pulse of a core, weak though it was. This guy was solid and breathing but he was ecto-tainted enough to be more than just tainted. He still very much was an ecto-being, surely, so Danny actually hadn’t messed up. As much.

While the guy was busy gaping at him incredulously, Danny scrutinized him back, reaching out with his core experimentally. A weak and sludgy thing pinged back, clearly surprising the guy. Okay, so that was a dirty, tiny core. Not a full one. The guy was more alive than Danny was, in the sense that his core was more of an accessory than a core. It was on the tip of his tongue. If Frostbite showed up right now with an ecto-being pop quiz, he would fail it right now. Though this had to be a rare one, in his defense.

Well, whatever he was, the state of his ectoplasm was sad and rancid. Poor guy.

“What are you even on right now?” said poor guy asked, leaning back with a sort of battle-ready wariness Danny recognized in a lot of Gothamites, spectre or not. However, his sad little core pulsed in time with Danny’s, hungry and desperate. Has he ever had any good ectoplasm? Sheesh.

Unless. Maybe this guy was like those sad shades or blobs that got perpetually stuck in the Gunk and had rotten cores for it. This guy didn’t seem too far gone though. Or like he was unable to physically leave the Sewer Slide. Still, he clearly had to ask for a reason.

Ah, fuck it. Even if Danny wanted to crawl under his covers and still his jittery nerves, he couldn’t leave this guy hanging. Especially after he tried to help Danny, despite being very wrong about it.

“I can get you to some ectoplasm,” Danny promised. “The good stuff. It’ll take some time, but it’ll fix all�� that.” He smiled in good humor, gesturing vaguely to his core. “And your earlier offer extends to me as well. No cops involved. As you can tell now, I’m more like you than you think.” He paused awkwardly. “And definitely not overdosing on anything. But thanks for checking.”

The guy—a revenant, maybe, or some other undead or something—narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. Carefully. Well, if he thought there was a catch—or if he could eat Danny—then he was sorely mistaken. Danny understood what it was like to be a clueless baby ecto-being, so he wouldn’t mess around with this, coming down from a death echo or not.

“Sure,” the guy finally said. “Show me where you got this… ectoplasm.”

DpxDc #17

What a (death) day.

Jason was going to kill whoever was selling drugs to kids in the alley.

The boy on the ground was shaking, barely breathing, and coughing up blood. The poor guy was coming down from a seizure, almost suffocating on his own spit.

Luckily, Jason saw him on time and was able to help put him in a safe position. He almost had a heart attack seeing a kid having an overdose in a lonely alley.

He rubbed the kid's back, trying to stimulate breathing, begging internally for his heart to keep beating.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

The black-haired teenager kept mumbling between breaths, muscles twitching like a dying bug.

Jason could only try and help as much as he could. He wasn't going to call an ambulance, since unfortunately, there was a high chance that his call was going to be rejected due to the location and nature of the emergency.

Drug overdose was too common; they would tell you to make sure they don't choke and hang up on you.

"I'm sorry..."

"Shh... It's alright, you're going to be okay..."

What a shitty, shitty day.

It hit him like a truck, the pain in his chest.

He was just walking back to his hotel room after visiting Gotham University, when it started.

Danny compleatly fucking forgot about his death day.

He was able to drag himself into an empty alley, trying not to die of embarrassment as he was starting to feel his arm tingle.

This was going to suck.

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dp death day #jason todd #my hand slipped I added to another prompt #both danny and jason: “man this guy needs a doctor”#danny definitely thought they were on the same page after the echo core location but NOPE #now Jason definitely thinks that “ectoplasm” is a new drug #jokes on him he's about to get infodumped by a guy still walking off the jitters #danny is way too good at ignoring the horrors

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sweetstrawberryys · 21 hours ago

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“She’s in Labor?!?”

Summary: Your water breaks, and the strongest, deadliest men on Earth suddenly forget how to function.

Rating: Hilarious chaos with heartwarming panic and big brother energy (plus one very protective husband)

---

Soap (Johnny McTavish)

He’s the first one to scream.

You were just standing in the kitchen, eating frozen grapes, when your face suddenly scrunched. Then came the sentence that would send him into orbit:

“Um… I think my water just broke.”

Johnny blinked. “Broke what?”

You stared at him. “My. Water.”

“…OH BLOODY HELL.”

He spun in three full circles before grabbing his phone, keys, your hospital bag, and accidentally—his tactical vest.

“Johnny!” you shouted. “You don’t need your combat knife!”

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT I NEED RIGHT NOW!”

Ends up driving you to the hospital with one hand on the wheel and the other clenched around yours like you’re defusing a bomb. Tears in his eyes. Keeps whispering, “You’ve got this, love. You’re so damn strong. I’m right here.”

He does not leave your side. Not for water. Not to pee. Not for God himself.

---

Price (Captain John Price)

If he’s the dad, he’s prepared. Had your hospital bag packed two months ago. Knew the signs. Has a backup plan. A spreadsheet.

But the moment you say, “It’s time,” that man goes dead silent.

You: “John, did you hear me?”

Price: Nods slowly, blinks once.

You: “…Are you okay?”

Price: Already lifting you like a damn princess. “Yeah. Yeah, just—f**king hell, it’s happening.”

He becomes hyperfocused. He’s the one timing contractions, double-checking your breathing, adjusting your seatbelt, coaching you the whole way with that deep, calming voice:

“You’re doin’ perfect, love. Deep breaths. Almost there. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

And when it’s finally time? He kisses your forehead and whispers, “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

---

Gaz (Kyle Garrick)

Gaz is a mess. Like, heart pounding, phone upside down, nearly calls 911 when you say, “My water just broke.”

“Wait—wait, like, now? Now now???”

“Yes, Kyle.”

“Okay—okay! Don’t panic. Don’t panic. One of us has to stay calm, and you’re kinda busy!”

He accidentally forgets the hospital bag, then comes sprinting back five minutes later with four bags, unsure which one’s the real one.

At the hospital, he’s pacing like he’s awaiting a mission briefing. Texting 141 updates every 30 seconds. Even crying a little.

But the moment the baby’s out and he hears that first cry?

He breaks. In the softest, happiest way. “That’s our baby, love. You did that. I can’t believe it. You’re f***ing incredible.”

---

Ghost (Simon Riley)

Says absolutely nothing for the first thirty seconds. You tell him you’re in labor, and he just stares.

Then, suddenly, moves with terrifying speed.

Throws on his hoodie. Grabs your bag. Guides you to the car like he’s in a tactical op. Voice low, calm, deadly precise.

“You alright? Breathing okay? You’re safe. We’re good. I’ve got you.”

You didn’t think he could be gentle, but he holds your hand like it’s fragile. Sits behind the curtain with his head against yours, murmuring quiet things between contractions:

“You’re not alone. I’m here, yeah? Not goin’ anywhere.”

And when the baby’s born? He chokes on a breath and whispers, “Bloody hell... they’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

Then he holds them with big, calloused hands and rocks like he was born to do it. Doesn’t say much, but you catch the tear slipping down his cheek.

Bonus: The Rest of the Team

They show up at the hospital like a squad of worried uncles.

• Soap brings a giant stuffed bear and immediately cries.

• Gaz holds the baby like it’s made of glass and won’t stop taking photos.

• Price stands in the corner with arms crossed, eyes watery, whispering, “Takes after their mum.”

• Ghost stays quiet... then sneaks in a baby hat he knitted himself and pretends he didn’t.

#call of duty #simon ghost x reader #johnny soap mactavish #ghost cod #john soap mactavish x reader #cod fanfic #cod x you #ghost x reader #call of duty fanfic #call of duty x reader #captain john price #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick

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joelslastofus · 2 days ago

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[SUMMARY: Tess is willing to do anything to keep you away from Joel, even if it means making you afraid of him.]

You weren’t even trying to fight him, he could see the complete fear you felt towards him in that moment. The desperation you felt to protect his own unborn child from him.

Angst drama

Part one and Part 2 links are at the bottom!

PART 3

Maybe it was the stupidest thing you could’ve done but there was no way in hell you could look Joel in the eye and tell him you were carrying his baby. More than anything, there was no way you could take a moment longer near Tess, especially after her learning that you were pregnant. The thought of being out on your own terrified you, but you’ve done it before…you could do it again.

Joel was angry walking ahead of Ellie, his flashlight helping him look around into the dark night.

“I should’ve woken you earlier” Ellie whispered as she looked around.

“Yeah, ya should’ve” Joel snapped back in an angry whisper before looking at Ellie and realizing how he sounded. Not only that, but he blamed himself. He should’ve known something else was going on with you.

“It ain’t your fault, kid”

Ellie looked up surprised by his quick change of opinion.

“What about Salt Lake?”

“They’re gonna have to wait” he responded as he looked around focused.

“And Jackson?” He quickly turned to her.

“How do ya know about Jackson?”

“Over heard” Ellie admitted.

“Ya overhear a lot of things, don’t cha?”

“I heard y/n throwing up last night, don’t know what cause she couldn’t even eat” Joel looked over at Ellie realizing how much he missed what was right in his face.

“She ain’t eatin’?”

“No, she took one look at what I had and-“ Ellie made a loud barfing noise making Joel stop and look back at her.

“Sorry” she whispered with an awkward chuckle.

“If she’s sick like that and hasn’t eaten, she shouldn’t get far.”

And that he was right about.

You found yourself leaning on trees the farther you attempted to walk. The dark trail ahead of you fading as your vision blurred. You stopped for a moment, took a deep breath and tried to pull yourself together until from afar you saw what looked like…Tess.

“Tess..?” You whispered, you swore your mind was playing tricks on you.

“I don’t have a lot of time” she ran up to you looking behind her.

“What?” You panted, confused.

“You need to go, he’s coming-“ she looked behind once again.

“And he told me what he’s gonna do to you”

“I don’t understand” you followed her eyes trying to piece her words together. Nothing making sense.

“You need to get out of here, he’s looking for you. I tried stopping him-“

“Tess, what the hell are you talking about?!”

“Joel knows you’re pregnant, he’s pissed. You don’t know what he’s capable of doing to you-“

“No” you shook your head refusing to believe what you were told.

“Joel wouldn’t-“

“What the hell do you know what Joel would do?” She whispered with desperation.

“You don’t know the things he’s done, the man didn’t even tell you he had a daughter, you think he’d tell you about the people he’s killed or his reasons? Some were for no reason at all”

A part of you tried to fight against what you were being told, you couldn’t picture Joel hurting you in any way but who were you kidding. There was so much you didn’t know.

Still, Tess could see the doubt in your eyes.

“Look, I know it’s not what you wanna hear but you can’t trust him, he’s dangerous-“

A sudden flash of light was pointed at both you and Tess, the sound of Joel’s voice making you stumble backwards.

“What the hell are you doin’, Tess?” His voice was cold, you could see the anger in his eyes, the knife in his hand.

“Go,” Tess whispered.

“Go now!”

Still feeling weak, you began to run as fast as you could. Joel took a quick step forward, you heard him call out your name until Tess blocked him, taking out a gun and aimed it at him.

“What the hell do ya think you’re doin’”

“Drop the knife” she ordered.

Ellie stood behind Joel in silence, she could see the gun he had in his back pocket, she knew she had to do something.

“After everything we’ve been through, just like that, she matters more?” Tess kept the gun pointing at Joel, he could still hear you running, he knew you were too weak to go far.

“You’re makin’ a mistake’”

Joel replied.

“That baby’s a mistake!” She yelled as tears welled up in her eyes.

The further you got, the slower you became.

Tess only became angrier seeing how distracted Joel was, how still even with a gun being pointed at him his focus was on you.

“I need to help her”

“Unbelievable” she chuckled sarcastically.

“Even with a damn gun to your face you’re still worried about her” Joel didn’t know what to think, this was a side of Tess he had never seen.

“If anything happens to her-“

“Oh please, something should happen so you can finally let her go” Tess responded when the sound of a gunshot went off making you stop in your tracks and look back. Joel stepped back in shock as he turned to see Ellie holding a gun.

“S-sorry” she whispered in a panic quickly handing Joel the gun.

He didn’t say a word, a simple nod of approval to Ellie before he turned and ran off in the direction you went.

Not far from where he was, Joel found you hunched over, the sound of his footsteps making you look up.

“Don’t-“

“I’m not gonna hurt you” he stood back raising both hands. He could tell you could barely balance yourself let alone speak, he took one step forward.

“S-stay back!” The concern in his eyes hard to not notice but even harder to ignore the gunshot you just heard.

“I’m trynna help you”

You shook your head, stumbling as you took another step back just as Ellie caught up behind him. Before you could say another word everything quickly went black and just like that you were on the floor.

Joel called out your name running towards you, his hand gently sliding under the back of your neck as Ellie rushed up behind him.

“What do we do?”

It was dark out, there wasn’t many options, looking up he noticed a gas station down the hill and had a plan.

Joel took off his jacket and rolled it up beneath your head on the floor. Looking around the gas station he double checked for any way in. Making sure all doors were covered he spent the next hour sitting beside you thinking over what the hell he was supposed to do next.

Ellie watched as he grabbed his backpack and took out two cans of food looking indecisive at each.

“Which one do you think she’d be able to eat?”

Ellie shrugged when you moaned slowly turning your head.

Slowly your eyes opened, you blinked a few times clearing your vision before noticing who was standing over you. Joel’s brows furrowed as he looked down at you, not knowing how you would react or what you would say-

You gasped, the fear in you jolting you to push yourself up as fast as you could. Joel’s instinct being to go and help you but you backed away against the wall.

“Get away from me!” You looked around in a panic trying to spot an exit.

“Wait a minute, baby” he pleaded taking another step forward.

“No! Don’t touch me!” You weren’t even trying to fight him, he could see the complete fear you felt towards him in that moment. The desperation you felt to protect his own unborn child from him.

“You don’t have to run from me-“

“I need to get the hell out of here-“ you yelled.

“You can barely stand on your damn feet”

“What the hell do you care?!”

“You’re pregnant, you think ima let cha just run outta here?” You shook your head looking away holding back tears, you could see him moving close with the corner of your eye.

“Look at me” although he spoke in a whisper, you could hear the demand in his tone.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you, do you hear me?”

“You just shot Tess!” You cried out looking up at him.

“I killed Tess” Ellie’s words silenced you. You both looked her way.

“She was…she was setting you up, she pulled a gun on Joel” she explained waving her hands around frantically just wanting you to know and believe the truth.

“Tess just wanted you gone” Ellie whispered realizing how insane it sounded. Joel looked back at you, he could still see the confusion you felt. The hesitation as your eyes met his.

“I know what she told you” you could see tears forming as he spoke.

“I know there’s things I should’ve told you, things I don’t speak of….but I would never hurt you.” You looked at Ellie, you could see the genuine concern she felt.

They both felt it.

“You gotta believe him, please. Don’t go” she whispered. Truthfully, you knew even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. Still dehydrated and weak you slowly slid down against the wall and closed your eyes with a sigh. Joel crouched down kneeling on one knee beside you.

“Drink” he handed you his bottle of water that you quickly chugged. His eyes softened watching as you took a deep breath.

“I just wanna take care of you, I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” He assured you, you nodded slowly as you felt his hand cover yours. You had no idea what this journey would bring, you had no idea what the next move was but one thing you did know was Joel didn’t play about you or his unborn child..

Tags

@moonpascal @katmoonz @justajoelsreader @picketniffler @stcrrjoon @itsamandi @starry-eyes-love @theoraekenslover @psychoenergy @joeldjarin @heartpatch @baronessvonglitter @guelyury @mynameistokyo @harriedandharassed @locaparapedrito @untamedheart81 @rosaliedepp @illyanam1011 @hopefulatrocity @tikikiki @thewritermj @l0veang3l @manuymesut @katiemarieeee @unknownomgg @secretcheesecakenacho @missladym1981 @xmaykeca @dendulinka6 @wintersquirrel @malfoycassimalfoy @scorpio-echo @orcasoul @mysteryhexgirl @locaparapedrito @alloftheimagines @mystickittytaco

#pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fan fic #joel miller x female reader #the last of us #joel miller x f!reader

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heartsforkatsuki · 2 days ago

Text

rude. ｡°✩ e. kirishima

pov ; your dad won’t give ur boyfriend of 8 years his blessing

pairing: eijiro kirishima x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, marriage, swearing, yearning lovesick kirishima!!!

word count: ~1.9k. song; rude by magic!

kirishima had fallen in love with you at first sight.

the minute he saw you in the entrance exams, he prayed you’d both get in together. he came up to you and wished you a very manly , loud, “good luck!!” with a hand on his hip and his other in a thumbs up.

you’d found it weird at first, and returned his enthusiasm with an awkward “thank you..?” and walked away.

now, 11 years later, looking back, you find it endearing, and can’t believe how long it took you to end up where you are now.

the minute he heard you woke up after the war, kirishima ran to your room and hugged you. not even 2 seconds before you could process him, he asked you to be his girlfriend and explained how he felt about you all along.

“[name], i’m so inlove with you. i have been since the entrance exams. i’ve been keeping that from you for three years.. so sorry. that wasn’t cool of me. i really, really hope you feeling the same way ‘cause if you don’t, i’ll bet i look pretty stupid right now.. you’re just so.. beautiful and captivating .. and strong. so strong.. and really cool just.. all around. what i’m trying to say is.. will you be my girlfriend? please? oh! dang, and i’m so so glad you’re okay! i should’ve started with that.. dang it.“

he said everything so rushed, you just sat there in your hospital bed blinking at him.

“i.. what?”

“its okay if you don’t feel the sa-“

you finally processed it all.

“no, no! i do! im sorry, it took me a minute to process.”

he rubbed the back of his head, looking at the floor. the tips of his ears were turning the same color as his hair now.

it was adorable.

“so…?”

“yes! yes, i’ll be your girlfriend!”

now, 8 years later, you’re still together and more in love than ever. you’ve succeeded at acquiring your dream job, and your boyfriend has been climbing up the hero rankings, sitting at #12! what could be better than this? there’s one problem though.. what’s been taking him so long to make you his forever?

it was approximately 8AM, you woke up to a message from your boyfriend saying he left early for work.

you sighed, reading through the text.

goodmorning, babe! if you’re reading this it’s cause you’re awake, which means you should have (hopefully) noticed your amazing, radical, the manliest of them all boyfriend is infact not laying down next to you! (that’s me btw) i had to go to work early babes, i’ll be home later! i love you baba girl😘😍😍!

you chuckled, texted back a heart and an okay , be safe before you went to check the calendar.

it was saturday.

eijiro almost never, ever worked on saturdays unless there was an emergency. he wouldn’t even check in at the agency.

so of course, the first thing you did was check the news.

nothing really, just small criminals and no big villains. what could he possibly be doing?

so the next thing you did was check his location. not because you’re crazy, but you were genuinely worried. you never ever checked his location, you didn’t need to. but he insisted to give you it just in case, so you never had to doubt.

currently, he was on super close to Osaka, and it said he’d been driving there for about two hours now.

Osaka? What the hell is in Osa…

your parents. your parents lived in Osaka, nobody else you guys knew lived there. when you saw exactly where he was, you saw he was literally pulling up on your parent’s street.

what the hell?

eijiro pulled up in the driveway to your parents house, his palms clammy on the steering wheel.

he’d been thinking about doing this for a while now, but he knew just how your dad felt about him.

your dad was a very old-fashioned man, didn’t exactly love the idea of you dating, much less marrying, a hero.

he didn’t want there to be an accident, only to end up with a depressed, grieving, hurt daughter.

and he made sure you knew it.

“he’s gonna do something stupid one day, [name], and then you’ll regret it.“

you’d always ignored him, and eijiro was forever grateful.

he tried as hard as he could to change your dad’s views on heroes, explaining how passionate he was, and why he decided on it in the first place.

he never really budged though.

now, kirishima was standing at your parents’ doorstep at 8am on a saturday morning, in his best suit, tailored just for this moment, and a big bouquet for your mom.

he brushed his hands on his dress pants and pushed the doorbell button.

he stood there for a minute looking at his shoes, until he heard the lock turn.

when he looked up, he was met with your dad’s resting bitch face. except now it was ten times worse, seeing as it was 8 in the morning.

“ah.. goodmorning, mr. [surname].”

“eijiro? it’s 8am.” your dad crossed his arms, spreading his feet.

“i know.” he lifted his hand, handing the flowers over to your father. “those are for mrs. [surname].”

“thank you? why are you here, young man?” he scowled.

“i came because i wanted to ask you.. for your blessing.” he rubbed the back of his neck, “to marry [name].”

“i love your daughter more than anything, and i’ve kept her waiting for 8 years now. i’ve been inlove with her for 11 years now, and i want to spend the rest of my life with her.”

your dad scoffed to that, “which i’m sure won’t be long, eijiro. your job is gonna end up with my daughter heartbroken.”

“sir, please, i’m safe! i love your daughter, plea—”

“over my dead body. no. until i die, you aren’t marrying my daughter.” he slammed the door in front of eijiro.

“fuck..” he sighed, running a hand through his hair before walking back to his car.

“I just don’t get why he’s so rude to me.” kirishima groaned, placing his beer on the table infront of him.

“he’s just an asshole dude, ignore him.” bakugo responded, rolling his eyes.

“hey! that’s my future father in law you’re talking about.” he whined, taking a swig of beer.

“he won’t be if you keep paying attention to the bullshit he’s spouting.” the blonde picked up his own beer, drinking it.

“dude, i’m gonna marry her anyways.. i just need to convince him.” kirishima insisted, his hands balling into fists.

the week after that, kirishima did the same thing as he did that last saturday morning, he bought a brand new suit and showed up with an bigger bouquet.

the door creaked open, and he made sure to get the first word in

“can i have your daughter for the rest of my life? please. i love her, i can provide for her as i always have, and i’ll give my life to make her happy.”

he prayed your father would say yes, chanting it in his head.

“no.” he slammed the door, again.

“hey babe, why does your dad hate me so much?”

it was now two weeks after the first visit, and you hadn’t asked him about why he went to go see your parents yet.

“he doesn’t hate you…” you curled on the couched next to him, stroking his hair, “he’s just looking out for me, babe.”

“why does he have to hate me in order to look out for you?” he pouted.

“he doesn’t hate you babe!”

the following week, he repeated his attempts.

another new suit, and a bigger bouquet. he stood at the door, determined to walk away with your fathers blessing this time.

one thing changed though, this time your father didnt open the door, your mom did.

“Oh. goodmorning, mrs. [surname]. how are you?” he asked, lifting the bouquet to her.

“goodmorning, eijiro. i’m well, thank you for asking, and for the flowers dear.” she smiled.

“is mr. [surname] home?” he asked, rubbing his sweaty palms on his pants again.

“yes, he is. let me get him for you.”

she stepped away from the door, and soon, your dad appeared. his expression was unreadable this time.

“you again?” he grunted.

“yes, sir. i know you’ve said no—three times now—but i love your daughter. i’m going to marry her. with or without your blessing… but i’d rather it be with.”

your father stayed silent.

“i’ve never loved anyone the way i love her. she’s the first and only person i’ve ever truly wanted to build a future with. i want to wake up next to her every morning. i want to take care of her, support her, grow old with her. and i promise you, with everything i have, i’ll protect her.”

your dad sighed, long and heavy.

“…you’re a persistent little bastard, huh?”

kirishima swallowed, “only for her, sir.”

your father stared at him for a long moment before stepping aside.

“come in.”

kirishima blinked, stunned. “w-what?”

“you heard me. come in.”

he followed him inside, nervous and stiff as a board.

they talked for over an hour. about life, about you, about the future. your father asked hard questions, challenged him, and at one point even asked if he was truly willing to give up being a hero someday if it came down to choosing between his life or yours.

without hesitation, kirishima answered, “i’d choose her. every time.”

eventually, your dad nodded slowly and let out another sigh.

“…fine. you have my blessing.”

kirishima nearly collapsed from relief.

“but you better not make her cry. not once. or i swear—”

“never, sir. never.”

a few days later, you came home to find a trail of glowing red petals leading to your backyard. confused, you followed them.

and there he was.

in a perfectly fitted black suit, holding a small, red velvet box in his hand, his other hand tucked nervously into his pocket.

the yard was lit up with fairy lights, and small candles floated in a heart-shaped pond he’d made with some help.

“[name],” he said, voice cracking just a little, “i’ve loved you since the day i met you. you’re everything to me. my best friend, my strength, my peace. i want to spend every second of my life making you feel as loved as you make me feel.”

he got down on one knee.

“will you marry me?”

you cried. of course you did.

dang it, he already messed up the first rule.

but you said yes so fast, he didn’t even finish opening the box before you tackled him with a hug.

later that night, you sat together under the stars, your head on his shoulder, your hand in his—now with a sparkling ring on it.

“so,” you whispered, “what changed my dad’s mind?”

he smiled and kissed your forehead. “i just told him the truth. and refused to leave until he believed it.”

you giggled. “you’re so stubborn.”

“only for you, babe.”

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contamination-zone · 3 days ago

Text

5 times Fresh acted like an animal, and 1 time Color 'Got it.'

[first chapter - prev chapter - next chapter]

beta read by @/calamarispider

[UTMV fic] Contains: Platonic Fresh & Color, Fresh & Killer, and Color & Killer, misunderstandings, abuse, food warning [forced to eat dog food] [4,000~ words]

“What would you do if you got out?” It took Fresh a moment to realize it hadn’t imagined Killer speaking. “Nightmare knows we all want out. Saying something to me can’t make this any worse with him.” “I don’t know, run off? Hide in a ditch? What do you want me to say?” Its voice got scratchier and more rough as it spoke, leaving it to end the sentence coughing. Killer was quiet as he watched it, his eyes those same empty black pits. “Okay.” He finally said. What was that supposed to mean? He believed it? Got what he wanted? Just felt like saying that? It stifled a growl and just silently followed him.

Fic undercut or on ao3!

“You look tired.” From behind him; Killer, he recognized instantly.

Color turned to look at him, smiling something small, “how can you tell? You were looking at the back of my skull.”

The other didn’t answer, just slinking closer so they could settle their head on his shoulder, and their hand on his other. Color laughed; the slant of his shoulders told them all that? Trust his closest friend to always notice when he felt off.

“Is it really that bad…?” He asked. Sometimes it wasn’t. They were scarily observant, and when they pointed things out to Color, it wasn’t always something anyone else would notice.

His hopes were dashed when Killer huffed, annoyed, “Yes.”

“Sorry about that…” Color said, lifting a hand to cup Killer’s cheek, “you know why.”

He leaned into the touch, but let his eyes fall half-lidded in a ‘done with this’ expression. “If I’d know you’d want to keep it, I wouldn’t have brought it here.”

“Hey!” Color chided, “don’t talk about Fresh like that. And I’m not ‘keeping it,’ it just… needs a little help getting on its feet. I’m sure it’ll strike out on its own when it’s feeling better.”

Killer gave him a piercing stare [it resembled all his other expressions, but Color could guess the intention]. He was still happy they felt comfortable enough to get snippy with him; it hadn’t been too long since Killer got away from Nightmare, and any agency they showed couldn’t help but make him smile.

“Okay,” he huffed, “even if it doesn’t, I’m happy to give it a place to stay. You know that.”

They wrapped their arms around his shoulders, more of a hug than the lean they were doing beforehand. “Yeah yeah, just the type of monster you are.” The words were blasé, nearly apathetic, but Color knew there was affection underneath. It made the guilt worse.

“Yeah.” It felt bad to agree, when he knew Killer clearly felt a little jealous of all the attention Fresh was getting, but he really couldn’t do anything else. Even without the six Soul’s influence, he didn’t think he could leave a monster to flounder without help, let alone one as clearly traumatised as Fresh.

“I’m going out tomorrow,” Color said, instead of any of the words he’d wanted to about duty or greater good, about how really, he was sorry, “just ah, to get clothes for Fresh. Want to come with?”

A silent stare, so he knew Killer was really considering it. Finally, just before he could take it back, affirm that Killer didn’t have to do anything they didn’t feel comfortable with, they answered, “sure, Color. Sounds good.”

He smiled. It’d be nice to spend some time with his best friend.

———

He woke early, because he knew he’d need that sort of energy.

Any type of routine was difficult to manage for him, after so long in a space without time or need for anything of the like, but he thought he’d been getting his morning routine pretty locked down lately. Brushing his teeth, getting dressed, cooking breakfast- all things he’d struggled with right when he got out of the void, but not as much these days. It made him feel good, that he’d made such clear progress, hopeful for those he was helping to be able to do the same.

Of course, there was more than just him who relied on that routine [probably the only reason he tried so hard with it]. With that in mind, he knocked on Killer’s door, letting him know breakfast was ready.

They were opening the door before he even stepped back, already awake and waiting. A little unsettling, but he knew Killer just liked to follow the routine they usually did, even if it wasn’t enforced at all; that meant, of course, leaving his room when Color went to fetch him for breakfast.

“Breakfast is on the table,” he told Killer, already moving to Fresh’s room. Killer followed him instead of heading to eat right away— a clingy mood already, probably because Color promised to hang out.

“Joining me?”

They gently pushed their shoulder to his as they walked, a silent confirmation. He smiled, “Got it.”

He gently rapped his knuckles against the door, with a warning that Killer would be joining as well.

Fresh made an acknowledging noise, and he wondered if everyone woke up before him.

Just like always, when he entered it regarded him with wide eyes and an attentive posture. Nothing too nervous though, and he smiled at it, glad Killer’s presence didn’t seem to be a problem.

“Morning, Fresh.”

“G’morning.” It mumbled back. It eyed Killer and gave him a slight dip of its head in acknowledgment, to which they regarded it with a blank stare in turn. Neither seemed to be blinking.

“Ooookay-“ Color interrupted, “Got breakfast! Bacon and eggs good?”

It turned its attention right back to Color at that, giving him a shaky nod before standing up, silent in its movements. It was almost alarming how such a large and imposing monster just disappeared into the background.

On the way to the dining table, Killer and Fresh regarded each other again with nothing but a quick meeting of eyes before their attention went back to him, and he wondered how well they knew each other from before they got out from Nightmare’s thumb. There had to have been a little affection on Killer’s half, else Color didn’t know why he’d decide to take Fresh with him at all. Neither showed it though, barely even acknowledging the other ever, so he wondered if his theory was wrong. Still, the little glances could mean anything. He knew they were both very clever.

They made it to the table before the silence got too awkward, and the three settled in to eat breakfast. He passed Killer the bottle of ketchup for his eggs before he asked.

“We’re, me and Killer,” he said, once they were all sat, “going out to buy you some clothes. Got any preferences?”

It shifted awkwardly at that, frozen with a fork halfway to its mouth. “Uh- I’m good with anything, man.”

“It likes colorful things.” Killer said as Color was trying to figure out how to press for more info without spooking it.

“Killer,” he hissed, though there was no vitriol. While he did trust Killer to be right about things like this, he just… wanted Fresh to feel the agency of choosing to reveal facts about itself. Make it feel like what he got for it was its choice.

Killer had no remorse on his face, though he did do a token, “sorry.”

He sighed, though didn’t push further. There was no was no way he’d be able to stay mad at him anyway, and they both knew it.

Looking back at Fresh, it had a pinched look on its face, eyebrows pressed downwards and mouth in a frown. When it noticed him looking, it quickly schooled its face into something more ‘open’ looking [though he doubted it really was].

“Were you confused on something?” He asked.

It was silent for a bit, but after a glance at Killer [for support?], it mumbled, “You ain’t mad? That sorry was sooo off base.”

There was a well of sadness in his chest at that. Did Fresh think he’d get angry at Killer and treat them as badly Nightmare assuredly was when he himself got mad at the two of them?

“No, no,” he reassured it, “I love Killer, he’s my best friend- I just got a little annoyed is all. And even if I did get mad, we’d talk it out.”

Fresh hummed, the picture of easy acceptance, but he could tell it was going to be mulling that over for a while underneath the surface.

Coughing into its fist, it changed the subject, “I do like colorful things- brighter the better.” More shifting, eyes catching sneak peeks at him before skittering away. He made sure to smile encouragingly. It couldn’t keep eye-contact. “The sweaters you let me borrow were pretty rad too…”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he smiled wide, something settled in him knowing he didn’t shove it into anything it didn’t want to be wearing. His eyes couldn’t help but drift to the collar at that, but he didn’t linger. Anytime it caught him staring it would clutch at the tag and press it close to itself— whatever meager comfort it brought to it, he would never understand. That was okay though, he wasn’t going to force the issue.

It nodded, shy, and didn’t say anything else, fully focusing its attention on breakfast. He didn’t press, letting it retreat out of the conversation.

Breakfast was done quickly and he was left feeling satisfied for more reasons than how good the eggs tasted. Progress was made today, which he was glad for.

Killer had already ambled out of the room, in the direction of the door most likely. Before Color left, he turned to Fresh.

“We’ll only be gone for a few hours, hope you don’t get too bored without us.” He laughed, “you have free reign of the house, just don’t go into either me or Killer’s rooms without a good reason, yeah?”

It nodded, giving him a thumbs up, “you got it. Same as always.”

He… did usually give the same spiral every time he left. “Sorry sorry, repeating myself here” He laughed, “I’ll get outta your hair. Bye Fresh.”

“Ah- see’ya.” It said, awkwardly.

He took that as his cue that he’d probably started to overwhelm it, and left to follow Killer out.

He’d left it alone in the house a few times already— things were going to be fine, he reminded himself.

Killer bumped shoulders with him as he got out, and he smiled, relaxing at the support. With his best friend at his side, things felt a lot more manageable. Maybe it really was going to be okay.

———pov: Fresh———

It woke to a kick to its side, and a sharp hiss from above ordering it to get up. It sounded like Killer.

The other must have been on pet duty. Usually he didn’t feel so energetic to it though. Maybe that was because it felt so awful today— it must’ve not woken up when he’d first tried to rouse it. Everything felt kind of hazy, a rare occurrence even though it just woke up; it was almost always quick to categorise its surroundings, it had to to survive.

His hand curled around its collar and dragged it up. Speaking back was usually useless, and it didn’t really want to deal with whatever power trip Killer was on, so it went limp. He wasn’t allowed to harm it too much, so it had some leeway to make his life difficult, at least until Nightmare got back from his trip and heard about its attitude.

This was doing nothing for the phantom of throat pain it was already dealing with, and it choked down any coughs. It needed to look unaffected— coughing and spluttering would be the opposite of that.

A pull, “get up.” The sharp words weren’t helping Fresh want to work with him anymore than the painful tugging.

Still, it noted something; a hint of genuine emotion colored his words. It hadn’t seen that with Killer often, the other usually a mask of empty cheer. “There’s even something innit for you.” He continued.

It regarded him with a half-lidded stare, asking, “What?” in a voice sounding a bit gravelly, and it forced itself not to cringe. Even after years away from its normal act, things that contradicted its image still got to it.

It tried to ignore the discomfort, focusing on the moment at hand, Killer’s offer. There wasn’t much that interested Fresh these days, except the possibility of escape; it highly doubted that was what Killer was suggesting.

“Got a special treat to go with your food today.”

Boring, bordering on insulting. Treating it like a mangy mutt excited for a bigger slice of meat, as if it wasn’t still going to be rotten.

“It’s going to be dog food either way.”

“Cat food.” Killer corrected.

It regarded him like he’d said something particularly stupid, but didn’t argue further. Whether it was dog food or cat food, neither made the idea of a treat alongside it any better. “Fine, fine. Lead the way, ‘boss’”

Killer didn’t take the bait like the other two would. Maybe he really didn’t care how similar to Nightmare he acted. He just pulled harder on its collar until it had no choice but to get its feet under it. At least it could be comforted by the fact Killer was going to be punished for leaving bruises on its neck.

Once up, Killer wasted no time in clipping its leash to the collar, before setting a brisk pace to the kitchen. A no-nonsense attitude. It was both better and worse than the others. They, at least, seemed uncomfortable interacting with it. Still, it meant there was less hesitance, that things would be over with quickly.

It wouldn’t have been able to keep pace if its legs weren’t almost double Killer’s in length. Normally it didn’t have trouble with that, but its joints ached and it felt a headache forming. It didn’t want to be doing this right now.

Its feelings on the matter didn’t matter though, not to anyone but Nightmare anyway [and he certainly cared about them in a way wholly unhelpful to it]. They found themselves at the entrance to the kitchen much quicker than Fresh would have liked.

Killer looped the leash around one of the many knots of stone and wood the castle seemed to have in abundance [courtesy of being made by Nightmare, a plant adjacent… thing, Fresh thinks], and started prepping Fresh’s ‘meal.’

It hesitated to call it that. Meals were supposed to be alive, squirming, and, most importantly, containing magic. What Nightmare had scheduled it to eat whenever he was gone was not that, not in anyway at all. The cheapest dog or cat food one could buy, usually smushed up with a spoon and mixed with kibble. All served up to it in a little red dog bowl, only labeled ‘pet.’

Another way to demean it, Fresh was sure. When Nightmare was in, he’d only feed it new hosts or sweet treats Nightmare was enjoying himself. An association the guardian of negativity was trying to brute force into existence, that he meant it was getting fed real food.

It stubbornly refused to wish Nightmare was here so it wouldn’t have to eat this horrid mixture while sick just to spite him, resolving to be extra awful to its ‘owner’ when he got back.

Of course, if Killer really was giving it a treat along with its dish, that could throw a wrench in things. It couldn’t see any reason Nightmare would want it to associate good things with anyone but him.

It was shaken out of its thoughts by the sound of Killer setting the bowl down on the floor. It was the usual fare, though something about it seemed… off.

“And the treat?”

“It’s in there.” He pointed at the bowl of slop. So the treat was a lie.

It huffed, but settled on the floor and picked up the bowl to start eating anyway. Killer, similarly, took a seat at the kitchen table.

It couldn’t really refuse to eat, even if the meal served no purpose further than making it suffer. Nightmare would be less than happy to hear it wasn’t following one of His orders. Egotistical prick.

It tipped the bowl and resolutely ignored as much sensory data as it could. It was the same as always, but it couldn’t help but think Nightmare got it the most putrid smelling wet food he could find because he knew its sense of smell was strong. Unfortunately it had no nose to pinch, so it just tried not to breathe until it was done.

It could feel Killer’s eyes burning into it as it finished. The gaze didn’t wander as it coughed and gagged, nor when it pushed the now empty bowl back in his general direction. What a creep— not as bad as Nightmare, but that would be impossible.

There was a slight, almost imperceptible, sweet after-taste. It didn’t believe Killer would actually put a treat in, so maybe it was a placebo. It didn’t have time to linger though, because Killer was already wrapping the end of the leash back around his clawed hands. And well… tiny sweet aftertaste didn’t make up for the fact that the rest of it tasted rancid.

“What would you do if you got out?”

It took it a moment to realize it hadn’t imagined Killer speaking, and another to understand he was talking to it.

“What?” Fresh hissed, eyes narrowed. The words just screamed ‘trap.’ It would make the rest of the day make more sense too; Killer could definitely be trying to influence it into disobedience with the treat and the extra emotion in his voice could be from the stress of the plan.

He didn’t respond, just looking at it with his awful empty eye-sockets. It glared back, spines raising as he didn’t elaborate or back down.

Eventually, seeming to realize he wasn’t going to get anywhere unless he gave in more, Killer said, “He knows we all want out. Saying something to me can’t make this any worse with him.” There was a gentle tug on the leash, a silent continuation it could practically hear in the air ‘and not answering could make things worse with Killer.’

“I don’t know,” it grumbled, annoyed, “run off? Hide in a ditch? Go back to eating people? What do you want me to say.”

Its voice got scratchier and more rough as it spoke, leaving it to end the sentence coughing.

He just hummed, and it felt like tearing something apart with its teeth. Would it kill someone for these people to say what they thought aloud? Did they get some sort of sick thrill in leaving it confused?

“Okay.” He finally said. If it wasn’t so frustrated with the lack of information it had, it would find that fascinating. What was that supposed to mean, ‘okay.’? He believed it? Got what he wanted? Just felt like saying that?

It stifled a growl and just followed him silently.

——

It couldn’t stop thinking about the day before Killer took it here, to live with him and Color. Looking back, the signs that something strange was going on were so obvious. He was just digging for information on how it would act once he took it here— see if it would be a good gift for Color, it now knew.

The fact that he did, took that short and angry response and decided it was worth it to steal it away as a gift for his… for Color, it didn’t know how that made it feel.

Insulted, to be treated like a commodity to pass around, or… it shook its head, it couldn’t be thinking about this right now. Already it could hear the gentle knock at the door; Color, coming in for their morning routine and inviting it for breakfast.

It did as it was bid, replying with polite little one-word answers to all his questions, ignoring how Killer was at Color’s heels. Not regarding them with suspicion like it wanted too. Clearly he was Color’s favorite— it couldn’t get on his bad side.

It kept trading glances with Killer as they made their way to the table, wondering why he decided to follow so closely to Color’s morning routine to even follow him to its room. They gave nothing away, of course, and it nearly stuck its tongue out in annoyance. Nearly, of course, because it still didn’t know these monsters’ preferences, no matter its best efforts. Nightmare would have found the brattiness cute [except the times he very much didn’t], but it couldn’t get a read if the same would hold true for Color— and Killer, but he wasn’t in charge, so it didn’t care for his response much.

The meal turned awkward when a question aimed at it, and that it thought it’d answered… not well, but good enough, was answered by Killer as well. Color hadn’t said he wanted Killer’s opinion.

It froze, carefully still as if that would make it turn invisible. It barely kept in the stressed squeak when Color berated Killer and they gave an absolutely lacklustre apology; Killer was valuable, liked, Color’s favourite, so of course he wouldn’t punish him, but what if Color decided to take out his anger on Fresh instead…?

There wasn’t any type of explosion though, and Color didn’t even seem particularly angry. Just a bit miffed at Killer’s actions. That was- that was just weird!

The emotion must have shown in its face, because Color was asking if it was confused. It felt stupid, but quickly hid anything negative before it could get too annoying.

A response was probably still expected though. It looked at Killer, who didn’t seem stressed at all, and it nervously asked, “You ain’t mad? That sorry was sooo off base.”

There was something so soft on its owner’s face, it felt a little sick looking. “No, no,” he cooed at it, like it was a skittish animal, “I love Killer, he’s my best friend- I just got a little annoyed is all. And even if I did get mad, we’d talk it out.”

That was… really weird. Best friend privileges maybe? It really couldn’t see a world so nice to it that that courtesy would extend to it as well. The information was still useful though, so it stashed it away.

It couldn’t focus on that right now though, remembering the actual focus of the conversation. He’d appreciate it keeping on topic, hopefully. “I do like colorful things- brighter the better,” It mumbled, eyes darting towards him nervously as it tried to gauge his reaction. Neutral still, so it flaked on some flattery, “The sweaters you let me borrow were pretty rad too…”

There it was, a wide satisfied smile. It relaxed as it heard his next words, “I’m glad to hear that,”

Thankfully, it didn’t have to navigate any mine-fields as breakfast was finished and Color told it all the rules for when he was out.

“You have free reign of the house, just don’t go into either me or Killer’s rooms without a good reason, yeah?” He reminded it. He always mentioned the free reign of the house everytime, and it could hear a hidden order when it was given one— it would be expected to not be in its room when he was out. An easy enough task.

After some painfully awkward farewells, it skittered off to the living room and to the couch in front of the TV. It knew it was probably allowed on the furniture, but didn’t really want to do so when Color wasn’t there to invite it on.

Instead, it carefully settled behind the couch, pressed in-between it and the wall. Small and comfortable, a perfect place to wait until Color got back.

It smiled to itself, feeling proud of how well it had been doing recently. Maybe it could even get as much affection and leniency as Killer. Maybe it could even get more. A pipe-dream, but… it wanted Color to look at it like that too.

Only for its safety of course. Having his affection, his attention, his soft smiles, gentle laughs— it shook its head before settling more comfortably behind the couch. Now was not the time for those thoughts; it didn’t know how it was supposed to compete with Killer and… it already lived a life more pampered here than nearly all its time with Nightmare.

It let itself relax and get ready for its long wait. It liked this. It didn’t need to sully it with even more wants.

#fresh #fresh sans #fresh!sans #color #color sans #color!sans #killer #killer!sans #killer sans #fresh & color #fresh & killer #utmv #undertale multiverse #puppydraws #puppywrites

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xoxojisu · 7 hours ago

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"YOU'RE PREGNANT?!"

synopsis: you're pregnant with osamu's baby! you need to break the news to atsumu, but he somehow spoils it.. for himself?

notes: afab reader if that wasn't obvious

you and osamu had rehearsed this like three times on the drive over.

well, you rehearsed it. osamu just kept nodding and saying, “he’s gonna be loud either way,” which… yeah, fair. but this was a big deal! atsumu may have been chaos incarnate, but he was still osamu's twin brother, and you both wanted him to be one of the first to know!

so here you were, sitting in a booth at a quiet ramen place, the twins across from each other like always, bickering over toppings like they weren’t in their thirties.

“who the hell puts corn in ramen?” atsumu griped, making a face.

“people with good taste,” osamu muttered, not bothering to even look up from his bowl in favor of continuing eating. "corn in ramen's tasty. it's sweet and crunchy and buttery. yer just not refined enough to get it. got the taste buds of a toddler."

"it's actually pretty good! osamu put me on." you chimed in.

“he look like he is the corn in ramen,” atsumu grumbled. “fuckin' fatass. what, ya pregnant?”

you froze.

osamu froze.

atsumu… kept eating.

you and osamu turned to each other in perfect sync, wide-eyed, identical expressions of did he just..? before you could even stop yourself, you blurted:

“how’d you know?!”

atsumu blinked. “huh?”

osamu reached over to hit atsumu on the head with his chopsticks, not saying anything, just staring at him in disbelief.

"wait, what?" atsumu said, "hold on-"

"is twin telepathy actually real?! holy shit! samu, why didn't you tell me that he could fucking read your mind?"

“i- huh? what? wait,” atsumu stuttered, eyes darting between you two, hands raised in shock. “you thought i meant you-” he pointed at you. “you’re pregnant?!”

you nodded slowly, still stunned. “we were literally about to tell you.”

atsumu opened his mouth. closed it. opened it again. “what the hell, i.. i was callin’ him fat!”

“i’m not fat,” osamu hissed. “i’m-”

“i was makin’ fun of him! i didn’t think i had mind-readin’ powers! holy shit!”

“well clearly you do!” you exclaimed, gesturing wildly. “you just predicted a whole pregnancy announcement! twin telepathy is real!”

atsumu leaned back in the booth, looking like he just got hit with a volleyball straight to the face.

“yer seriously- like, for real- like- like, actually pregnant?”

you nodded again, this time with a soft smile. “yeah. just a couple months.”

atsumu stared for another beat before his face completely split into the biggest, brightest grin you’d ever seen.

“no freakin’ way! i’m gonna be a uncle?!” he launched halfway across the table, practically knocking over a bowl in the process. “holy shit, i was jokin’! samu, ya really did it, ya old sap!”

osamu groaned as atsumu pulled him into a squeeze. “let go of me.”

“never! i’m gonna tell everyone!”

“you’re not.”

you laughed, the moment finally settling into the warm, chaotic joy you’d expected from the start.

atsumu finally let go, eyes still sparkling. “i can’t believe i called it. like—psychic level. maybe i should open a side hustle. chicks would pay big money for a hot guy to read their fortune.”

osamu looked at you. “i told ya he’d be loud.”

you grinned. “he was also kinda perfect.”

“damn right i was,” atsumu said, already pulling out his phone. “now what’s the name gonna be? ‘tsumu’ is a gender-neutral option, just sayin’-”

osamu reached across the table and finally flicked him on the forehead.

later, after the chaos had simmered down and the three of you stepped out into the evening air, atsumu was quiet in that rare way that made you glance over to make sure he was okay.

you were halfway to your cars when he slowed beside you. “so,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “you, uh… got any pictures yet? like, baby ones?”

you smiled and pulled out your phone. “only one so far. first ultrasound.”

you handed it over and he took it a little too carefully, like he was afraid to drop it. the black-and-white image flickered faintly on the screen, and he just… stared.

he didn’t smile. didn’t joke. he looked at that tiny shape like it was the most real thing in the world. like it had just hit him, really hit him what this meant.

“that’s… them?” he asked, voice quiet.

you nodded. “yeah. that’s your niece or nephew.”

atsumu blinked. “they’re so small.”

you and osamu glanced at each other—your heart a little full, his eyes a little softer than usual.

then atsumu looked up, meeting your gaze. “thanks for tellin’ me. first, i mean. that you wanted me to know first.” he cleared his throat, suddenly awkward. “i’m… real happy for you guys. both of ya.”

“you’re gonna be an amazing uncle,” you said, nudging him gently.

he gave a little laugh. “yeah? little corn junior?”

“no,” osamu said flatly. “absolutely not.”

but you were smiling, and so was atsumu, and osamu had that small, quiet look he only ever got when he was really, truly happy.

atsumu looked back at the photo one more time. then, without a word, he stepped forward and hugged you. not a joking one. not a one-arm squeeze. a real one.

“i’m proud of you,” he mumbled. "this is crazy."

you hugged him back. “we love you, ‘tsumu.”

osamu snorted beside you. “gettin’ soft in your old age.”

“shut it, old man. i’m still prettier.”

they started bickering again as you all walked down the street—arguing over who had better genes and whether the baby would inherit osamu’s cooking or atsumu’s hair.

you stayed a step behind for just a moment. hand resting over your stomach. heart full.

this little one was already so loved.

..and also so doomed to a life of chaos.

but mostly? so, so loved.

masterlist

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luna-the-cretar · 1 day ago

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(Vague spoilers for OUAW Ep 58)

I feel like, shortly after traveling with Gricko (I’d say about a few months to a year), Frost starts to care deeply about the goblin. But Frost, really having any friends before Gricko, can’t really tell the difference between Platonic and Romantic love. So he just kinda. Assumes that he must be in love with Gricko or something.

And so one night, they have a conversation. And Frost tells Gricko about his supposed crush, and it’s not like Gricko doesn’t believe him—Gricko may be good at reading people but by the end of the day he doesn’t know their exact feelings—but, at the same time, deep down Gricko knows that’s not true. Yes, Frost cares deeply for him, but not in the way the Tabaxi thinks.

So Gricko lies. He lies and tells Frost that, actually, he isn’t interested in anything like that. He’d love to stay best friends with Frost, but he’s not interested into being anything more.

And it was fine. Gricko didn’t feel anything romantic towards Frosty, anyway, so it was fine. Frost needed a friend more than a partner. Right now, at least, when Gricko was the first friend he’s ever had.

And years go by. And Frost and Gricko are still incredibly close, but something has…shifted, somehow. Those in the carnival assume they’re partners, they’re co-parenting Hootsie, they’ve seen each other at their best, their worst, and everything in between.

And one day, something snaps. Gricko tells a joke, and Frost smiles at him, so wide and so real and so rare. Frosty rarely smiles like that, and it’s always a treat when he does. And Gricko finds himself fawning over that smile, he can’t stop thinking about it, and it makes his heart go all fluttery.

Oh, he thinks. Oh, so this must be what Kremy and Gideon must feel all the time.

And then things become less fine. Because Gricko is suddenly having these feelings that he knows, deep down, that Frost doesn’t reciprocate. But it’s okay! He can silently pine for his best mate, because he knows that no matter what, things won’t change. Frosty is still his, they’re still raising Hootsie together, they’re still them. So it’s fine.

And then they go to the Feywild. And then Torbek joins the group. And then Gricko can’t help but watch as Torbek and Frost slowly get closer. And soon enough he sees that Frost is scared of him—because of the damn fey magics, sure, but still—and he sees Torbek comforting him. He sees Torbek make a joke, and Frost gives him one of those rare smiles. How Frost seems to start enjoying Torbek’s company more and more.

And Gricko knows, deep down, it shouldn’t mean anything. They’re friends! Doing friend things! But…something about it still stings, because it took Frost weeks to finally feel comfortable around Gricko. And it only took Torbek a few days, even after damn near killing the Tabaxi.

And it shouldn’t sting. Because at the end of the day, Frosty is his best mate. But it does. It does, and Gricko can’t quite explain why.

Is this what Kremy felt, every time he watched Gideon bed some random woman? This constant ache, knowing that he couldn’t do a damn thing about it?

#and then frost and Torbek finally start dating and Gricko aches even more.#but it’s fine! it’s fine because frosty is happy and that’s all that matters to him.#Gricko will just do as he always does.#plaster on a smile and laugh and joke. and try to ignore the aching pain every time he sees frost give Torbek this large genuine smile.#legends of avantris #once upon a witchlight #ouaw #torbek #morning frost #gricko grimgrin #grimmorning #Frostbek #kremy lecroux #< technically. he is mentioned.#lunas 2am rambles #this was a lot longer than I was expecting but it’s fine #anyway goodnight

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schemmentigfs · 3 days ago

Note

oi, letiii. tem como você fazer um one shot igual aquela still here, still distant mas ao contrário, ou seja, bem fluffy, comfort onde a r fem descobre que tá grávida ou da mel cuidando dela durante a gravidez ou pós parto com o bebê, sei lá?? plsssssss

The Pregnancy Diaries of Baby Schemmenti.

Summary: After finding out that you are pregnant with her child, Melissa Schemmenti records a tiny pregnancy diary until the labor day.

WC: 5k.

Taglist: @lifeismomentsyoucannotunderstand @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota @kukikatt @dopenightmaretyphoon @pitstopsapphic @jeridandridge @aliensuperst4rr

October 2nd. 8:37 a.m.

Living room is still, actually the whole house is still. Quiet in that sacred, early-morning kind of way. Outside, the sun’s just begun to filter through the windows, casting soft golden beams across the hardwood floors and old family photos. The only sounds are the steady hum of the coffee machine and the occasional creak of the house settling around them—well, that, and the quiet whirr of the camera as it powers on.

The screen flickers to life. At first, it’s just a blurry flash of motion—too close. A thumb over the lens. Then it adjusts, refocuses, and finally settles.

Melissa Schemmenti appears in the frame, sitting back in an old, worn armchair with one knee drawn up under her. Her red hair, a little sleep-mussed, spills over the shoulders of a soft grey Philadelphia Eagles sweatshirt. The collar is stretched from wear; the sleeves are pushed up over her forearms. There’s a pink flush in her cheeks, either from the warmth of the coffee mug in her hand or from something more vulnerable that’s still lingering beneath the surface.

Her green eyes—those warm, fierce, Italian eyes—crinkle just a little as she adjusts the camera one last time. She leans back, gets comfortable, and lets out a breath that seems to come from somewhere deep in her chest. The mug in her hand says ‘World’s Best Mama Bear’, steam curling gently from it in the morning light.

Your wife smiles, crooked, fond and speaks.

“Alright, bubba,” she glances toward the camera, then down at the mug, then back again. “Not you—well, not just you. I mean the baby. Though I guess this can be for you too, if you ever watch this.”

There’s a beat. Her eyes soften as she shifts in her seat, settling in more fully. Something about this—the act of talking into a camera in an empty living room—tugs at her memory.

“Y’know, I did this once before. Back when they had us record those interviews at Abbott. Felt weird then, too. They still record us but not all the time like before.”

She chuckles under her breath.

“But I figured—if I’m gonna keep makin’ these little videos, might as well say the date, huh? October second.”

The second grade teacher takes a sip of her coffee, savoring it, then glances up toward the ceiling with a faint smile.

“She’s still sleepin’ upstairs. Didn’t get much rest last night—poor thing’s been tossin’ and turnin’ like crazy. I think the baby’s learnin’ how to kickbox in there. Or tryin’ to break out early.”

A pause. Her face softens again, fondness bleeding into every line.

“But around four in the morning, she just... curled up next to me. Turned into this warm little furnace and passed right out. Didn’t move after that.”

She chuckles again, quieter this time.

“I didn’t mind. Never do. I like takin’ care of my girl. Always have.”

There’s something about the way she says it—quiet, reverent, a little stunned still. Like she can’t believe how lucky she is. Like she’s still figuring out how to say these things out loud.

“Never thought I’d be the kind of person who’d... sit in a living room talkin’ to a camera about baby kicks and weird cravings. Or rubbin’ somebody’s back while they’re cryin’ over a dog food commercial. Or—God help me—Googlin’ ‘why does my pregnant wife want pickles and watermelon at the same time?’”

Melissa laughs, one hand brushing her hair back as she shakes her head.

“But here we are.”

Her voice goes quiet. She swallows, her throat working around the weight of emotion that’s suddenly snuck up on her.

“And I wouldn’t trade it. Not for anything.”

She sets the mug down on the table beside her with a soft clink. Then she leans forward, resting her chin in her hand, elbow on her knee. The camera catches the shine in her eyes as she looks right into it, like she’s looking through time, right at the two people she loves most.

“Y/N told me she was pregnant a few weeks ago. Right here. In this room.”

Her voice grows quieter still. Measured. Like she’s scared to say too much, scared it might slip through her fingers if she does.

“I thought maybe I’d forget how it felt, y’know? The moment. But... nah. It hit me like a damn freight train. In a good way. Like suddenly, my whole world just tilted into place. Like—‘oh. This is where I’m meant to be.’”

She blinks slowly. Her voice doesn’t shake, but her heart’s right there in it.

“And now we’re here. And she’s got this perfect little belly that I swear I could just watch for hours. And she smiles at me like I hung the moon. And sometimes I still can’t believe it. That I get to be part of this. That I get tolove her like this.”

Melissa sits back for a moment. Runs her fingers along the rim of the coffee mug, her thumb lingering over the word mama.

“I’m makin’ this for the baby. For when they’re here. So they’ll know—right from the start—how loved they are. How lucky they are to have her as a mother. How beautiful she is. Strong as hell, too. Even with swollen ankles and a back that hurts every ten minutes, and the worst mood swings I’ve ever seen in my life...”

She grins.

“Still the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

She takes a breath. A long one. Her voice is hushed when she speaks again.

“And if she ever forgets—if she ever gets tired or scared, or thinks for even a second she’s not doin’ enough... I want her to have this. I want her to see how I looked at her. How I see her.”

Her gaze softens again. She leans toward the camera, eyes never leaving the lens.

“I got you, babygirl.”

A whisper.

“I’m right here. Always.”

She reaches out and touches the camera, fingers brushing over it like she’s touching the future.

The screen flickers.

Then fades to black..

October 11th. 7:52 p.m.

The screen clicks on. This time, it’s not Melissa’s face that appears first—it’s the soft, amber glow of the living room lamp, the quiet warmth of a fall evening settling into the house. There’s a faint jazz record playing some Beatles song in the background, the gentle clink of cutlery against ceramic, and then, slowly, her voice comes in—low and fond, just behind the camera.

“Alright... look at her.”

The camera pans gently to the right, revealing you curled up on the couch, legs tucked under a throw blanket. You are wearing one of Melissa’s oversized t-shirts, your hair loose and a little messy from the day. A small plate of cheese and crackers rests on your belly, which has grown noticeably rounder since the last days. You are carefully balancing the plate like it’s a precious artifact, fingers daintily picking up a square of cheddar and popping it into your mouth.

Melissa laughs quietly off-screen, zooming in just a little.

“You’d think she was at a five-star restaurant, the way she’s savorin’ every bite.”

Another laugh, softer this time.

“She made me get outta bed for this. Said she needed the fancy crackers. Not the round ones, the square ones. ‘The ones with the little seeds,’ she said.”

You pause mid-bite and glances toward the camera, a suspicious little squint in your eyes.

“You’re filming me? Seriously?!”

Melissa grins, her voice teasing but sweet.“Mmhm. Just a moment in history, sweetheart. You and your late-night cheese emergency.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. Instead, you pick up another cracker, this time topping it with a slice of gouda and a cornichon from the side dish your wife must’ve prepared just to keep you happy.

“She’s got very specific taste these days,” Melissa continues, the camera now focused on your contented expression as you chews thoughtfully, nodding to yourself like a sommelier.

The baby wanted cheese,” you mumble with your mouth full.

Melissa’s laugh is all love. “Yeah, yeah. The baby. You sure it’s not just you wantin’ cheese every ten minutes?”

You narrow your eyes but grin, licking a bit of brie off your thumb. “Don’t sass a hungry pregnant lady, Schemmenti.”

Melissa zooms in for a close-up of your face, feeling suddenly soft again. “God, look at her. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Every version of her. But this one—this sleepy, snacky, bossy little queen of the couch—she’s somethin’ else.”

You blink at her, flustered, cheeks flushed.

“Are you getting sentimental again?”

“Every damn day.”

She doesn’t stop recording right away. Instead, she lets the moment linger—you popping another cracker in your mouth, shifting slightly to make room for the baby bump, then settling again with a sigh of contentment.

“Alright, bubba,” she murmurs, the camera now back on the plate of snacks balanced carefully on your belly. “One day, you’re gonna see this and know—this is what love looks like. Cheese and crackers at eight o’clock on a Wednesday, and your mama takin’ up the whole couch like she owns it. Which she does. Always has.”

October 15th. 2:14 p.m.

The camera reveals Melissa sitting at the kitchen table, sunlight streaming in through the window behind her. Her red hair is pulled back into a loose braid, a few strands escaping around her face. She’s in a soft flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up, looking cozy and domestic. In front of her sits a small box wrapped in floral paper, along with a much smaller package—barely big enough to hold a bar of soap—topped with an uneven bow.

On the table next to the gifts sits Sweet Cheeks, the guinea pig, nestled in a little fleece-lined basket his momma clearly rigged out of a shoebox and an old baby blanket. He is blinking lazily, occasionally sniffing at the edge of the box, fluffy cheeks twitching.

Melissa adjusts the camera, leans into the frame, and grins. “Alright, baby—this one’s for you. And for the baby, I guess. And also for Sweet Cheeks, apparently, ‘cause Nonna went a little gift-happy.”

She picks up the smaller package first, squints at the tag.

“This one says—” she flips it over with a fond eye-roll. “‘To my grandpig, from Nonna Teresa.’”

Melissa snorts but her smile is fond and unmistakably tender.

“She’s lost it. Completely.”

The older woman carefully tears open the paper, revealing a tiny pink fleece hat—clearly handmade, with two ear holes cut out. Sweet Cheeks, oblivious to his fate, is busy nibbling the corner of a carrot.

Your wife holds up the hat to the camera.

“She knitted for the guinea pig. You’re seein’ this, right?”

She glances down at Sweet Cheeks.

“Alright, come on, fuzzball. Let’s try it on.”

There’s a bit of gentle maneuvering, a few squeaks of protest, and then—Sweet Cheeks, now adorned with a slightly crooked pink hat, blinking up at the camera like royalty.

Melissa can’t stop laughing.

“Look at him! Little diva. He knows he’s cute.”

The camera zooms in slightly, capturing the moment.

“Ma’s gonna lose it when she sees this video. She’s gonna think this pig is gonna be ring bearer or somethin’.”

Melissa opens the second, larger package more carefully. Inside, she finds a stack of folded baby onesies—soft yellow and pale green, each one with a different little embroidered patch. A smiling tomato. A clove of garlic. A meatball.

She holds one up and reads the tiny stitching on the front: Little Sicilian.

Her breath catches for just a second—barely noticeable—but her smile never fades. She brushes her fingers over the fabric like it’s made of glass.

“Mamma made these. She still cares enough to make these.”

Sweet Cheeks squeaks, startling Melissa slightly, and she reaches over to scratch him gently between the ears.

“Even if she thought one of ‘em was for you,” she murmurs with a watery chuckle. “It still counts.”

The redheaded woman lifts one of the onesies toward the camera again, her tone softer now.

“You’re gonna be wrapped in love, kiddo. From me, from your mommy, from your Nonna... hell, even from the guinea pig. Look at him—he’s already protective.”

Sweet Cheeks shifts slightly in his basket, flopping onto his side, hat still on.

“Okay, maybe not that protective. But he’s tryin’.”

Melissa reaches out, turns the camera a little so it frames her and Sweet Cheeks side by side. She holds the tiniest onesie up between them, her eyes warm and wet.

“Thanks, Ma,” she says quietly. “You did good.”

She leans in, kisses the top of Sweet Cheeks’ head, and gently taps the camera.

October 20th. 5:11 p.m.

On the Teachers’ Lounge, the usual hum of end-of-day chaos has settled into quiet. The fluorescent lights are dimmed, the coffee pot is mostly empty, and the hallway chatter has faded. In the lounge, only two people remain: Melissa Schemmenti and Jacob Hill.

Jacob sits on the worn couch, a half-finished grading stack next to him, sweater sleeves rolled up, curls slightly askew. He looks up as his former roommate walks in holding a small white gift bag, her expression unreadable but softer than usual.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just sets the bag down next to him and crosses her arms, leaning on the doorframe.

“This for me?” he asks with a smile, looking pleasantly confused.

Melissa gives a small shrug, but there’s a glint of something in her eyes. “Yeah. Thought you oughta have it.”

He pulls the bag onto his lap and peeks inside. He reaches in and pulls out a mug first—handmade ceramic, a little lopsided, clearly painted by a kid. Across the front, in chunky black letters:

Best Godfather Ever. :)

His hands freeze. He blinks. Then looks up at her, confusion beginning to dissolve into realization.

“Wait... wait, what is this?” his voice already shakes. “Mel—what is this?”

She walks over, sits beside him. Quiet, patient. Hands folded, eyes full.

“It means what you think it means, hon. We want you to be the godfather of our baby.”

Jacob stares at the mug in his hands like it might vanish if he blinks too fast. His mouth opens, then closes. When he speaks again, his voice is breaking.

“Are you—are you serious?” his throat tightens.“Me?”

Melissa nods, firm and steady.

“You, Jacob. Of course it’s you.”

He puts the mug down carefully, then buries his face in his hands. Shoulders shaking. It’s not loud—he’s not sobbing—but it’s the kind of cry that’s been building for years. One that comes from being seen. From being chosen.

Melissa doesn’t move right away. She just watches, lets him feel it. Then, quietly, she reaches over and places a hand on his back. Warm. Anchoring.

“You’ve been family since day one. Even when you annoyed the hell outta me. Which, let’s be honest, was most days.”

Jacob lets out a watery laugh, lifting his head just enough for her to see his red, blotchy face. He wipes at his cheeks with the sleeve of his cardigan.

“I just—I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t gotta say anything,” her voice softens further. “I trust you. And she does too. That kid’s gonna grow up knowin’ what kindness looks like ‘cause of you.”

The social studies teacher swallows hard, still wiping his tears.

“I’m gonna be the best godfather, Mel. Like, I’ll research it. I’ll make spreadsheets. I’ll learn how to knit. I’ll—”

Melissa snorts, her eyes shining

“You don’t gotta learn how to knit, sweetheart. Just keep bein’ you. That’s more than enough. For me. For us.”

Jacob nods, lip trembling again as he picks the mug back up and cradles it like it’s sacred.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “I love you.”

Melissa doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t joke to deflect. She just looks him in the eye, all warmth and steel.

“I love you too, honey.”

October 22nd. 3:30 p.m.

The camera clicks on, clearly hidden somewhere discreet—probably set up by Jacob, who’s suspiciously lingering near the door, doing a terrible job pretending he’s not part of something. Melissa enters, calm as ever, holding a neatly wrapped rectangular box with a bow and a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Barb sits behind her desk, grading a stack of vocabulary quizzes. She looks up the moment her work wife enters and raises an eyebrow.

“If this is another one of your Italian meatball baby craving deliveries for Y/N, Melissa, I’m afraid I cannot accept bribes.”

Melissa smirks, already halfway across the room.

“Relax, hun. I brought you a gift, not a bribe.”

“Same thing when it’s from you.”

Jacob snorts from the doorway. Melissa shoots him a glare before gently placing the box on the desk.

The kindergarten teacher side-eyes it, suspicious.

“What is this? It’s not another candle that smells like a sandwich, is it?”

Melissa groans. “Nope. Go ahead. Open it.”

Barbara sighs, carefully removes her reading glasses and lifts the lid. Inside is a crisp, embroidered handkerchief with delicate floral stitching in the corner… and beneath it, a white bib.

She picks it up. It reads:

If lost, please return me to my godmother, Barbara Howard.

“...Excuse me?”

Melissa leans her hip against the desk, arms folded, smug as ever.

“You heard me. You’re lookin’ at the official godmother of this kid.”

The brunette blinks. Once. Twice. Then sets the bib down like it might explode.

“Melissa Ann Catarina Schemmenti. Have you taken leave of your senses?”

Jacob bursts out laughing from the door. “She said your full government name, oh my god—”

Barb glares at him.

Melissa just grins and then, responds. “You’re the most level-headed, morally sound woman I know. If anything ever happened to us—and I don’t say that lightly—I’d want someone who’d raise our kid with Jesus, good books, and absolutely no nonsense. So yeah. You’re it.”

She looks genuinely touched for a full 0.3 seconds before her composure slams back into place. “I am honored. Deeply. But let me be perfectly clear—I will not be changing diapers. I did that in the ‘80s and recently with my glamchild. I am done.”

Your wife holds up her hands.

“No diapers. Just wisdom. Discipline. And maybe the occasional terrifying stare that makes them sit up straight from across the room.”

The kindergarten teacher sniffs. “Well… I do have a reputation to uphold.” A pause. Then, softer.“Thank you. Truly. It means more than I can say.”

Melissa reaches over, giving her hand a rare, gentle squeeze.

Jacob claps loudly. “Okay, say cheese for the camera!

“Jacob Anthony Hill, is there a camera in my classroom?” Barb whips.

“NOPE!” he yelps, diving out of the room.

Barbara narrows her eyes toward the suspicious potted plant in the corner. “If this ends up on TokTik, so help me, I will call the Lord and the district.”

October 23rd. 4:48 p.m.

The afternoon sun casts shadows across the cracked parking lot. Most of the teachers have gone home, but Melissa stands by her car, arms crossed and eyes squinting into the light. She’s clearly trying to act casual. It’s not working.

Janine walks out of the building with Gregory close behind, both mid-conversation.

“...and that’s why glue sticks and humidity are natural enemies,” the second grade teacher’s saying.

Her boyfriend just nods, clearly having stopped listening seven minutes ago.

Behind them, Ava struts out in sunglasses and heels she did not wear all day, Mr. Johnson trailing with a suspiciously large duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“You got five minutes, Schemmenti,” the principal says. “I got a facial at six and Mr. J needs to dispose of something that definitely isn’t haunted.”

“It was never proven haunted,” the janitor mutters.

Melissa raises a hand.

“Okay, alright, listen up. I called you over ‘cause I got somethin’ to tell you. Something important.”

Everyone tenses.

Janine’s eyes go wide. “Is it the mob?” she blurts.

Gregory sighs. “Baby, again—no one is in the mob.”

“Not no one,” Ava mutters, eyeing her coworker.

The green eyed woman pinches the bridge of her nose. “No, it’s not the damn mob. Will you shut up and let me talk?” she hesitates for half a second. Then her entire face softens. “She’s pregnant.”

The group goes still. Janine gasps, covering her mouth. “YOU’RE PREGNANT?!”

Melissa stares at her. “No, not me—Y/N. She’s pregnant.”

“Ohhhhh,” her grade partner exhales, and then immediately claps her hands over her mouth again. “Oh my god!” she rushes over and hugs the redhead, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I’m gonna cry. I am crying.”

Gregory blinks, then smiles. It’s subtle, but proud.“Congratulations. That’s... wow. That’s amazing.”

“You gonna be a good mom?” Mr. Johnson asks seriously.

Melissa raises an eyebrow. “I’m gonna be the best damn one this school’s ever seen.”

“Then I’ll make a tiny shovel.”

Ava slowly lowers her sunglasses, staring at your wife like she’s analyzing her soul. “So let me get this straight... you’ve been hiding a whole baby this whole time?”

“We weren’t hiding the baby. We were just... enjoying it being ours for a little while.”

“I knew something was going on,” the taller woman says dramatically, pacing. “You’ve been all glowy and less mean. And you didn’t slap me when I called you Soft Mommy Mafia the other day.”

“I should’ve,” Melissa mutters.

“You’re gonna name the baby Ava, right?”

“Not a chance.”

Janine’s already spiraling in a circle. “Wait, wait—can I help with the baby shower? I know this woman who makes custom diaper cakes shaped like dinosaurs and also Jesus. Or both?”

Gregory gently pulls her back by the backpack strap. “Maybe let them process for a second.”

Melissa leans back on her car, arms crossed but smiling, eyes shining. “Just wanted you guys to know. You’re part of this. Whether you like it or not.”

Mr. Johnson nods seriously. “I’ll start making the crib. Outta reclaimed wood from the fallout shelter.”

Janine sniffles. “It’s gonna be the most emotionally intelligent baby in the world.”

Ava snaps a selfie with your redheaded wife mid-sentence. “Tagging it: ‘When the mob wife turns MILF.’”

“Coleman—”

“Too late. It’s on the story.”

November 10th. 7:42 p.m.

Melissa is sitting on the couch in a navy hoodie and sweatpants, hair up in a messy clip. Her face is a little flushed, the kind of tired that says I’ve had a long day but I’m happy to be here.

You are next to her. Well—on her, really. Draped over her side, face half-buried in her neck, arms wrapped around her like a sleepy sloth. A blanket covers both of you, and you are making a soft, satisfied humming sound every time she shifts.

Melissa glances at the camera and smirks.

“It’s November tenth. I wasn’t gonna film anything today, but... this one won’t let me breathe without bein’ attached like a koala,” she nods toward you, then gently nudges your thigh. “Say hi, cling wrap.”

You let out a muffled, sleepy “hi” without lifting your head.

The green eyed woman chuckles, brushing some hair from your face.

“She’s been like this all week. I don’t mind—I like her like this, actually. Kinda nice havin’ a little heater who whines if I get up for water.”

You groan quietly. “Don’t go.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, baby. Just talkin’ to the camera for the peanut.”

Your hand slides under Melissa’s hoodie, cold fingers on her side. She yelps and twists.

“Jesus Christ, would you stop tryin’ to ice me to death?”

“Your skin’s warm,” you smile, snuggling closer.

Melissa looks back at the camera with an exaggerated deadpan stare.“This is what I signed up for, apparently. Cold hands, belly kicks at 2 a.m., and emotional blackmail in the form of sleepy cuddles.”

A beat. Then she smiles—soft and deep and completely in love.

“Nah, but seriously... she’s like this now more than ever. Real clingy. I think it’s ‘cause she’s gettin’ close to the third trimester and her back hurts and everything’s heavy.”

She runs a gentle hand down your spine. “But she still smiles at me every time I walk into a room like I’m the damn sun.”

“You are,” you say, muffled again.

Melissa pauses, touched. She glances down at her, then gently kisses the top of her head.

“You’re ridiculous. But... yeah. I’ll take it.”

A silence settles for a moment—only the sound of the televison playing faintly and your breathing.

She leans forward just enough to whisper into the camera, trying not to wake you up. “She’s gonna see this later and deny bein’ this clingy. But I got it on tape now. Forever.”

A proud smirk. “Evidence.” she reaches forward and taps the camera gently. “Love you, bubba. Both of you.”

November 17th. 2:14 p.m. The camera is not on—it’s shaky footage clearly taken by you on your phone, aimed at Melissa sitting in a chair beside the exam table. She’s got her hand over her mouth, eyes wide, frozen in disbelief.

The sonographer calmly points at the monitor. “And that’s baby A… and right there, that’s baby B.”

Melissa doesn’t move for a full two seconds.

“I’m sorry—BABY WHAT?” She shoots to her feet, knocking her chair back. “BABY B?!”

You are snorting behind the camera, nearly dropping the phone. She turns in a slow circle like she’s trying to physically walk away from the news but keeps ending up back at it.

“Twins? TWINS?!”

She grabs the edge of the counter dramatically. “There’s two of them in there? Like—AT THE SAME TIME?”

The sonographer, very used to this reaction, just nods and keeps smiling.

Melissa throws both hands in the air. “Oh my GOD, I’m gonna need more lasagna.”

November 25th. 4:03 p.m.

The screen shows a softly nursery in progress—walls a pale sage green, with scattered paint swatches still taped up on the far side. A wooden crib stands assembled in the corner, and Melissa is on a small step stool, pinning star-shaped string lights along the wall with quiet concentration. She’s in paint-smudged leggings and an old Villanova t-shirt, hair tied up, humming off-key under her breath.

The bedroom is filled with calm music, faint sounds of laughter from the hallway, and the occasional creak of the old floorboards.

Behind her, you walk in holding two tiny onesies—one with cartoon peaches, the other with little bears. You lean in the doorway for a moment, just watching Melissa.

“You missed a spot,” you tease softly.

She glances over her shoulder. “Yeah? Come over here and say that to my face, smartass.”

Ypu smirk and walk in, wrapping arms around Melissa’s waist from behind, resting your cheek against her back.

“Y’know,” she says, voice quieter, “I never thought I’d get to do this. Paint walls, hang lights, fold baby socks...”

She steps down from the stool and turns to face you, arms loosely wrapping around your hips.

“But now we’re here. And I don’t want to miss a second of it.”

Your eyes shine, and you lean in, gently brushing your noses together before kissing her—slow and warm, the kind that says home.

The lights twinkle softly above you.

March 4th. 9:26 p.m.

The screen jolts on, shaky at first, clearly unintentional. The kitchen lights are on. You can hear the sound of something sizzling on the stove.

Off-camera, there’s a sudden sharp intake of breath.

“Um… babe?”

Melissa, wearing pajama pants and a worn grey hoodie, strolls into frame holding a wooden spoon. “Yeah?”

“I think my water just broke.”

“...You what?” the spoon hits the floor. “WHAT?!”

She spins around like she’s expecting to see water flooding the kitchen. You walk into frame, hands on your lower back, eyes wide but calm.

“I mean—I’m pretty sure. Either that or I peed myself and I’m really committed to the bit.”

“Okay. Okay. Okay. Don’t panic.” Melissa starts pacing, already panicking. “Is it too soon? Wait, no—we’re full term. We’re full term, right? Oh my god. Where’s the bag? Did we pack the bag? Did I pack the bag? WHERE IS THE BAG?”

You, somehow still composed, points toward the hallway. “Closet. Second shelf.”

“Right, closet, second shelf—why would we put it there, what kind of monsters are we—” She runs off screen, and a crash is heard followed by a loud “WE’RE HAVING BABIES, HOLY SH—”

Melissa stumbles back into frame holding the hospital bag and car keys, looking wild-eyed. “Okay, okay, I got it. I’m ready. Are you ready? Are the babies ready? Are we emotionally—actually no, don’t answer that, get in the car.”

“Should I change first or…?”

She takes one look, nods frantically. “Yes. No. I don’t know. Do whatever you need to do, just—do it fast. I’ll be in the car yelling at traffic that hasn’t even happened yet.”

"Okay."

The redhead rushes toward the door, then doubles back just as fast and cups your face, kissing you quickly but fiercely. “You got this. I love you. You’re amazing. Let’s go have some babies.”

She disappears again with a final, muffled “OH MY GOD IT’S HAPPENING—”

The camera is left at a crooked angle, pointed at the stove, where the spaghetti is now boiling over.

March 4th. 11:12 p.m.

The Medical equipment hums quietly. You’re propped up in the hospital bed, pale but strong, one hand on your belly, the other tightly gripping Melissa’s.

She sits at your side, no longer wild-eyed but focused—serious in a way that means she’s feeling everything but holding it together for both of you. Her hair’s a little messy from running her hands through it, and her hoodie’s halfway zipped over the t-shirt she threw on under pressure. Her thumb rubs slow circles over your knuckles.

“Okay,” Melissa says softly, looking up at you. “I’ve calmed down. Mostly. I think. You’re doin’ amazing, bubba. You hear me? I’ve never seen anybody this strong.”

You breathe through a contraction, jaw tight. When it passes, you manages a tired smile.

“I’m scared,” you whisper.

“I know. Me too,” she swallows hard.“But we’re gonna do this together, alright? You and me. And then we’re gonna have two tiny little people who’ve already stolen my heart and ruined my sleep schedule.”

The monitor beeps gently in the background.

Melissa glances at the camera, then back at you.

“I wish I could bottle this moment. So the babies know how hard you worked to bring them here. How brave you are. How much you love ‘em already.”

You smile, eyes fluttering close for a second.

“Hey,” she whispers, voice cracking. “I’ve got you. I’m right here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

A nurse steps in quietly, letting you both know the doctor will be there in a few minutes. Melissa nods, then leans down and kisses your hand.

“Let’s go meet our babies.”

March 5th. 12:47 a.m.

Melissa’s hand is gripped tight in yours as the doctor gives the final encouragement. Sweat clings to your brow, body trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline. Your sweet wife is right beside you, eyes locked on her face, whispering fiercely:

“You’ve got this, baby. One more push. You’re almost there. I’m right here.”

A cry.

Sharp. New.

The world stills around it.

The redheaded woman’s head whips toward the sound, her breath catching in her throat as the nurse holds up the first baby.

“It’s a girl!”

The tiniest, angriest human is placed gently in the nurse’s arms to be cleaned off, and Melissa Schemmenti can’t stop staring.

“That’s her,” she whispers. “That’s... that’s our baby.”

And then a second cry. Softer, warbled.

“And here’s her sister!”

Tears are already running down her cheeks as both babies are swaddled and handed over one by one. Your eyes flutter open as Melissa returns, one baby in each arm, shaking and smiling so wide it almost doesn’t fit on her face.

She gently settles onto the edge of the bed, carefully handing you the baby with the stronger lungs, who’s still fussing.

“That one’s Francesca,” Melissa says, quiet and reverent. “This little fighter.”

You stare down at her, blinking through tears, and stroke the baby’s soft cheek.

The older woman turns her gaze to the smaller, sleepier one curled up on her chest. “And this is Amelia. Our quiet girl. Look at her, bubba. She’s so little... but she’s perfect.”

The room is warm now, filled with a silence that hums with love and awe. The kind of silence that only happens after something sacred.

Melissa rocks gently, pressing her lips to Amelia’s forehead. “Francesca,” she murmurs, glancing at the other baby and grinning.

“You know what I’m callin’ her already, right?”

“No.”

She looks back at you. “She’s gonna be my little Chessy.”

“Wait—wait a second. I know that name.”

“Yeah, you do.”

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x y/n #melissa schemmenti #lisa ann walter #abbott elementary #abbott elementary fanfiction #wlw #meu amor obrigada pelo request #🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

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sloaneispunk · 3 days ago

Text

thunderbolts*

bucky didn’t know he was capable of falling in love but when he received a distressing call from you, for the first time he felt something other than anger.

“you must be y/n.”

you looked up from your phone to see a familiar face.

“you’re james buchanan barnes.” you cocked your eyebrow, making him chuckle. “don’t try to persuade me into changing teams, even though i must commend the look… you’re this close to getting me on your side.” you joked.

bucky was lost for words, suddenly everything he had rehearsed disappeared from his mind. “look, i-uh just wanted to uh, warn you about valentina.”

“i know who she is and what she’s doing.” you nodded, “i don’t want to do this either, believe me if it were up to me, i would be on your side.”

that’s all bucky needed to know that now, he had an inside person exactly where he needed it.

“here, take this.” he said as he handed you a small slip of paper.

“what is it?”

“my number. call me if you need me.”

a while later

“come on, seriously? can’t you at least untie us?” yelena groaned as she and her team found themselves stuck in an old shed after bucky had initially saved their asses.

“you’re basically criminals. and until i figure out what to do with you, you’ll stay here where i can keep an eye on you.” bucky replied, rolling his eyes. “so who is this rogue vigilante you’re all talking about?”

“bob!” the thunderbolts exclaimed in unison.

“bob?”

“bob!”

just before he could resume his interrogation, his phone rang. bucky looked at the number that flashed on his phone, it was unknown. he signaled the team to quiet down then answered the phone.

“hello?-”

“bucky, it’s y/n.” your voice cut him off.

he choked. “y/n? d-did you dial the wrong number?”

“no, look, i don’t have time-valentina has something, no, someone in her possession. some guy called bob. she’s already started her manipulation and bucky, he’s dangerous…”

“are you safe?” his voice softened. in the background, a not so subtle yelena let out a snort, trying her best to stifle her laughter.

“i think valentina’s starting to catch on, but-shit! i gotta go, bucky please hel-”

then the line went dead. bucky’s hand dropped to his side, the other running through his hair as he sucked in a breath.

“what is it, soldier? your girlfriend in trouble?” yelena teased as alexi started to join in.

“reminds me of your mother and i, except i was the one always calling her for help.”

but bucky was having none of it, he stormed towards the team and started to cut the ropes off their binded hands.

“this doesn’t mean i’m letting you go. we’re just making a stop somewhere.” he muttered out.

“works for me.” ava shrugged.

at the compound

“so everyone wait for my signal and we’ll sneak in quietly pass the guards and find y/n. got it?” said yelena. “wait where’s bucky?”

suddenly, a big white delivery truck drove straight pass the team, crashing into the compound, startling everybody.

as the dust settled, bucky hopped out of the vehicle and started to march his way towards the elevator doors, leaving the rest of the team to fend off the guards.

in the elevator, bucky was nervous. he looked down at his hands to see them shaking. maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was the fact that the girl he couldn’t stop thinking about for the past few days was in trouble because of him.

the bell dinged, signaling that it was his stop to get off. as soon as the doors opened, he drew his gun. but there was no sign of you or valentina anywhere.

“valentina!” he yelled, voice laced with anger. “i know you have y/n! let her go, this is between you and me!”

“oh, but it’s not, is it?” valentina replied. bucky’s eyes shot towards where her voice was coming from: the top of the glass stairs. but she wasn’t alone.

she too had a gun drawn, but it wasn’t at him. it was at you. slowly, she led you down the stairs step by step as bucky’s grip tightened on the gun.

“let her go valentina.” he seethed. oh now he was fuming.

“actually, you’re right. she’s no use to me, she might as well be one of you now… what a bad girl.” valentina scoffed, shoving you straight at bucky once your feet had touched the ground.

bucky faltered, one arm rushing to catch you, the other trying its best to stay focused on her. you felt bucky’s hand immediately take a hold of your arm, gently pulling you behind him.

as the tensions between the two was getting thicker with every second that passed, the elevator bell rung once more. this time it was the remaining thunderbolts.

“jesus, you work fast.” walker scoffed as they were all face to face with their common rival now.

“ah, just in time, my favourite rogue vigilantes.” the woman clapped her hands. “welcome! you’re just in time to be the first to witness my new invention… bob, honey, come here.”

everyones gaze shifted to the new person that joined the room, it was bob. but he was different.

he had an awful, way too tight comic-like costume on and bright blonde hair.

“is that bob?” yelena asked aloud.

“no lena, this is my new creation, sentry. sentry, say hi.”

“hey guys.” he nervously gave the team an awkward wave.

“enough with the bullshit valentina.” walker intervened, throwing his shield at full force in her direction.

but what happened next came as a shock to everyone. sentry had caught the shield, not only that but he had bent the metal almost into itself before throwing it back at walker, causing him to be thrown back onto his back at the force.

“did he just turn the john walker shield into a taco?” you gasped as the team charged forward, lunging at bob.

you too decided to get off your ass to assist them in the fight, drawing your gun and aiming at bobs’ legs so you would only wound him enough to slow him down.

but each and everyone’s efforts were futile as the literal god had effortlessly took them down one by one, sending the team scurrying away.

he had somehow ripped out bucky’s vibranium arm and tossed it as well as him on the floor. you ran towards him, wrapping your arms around his torso and helping him up, yelena grabbing his arm on the way back to the elevator.

when the elevator door closed and you had made sure you were safe from valentina, you looked up at bucky to see that he was already looking down at you. he didn’t say a word, simply leaning towards you as your grip tightened around him, gently squeezing him to let him know that he was alright.

as everyone got to the ground floor, alexi finally broke the silence.

“did we just lose?!”

“yeah genius, we did.” ava retorted.

“he’s too strong.” bucky panted, momentarily moving away from you as he took his metal arm back from yelena, making sure he was a distance away before attaching it back.

the thunderbolts started to argue. no one understood how a seemingly timid, awkward guy like bob could turn into such a monster.

you watched the heroes yell and scream at each other, not noticing bucky walking up next to you once more.

“hey, you okay?” he asked, gently touching your arm, getting you to face him.

“i should be asking you.” you tried to lighten the mood, but there was not a single trace of a smile on his face.

“did she hurt you?” he asked once more, inspecting your face for marks or bruises. then, his eyes landed on a dark bruise on your cheekbone. he raised his hand hesitantly, waiting for your permission before he traced he bruise. “was it her?”

you nodded. “you know valentina, she doesn’t like traitors.”

bucky’s eyes soften, something tugged at his heart, it made him feel something. “i wish i could have been there sooner when you called.”

“don’t say that… i made the call, you couldn’t have stopped it.” you gave him a small smile.

bucky then took your hand, tugging at it to follow him as he sat down on the dusty floor, slumped against the wall. he patted the spot next to him in which you gladly complied.

“so what now?”

“i don’t know… but i don’t think the team’s gonna stick together after that.” he replied, pointing to the yelling and shouting that was taking place within the group not too far away.

you sighed. “well, what are you going to do, me congressman?”

he playfully rolled his eyes, scoffing. “i think i could go for a bite… wanna come along?”

“how can i say no?”

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #marvel #thunderbolts #yelena belova #yelena black widow #yelena x reader

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