#I was not functional and had to sit in the car

[binmeister]

Let the man rest.

Huntr/x & Saja Boys x Bodyguard! Reader

Sometimes you work a little too hard, add a messy sleep schedule on top and.. well.. maybe you can catch up on sleep now. At least that's what you thought.

Wanted to combine a little thought I had about a tired Bodyguard! reader and a prompt submitted by @silver--47 - thank you so much for the inspo !!

Prompt provided by silver:

Reader scolding both Huntr/x and Saja Boys over their childish behavior at a variety show or fan sign. Like, making them all sit on a long couch and ranting and scolding them about proper Idol behavior and etiquette, no matter if they are Demons or Hunters. At the end, reader walks off to work out and Huntr/x and Saja Boys collectively agree that they never wish to see the bad side again. Bonus: Zoey and Romance getting freaky about how hot reader looked when angry.

CW: not properly proofread, masc pronouns used where applicable

WC: Approx 3.3k

You’re genuinely exhausted. It feels like it’s been weeks since you had a good nights rest but you couldn’t ease up just yet, wanting to make sure that you stayed on top of your game in other aspects of your life even if it meant your sleep schedule took a hit. The Huntr/x girls had noticed, the Saja Boys too. Everyone could tell that you were just exhausted.

“Hey, you should take it easy today.” You could barely distinguish the voice of Mira as she looked at you with genuine concern written all over her face, you waved her off assuring her that you’re fine and that it’ll be okay since this would be the last event scheduled for at least a week. It was a recorded game show with a live audience where both groups had been invited to attend and of course you were there to make sure the girls were okay. It was your job. Your responsibility.

The car ride to the venue wasn’t too long, Bobby had been chattering away at the expected timeline of games and events and even he had noticed that you were tired. You brushed him off and said the same thing you said to Mira, that you’re fine and it’s the last event so you can rest once it’s all done. The girls all collectively shared a glance and unbeknownst to you, shot Bobby a look as if pleading him to arrange something at the venue which he gave a thumbs up to and began texting away on his phone.

You’d shut your eyes at some point and were lulling in and out of sleep in the car, arms crossed as you fought off the fatigue - head struggling to stay upright but you needed to stay up. Try to be on alert. When the car halted it’s movement finally and the driver announced you’d arrived at the destination, you managed to crack your eyes open enough to unbuckle your seatbelt and clicked open the van’s sliding door to exit first - a polite bow to the fans that had been hovering near the road when they heard of who was scheduled to be on the show today.

You’d slid the door open a little wider, taking your coat off and shielding the girls’ bodies as they climbed out - being wary of any flashing cameras that may have been aiming to get an inappropriate upskirt shot or any compromising photos in general. After Bobby had exited the van as well you’d slid the door shut, giving the top of the van a couple of firm pats to signal that the driver was free to go and you’d swung your coat over your shoulder as you followed behind the trio of idols in front of you into the safety of the building.

The moment the group had stepped in the set staff had ushered the girls off to hair and makeup, and seemingly last minute wardrobe changes to make sure they were in outfits that were functional for the games they were due to play. You gave a small polite bow to them as they whisked the girls away and proceeded to do a quick check of the back stage area, making sure there weren’t any safety concerns or any suspicious characters lurking about when you heard a familiar voice call out to you.

“Hey man!” It was Abby, he recognised your figure as you were walking about and had rushed over to your location. When he was about a step away from you he raised up an arm, gesturing for you to dap him up and you did so - your usual grip lacking as the fatigue was catching up to you and you let him carry the weight as he pulled you in for the quick on arm hug portion of the greeting. He noticed immediately the lack of energy, raising a flared brow at you as he gave you a once over. “Hey you good man? You look pretty tired.”

What’s with everyone and wanting you to rest so bad? Did you seriously look that bad? You shrugged him off and didn’t let him linger too much on his concern as you questioned where the other guys were at if he was here alone. Abby was kind enough to go along with your silent request to ignore your slightly pathetic state and gestured with his head, his thumbs slipping into his tight jean pockets and he stretched a little before relaxing.

“Hair ‘n’ makeup. Y’know the usual stuff they force on us.” He replied to you, the two of you stepping to the side when you noticed some panicked staff shifting around equipment and props to get ready for the shoot. “You can come chill with us if you’re done poking around.”

You mulled it over for a moment before agreeing, letting Abby lead the way to their dressing room so you can greet the other guys and catch back up with the girls before they were due to be on set. It was a short walk and Abby had filled the silence with small talk, seemingly letting you stay quiet this time around instead of his usual way of talking that normally prompted you to respond. A small gesture of kindness to you since he didn’t want to tire you out even further.

He knocked on the door - waiting for approval before he swung it open and let you enter first before stepping in after you and closing it back up behind him. It seemed like the guys had arrived early and had gotten themselves sorted before the girls did which was good at least, it meant the remaining time really was just on the girls to get their stuff sorted and that gave you a little relief. Jinu was sat in one of the chairs in front of a half mirror vanity, scrolling on his phone for a moment but when he heard the sound of people entering he had looked up to check who it was and seemed a little surprised to see you but he’d jumped up to his feet regardless to walk over and greet you properly.

“Hey.” The same greeting exchanged between yourself and Abby was repeated between yourself and Jinu, same loose grip and then a lazy pull in - though you felt a little too tired to commit to the one armed hug and just bumped your shoulder to his. He’d turned and called for the remaining trio to greet you properly, the trio in question currently huddled over Baby’s phone as he seemed locked in on whatever game he had come across in the last week. Mystery looked up and nodded at you, Romance gave you a two fingered salute and Baby flicked his eyes away from the screen enough to nod at you and give you a low ‘wassup.’ - Jinu rolled his eyes at the lazy excuse of a greeting but it didn’t seem like you cared much today.

You felt a weight on your shoulders as Abby swung his arm over you, using his body weight to drag you over to the secondary couch in the room and forcing you to sit down on the plush seat. Were these couches always this comfortable..? Unbeknownst to you it seemed like the demon boys had all collectively agreed to let you chill and rest because realistically, you look like you’d been hit by a truck and forced to go to work an hour later with how sluggish you were moving. Baby had lowered the audio on his phone a little, the once blaring SFX a bit more of a hum and Abby had plopped down next to you - Jinu sitting down on your other side and for some reason it felt like everyone was talking at a lower volume.

Your eyes started to feel progressively heavier, the warmth the two guys radiated near you was a weirdly nice blanket and you’d found yourself sinking into the couch a little - head resting against the wall the couch had been pushed up against and your body in general felt heavy. 

Jinu and Abby shared a knowing glance when you’d knocked out, barely 5 minutes into sitting down between them. The former had managed to snag your coat off your shoulder and proceeded to cover you with it to keep you warm since the room had been left at a chillier temperature. There was still a half hour before the idols were due to start the show so surely they could let you indulge in a quick power nap right?

They did just that, talking quietly amongst themselves and going about their usual behaviour minus any obnoxiously loud shouting that would usually stem from Abby in particular. During your little nap, about 10 minutes into it Baby had suddenly piped up that he was bored and had put his phone away. He looked expectantly at the groups’ leader before he looked at Abby and Mystery when an idea formed in his head. 

What if he instigated something? 

He stood up wordlessly and Jinu didn’t stop him, leader mistake number 1, with quick and light steps he exited the dressing room and had managed to get lucky with his timing because he saw a little trio of well dressed girls chattering amongst themselves. Bingo.

He had wandered on up to them, a sly smile on his face at the familiar look of disdain that flashed on the girls faces that they had to hide as some set staff had rushed up to ask if the girls were ready and if everything was still greenlit. After the staff member had left he opened his mouth to ask them an innocent little question.

“Hey, where’s your lil guard dog?” Rumi’s head snapped over to him at that after she straightened up from bowing at the assistant that had grabbed their attention. “Excuse me?”

“Y’know. Kinda tall, pretty built...” He trailed off as he made direct eye contact with Rumi now. “The hot one that you’re all usually drooling over.”

The girls all stood mouths agape as he casually walked away after that, all making little shouts of protests as they proceeded to follow him and question him about you because in Mira’s opinion ‘That lil sly bastard totally knows where [Name] is’ and that’s what lead them over to a secluded area back stage where he just happily watched them all bicker and make jabs at him that he had tuned out - just enjoying the sounds of their complaints at this rate.

Jinu felt a disturbance in the force, leader senses kicking in and it hit him that if all the guys were in here.. and if you were also in here. Who the hell is watching Baby? He groaned at that as he got to his feet and gestured for Abby to follow him so they could go locate their runt. The bulkier man stood up without a complaint, nodding to the remaining two to keep an eye on you which they acknowledged - one with a nod and one with an OK gesture with his hand.

They’d stepped out and Abby made sure to close the door with a gentle click so it didn’t wake you, then it was up to their enhanced senses to sus out where the hell Baby had gone. Which didn’t take long because they heard the recognisable voices of the hunters sounding disgruntled at someone - with basic math it could only be Baby because if it had been some unsuspecting human? They’re sure you would’ve been the one berating the girls.

“Okay where are you hiding him?” “Did you guys eat him?” “How could you eat him! He vouched that you were cool and you guys go and eat him?”

By the time they walked up close enough to see what was going on, the trio of hunters were hovering around Baby who had the most shit eating grin on his face as if he savoured their suffering. Jinu pinched the bridge of his nose and Abby had to suppress the chuckle that threatened to escape as he watched what was going on.

Maybe 20 minutes had passed and you had grumbled, a soft groan escaping you as you had re-entered the land of the awake seemingly against your will. A hand had covered your eyes when it seemed like you were struggling to adjust the extreme brightness that you had woken up to, it took a few additional blinks before you registered that it wasn’t your hand that had shieled your eyes and you paused. You raised a hand and gently pulled away whoever it was that was kind enough to shield your eyes and you were a little surprised to see that it had actually been Mystery, he was standing in front of you and it seemed like the other guys had already walked out to get themselves prepped or something.

“We’re starting soon, sleeping beauty.” You heard Romance’s voice and realised he was standing at the door already as he waited for you to stretch, your dark button up shirt raising slightly and exposed your midriff and his eyes had instinctively devoured that lick of skin that you’d accidentally blessed him with. Romance coughed into a closed fit to try and play it off but when you’d gotten to your feet and given him a sleepy smile and a husky ‘thanks..’ to Mystery who had stepped back to give you room - it made him realise he had a lot of self reflection to go over later. If he cared enough.

The three of you had left the dressing room and your senses had come back enough to recognise the distinct voices of your girl group in some kind of hushed argument with someone, that’s not right. Who are they arguing with? And you had rushed over to where you heard the sounds from, you’d spotted them off to the side in a semi concealed area where little to no staff were hovering and you saw your girls in some kind of debate with the Saja Boys seemingly.

“What’s going on?” They all collectively froze at the sound of your stern voice. Jinu and Abby had stepped between Baby and the girls and the girls looked like they were about to go feral and attack the smaller male. You saw 6 heads slowly turn to look at you, the guiltiest looks you’ve seen on any of their faces in a while and you were unimpressed to say the least.

It was safe to say you were definitely more awake now, an intense amount of frustration radiating from you that they were not ready to deal with but it seemed they were spared for now as they heard Bobby call out for the girls and guys to please get on set, you’re gonna run behind on schedule. He paused briefly as he noticed your frustrated expression, unsure if he should get into manager mode and get the show on the road or if he should let you do your job in disciplining everyone.

“Get going, you better have a good explanation for this afterwards though.” And that was Bobby’s q to save the idols from your brewing wrath and get things back on track. His movements were quick and he tried his best to hype everyone up as he led them away, coming back shortly after to check in with you now that the kids were all sorted. 

“Heeey..” You heard Bobby sing out while you were rubbing your temples, eyes closed as you tried to calm yourself down - definitely still a little too tired to be dealing with a flare up of anger and probably weren’t thinking straight. “Um, the girls and me had asked for them to let you rest in the girls’ dressing room.. so you can go rest there for a bit.”

You contemplated contesting him, telling him you were fine but then you thought it over and decided yeah. You really needed the rest. “Thank you Bobby.” You’d said quietly as you let him lead the way to the girls’ dressing room, when you had entered the smaller room he’d closed the door after you and reassured you that he’ll ‘make sure the girls are safe - you just focus on resting up now!’. 

You took in your surroundings, one couch instead of the two that the boys had which made sense since the amount of people was different. It seemed like pillows and a blanket had been arranged for you since they were placed neatly on the soft cushioned couch and it looked divine to go lie down on. When you sat down and literally sank into heaven you let out a deep sigh of relief, shifting to lie down on the provided pillow and tossed the blanket haphazardly on top of yourself as you let sleep overcome your senses again. 

It was safe to say you had slept soundly for the full duration of the 2 hour recording the groups had to endure. 

The aftermath wasn’t the prettiest, the staff on set were kind enough to allow you some privacy as you needed to have a debrief with the groups about something very important. How could they say no? You’re always so polite and straightforward about things that it only made sense to leave you be with the idols - you were their body guard after all!

Which is what resulted in 5 demons and 3 demon hunters to be knelt in front of you inside of the Saja Boys’ more spacious dressing room, all of their heads hanging slightly as they actively avoided your eye contact. Well except for 3 of them. 

“Mystery, Romance, you’re free to go - don’t cause trouble.” You’d said, voice low and tone slightly threatening at the end of your sentence - you didn’t need to instruct them twice because the two were up and gone immediately. Loyalty who? They’re not going to get punished for something they didn’t take part in.

“As for the rest of you,” Your eyes turned back to the remaining trouble makers after you watched the first two leave, your frustration from earlier was back but you were a lot more sound of mind. “I changed my mind about wanting an explanation, I’m just going to remind you kindly about the fact that you are all idols right now.”

The girls thought that maybe Celine actually wasn’t that scary after all and the guys questioned whether or not they may be more scared of you or Gwi-Ma. 

“I don’t care who,” Your eyes zoned in on Baby who continued to avoid your gaze, “Started this. You’re all responsible for maintaining a professional,” Your eyes zeroed in on the girls who had promised you the night before that they would be well behaved and not entertain any funny business from the Saja Boys - they all looked guilty. “And responsible image.” Your eyes had met Jinu’s, whom had quirked an awkward and guilty smile at the fact he did mess up in not being more aware of his group member.

“I’m going to let you all off with a warning,” they all visibly relaxed for a moment, “This time.” ..you’re scary when you hold grudges.

“You can all go home, I’m going to go to the gym and cool off.” You finished finally and had picked your coat up off the couch that you’d left behind earlier and proceeded to leave.

“Oh can I tag along-” Abby instinctively asked before your eyes narrowed at him and he shut his mouth and sat his ass back down on the floor.

The click of the door was enough for them all to finally let out a deep breath in collective relief that you hadn’t gone in on them too hard, then Zoey pipes up.

“..does anyone else agree that he was kinda hot just now.” No one wanted to verbally respond to her observation but it felt like there was a mutual agreement in all of their heads.

[magnificentempress]

so we think i got something called treatment-resistent depression, a lot of whining below

first became a patient at 11 because of self-injuries, did some talk therapy which was whatever, wasnt prescribed anything because too young, the doctor was a weirdo but ig she tried to help. flashforward to 14-15-16 and i am doing just bad, never going outside, always feeling low and anxious. everyone thinks im lazy and ungrateful (+ Difficult Puberty), and i just had this certainly that i wont live until 18. i wasnt even planning anything actively, i just thought some random car crash would kill me. flashforward to university years, it gets so bad that im too scared to leave the house and i skip so many classes i nearly get expelled. i get some shitjob that pays minimum to pay for my first visit to an actual psychiatrist, and he says it is a generalized anxiety disorder. i think ok.

escitalopram doesn't work. several months of maximum dose of zoloft+lamotrigine and talking, maybe it is okay. the moment i quit, it just spirals right back downward. flashforward to trying to get help from other doctors every 6 months with taking antidepressants sporadically, i hate talk therapy now so fuck it. another doctor says it might be a depressive episode

flashforward it gets so bad again that im gonna be expelled for real if i dont get my shit together so it is time to try yet another doctor. she looks at My Record (TM) and says it seems like treatment-resistant depression. which is one hell of a name if you ask me, kind of like adhd is "cant sit still"-disorder. i say ok. i say that 3 meds or so didnt do anything. i try venlafaxine. it kinda lifts my mood from 1 to 3.5, even 4 if im very optimistic. my hypothetically bipolar sister says it gave her hypomania, it gives me nothing like that but ok. doctor says that if a close relative has a mental disorder, it possibly means that it is just genetics.

and it's just... it was all for nothing. i was born doomed for real. for 10+ years i tried to pick myself from the floor, tried to journal, meditate, take up sports, pRacTiCe MinDfUlnEsS. 300 mg of venlafaxine and i feel almost... no, not good. but at least Not Bad. i even graduated. it was like a 100kg weight on my neck was turned into a 10kg weight. still sucks but hey at least it is not 100 now. fuck my stupid baka brain and stupid baka life, if i feel anything is i feel like a scammer because i will always Be Like This. i hate mirtazapine btw made me eat like its my last meal so i quit it. so venlafaxine might not even be the thing. i will always be a patient that doctors basically experiment on because no one knows what are the causes of depression, or why antidepressants work and dont work, or how to relieve it. and then they be like, well have you tried electrocuting yourself lol?

i know it goes hard against blackpill but i have already accepted that im like a low value human because of this disorder and with how it makes me malfunction and contribute nothing, basically turns me into a parasite that can barely hold a job or go outside, when im not sleeping for 16 hours. i just thought that maybe if i fail at life i would Settle Down and be like a wife pet + just raise my child or whatever the hell. but i dont think i should even birth one because the kid will be SO insane and thats just cruel lol i just want to be honest, dont go at me plz

anyway it sucks that i feel like a skinwalker that has to pretend to be human, i guess i should try to get better still because people around me deserve a person that functions somehow... but i just cant stop thinking that its hopeless. it has been rigged from the start because im just like this and we found it out like after 10+ years of trying to get better. i think i should up venl to 375 mg but I'm kinda scared of le serotonin syndrome but its the max allowed dose sooooo

[h0ney-bee]

":D

[h0ney8ee]

i wish i could be the type of person to have my shit together but im just not and probably never will be. i moved 4 months ago and i still have 2 boxes in my living room that i havent unpacked

[woodsy-hoe]

just bought a 2002 subaru forester so now i officially have my own car to drive whenever i want 💃🏻

[whipplefilter]

Facebook, why are you recommending that I friend… the person who rear-ended me four(?) years ago and caused $3000 in damage to my car?????

[skrunksthatwunk]

mr president a fourth major assignment has hit the two days before a mandatory friday road trip nobody bothered to tell me about until yesterday

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being Caleb's non-mc significant other. part3

Imagine the way Caleb stopped sleeping in beds. It was too soft. Too still. Too big. He found himself on floor, against the walls or sometimes on an old couch with springs that dug into his spine. He stopped drawing the curtains. He didn't want the dark anymore neither did he want the light either. He just wanted nothing. In the morning, if he could still call them that, he would sat on the kitchen floor with a cold cup of something he never finished. And sometimes he talked to no one in particular. Just words, soft and broken coming out of his mouth. "I'm sorry." He would say. "I'm so so sorry." Because that is all he had left now, words that didn't matter, and time he couldn't spend with you.

Imagine the way he became cold. Not cruel.. just quiet in a way that people get when they're trying not to fall apart. Caleb started turning his mirrors around. He didn't like what he saw. Not just the tired eyes or the cracked lips, or the weight loss. But the look in his face that said. 'I did this. I let this happen.' He barely spoke unless he had to. He only smiled when it made other people feel better. He kept your name locked behind his teeth because every time he said it out loud, it made you more real. More gone.

Imagine the apartment was gone. It was reduced into nothing but ash but in his mind, it was still full. Full of your scent, full of your laugh echoing down the hallway, your humming from the kitchen even though you thought he wasn't listening. In his mind, your sweater was still draped over the back of a chair. Your silly collections on top of the cabinet still lies in there. Everything was still there... in memory. But memory is cruel. It doesn't keep him warm.

Imagine he would stood where the front door used to be. He imagined you fumbling with your keys, holding your phone in the other hand. He imagined your tired smile after a long day. He imagined that final moment, the second before the blast. Alone. Scared. Thinking he had chosen someone else over you. The way he dropped on his knees on that sidewalk, screaming for your name like it would matter. Like you might hear it somehow. Like it would rewind the clock. But the world just kept going. Cars passed. People talked. A dog barked. And Caleb sat there in the rain. With the colorless world buzzing around him, trying to figure out how to keep breathing when the very reason for it had been turned to ash.

Imagine there was no funeral. Not one he could attend, anyway. He stood from a distance, dressed in clothes that no longer fit him the same. And when they lowered you into the ground, the only thing he could think was, You had died thinking he didn't choose you. And that thought became his prison.

Imagine the grief didn't sit quietly with Caleb. It screamed, it bled into every bit of his bones, carved into his muscles and made a home in his throat. People tried. Pips, MC tried. A few old friends. They sent messages, knocked on doors, left food, sat beside him without speaking. But none of it reached him. He wasn't there. Not anymore. He had gone down with the fire. Caleb wasn't angry at the people who did it, not really. It is just that it would require energy. Hope and maybe even vengeance. But all he had was this heavy, dead weight where his heart used to be. They said grief is a process. Not for him.

Imagine his grief was not a wound that was forgotten over and healed with time. His was a decision. A stone. Something he placed at the bottom of his soul and built his new life around. Grief wasn't leaving. It was him now.

Imagine years passed. Seasons changed. The world kept turning, as it always does. He went back to work, trained new recruits, took missions. He comes back, breathed and slept when he could. Ate, when he remembered. He functioned but he wasn't living. He moved like a man underwater, everything muffled, slow, cold. He visited your grave once a year. Same day, same hour, same flowers, same path. Every year he stood in front of your name and imagined what could have been. How you would have aged, how your voice might have changed, how many more hours he could have memorized your face if only he had stayed.

Imagine the way his hands do not shake in missions. He wasn't reckless, he doesn't want to die, not really. But he didn't care if he did. MC noticed. She didn't say anything for a long time, but she saw it in his face. The way he didn't duck as fast, the way his reflexes were dulled, like he was living underwater. Like pain didn't scare him anymore. Like consequences were someone else problem. And then one night he finally told her without warning.

"They died thinking I chose you." MC’s breath hitched. "They didn't know." He wanted to cry, really. But at the same time, he doesn't know how. "About the threat. I told them it was you… I didn’t explain. I didn’t stay. I thought I was saving them." He looked at his hands and flexed them like he couldn't remember how they were supposed to feel. "They died thinking I left them again." MC cried for him. And he didn't.

Imagine Caleb, he never fell in love again. He didn't even try. Women smiled. Men lingered. But Caleb never reached back. He never leaned in. He never looked too long. He did not have anything left to give. Everything that once lived inside him, the laughter, the gentleness, the clumsy warmth. All of it had been burned away. People asked him once in passing if he was seeing anyone.

"No." He replied. "I don't think I can love again." It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't sad. It was just true. You were it, you were the love story. The first chapter, the middle, the end. And now, there were no more pages to turn.

Imagine Caleb was never the same again. He stopped talking about you but you were in everything. The way he tied his boots. The songs he skipped. The movies he couldn't watch. The way he smiled politely at joy but never let it all the way in. He kept you close, but hidden like a secret he didn't want to heal from. And maybe that's how love lives, when the person is gone. Not in photos or keepsakes, or places but in the habits you never unlearn. In the pain you don't ask to be free from.

Imagine Caleb did not believe in happy endings anymore. He believed in you. In that movie night. In your trembling voice. In the way you held his hand even when it hurt. In your laugh when you were tired. In your humming in the kitchen. In the way you looked at him like he wasn't broken. That was what he carried. That, and the weight of everything unsaid. There was no healing for him. No sudden realization that life must go on. Caleb never truly returned. Because you were the return point. You were the home he was always trying to get back to. And the moment you were gone, the map disappeared.

Imagine he never moved on. He never wanted to. Because in the end, Caleb accepted that you would never come back and that he would never be whole again. But he also accepted that it was worth it. That loving you, even for a moment, had been enough even if it killed him slowly. Even if it burned everything else away. Even if he died with that love, quiet and buried and unspoken, still holding your name in the dark. Because you were the only one and he would carry you always. In grief. In silence. In peace.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: i never thought expanding my vocabulary after the grammar police would lead me quite poetic. So wtf.

: i finish this tonight, I'll have the rest of the boys queued so XD don't come after me. *peace out*

[so-long-soldier-writes]

to anybody who's sent me asks or anything, i promise i'm not ignoring u, i'm just dead inside

[sweetstrawberryys]

“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)

Masterlist

---

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.

[just-a-space-duck]

So About That Armor…

I regret to inform myself that I like it.

If you haven't seen it:

I'll give you time to take it in. This is a static, (hopefully) eternal text post, so take your time.

Ok so before I go further, you are allowed to have any and all opinions about the armor. Do not listen to me; I am a stranger on the internet who attaches himself to fictional murder cyborgs and treats them like kitty cats.

So first of all, it's weird. And I like it for that. Even if I found it to be the most infuriating piece of costume design ever, I still wouldn't be able to help but respect it for how strange it is.

When it comes to fanworks, adaptations, new installments in a franchise, or even just different takes on the same trope, I love it when creators take things in an unconventional or even seemingly unrelated direction that upon closer inspection still relates to the base or original concept. To get what I mean, think goth interpretations of Rarity or Cosmopoliturtle's Pokémon redesigns. The TV series armor sits alongside these for me, because this was the thought process of the designer, Tommy Arnold:

First of all, it is so funny that The Company would just brand their armor and by extension their secunits, their combat/security products, like Louis Vuitton bags. Also, the logo of The Company strikes a nice balance between being simple enough to be easily reproducible and recognizable, but complex enough to read as a logo and not just a simple shape or pattern. Plus, The Company logo being mostly just concentric Cs, clever there.

But there's also some worldbuilding and character expression in this design.

The Corporation Rim is just capitalism but more. A company slathering everything and everyone they create and own in mountains of logos, even when it's potentially impractical, showcases just how extensive corporatism is in this setting. Additionally, this design could be something of a status marker. Secunits are high end additions and/or alternatives to other security measures. Much like how logos on purses, tennis shoes, and cars serve to tell observers, "I have the fancy, expensive version of [insert category of thing here] ergo I am a very wealthy/powerful/cool person", a secunit covered in corporate logos communicates the high status and access of the client(s).

Now what was one of the first things we learned about Murderbot in the books? It disabled its governor module, the thing preventing it from defying orders and having any level of freedom, but instead of doing what it could to leave The Company, Murderbot just stayed with it and kept doing its intended function. For over four years. What else do we learn in the first book? That it feels most comfortable in the armor because this prevents humans from seeing its face, from treating it more like a person or human rather than a tool or bot. This makes the armor being composed of the logo of the group that both created and hurt Murderbot very symbolic.

Murderbot has internalized the message that it is a dangerous weapon and not a person deserving of care to the point that, at least at the beginning of the series, it shies away from anything that insists that it deserves the same kindness that humans do. It's only ever been taught what the company built it to do, so it doesn't know what to do next once it's obtained some semblance of freedom for itself by disabling its mental shock collar and so keeps doing what it's always done, even though it very much would rather not be in such a situation. Even by the most recent book, System Collapse, Murderbot is still wrestling with the idea that it matters beyond how it can assist others. Murderbot finding comfort hiding behind the very thing that will not let you forget the company that enslaves it, is just juicy theming.

Also, the helmet looking so weird works well with how many humans don't know what secunits look like, with some not even thinking they have human-like faces. If you had no context for this image, you might very well assume this is a fully robot character or even a statue.

I have my own gripes and worries and hopes concerning the upcoming show, but I just couldn’t get this fun bit of character design analysis out of my head. Shouldn’t have watched so much TB Skyen.

[fromdove]

ㅤㅤ ⁞ 𝓓AMIAN 𝓐L-𝓖HUL-𝓦AYNE

ㅤㅤㅤ𝓦HEN 𝓗E'S 𝓘N 𝓛OVE 𝓗EADCANONS !

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨୧

— damian wayne when he's in love hcs ᵎᵎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

— I know I already did a damian wayne in love hcs but I wanted to do another one ᵎᵎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

— damian wayne x fem!reader ᵎᵎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

⤷ ok so. first of all. he doesn’t think he falls in love. he thinks he allows himself to be in love. yes. that’s the distinction. he permits the emotional vulnerability to occur. like it’s a security clearance. like the state department signed off on it. like it’s a diplomatic treaty. love with damian is not some flower blooming. it is a classified operation that got out of hand. oops

⤷ and HE’S SO IRRITATING ABOUT YOUR SAFETY. like you want to go to a concert alone and he’s like “no. the venue has three open exits and a history of overcrowding. i’ll accompany you or you’re not going.” and you’re like 😐 and he’s like 🗿

⤷ he doesn’t compliment you like a normal person. he says things like “you’re the only one with a functioning brain in this city” and “your genetic makeup is statistically superior” and “if i had to pick a partner for an international espionage mission i’d pick you.” thanks?? i think???

⤷ dude. alright. listen. you have to understand. this is a boy raised by assassins and billionaires and batman. like he’s not normal. like if you try to do something normal with him he malfunctions. like “do you want to come over and watch a movie” turns into a whole debate about the nature of narrative and also suddenly he’s ordering a projector and rearranging your furniture and asking if the lighting is optimal. like your honor. we were going to watch legally blonde. relax.

⤷ he is in love with you but he’s in denial about it for the first 3–6 business months. he doesn’t say anything. he just starts appearing. you look up and he’s already there. he claims he was “in the area.” he was not. he has never been in the area. he took a grappling hook and an imported black car and made himself be in the area.

⤷ anyways he is sooooooo in love and SOOOOOOOO bad at dealing with it. like yes he grew up training with the league of assassins but no he has not developed a single healthy coping mechanism about feelings. NONE. zero. zilch. love is the final boss. and he’s underleveled

⤷ long stares. long long long. awkwardly long. you’ll be brushing your teeth and look up and he’s just. standing there. arms crossed. watching. “you’re quite graceful. even at mundane tasks.” ok damian what the hell. brush your own teeth and stop making me blush at 7am

⤷ he’s like. weirdly formal?? like you’ll be sitting on his lap playing animal crossing and he’ll be like “you’re very dear to me.” and you’ll be like ok first of all why do you sound like an 18th century count and second of all WHY DID THAT MAKE ME BLUSH

⤷ he calls you beloved. like that’s his go-to. he does not say “babe.” he does not say “sweetie.” he says beloved like he is writing from the war trenches. LMAO. like he’s penning a letter with a quill. “my dearest beloved, war is hell. gotham is colder without you. i miss your lip balm.”

⤷ ALSO he is so clingy. but in his own damian kind of way. like he will never straight up say “i miss you” but he’ll appear outside your window at 3am because you didn’t text back. “i was in the area.” no you weren’t damian

⤷ and when you fight. oh my god you fight. hoo boy. because he’s STUBBORN. and you’re you. and he’ll say something awful and cold and you’ll slam the door and not talk for a week and he’ll act all smug but he’ll show up at your window like “are you done being dramatic?” with a single perfect peach because you once said you liked them and he never forgot. he does end up apologizing formally tho like “i was... wrong. and unkind. i apologize.”

⤷ even if you don't fight crime he will still buy you a 6000 dollar custom-made tactical suit because “i noticed you lacked proper armor.” it’s black. with little green accents. matches his. you cried. he blinked and said “there’s a grappling hook too.” you cried harder. he looked vaguely alarmed and offered you tea

⤷ lowkey kinda unpopular opinion (i think???).....buttttt once you realllyyy get to know him,,, he’s v big on touch. but only in private (!!! he doesn't do pda tbh). arm around your waist when no one’s looking. hand on your lower back. gloved fingers brushing yours like he’s not thinking about it (he is). forehead touches. pulling you into his hoodie. tucking your legs over his lap while he reads. being completely silent while you cry but holding you like he’ll kill whatever made you feel this way. because he will.

⤷ he’s not really a hearts and flowers guy. but like. he’s very much a “i broke a guy’s jaw for looking at you too long” guy. very “i memorized your class schedule and made sure no one sits next to you” guy. very “i learned how to make your favorite soup and now i’m mad you’re not impressed” guy. very “i installed a new security system in your apartment. no you don’t get a say. yes i’m keeping the passcode” guy.

dates??? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA ok. deserves its own section.

dates with him are like. war strategy. no such thing as casual with him. no. no no. no. everything is intentional. everything is curated. calculated. coordinated. he's like "i made a reservation." and it's at some place with a 3-month waitlist and a single-item menu and food that looks like pebbles. and ur like “could we not have just gotten tacos??” and he’s like “you deserve better than tacos.” .......................................................he says it in the most offhanded way but ur already spinning. ur already sending ur soul to orbit.

like it can be “i booked us fencing lessons in case you get kidnapped again” or “i acquired the rooftop of that patisserie you like because you said you liked the view.” like THANK YOU BATBOY WHAT THE FUCK

he doesn’t --> ask <-- (keyword) you out. no no no. he **TELLS*** you. “we have dinner reservations. 7 sharp. wear something warm.” and you’re like. okay??? damn?? who’s we??? and then it’s just him and you and some obscure albanian place in gotham that “reminds him of a time he interrogated someone in tirana.” romantic!!!

they’re never normal. ever. like my guy why r we eating in an exclusive rooftop garden u rented for me.... and why the actual fuck does it technically belongs to a russian ambassador ???????!!!! HHELLOO?

but also. also. as much as u go to eccentric,,, expensive,, veryyy planned out dates .. you still have dates where u sit on rooftops. you eat mangoes. you say nothing for twenty minutes because he’s comfortable in silence. because you are too. because he touches your ankle with his and that says more than anything.

⤷ he loves graphs. he’s so... annoying. he has a favorites spreadsheet for restaurants. and another for your moods. and another for gifts you've liked. u found it once. he closed the tab too fast. embarrassed. blushing. you teased him for a week.

⤷ once you cried on his shirt and apologized for it and he just. looked at you. like loooooookedddddddd at you. and said “you’re allowed to fall apart. i’ll be here when you do.” and u almost blacked out.

⤷ he talks about the future like it’s inevitable. “when we get a place.” “when we go to xyz.” “when you graduate.” he says it like there’s no version of life that doesn’t include you. like he can’t even imagine it. like it’s already written.

⤷ he doesn’t say “i’m proud of you.” he says: “of course you did. i expected nothing less.” (but the corners of his mouth twitch and his ears turn red. he’s proud. he’s so proud.)

⤷ he gets weird about your birthday. like. insane. he pretends he doesn’t care. he acts like it’s “just another day.” but you walk into your room and there’s a leather-bound copy of your favorite book with your initials embossed in gold. and tickets to an exhibit he overheard you mention one time six months ago. and a note. handwritten. in flawless cursive. that just says: “for everything you are. - d.” stop it damian. i’m going to cry into a cupcake.

⤷ he has no chill. ZERO chill. you are sneezing and he’s like “have you had vitamin C today.” someone looks at you funny and he’s like “i’ll break their jaw.” you say you’re cold and he wordlessly hands you his cape. the WHOLE cape. you’re drowning. he does not care. he thinks it’s cute

⤷ he glares at anyone who flirts with you like he’s deciding whether to break their legs or just ruin them socially. (he will do both. eventually. he’s efficient like that.) and when you tease him for being jealous he’s like “i do not experience jealousy. i experience possessiveness.” ok medieval knight whatever

⤷ also?? he TRIES to be cool and detached but the moment you compliment him? he malfunctions. like you say “you look handsome today” and he scoffs but his ears are red. FULL tomato. “tch. you’re foolish. i look the same every day.” sir you are glowing. you are combusting

⤷ and andddd he’s so so so tender in private. like “i cleaned your shoes for you” tenderness. “i annotated your favorite book with my commentary” tenderness. “i fixed the loose button on your coat” tenderness. he will never SAY “i love you” like a normal person. he will just DO THINGS. and STARE at you. a LOT

⤷ OH and when you get sick it is OVER. done. you’re in bed and suddenly there’s like. imported raw honey. five different teas. a humidifier. night vision cameras installed in case of intruders. he is kneeling at your bedside like a knight. he won’t let you get up for water. “you are in recovery. i’ll bring it to you. stay still.” ok. nurse ratched. love you

⤷ also he pets your hair like you’re a cat. like he will gently run his fingers through it while you talk about your day. doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. you mention it and he goes “your hair calms me.” you melt. obviously. puddle on the floor. he smirks. he knows. bastard

⤷ HE KEEPS THINGS. like. a little doodle you made on a napkin? framed. the necklace you left at his place once? he wears it under his uniform. he keeps it a secret obvi. you didn’t know for 6 months. cried when you somehow found out. obviously

⤷ he texts you "do not walk home alone. wait." and then appears. literally appears. like the wind shifts and suddenly he’s there with a helmet in his hand and a scowl on his face and a thousand unspoken thoughts like “i will kill for you. i will die for you. i will beat up your physics teacher if he makes you cry again.”

⤷ he’ll buy you a 200 dollar first edition of something obscure and then be like “it’s not a gift. i just thought it should be in your collection. don’t get emotional.” meanwhile ur emotional. ur on the floor. ur sobbing in a barnes & noble tote bag. he knows. he smirks. asshole.

⤷ but he notices everything. if you get a haircut. if your eyeliner is different. if your tone was off. if you’re chewing on your nail again. he sees it all. and he remembers. and he’s quietly doing things about it in the background. like refilling your meds or slipping snacks into your bag or hacking into your school portal and fixing a grade because “that teacher was clearly incompetent”

⤷ also. he doesn’t flirt. he argues. you’ll be like “i like this song” and he’ll be like “your taste is objectively inferior” and then buy you front row tickets to that artist’s next concert. he’ll say it’s to “broaden your cultural exposure” but he’s watching you the whole concert like you’re the show. don’t let him lie.

[flowersforbucky]

oil & water

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 5.8k

prompt - "If you wanted to take your pants off for me so badly, you could have just said so."

shout out to @ellemj for her encouragement with this ♡

warnings/tags: SMUT, vaginal penetration, oral sex (female receving), face sitting, mentions of violence, description of blood & wounds, no use of y/n, reader is afab, hurt/comfort trope, bickering & banter, friends to lovers, forced close proximity trope. 18 plus only!

“Roll your window up,” Bucky snaps at you as he turns down the music you had just put on moments ago. “The last thing we need is someone noticing the blood caked all over the entire right side of your body.” 

As if the lack of functioning AC in the twenty-something year old getaway car (an early 2000’s model Chevy Aveo is inconspicuous, according to Sam) wasn’t stifling enough in the south Georgia summer, the annoyance radiating from the brooding super soldier sitting next to you adds an extra ten degrees. 

Sure, Sam. Inconspicuous is the right word to describe a six foot, two hundred plus pound man with a metal arm cramped behind the driver’s seat of the equivalent to a clown car. Bright fucking cherry red and all. 

“It’s 103 degrees outside.” You glare at him from the passenger seat, where you’re using a tattered handkerchief found in the glove compartment to put pressure on the knife wound on your shoulder. “I’m going to have a heatstroke.” 

“You’re not going to have a heatstroke,” he rolls his eyes at you. “That happening would indicate that I have any amount of good luck.” 

“Ha-ha-ha,” you say under your breath, reluctantly rolling up the manual window with your still bleeding arm. “I got the fucking intel, did I not?” 

You remove the USB drive from its secure location in the cup of your bra and flash it at Bucky. “Though we’ll be lucky if this thing still works after being drowned in boob sweat, since you won’t let me keep the window rolled down.” 

“And nearly got yourself killed in the process.” He grabs the flashdrive from you and grimaces. “We’ll be at the safehouse in less than five minutes, if you can please just refrain from stroking out or bleeding out in the meantime.” 

You glance down at the once white handkerchief clutched in your hand. “I’m not making you any guarantees.” 

You're welcome for saving your ass, by the way, you resist adding. 

Jokes aside, the energy exerted in bringing down over a dozen HYDRA agents in combination with the July heat and the substantial blood loss from your shoulder wound has you feeling woozier by the minute. Factor in a few potentially fractured ribs and a dislocated knee and you're in pretty rough shape. 

As promised, just under five minutes later Bucky parks in front of a small trailer just outside the city limits of Valdosta. It's seen better days, but you don't mind as long as it has semi-functioning air conditioning. 

Bucky is opening your car door and offering you a hand up before you can take in your surroundings. You force yourself out of your seat, ignoring his outstretched hand and attempting to stand on your own, doing your best to ignore the borderline blinding pain radiating from your right knee. 

“Thanks, but I think I can–” 

Your vision goes fuzzy as you stumble forward, right into Bucky's chest. Your hand instinctively clutches the fabric of his shirt as you attempt to regain your balance.

“Let me guess. You're capable of stitching up your own shoulder, too?” 

He gently loops his arm around your waist, slowly walking the two of you to the front door of the trailer. You try to focus on keeping pressure on the gash on your shoulder and not the feeling of his toned body pressed against you. How does he smell so good after hand to hand combat and sitting in that sauna of a car? You're sure you probably smell like a wet diaper that's been left in the sun for–

Bucky opens the door and guides you inside. The interior of the safehouse is surprisingly homey and clean. It's still uncomfortably warm, but offers a nice reprieve from the violent mid-day sun. 

Bucky leads you into the small living space before maneuvering you out of his hold, where you all but collapse onto a suede sofa.

“I guess you do have some amount of good luck, after all,” you mumble, wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. 

“What are you talking about?” Bucky glances at you from over his shoulder as he flicks on the AC. 

“That happening would indicate that I have any amount of good luck,” you quote his sarcastic comment from the car ride. 

“Ha-ha-ha,” he fake laughs just as you did. He rummages through a few cabinets and drawers of the small kitchen before finding everything he’s searching for, then makes his way back to where you are on the couch. 

“Drink this.” He hands you a bottle of water that you hadn't even noticed him grab. For once you don't object to his instructions, uncapping the bottle and gulping down the contents as quickly as you can. 

“You're not having a heatstroke,” he assures you. “But you are going to have to let me stitch up this crater on your shoulder and pop your knee back into place.” 

You sit forward, removing the now fully soaked cloth that you've been holding to your shoulder for the last half hour. 

Bucky winces at the sight of it, handing you a dishrag before opening a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “You might want to bite down on–” 

“I know the drill.” You sigh before putting the rag between your teeth. 

He hesitates for a moment before pouring the clear liquid over the wound. You groan against the rag, your eyes squint shut in pain. You've had your fair share of broken bones and black eyes working in this field, but you don't think you'll ever get used to the pain of getting stitches without the comforts of saline solution and anesthesia.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs, dabbing the cut dry with a paper towel. 

Your heart skips a beat at the nickname. “It's part of the job. I've come out of missions worse than this before,” you shrug, squeezing the dish rag he gave you until your knuckles go white as he makes the first incision. 

“Never because of me.” 

You glance at him, taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone. His gaze doesn't leave the thread and needle that he's using to close up the gash on your arm - his normally plump pout set into a hard line. 

“You know this isn't your fault, right?” You keep your eyes locked on him. “I saw that guy coming at you out of nowhere and I panicked. I wasn't watching my own back. That's my fault, not yours,” you say earnestly. 

“If you say so.” He glances up for a split second, giving you a tight-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes. 

“Is that why you've been such a grouch? You're blaming yourself for me not being careful enough?” 

“Maybe,” he admits quietly. “Or maybe I just hate seeing you covered in blood for any reason.” 

You freeze at the bluntness of his words. You and Bucky have been partners on more missions than you could count at this point - you know that he would have done the same for you if the situation had been reversed; in fact, there had been times where he had taken the brunt of the fight in order to protect you. 

All of those instances suddenly flash through your mind. 

The time he used himself as a human shield when there was a bomb set off during a recon mission at a warehouse in Tokyo. Or when he football tackled you out of the direct line of an incoming dagger during an operation in Portland. Not to mention the time he left a job all the way in Prague unfinished because he merely suspected you had a concussion. 

You had always chalked it up to “that’s what partners do,” but the pained expression on his face as he refuses to meet your eyes has you questioning if there could possibly be more to it. 

No. You’re his partner. He’d do the same for anyone else. He wouldn’t want to see anyone on his team covered in blood if he could prevent it. 

The two of you sit in a thick silence while he finishes stitching you up. 

“There,” he says at last, clipping the excess suture thread with scissors. “Not quite as good as your stitch work, but I think it’ll hold you together.” His voice isn’t as strained as it was moments ago, though you can't help but notice it sounds forced. 

“Thank you,” you tell him, ignoring the way your cheeks warmed the tiniest bit at his compliment. “Now for the really fun part,” you add, staring at your throbbing knee. 

“You’re in luck,” he says, perking up a bit. “I’ve popped my own knees back into place an embarrassing amount of times, so this should be a breeze.” He repositions himself to have better access to your leg, moving off the couch to perch on the edge of the coffee table in front of you. You attempt to pull the tight fabric of your tactical pants up enough to give him unhindered access to your knee, but it’s too restrictive, immediately causing you to wince in pain. 

“Fuck,” you huff. “I’m going to have to take these off.” You pop the button at the top of your pants and begin to push them down your thighs before insecurity can get the better of you. You try not to think about the fact that Bucky's never seen you in such little clothing - pants now pushed down to your calves, only your underwear and the bra and thin tank top you wore underneath the tactical vest that you took off as soon as you were in the safety of the getaway car left to cover you. 

Hesitation flashes across Bucky’s face for a brief moment before he scoots over slightly, moving directly in front of you so that he can position his hands on either side of your kneecap. You’re painfully aware of the polar opposite feeling of his right and left hand - his flesh hand is warm and so much softer than you’d expect, his metal one icy and smooth. You aren’t sure which causes the visible goosebumps that now litter your skin.

Maybe it’s not his touch at all. Maybe it’s the way his eyes haven’t left your thighs since you exposed them.

Maybe it’s the fact that if you parted your legs just a few inches, he’d be nestled between them. 

Chill out, you berate yourself. He's just relocating your knee for Christ's sake. 

“On the count of three,” he starts and you brace yourself. “One, two–” 

“MOTHERFUCKER.” You yell out at the same moment your knee creates a loud cracking noise that echoes off the walls of the small trailer. “You said count of three!” 

“Would that really have made it less painful?” He shrugs, but doesn't move from where his knees brush against yours. “I think what you mean to say is “thank you, Bucky, you're a lifesaver and I'm now in your debt.” 

“In your fuckin’ dreams,” you scoff. “I'm going to wash all of this blood and sweat off of me.” You move to push yourself off of the couch, tugging your pants back up as you stand. You can feel his eyes trail up your body as you do, making you feel woozy all over again. You turn away from him, heading towards the hallway that the bathroom is likely located down. 

“I could have done that through your pants, by the way.” 

You freeze mid-step, glancing back at him over your shoulder. “What do you mean?” You snap at him. 

“Your knee,” he clarifies, a hint of undeniable mischief in his expression. “I could have popped your knee back into place through your pants. If you wanted to take your pants off for me so badly, you could have just said so.” 

Just when you thought the safehouse was starting to cool down, your entire body heats up a thousand degrees. You're racking your brain trying to think of a retort when Bucky's ringtone starts blaring from the kitchen countertop. He ignores it, his eyes not leaving yours for what feels like an eternity. 

You finally break the silence. “That's most likely Sam wanting to make sure we're not dead. Should probably answer it.” 

“Probably should,” he smirks, and at last gets up from the coffee table to answer the phone.

You scurry the rest of the way to the bathroom before he can look back at you again, ignoring the sharp pains that radiate from your ribcage and the now dull ache that spreads from your knee. 

You turn the water to cold, and don't get out until you've started to shiver. 

— — — — — 

When you exit the bathroom and step back into the connected bedroom in only a towel, you see that Bucky has done you the kindness of bringing in the bags that had been stored in the backseat of the getaway car. 

You dig through your backpack, pulling out a fresh t-shirt and pair of leggings. From the next room, you can smell the aroma of whatever non-perishable food that Bucky has scrounged together. Despite your growing hunger pains, you take your sweet time combing through your freshly rinsed hair. The thought of looking Bucky in the eye after your last interaction nearly makes you lose your appetite. 

What was I thinking? Oh right, I wasn't thinking at all, otherwise I wouldn't have just pushed my fucking pants down right in front of–

“Your five course dinner is getting cold.” Bucky raps his fingers against the bedroom door, startling you from your thoughts. 

“Be right there,” you call back to him, swiping some deodorant under your arms. You take a glance at yourself in the bedroom’s small vanity mirror and immediately wish that you hadn't – you're cleaner than you were by miles, at least no longer covered in your own blood as well as the blood of HYDRA agents – but your cheekbone is lightly bruised, there's a slit on your bottom lip, and the bags under your eyes make it look like you haven't had a decent night's sleep in a month. 

You take a deep breath and then walk back to the one room that makes up the kitchen, dining area and living room. 

“Beef or shrimp ramen?” Bucky asks as you climb onto one of the barstools on the opposite side of the counter from where he's standing. 

“Hm,” you contemplate, not meeting his stare and instead occupying yourself with another bottle of water that he's placed where you now sit. 

Fucker probably wouldn't fluster me so bad if he wasn't being so damn thoughtful.

“I'll go with shrimp,” you answer, remembering that beef is his favorite.

He slides the bowl across the counter and then hands you a fork. You finally get the nerve to look up and meet his stare that feels as if it weighs two tons. 

“So, what did Sam say?” You try to go for light conversation, twisting the fork around your noodles. “Are we free to get out of here once it's dark out?” 

“Not…quite,” he hesitates, now seeming particularly interested in his own food. “The car battery kind of died.” 

“What do you mean the car battery kind of died?” 

“While you were in the shower, I tried to move the car behind the house so that anyone driving by wouldn't immediately know that someone's here. It started fine, but as I was driving it around back it just.. stopped. Had to push it the rest of the way.” 

You let out a dramatic groan as he continues. 

“I called Sam again and he said the earliest they can send someone to get us is in the morning.” 

“Well,” you exhale, blowing a raspberry with your lips. “We can flip a coin to see who gets the bed?” You ask lightheartedly. This isn’t the first time that you and Bucky have had an overnight mission together, but it is the first overnight mission where the two of you haven’t had your own motel rooms or at least a safehouse with two beds.

He looks at you quizzically, furrowing his eyebrows. “You really think there’s a chance of me making you sleep on the couch? In your condition?” 

“My condition?” you laugh. “I’ve got a few stitches, I’m not dying of cancer.” 

“You don’t think I’ve noticed the way it’s uncomfortable for you to inhale and exhale? You’ve probably got a couple fractured ribs with the way you landed on that cement. If not fractured, then at least heavily bruised. You’re not sleeping on the couch.” 

Between his tone and the look on his face, you know it isn’t up for debate. You throw your hands up in faux surrender. 

“Serving me instant ramen and letting me take the king sized bed?” you say teasingly. “Keep it up and I'm going to think that you're soft on me.” 

His gaze on you is heavy as he takes a long sip of water from his own bottle. “Wouldn't that be a shame?” 

— — — — — 

The rest of the afternoon is spent with you lounging in bed, resting your injuries and reading some cheesy western romance novel that you found in the drawer of the bedside table. 

Bucky keeps to the living room, where you hear a violent sounding movie playing from a TV that has to be as old as you are. 

You tell yourself that you're staying in the bedroom because you need to take it easy and relax, but truthfully you feel suffocated by the tension that has been escalating between you and Bucky since you arrived here. 

A certain level of tension had always been there, you knew deep down. From the first time the two of you met almost two years ago. 

Bucky had been formally introduced to the team just a few weeks prior, and it was his first official mission. An undercover mission - just the two of you. 

Posing as an engaged couple at a party thrown at the estate of a notorious crime boss in order to obtain intel. Pretty straight forward - it was far from your first undercover mission. And then it was sprung on you at the last minute that the man who you'd only met once, less than a month ago, was to be your fiancé for the evening. 

The bastard even went as far as to slip the fake engagement ring on your finger himself. 

“Natasha picked this out. She said it needed to be a princess cut, because that's what you like.” 

You chuckled as he went to slide the rock onto your ring finger. “What? You're not going to get down on one knee?” 

The mission went shockingly smooth, you and Bucky were in and out with the needed intel in just a few hours. But those few hours replayed in the back of your mind more often than you care to admit. 

The way his arm stayed wrapped securely around your shoulder or waist the entire hour that you mingled as guests. How he pulled you into a slow dance to discuss the plan for sneaking into the study on an off-limits floor. The musky smell of his aftershave and the spearmint on his breath. 

And especially the way he referred to you as his “bride” when introducing yourselves to people, on more than one occasion throughout the night. 

“And who is this absolutely beautiful young woman on your arm?” an elderly man with eye boogers and booze on his breath asks Bucky. 

“This is my bride,” Bucky introduces you, giving him your undercover name. “She is beautiful, isn’t she? Most beautiful woman here, if I do say so myself.” 

Saying that Bucky played his part well that night would have been an understatement. Saying that he played his part scarily well would be a more accurate assertion. 

After grabbing the intel and fleeing the scene, neither of you ever mentioned that mission again. Not the lingering touches, smoldering stares - not even the way he shoved you up against the wall of a corridor, cupped your face in his large hands, and kissed you senseless for half a minute when you came close to getting caught sneaking into the private office by security at the very end of the evening. 

“Do you think that was believable?” he asks nervously, his hands still clutching your face as he looks around the hallway for any lingering guards. 

“Ye-yeah,” you stutter breathily. “As believable as it possibly could be.” 

There’s a light knock on the partially open bedroom door that draws you back to the reality of the safehouse. You realize that you’ve been staring at the same paragraph in your book for the last half hour. 

"Yeah?” you answer, bringing yourself to a sitting position. 

Bucky peaks his head around the door, opening it further so that you can see what he is carrying. 

“I’m tired of watching old James Bond movies,” he sighs, glancing between you and the stack of board games in his arms. “I found these in the TV stand.” 

“I kicked your ass in Battleship last time we played,” you remind him. “Do you really want a rematch of that?” 

“How about we make a bet?”

— — — — — 

Half an hour later, you've eaten your own words, now owing Bucky a large meat lovers pizza from his favorite parlor in Brooklyn and two weeks worth of laundry duty when you return to the compound. 

“How'd you get so good?” you demand as he makes the winning attack. “You were so lame at this last time.” 

“Maybe I just let you win last time,” he shrugs with a shit-eating grin. 

You just shake your head in defeat, wincing as you stand up from where you had been playing on the shag area rug in the living room. 

“No,” you declare firmly. “No, I don't believe that. There's no way you'd willingly let me win anything. I've learned that the hard way during hand to hand combat training way too many times.”  

Bucky belly laughs from where he still sits on the floor, his gaze trailing after you. 

You walk over to where he has piled the board games on the coffee table, trying to find something you were confident you could win. 

Monopoly isn't fun with only two players, Risk takes too long — 

Your eyes lock onto a card game peeking out from underneath the Sorry! box. 

You pick it up, turning back to face him with a growing smile on your face.

“Absolutely not,” he says firmly. “I'm over a hundred years old–” 

“What does age have to do with truth or dare?!” You exclaim, sitting back down on the floor once more. 

“I haven't been roped into a game of truth or dare since the 1930's,” he groans. 

“Scared of what you might have to do?” You tease, unboxing the cards. “Or what you might have to admit?” 

He stares at you for a long moment, pursing his lips. The disapproval doesn't quite reach his eyes - you can tell by the way they gleam that he's going to cave. 

“Maybe a bit of both,” he admits. He tousles his fingers through his hair and moves to cross his legs at the ankles. “Fine,” he relents. “One game.” 

You squeal like a kid in a candy store as you shuffle the deck of cards and lay them in a stack between you. 

“Elders first,” you motion to the pile. 

He rolls his eyes, drawing one from the top – dare. 

“Smell another player's armpit,” he deadpans. You're instantly thankful that you remembered to cram a stick of deodorant into your backpack when packing for the mission. 

“Well?” You lift up your arm. “I'm the only other player here and it's not going to sniff itself.” 

Bucky sighs, leaning across the game to put his nose directly next to the opening of your t-shirt sleeve. “Lavender,” he observes after inhaling, giving you an approving nod. “As far as dares go, I got lucky.” 

“Lucky that I showered earlier,” you mumble as you draw your turn, your cheeks warming slightly. 

Truth. 

“Who was your last kiss with and what was it like?” 

Your heart plummets to your stomach as you read the words aloud. Bucky waits impatiently as you fiddle with the piece of paper in your hands. 

“Might I remind you, you are the one who wanted to play this game so desp–” 

You hold up a finger and make a shushing sound, silencing him as he grins menacingly. 

“My last kiss was almost two years ago,” you answer honestly, looking back down at the card to avoid his stare. He can always tell when you're lying, why even try? 

“With a man I barely knew,” you continue. “We had to pretend to be in love for the evening. It was a shockingly easy thing to do. When he pushed me up against a wall and kissed me as a distraction to security guards, I had to remind myself that it was an act. We never spoke about it again. But now two years later, I'm telling him that I think of that kiss often.” 

When you finally look up, you can't decipher the look on his face. Long gone is the mischievous grin from just moments ago, in its place is.. shock? Perplexity? 

“And why exactly have you not kissed anyone else since then?” He asks quietly. 

“Nope,” you say, popping your lips on the p. “That's not how the game works, you don't get to add sub-questions.” 

His eyes don't leave yours as he draws his next card.

His turn for truth. He glances down to read his question.

“Have you ever wanted to have sex with any of the players?” 

Forget your cheeks feeling warm - your entire body feels like it's on fire as you wait for him to answer. 

He chuckles, tossing the card on top of the other two that had already been picked. 

“Every goddamn day since I kissed her almost two years ago.” 

You aren't sure which one of you snaps first. You lunge forward at the same moment that he's leaning across the splay of cards to grasp your face in his hands just like he did in that corridor two years ago. The same hint of spearmint on his breath, a bit more stubble on his jaw, and a sense of desperation that wasn't there before. 

He moves his hands to your lower back, pulling you flush against him as you both sit on your knees. Your own hands find the hem of his shirt, your fingers dancing across the skin of his waistline. 

“I asked you why you haven't kissed anyone since we last kissed,” he murmurs against your lips when he pulls away, both of you breathless. “You don't have to answer, but that..” his mouth moves to the side of your throat where he trails open-mouth kisses across the sensitive flesh of your pulse point. 

“That's why I haven't kissed anyone else, either.” 

A pathetic, small moan escapes past your lips at his admission. In a split second decision, you take control. You place your hands across his chest, pushing him down onto the shag rug that you'd been playing games on just moments ago. He lets himself fall back, pulling you with him. 

You straddle him, positioning yourself directly on his already evident erection. You drag yourself forwards, and then backwards, desperate for friction - he groans beneath you, jutting upwards. 

The fabric of your pants between you feels like a prison. 

You scoot back a few inches - just far enough to give yourself enough room to unbutton his jeans. 

“Wait, wait,” he stops you as you're about to begin pulling down his pants and underwear. You freeze, petrified that you've crossed a line– 

“I haven't stopped thinking about having your thighs wrapped around my head since I saw them earlier,” he says as he hooks his hands around them and hauls you up to his chest. “Take these off and sit on my face.” He tugs on the waistline of your leggings. 

“If you wanted me to take my pants off for you so badly, you could have just said so,” you echo his earlier teasing. 

“I'm asking you now, sweetheart,” his voice has a strained edge to it. “Don't make me beg.” 

Though the notion of him begging has wetness pooling down your thighs, you're too eager to entertain it. 

You stand up, directly above him as he keeps his position on the floor. You shimmy your leggings down your thighs, this time completely removing them and tossing them somewhere behind you. He tugs his t-shirt over his head and throws it in the general direction of your discarded pants. 

With you still standing above him, he leans forward so that his face brushes against the inside of your thighs. He brings his hands to the band of your underwear, hooking his fingers and slowly pulling them down until they're at your ankles. 

You slip them off as he lays back down on the floor. A bit apprehensively, you sit so that your bare pussy is against his hard chest. 

“Just stop me if it's too uncomfortable or if you can't breathe or any–” 

He cuts you off by all but picking you up and hauling you up to his face.

“I wouldn't worry about that,” his voice vibrates against the flesh of your innermost thighs. He tugs you down just one more inch so that his mouth makes contact with your center. 

You gasp out in pleasure as his tongue begins exploring your folds. There's no restraint about it - he sets a brutal pace, alternating between fucking his tongue into your cunt and sucking on your clit. 

You're writhing above him, grinding your pussy against his mouth. You go to squeeze your breasts, pulling your t-shirt off when you realize it's the one clothing article you've yet to shed. 

When he realizes that you're now completely naked above him, he lets out an animalistic groan as he laps a thick lick up your center. 

The vibration, in addition to him now squeezing your ass with enough pressure that he's bound to leave behind fingertip shaped bruises, is enough to send you spiraling to your climax. 

You involuntarily squeeze your thighs around his cheeks, riding out your orgasm as he continues to wrap his lips around your throbbing clitoris. 

You go still for a moment, aside from your heaving chest, as you come back down to earth. 

You climb off of him, your jellified legs nearly causing you to collapse onto the floor next to him. 

He props himself up with one arm, looking down at you. His face is thoroughly glistening with your juices. 

You can't help but think he's never looked hotter. 

A proud grin begins to form across his features as you pull him down to you by the back of his neck. 

You kiss him with as much feverency as you can muster in your post orgasm haze, tasting the semi-sweet tang of your come on his lips and tongue. 

“It's your turn to get these off,” you demand, drawing back from the kiss to pull at the waistband of his pants. 

“Can I at least take you to the comfy bed before this goes any further?” he bargains. “You are still recovering from multiple injuries, you know.” 

“I can assure you that I've never felt better.” But you let him have his way. He stands before picking you up, lifting you so that you can wrap your legs securely around his midsection. His large hands planted firmly on your ass, he walks the short distance to the bedroom. Your nipples pebble as they press against his bare chest. 

He gently places you on top of the comforter before standing back, at last removing his jeans and boxers. His cock springs forward, slapping against his lower belly. 

Your mouth goes dry at the sight. If it had been a long time since you had been kissed, it had been even longer since you had been fucked. 

He crawls onto the bed, hovering above where you lay. You automatically open your legs to allow him between them. 

His eyes rake up and down your body, pausing on your breasts. 

"You're goddamn stunning.” 

Before you can respond, he's leaning down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth. Rolling it between his teeth, the sensation has you arching your back into his touch. You can feel the tip of his cock jutting against your core - teasing but not yet entering. 

He starts to line himself up at your hole, his eyes locking onto yours as he pumps himself in his hand. He brings his lips down to yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth at the same moment he nudges his tip past your entrance. 

There's a blissful burn as he cautiously buries himself inside you - you're simultaneously thankful that he's going slow and needing him balls deep. He pushes in, inch by inch, until you're filled to the hilt. When he can't get any deeper, he pulls back - and slams back into you all at once. 

You swear you can feel him in your stomach. You look down at where your bodies connect, the sight of him sliding in and out of you enough to have you on the edge of climaxing again already. 

He brings his metal hand to knead your breast. 

"Do you have any idea how many times I've pictured having you under me like this?” He coos. You gyrate your hips to meet his thrusts, causing his eyes to roll back into his head. 

“How many times I've thought about what your little moans would sound like?” 

Your only answer is a gutteral moan of his name as you wrap your arms around him and dig your nails into the flesh of his back. 

“Your pussy feels even more like heaven than I imagined it would.” 

His praises send you over the edge - you're coming for a second time, clenching around him as his thrusts grow messy. He fucks you through your orgasm before he loses control himself, burying his face in the curve of your neck as he spills into you. 

With you still panting and limp beneath him,  his movements gradually come to a stop but he doesn't pull out - instead he flips you to your side and maneuvers himself into a spooning position behind you. 

He peppers soft kisses along the skin of your shoulder, being careful to avoid your stitches, and relaxes beside you. 

“Remind me to dislocate my knee more often,” you joke, processing everything that just happened. 

He snorts, then tilts your head up to meet his gaze. “Remind me to play truth or dare with you more often.” He captures your lips in his, this kiss slower than any of the ones before. 

“I guess it would be weird to make you do my laundry for two weeks now, huh?” He teases, earning a laugh from you.

“You do still owe me a pizza, but I'll be happy to share it with you.” 

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist

[httpsleclerc]

the story of us

pairing/s: Max Verstappen x Sister!Reader, Eventual Charles Leclerc x Single Mom!Verstappen!Reader

eries summary: after a traumatic childhood, y/n verstappen leaves an abusive relationship with a 6 month old baby in tow, with her brother trying to discreetly matchmake her with a certain Monegasque.

warnings: DEPICTIONS OF CHILD ABUSE, BABY TRAPPING, DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, ANGST!!

word count: 2.4k words

a/n: praying this shit does not flop I put my heart and soul into this one - also ! This one is mostly just backstory!

the first time you ever met Charles Leclerc, you were 9 years old, sporting a poorly hidden bruise under your eye which your so called father had given you for 'talking back' after he had yelled at you for Max losing. You didn't understand that, why was it your problem if Max lost - although he didn't really lose, as such, he came second or third, but in your dad's opinion? They were the first to lose. You had wandered off from your father, claiming that you needed to get yourself a drink of water, but you knew that Max had just came second, Charles had beaten him and you could already see how mad your dad was going to be, you'd seen his grip tightening on the barrier, his face growing more and more red as Max fell further and further behind the young Monegasque. 

"And Charles Leclerc of Monaco is our winner for today, congratulations Charles!"

Your heart ached at the announcement, as now it was confirmed what awaited you when you got home. You sighed, taking the last gulp of your water as you made your way back to the small podium area, seeing who you assumed to be Charles' family cheering him on after winning - You frowned at the very thought of a loving and functional family, you knew that your mother loved you, but she didn't by any means particularly like you, it didn't seem like anyone did, since you only apparently existed as your fathers punching bag and your mom was only interested in you when it was her weekend with you and Max. Spotting your father, you weaved your way through the crowd, your heartbeat increasing as you silently stood beside him, quietly praying that if you were quiet enough, he might not sense your presence and maybe, just maybe, you wouldn't be punished for your brother coming second.

Looking down at his father from the 2nd place spot on the small podium set-up, Max frowned as he looked at Jos and then to you - He was 13, yet somehow understood that this, him coming second, would somehow be your fault, and you would be the one to take the beating from Jos. It was cruel, but it was all you and Max had known, since your mother had taken only your older sister and not you - Max had guessed you had been getting punished since Jos assumed if Max had to watch you suffer the consequences of you losing, then it would make him perform better. In some way, maybe it did - But maybe it just scared Max that one day his father would take it too far, and instead of icing bruises under your eye, he would be calling the police.

From his spot on the podium, he flinched slightly as he saw your father harshly grab your wrist, dragging you through the crowd and away to the car - Max would know to hang back for a bit, he had seen Jos hit you enough to know that it would just end in him feeling such overwhelming guilt for not winning and therefore stopping anything from happening to you.

However

Jos' beatings of you had not gone unnoticed, as the young Monegasque winner of the day had made his way to his families car, his two brothers and parents already inside, he found you, sitting on the wet grass beside your fathers car, shivering and sobbing.

"Um...are you okay?" He asked you awkwardly, unsure of how to either help or console you. When you looked up at him, he immediately recognised you - You were Max's sister, it was obvious, since you two were sometimes mistaken for twins despite having a 4 year age gap. You sniffled and nodded - Which Charles knew to be a lie, the make up which attempted to cover a barely healed bruise under your eye had worn off, and a new bruise under your other eye, along with a cut on your cheek and a busted lip proved that you had taken yet another beating from your father. He frowned, he had only heard rumours that Jos Verstappen was...unhinged - But he had never thought them to be true in this way, despite being the same age as your brother, Charles knew that you were a defenceless child, and so was Max - Yet everyone was too fearful of Jos to help either of you.

"Charles, let's go!" He stammered, looking between you and his older brother, impatient to get home and out of the wet. You hadn't said a word to him, only silently begging him to please, tell someone, about what your father was doing to you and your brother - At this point, you would take living with your mom, even if it meant your existence was ignored, anything would be better than this.

"I have to go, but I hope to see you again soon," Charles offered you a genuine smile, waving back at you as he walked to his family car, shutting the door and staring off at you as they left the track.

You sighed sadly as you dropped your head between your knees once more - You knew that this was only a part of what awaited you when you got home, but some part of you hoped that he would make you walk home, so you could take as long as you liked, and maybe by the time you got home, he would forget about the brutality he had planned out for you as soon as you walked through the doors.

Like that ever happened.

13 Years Later

You had apparently never escaped your dad.

Put better, you had never escaped men like your dad.

Thanks to the way you had been raised and how you had been treated by the man who was supposed to show you how you should expect to be treated by a man, you had ended up with a string of awful boyfriends, who in the end, received a very verbal and intensive warning from your older brother. Most of them ran away with their tails between their legs at the mention of Max's name.

But one had stuck around longer than the others, going as far to get you pregnant with your daughter, Romy. Max had been convinced you were ready to leave him until he baby trapped you, he knew that would send you running back to him, with the hopes of having the happy family you never got to have yourself. He had been fine with you the entire time you were pregnant, even managing to almost convince Max that he had changed, and that he was ready to look after you and your daughter.

Lukas was different, you told Max. You told him that Lukas looked after you and your unborn child, especially after finding out that you were carrying a baby girl. You told Max that he doted on you, talking to your bump like Romy could hear him, which he argued that she could, since she kicked at the sound of his voice.

And for a while, Max was convinced that Lukas had changed, he had changed his mind on the idea that you had been baby trapped and that maybe it had purely been an unplanned pregnancy.

How wrong he was.

After the birth of Romy, everything went back to normal - You weren't allowed to talk to your brother, you could only go out when he let you, Victoria and Max weren't allowed to come and visit their niece, you weren't allowed to have your phone. It was around 6 months after having Romy when you realised that you had to leave, you couldn't bring your baby girl up like this, and have her turn out like you? Absolutely not.

You wanted your girl to have a chance in this world, you wanted to break the cycle.

So that's what you did.

During the night, while you had Romy settled after her feed and your boyfriend was asleep, you slipped out onto the balcony, your phone in your shaking hands as you dialled Max's number, praying that he would either be awake normally or on streaming.

"Hold on guys, I don't know who is calling...me," Max's joking demeanour dropped as he saw your face flash across the screen. He hadn't heard from you since you stopped returning his calls after you had Romy six months ago. Abruptly, Max ended his stream. "Y/N?"

"Max?" He could tell that you were close to tears, if not already crying. "I'm leaving name but I'm scared to because h-he's been drinking and I don't know if he wakes up i-if he'll hurt me or Romy. I don't care what he does to me, I just don't want him to hurt her." You cried to your brother, nervously peering into your bedroom through the curtains to make sure that the two of them were still asleep - If Romy so much as stirred, then it was game over.

Max was astounded.

Of course, he was going to help you, he was your big brother, how could he not? But you calling 6 months after you last spoke to tell him you were ready to leave, he could have cried in relief.

"Okay, do what you can quietly, I'll come over and make sure that you and Romy can get away safely," Max proposed to you, he knew this was a big, monumental step for you, you needed him to be there for you, now more than ever. "We've got a spare room here, I'll ask Kelly if she by some chance has even an old cot of P's that Romy can sleep in for the night." You sniffled and nodded, even though Max couldn't see the gesture.

"Thank you Maxie, I love you," Tears sprung to your older brother's eyes, he couldn't imagine how much you had been through, the fear of your boyfriend harming your baby must have been a constant forefront on your mind, you must have been exhausted.

"I love you too, I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Okay."

You hung up, sighing in relief as you realised that you had taken the hardest step of your life - Yes, you were leaving your abusive boyfriend, but you were also leaving your daughter's father. Moving as quietly as you could, you buckled your sleeping baby into her car seat - Thinking if Kelly didn't have anything; which would be fine; then you could have Romy sleep in her car seat. You packed a small bag for her and yourself - If you needed anything else, you could pick it up when you needed it, as far as you were concerned right now, you and Romy just needed out of here.

the next morning when you woke up, the night before felt like a blur. You swore you were high on adrenaline, and now you were on a huge comedown. You turned on your side, reaching to hold your babies hand, smiling gently as you now realised that you wouldn't have to face seeing (Name) when you went out of this room. You sat up as Romy stirred, reaching out to lift her from the next to me bed that Kelly had put beside the bed in the spare room.

"Shshsh, it's okay, my love, mama's got you," You rocked Romy, pushing her small tuft of her hair out of her face as she fussed before latching to you.

"Mommy, I want to see auntie Y/N's baby!" You smiled, hearing Penelope being so excited to meet Romy, even though she would have to wait a while to be able to play with her. 

"I know, but you need to wait until they wake up," Kelly tried to reason with the young girl, who pouted and crossed her arms and turned to Max, as if he was going to risk going in and waking a sleeping baby.

"Maxie!" Penelope whined, pouting as Max and Kelly chuckled at her behaviour. They both looked up as the door to the spare room opened, you holding Romy at your hip. "Mommy look!" Penelope pointed at your daughter excitedly. "Can I hold her auntie Y/N?! Please, please please?!" You chuckled and smiled down at Penelope.

"Maybe not right now P, she just had a really big breakfast and I wouldn't want her to throw up all over your nice pyjamas," You reasoned with the small girl, smiling as she nodded in understanding. "I promise that you can hold her later."

"Yay!" Satisfied with your answer, Penelope ran back to her toys, occupied with whatever new toy Max or Kelly had bought for her. You smiled as you continued patting Romy's back, hearing her coo and try to wiggle towards her uncle Max.

"Aww, she wants me," Max cooed at her, taking her from your arms and holding her the way you previously did. "She's so cute, almost makes you want another, Kelly?" 

"In your dreams, Max Emillian," You laughed at the two of them, you knew that Max was a great bonus dad for Penelope, he was the opposite of Jos - Which was still a pretty low bar. "How old is she Y/N?" 

"She's almost 7 months, which is crazy for me, she was my tiny little baby and now she's starting to crawl," You told Kelly, holding your arms out to your brother as Romy started fussing in his arms, reaching out to you. "Anyway um...thank you, both, for last night. Lukas text me this morning, he doesn't want us back, left all our stuff in the lobby of the apartment which is fine cause I need to go back for my car anyway." 

"Don't be silly, I'll go get it, you don't need to go back there. And anyway, there's someone you're spending the day with to get back into socialising - He's great with kids too, so you can take Romy with you." Max told you, watching as your brows furrowed in confusion.

"What? Who is it?"

"Do you remember the whiny one from Monaco that had the inchident? Him, he got broken up with and he's been depressed so I thought you two could be friends."

[moon-my-beloved]

neighbors (tf141 x fem! reader)

Introduction: the universe is never on your side.

wake up, go to work, eat, read, and go to sleep.

that had been your routine for the last couple months ever since you moved in to your new place. your new home.

it really didn’t bother you at all. the solitude, the quietness, the undeniable lack of socialization you had, it was okay with you even if might have looked like the most miserable life to others.

it was a great place to the say the least. your last resort to finally getting the fuck out of the apartment you had shared with your now ex-roommate. you couldn’t bare living there another day hearing her constant sexual acts with every guy she brought in like they were some kind of rabid animals. gross.

there was really no need to say goodbye either. jumping out of your bed in excitement when you got the message from the real estate agent that the place was ready for you to move in.

finally, finally after so many years of busting your ass and saving just enough, you had your own place. not hesitating to pack your things that same day and shove everything into your old but still functional car.

you were free.

the moving was tedious and exhausting, working your muscles out when your furniture finally arrived and giving an awkward smile to your next door neighbor which you later got to find out that her name was charlotte, but insisted on you calling her just auntie lottie. she was a nice old lady, mid 70s who frequently brought you some of her delicious homemade baking with every new recipe she came across. who were you to reject free food?

auntie lottie was probably the only person you had actually talk to ever since moving in, occasionally sitting on her porch just to chat or helping her out with her garden at times.

it was one friday afternoon where the weather was a bit too cold to sit outside and found yourself sitting on auntie lotties couch as she talked about her children, grandchildren, or just the latest gossip. you were more on the listening end of the spectrum, at times putting in your two cents when she asked of your families whereabouts and pointed out ‘how such a young lady shouldn’t be living by herself! you ought to have a husband by now.’

you knew she didn’t mean it with bad intentions but it made your cheeks heat up in embarrassment with the reminder that you were truly utterly unsuccessful when it came to relationships. sure, you had your fair share of partners and they never lasted longer than a few months before they were heading out the door when they realized your lack of intimacy.

it just never felt right and you really couldn’t blame them, despite it leaving an ache in your chest. you really don’t quite remember how the topic of conversation was brought up but she had mentioned that your other neighbors just across from you would be here soon.

“really? I thought no one lived there..” furrowing your eyebrows in confusion as you brought the cup of tea up to your lips. it had been empty ever since you got here. no visible cars or sign of life making itself known for you to determine if someone actually lived there. you just figured it was empty.

“they’re an odd bunch but they’re sweet and handsome. most of the time they’re gone. no worries though, I’ll introduce you to them, dear.” you really weren’t fond of that idea and by the way her eyes wrinkled with that sly look she gave you, a worried chuckle made its way past your lips.

“sure, that would be nice.”

true to her word, they arrived the very next day.

the engine of a black SUV waking you up from your three-hour nap that had your joints popping back in place after stretching your limbs out of their locked positions with how long you had been lying down on the couch.

that wasn’t really what caught your attention though, fighting off the idea of just going back to sleep before your ears caught on the multitude of voices from outside. reluctantly, you get yourself out from the confines of your soft blanket and sit up on your knees to open one of the blinds with your fingers.

your eyes widened at the sight before you. four big men, all of them carrying a variety of duffle bags make their way out of the car. some of them stretching after what you presume a long drive.

you can’t quite get a good look at them but you could tell they were all pretty good-looking even from the distance. starting with the one who probably had better hair days with the way his mohawk was a total mess, leaning against the tallest man you have ever seen as he rubs the sleep off his eyes. skull mask doesn’t seem to be bothered by the shorter man’s tactics. an arm wrapped around his waist to keep him from falling face first on the pavement as they make their way to the front door.

flicking your eyes towards the other side of the car, you zero in on probably the most gorgeous guy you have ever seen. he wears a cap, the UK flag displayed on it and you almost gasp when he turns just enough for you to see how smooth his skin looks. totally not jealous. the last of the group finally gets out from the drivers seat. he looks older than the other three but his stance screams authority and respect once he adjusts himself. these were the neighbors lottie was talking about?

but before you could ponder the fact that you were living across four big scary men, mutton chops turns around towards your direction and makes eye contact with you.

you flinch away from the window a little too hard, tumbling your way over the couch and down onto the floor.

“shit!” you quickly cover your mouth, lying on the ground in defeat and your pride more broken than it already is for at least a few minutes before you slowly get yourself up and warily open the blinds again only to find that they had already headed inside.

letting out a small sigh of relief, you sit down on the cold floor. tilting your head back to rest against the cushion of your couch as you beg to any god out there that they didn’t catch you basically eyeing them down.

auntie lottie will definitely hear about this on your next ‘girls night’.

a/n: this is me forgiving myself after not uploading something for 2-3 months.? I’m sorry ;-;

[arolesbianism]

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