#The girl she helped and that helped her in turn-

[trashytracktales]

hey gurlll first thing first id like to say that im IN LOVE with ur fics. not to be dramatic but im seriously on my knees whenever u post bcs how do u write them so GOODD😭😭😭😭 so i have a request hehe🤭 u can totally ignore this. no pressure!

if u would consider this, hear me out. lando and reader are childhood best friends. they are like two peas in a pot but something made them fought (nothing specific, u can write anything!) that had them not talking for almost 6 months which never happens. since they have the same circle of friends, they got invited to a vacation in portugal. the tension between them is like WOW. then one night, when everyone was already asleep, they had another argument maybe make it like an angry confession that leads them to ANGSTY HOT LONGING YEARNING MINDBLOWING SEX but turns out it was one sided where reader kinda disappeared the next morning lol idk u can imagine the rest. OK THANKS LOVE YA💋

Not quite us | LN⁴

🛥 summary ──── A cold winter fight shatters their friendship, but it’s the heat of the Portuguese sun that brings them back together, months later.

🛥 pairing ──── Lando Norris x fem best friend!reader

🛥 rating ──── explicit

🛥 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, mentions of drinking, angst and emotional tension, arguments, swearing, jealousy, smut, unprotected sex, manhandling, passive-aggressive behavior, pining, emotional miscommunication, past relationship dynamics.

🛥 word count ──── 8.6k

🛥 date ──── Apr. 23, 2025

🛥 a/n ──── Wrote this one straight off the vibes, just went with the flow and let the request guide me here and there. Sometimes the chaos cooks itself, so I hope you guys enjoy it either way ♥︎

IT’S NEW YEAR’S, and Lando would have a lot more fun if he stopped looking across the room every twenty seconds. But he can’t help himself. If someone looked at him right now, it would be so easy to read it in his body language: he is exasperated, beyond frustrated, and maybe a little drunk. His fingers encircle his glass so tightly that his knuckles have turned white, and his jaw clenches every time he sees the way she flinches when her boyfriend talks back to her.

Suddenly, the music gets too loud, the champagne is too warm, and even if he’s trying his damn hardest to pretend otherwise, his night is completely ruined.

She’s sitting on the edge of a sectional couch with her phone clutched in one hand, refusing to look up at her man, her face carefully blank in a way that screams something is wrong. All it takes is a blink of an eye and he walks towards the exit, visibly annoyed, leaving her behind.

Lando frowns while taking another sip of his drink, forcing a smile as one of his friends says something he doesn’t quite register. Still, he nods along anyway. But all he can think about is her. The girl he’s known since he was seven years old. The one who always matched his chaotic energy. The only one who managed to beat him at Mario Kart and made fun of his haircuts and once almost peed herself laughing during a round of mini golf when they were thirteen.

His best friend.

Or at least, she used to be.

It has been different for a while. They only see each other at events now, like birthday parties and New Year’s gatherings. It sucks, but it’s better than not seeing her at all.

It started shifting the day she met her boyfriend — some guy from uni, older than her, quieter, a bit too polished for Lando’s liking. She said he made her feel seen. Lando didn’t say anything then, just nodded, smiled and pretended he wasn’t dying a little inside.

He told himself he was just being protective, but truth is, he never liked the guy. Something about him felt off, and Lando noticed it in the way he was too controlling and dismissive at times. But Lando had no proof, therefore, no real reason to speak up. So, he stayed quiet. Let the distance grow. Let the invites slow. Let her disappear into another life that didn’t include him the way it used to.

There are a few minutes left until midnight, and he’s still watching her. She smoothes her dress with the palm of her hand, breathes slowly a few times, then gets up from the couch, apologizing with a small smile every time she bumps into other people in her path. Then, she disappears down the hallway, shoulders hunched, phone still in her hand. Her head is down, like she’s trying to avoid any potential encounter. At that sight, something in Lando twists and, for a moment, he thinks she’s going after her boyfriend, his body instinctively tensing. But he relaxes when he realizes she’s just turned right instead, stepping out onto the balcony.

Without thinking, he sets his empty glass down and slips away from the crowd, past the streamers and glitter and flickering lights, heading in the same direction she went. It doesn’t surprise him when he finds her deep in thought, typing on her phone then shoving it angrily into her purse.

Her back is facing him, arms folded over the railing now, the cold air nipping at her exposed shoulders. She must be freezing, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s also not turning when she hears more steps, then the door closing.

She lets out a breath, but it’s not relief. More like she’s trying not to cry. “Hey, Lan.”

She doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s him. They’ve spent so much time in each other’s company that she’s memorized his footsteps, the sound of his sigh and the hesitation in his voice before he speaks whenever he’s unsure of his words.

Lando pauses a few feet behind her, careful, like he’s afraid she’ll shatter if he’s too loud. “You alright?”

Without waiting for her to answer, Lando just shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders from behind. The girl stiffens for a second, then lets his scent settle around her like a familiar comfort.

She knows things that no one knows about him, like the way his laugh changes depending on who he’s with, but the real one, the high-pitched one that sounds like a hyena giving birth, only comes out when he’s with his friends. She can tell when he’s nervous just by the way he starts tapping his fingers against his thigh. She knows he prefers sleeping with the fan on, even during the winter, that he can’t eat spicy food without tearing up, and that he pretends to like certain people just to keep the peace.

Her best friend.

Or at least, he used to be.

“He left,” she finally says, her voice just a whisper.

Lando moves to stand beside her, copying her posture. “What happened?”

“He said he was going home, but I don’t know.”

He blinks, confused. “Midnight’s in, like… five minutes?”

She shrugs, wiping under her eye with a knuckle, trying to be discreet. “Yeah, well. Apparently I was laughing too loud and drinking too much and fooling around. I was embarrassing him. So he left.”

Lando stares at her, stunned. “It’s a party. What the fuck is he expecting you to do? Sit quietly in the corner and sip water?”

Her laugh is short and sad around the edges, “No, but I know he doesn’t like it when I’m loud or hyper or… whatever.”

There’s a long pause in which she reconsiders her behavior, thinking that maybe her boyfriend is right. Meanwhile, Lando tries to find the right words to counter every single lie that asshole has fed her, the annoyance flooding back in. He turns his head to look at her, and her profile knocks the wind out of him. Her eyes are wet and tired, like she’s trying to hold herself together for longer than just tonight.

“Don’t listen to him,” says Lando quietly, playfully bumping his shoulder against hers, “I love your loud laugh.”

She looks over at him then, a warm wave of safety covering her from head to toe, despite the cold that feels like it cuts across the skin of her face. The words settle heavy between them: I love your laugh. Not ‘it’s nice’. Not ‘it suits you’. I love it. It means more than he probably meant it to. Or maybe it means exactly what he’s never had the guts to say out loud. Until now.

Lando swallows before continuing, “I don’t get it,” he says, “You should be with someone who wants to hear you, no matter how loud or hyper you are. Who knows how lucky they are to be in your presence.” She laughs, as if dismissing his words, but Lando insists, “I’m serious. I still don’t understand why you’re with him.”

The girl lets out a shaky breath, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “He wasn’t always like this.”

“I know.”

Lando’s answer sounds a little too sarcastic and, in response, the silence stretches between them once again. But it’s not empty this time. It’s charged. Heavy with everything they’ve never talked about, and all the months they spent apart.

She turns her eyes back to the view, but her fingers tug his jacket tighter around her body. And then, without looking at him, she speaks again, “No, you don’t. We didn’t talk much lately, so you wouldn’t know.”

Lando wastes no time, “And whose fault is it?”

She shifts her body towards him abruptly, “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. It was just a question.”

“Right,” she nods once. “I don’t even know why I’m talking to you about it. I guess I just… needed my friend for a minute.”

Lando nods too, and steps close enough that their arms brush. Before she can say anything else, he leans in, uncertain but determined, and wraps his arms around her. Her cheek presses against his shoulder, seeking his comfort. The only problem is that there’s nothing casual about how Lando’s heart starts to race. His arms come around her tightly, holding her like his life depends on it, even though she’s the one that’s been ditched by her boyfriend on New Year’s.

They stay like that for a while, their breaths fogging between them in the cold night air. The space they share gets warmer, which makes her snuggle into his chest. She smells like citrus and champagne and every memory he’s ever tried not to think about too hard when he was missing her.

The girl pulls back slightly, enough that her face is tilted up toward his. And when he reaches to cup her cheek, her skin is smooth beneath his palm, her lips slightly parted like she might say something, but doesn’t. They just stare at each other, the same way you only look at someone when you’ve missed them for too long, and you’re finally close enough to touch but terrified to move any further, thinking that maybe they’re not even real.

The countdown begins in the background, a little muffled through the glass door, people shouting numbers like a slow drumbeat from the inside.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

“Break up with him,” Lando’s voice cuts through the haze, rougher than he intended.

One.

The cheers erupt from every direction. The sky bursts into a sea of light above them, fireworks flaring gold, silver, and pink. The noise is distant, like it’s happening on another planet. They wouldn’t know, because they don’t even look. Instead, her eyes are still searching his, confused and a little broken.

He could lean in and take it all, just this once, and blame it on the alcohol.

But she blinks, breaking the ephemeral magic of the moment. She takes a step back, then another, slow and cautious, until she’s out of his arms. “What?”

Lando doesn’t move. “You deserve better.”

“Lando…”

“No,” he shakes his head. “He treats you like shit,” his voice rises gradually, dipped in more emotion than he probably wants to show, “And I don’t know what’s worse: that you know it or that you allow it.”

She looks at him as if Lando is shapeshifting right before her eyes, and he does it far too quickly for her to have time to process.

“Stop assuming things about me,” she warns, all the warmth between them dissolving in an instant. “You don’t know.”

“I know he should’ve been here, kissing you right now. I know he made you cry instead,” he says, stepping forward, closing the distance that she put between them earlier. “I know he left you at a party alone because you were laughing too loud,” he continues, mockingly. “Do you hear how fucking ridiculous that sounds?”

Her voice is sharper next time she speaks, “You don’t know the full story, Lando. He asked me to go home with him, but—”

“I don’t care,” he interrupts her. “Looks like he ditches you whenever you’re too much for him. And I can bet this isn’t the first time he’s made you cry, is it?”

She scoffs, “Oh, so now you’re paying attention?” she asks, adopting a defensive attitude. “It’s been months since you’ve shown any interest in me.”

Lando flinches like she just slapped him. “You’re the one who stopped showing up. It’s cause you’ve gotten busier. With him, eh?”

“Smooth, Lando,” she fires back in a disappointed voice. “You pulled away first,” she reminds him, pointing a finger at his chest; tears threaten her eyes again, but she blinks rapidly to clear them away.

“Yeah, because I didn’t know where I fit anymore,” he says, his voice cracking around the edge of frustration. “You were always with him. Always defending him. I didn’t want to be that friend who hovered too close or some asshole that oversteps your boundaries. Because, believe me, I was so close to cross a lot of those before deciding to back the fuck up.”

She stares at him, incredulous, as if all the months they have been apart have completely changed her childhood best friend. “So, instead of talking to me, you just ghosted me? Very mature.”

Lando’s jaw tightens before replying, “I needed space.”

“You disappeared,” she corrects him. “You didn’t just take space. You shut me out.”

“That was me respecting your sorry ass relationship.”

“No,” she laughs dryly. “You were trying to make a point.”

Maybe, Lando thinks, looking away. But that’s not the whole truth. It’s painful, not to mention frustrating, to watch someone you care about being treated badly. It may have been selfish on his part, but Lando couldn’t stand by and watch the girl who deserved it all get only a piece of it.

“You don’t like him,” she continues, voice quieter now. “I get that. But instead of saying it, you just judged me from a distance.”

“No, I don’t like him,” he admits. “Matter of fact, I despise the guy. But not just because of who he is. It’s because he changes you.”

Her eyes narrow. “That’s not true.”

Lando laughs, but he’s not amused in the slighlest. “You went from having fun to crying in a matter of minutes. Because of him. How many times has this happened before?”

“He never—” she tries to warn him, before Lando cuts her off again.

“Keep defending him,” he says, irritated. “Because God forbid someone call you out when you’re being steamrolled by someone who doesn’t see your worth.”

“And God forbid you admit that maybe you’re not always right!” she snaps. “You don’t get to parachute in and act like some moral compass. If that’s the case, where the hell have you been all this time?”

The question silences them both. He can’t say too much without saying it all, and she’s waiting for something that won’t get to her. Not yet.

Disappointed, hurt, and extremely tired, she shrugs his jacket off and throws it at his chest. “Happy fucking New Year.”

𝟳 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗛𝗦 𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗥

📍 Somewhere off the Algarve coast, Portugal

AFTER THE HECTIC life she’s lived in the past few months, a weeklong yacht trip along the Portuguese coast is all she needs. Blue water, rosé on deck, and most importantly, no drama.

She says yes before she even checks the guest list, but that shouldn’t be a problem. Everybody in their group knows about the social distancing between her and Lando. Plus, she always checks his calendar, keeping an eye out for the weekends he’s away, racing, meaning she can tag along without stressing that they’re going to bump into each other.

Of course, she still watches his races. Just because they stop talking that doesn’t mean she stopped caring about the dream that Lando has been striving for since childhood. That’s also why she knows that Lando will be in the UK for at least another week, as he mentioned in the post-race interview, which won’t interfere with their little getaway.

By Friday, however, things change drastically. It’s only when she’s already halfway to the marina — after spending the entire afternoon shopping with the girls — that Max texts her.

BTW, just so you’re not surprised… Lando is flying in tonight. I know things aren’t great between you two right now, but he’s still my friend as much as you are, and I didn’t wanna lie or make it weird :D

You okay?

For a moment, everything seems to slow down, including her heartbeat. All the sounds that surrounds her fade into the background, while she tries to steady herself against the sudden rush of emotions.

Is she okay? Well, for the most part yes. But that’s because she haven’t seen Lando in months. There are many ways she can react when they’ll finally be face to face again, and she can’t decide which is worse. But in the end, it doesn’t even matter, because she simply doesn’t have the time to analyze every scenario.

I’ll survive, she texts back.

She will.

She has to.

It gets dark pretty late, but the night is warm, balmy with salt and wine in the air. They decorated the boat’s upper deck with a string of lanterns, their golden glow flickering against the white hull, gently illuminating the space. The music thumps lazily from a speaker somewhere, low enough not to overwhelm the sea’s waves but steady enough to pulse through bare feet on smooth wood.

Someone’s uncorking another bottle of vinho verde, and a few of the girls are still in their swimsuits, legs tucked beneath oversized linen shirts as they lounge across sun-warmed cushions.

She’s also barefoot, her skin kissed pink from the day, a loose skirt swaying at her thighs as she spins around one of the support poles, smiling wide; she decided, hours ago, that she won’t let anything ruin her vacation. It’s the first time in months she’s felt this light, and has no intention to let the feeling be washed away by the waves of a past so distant.

Only when she realizes that she is, in fact, invincible and that nothing can shake her confidence, she hears a familiar laugh, the same one she’ll recognize anywhere. But she doesn’t turn to it immediately. Instead, her body stiffens as fast as if it’s controlled by a remote.

He’s here and, suddenly, the breeze curling in from the sea feels somehow cooler. It’s just a voice, but it’s his, and it sounds so melodic in her ears, even after all this time.

When she finally turns around, all the noise dials down.

Lando’s standing on the deck like he’s never been gone, a duffel thrown over one shoulder, his curls slightly damp from the flight or the heat or the mist. He’s in a loose, black tank top and shorts, his sneakers untied like he didn’t even bother to fix them. He’s already smiling when he sees Max coming to greet him with a drink in hand, sliding easily into hugs and handshakes. Everything is so normal that she almost rushes to the stairs to jump into his arms.

As if he hears her thinking about him, Lando looks up and their eyes catch mid-movement.

The music doesn’t stop. No one freezes. The conversation continues. And yet something just between them shifts, making Lando still for a moment. His smile falters slightly. The duffel slides off his shoulder and drops at his feet. His gaze lingers longer than it should, because he seems genuinely surprised, like he hadn’t expected her to look the way she does — lighter, freer, happier than the last time he saw her.

Like a low-budget movie, they just look at each other for a while and then, barely perceptible, Lando nods once. It is a subtle, tired gesture. Not warm, but not hostile either. More like: I see you. I’ll behave.

And she nods back: I see you too. I’ll try.

That’s all that it is. A small breath of peace in the warzone. Because they both know that this vacation isn’t about them. There are too many people they both love here, too many memories tied up in this group to be so selfish as to ruin everyone’s fun.

With that, Lando disappears below deck with a few of the guys, and the party continues as if nothing happened.

SOMEHOW, THEY’VE MANAGED.

It’s the last night on the boat together, and not once have they really spoken. Just kept on with the civil nods and carefully timed appearances. She took the mornings on the upper deck with a book and her sunglasses pulled low, while he suck to afternoons with Max and Keegan, sunbathing and pretending not to look over when she passed by.

Every time they went out for dinner, they sat at opposite ends of the table, pretending to be invested in conversations that barely held their attention.

When they went to explore the nearby cliffs and hidden beaches, they naturally split into smaller groups, Lando ending up with the boys, as usual, taking the off-road buggy trails that wind through dusty hills, while she tagged along with a few of the girls. They didn’t walk near each other. Didn’t even end up in the same group photo.

But the glances were a constant, and all of them have carried them both here, almost at the end.

There’s a bizzare quiet in the air tonight, the kind that only the sea can create — so deep, violent, and alive at the same time.

After soaking in her own heat for hours, she decides to step out of her cabin for a breath of fresh air.

They’ve ordered seafood for dinner, and her relationship with it is not exactly good. A small breeze brushes across her face, lifting her hair slightly, carrying with it the clean scent of salt. The boat rocks gently beneath her, and the stars above are strewn carelessly across the sky like spilled sugar.

The second she steps into the dark of the corridor and turns toward the small galley, her heart skips a beat. For good reason. Lando’s already there, barefoot and shirtless and deep in thought in the low light, leaning against the railing like he belongs in the night. One of his hands is resting on the cool metal, while the other is wiping the beads of sweat off his forehead.

His head turns when he hears her cat-like steps, eyes catching hers in the dark.

The only sounds are the gentle hush of the waves against the hull, and the occasional creak of the boat. Neither of them says anything, as if they don’t even know how to speak to each other after throwing cutting words at each other, all those months ago. The silence between them doesn’t make them feel awkward. Maybe just a little guarded. However, it’s very depressing, really, not having anything to say to the person who once knew absolutely everything about you.

It would be very easy for her to turn on her heels and walk back into her cabin, avoiding Lando, just like she has done all these days. But then she hears his whispered voice, and his mellow intonation is enough to make the entire planet stop from spinning.

“Everything okay?”

She swallows, caught in the stillness of the night as if she’s a thief. “Yeah,” she whispers back, even though it sounds more like a question than an answer. “Felt a bit sick.”

He nods slowly. “The shrimp?”

“The fucking shrimp,” she agrees.

Lando shrugs. “Ew.”

His reaction triggers a wave of warmth that washes over her, forcing a smile while thinking about the past. The memory flashes rudely uninvited. Still, she weclomes it with nothing but nostalgia in her heart. They were eight, crammed into a bed on a family vacation, and she’d eaten her weight in shrimp and clams at dinner, proudly declaring herself a seafood queen. Hours later, she threw it all up, right there, in bed, all over him. Lando woke up screaming, drenched in the smell of stomach acid, fish and betrayal and, ever since, he couldn’t even stand near a fish without gagging.

Cautious, she edges forward, bracing her arms on the railing only a couple feet apart from him, eyes fixed on the black stretch of sea. The moon paints a silver path across the water, waves shifting like oil under its light. For a few minutes, they just stand there like two ghosts, side by side, watching the view, but probably stuck in different memories.

“So, I’ll go back inside,” she says a little unsure.

His voice cuts through the quiet, “Stay,” says Lando without hesitation.

It’s not just the gentle plea that catches her off guard, but the way he says it. Like he means it more than he means anything else right now. Possibly more than he meant anything else ever.

Awkwardly, she moves forward, letting herself lean closer to him. That’s how she finds out that physical distance means absolutely nothing when it’s the emotional distance that kept them apart. More than that, there are many things left unsaid that fill that void.

Out of sheer curiosity — or plain stupidity, she’s not sure yet — the girl begins to walk uncertainly towards the edge of the space that separates them.

“You remember New Year’s?” she asks, the words coming out softer than she expects.

There is no trace of hatred or resentment behind her voice, which surprises her. She understands that she has, without realizing it, moved beyond their most tensed moment so far. And all that’s left now, besides her curiosity, is the fact that no matter how much time has passed, the two of them still know each other on a level they haven’t reached with anyone else.

Lando doesn’t look at her, but his jaw flexes. “Hard to forget.”

“I threw your jacket at you,” she continues with a small laugh.

“And stormed off like you were in a romcom.”

“To be fair, you were being a dick.”

He chuckles then, and the sound is gentle yet painfully nostalgic. “I probably was.”

“You talked like you knew everything. It was…” she hesitates, fingers tightening slightly on the rail, “A bit cruel. Even if it came from a good place.”

Lado nods. “I know,” he says, “I guess I didn’t know how to talk without sounding like some immature tantrum just because I was missing my friend.”

She glances at him then, studying the curve of his profile in the moonlight. The familiar slope of his perfect sculpted nose. The way his curls fall just a little longer then she remembered. The way he speaks but seems so deeply forgotten in the memory of that winter night.

“I broke up with him the next day,” she admits.

He turns, his eyes searching for hers. “Yeah,” says Lando, “I figured.”

Even though she tries her best, she can’t read his demeanor. He seems tense, even though their conversation isn’t hostile in any way. Not yet, at least. Still, Lando looks as if he’s bracing for some sort of impact that she’s not aware of. There something softer in his expression, though. Something hesitant that encourages her to keep him in that memory.

“I think about it sometimes,” she continues. “That night. All of it.”

He nods again. “Me too. ”

She looks over, eyes wide and cautious, but Lando doesn’t look away.

“But,” he continues, “I won’t apologize for what I said. Because I wasn’t wrong. You do deserve better. And maybe I had no right to say it the way I did, but I’d rather have fought with you than keep watchig you shrink yourself for someone who didn’t even appreciate you.”

His words hit like the waves, tightening her throat. “I get that. But in the moment, it made me feel…” she begins, eyes filling up with tears, “Like you stopped respecting me because of him. And I felt stupid for being so blinded that I lost sight of all the things that were the most important to me.”

The way Lando looks at her now makes her heart sink. Not with pity. Not even with regret. Just a dull ache, like he’s been carrying it with him for months, and he’s too tired to hold it tightly anymore.

“Come on, you know that’s not true,” he says. “I was just irritated and drunk. Watching you disappear like that wasn’t easy, and I didn’t know how to ask you to stay without sounding like a selfish prick. I should’ve just said something,” adds Lando. “Instead of sulking and keeping score and acting like you betrayed me for living your life,” he looks away then, back to the endless sea, eyes half-lidded like the movement of the waves might offer him something easier to face. Anything but this.

He had time to think and weigh his actions. But it all came down to those last few minutes, when it suddenly became too much for both of them.

“I missed you, Lando,” she confesses after a while, letting the words out in a small voice.

The silence that follows is no longer heavy with avoidance, but an intimate warmth that somehow infiltrates under her skin. It merges with all the sadness caused by the time they spent apart and, together, they create a new kind of feeling that she doesn’t yet know how to name. And, for some reason, she’s in no hurry to do so.

Uncertain yet courageous after hearing her admission, Lando’s hand finds hers along the railing and, to his surprise, she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she threads her fingers through his, like she was already waiting for it. For him.

It’s weird, she thinks, how their hands fit together like the end of a sentence that finally makes sense. So she keeps it there, feeling his pulse in her palm like it’s the most normal thing in the world. They can’t look at each other, though. And suddenly, the waves are so much more interesting than the mess they’ve created, their soft undulation bewitching them both, mirroring their feelings in a sick, twisted way; tamed at the surface, yet storming somewhere deeper.

In the chaos of her mind, she can feel the gentle way his thumb brushes the side of her hand. The way he squeezes her afterwards. Like a promise. And she knows, without either of them saying it, that this was always going to happen. That they are inevitable, like gravity pulling them toward the center of each other.

“Are we gonna go back to being cold in the morning?” he finds the strength to ask, voice barely above the hush of the tide.

Truth is, she doesn’t even know what the next few minutes will bring, let alone the next morning.

The girl turns her head slightly, her cheek pressing to his shoulder. “Well, I don’t know how to be your friend nowadays,” she admits, not to make him feel bad, but because that’s the only thing she’s sure of. Her truth.

Lando sighs, “Yeah, that’s not quite us anymore, hm?”

It takes another crushing silence before Lando turns to her completely. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter they can’t be friends anymore, because they’re way past that. Lando is way past that. All he wants is one chance to show her how much it means to him; every word, every touch and every single thought that’s been haunting him for days on end.

He looks like he’s on autopilot when he brings his other hand up to brush her jaw. After his movement, she takes the next step and leans into his touch. She opens her mouth, maybe to say his name, but the words don’t get the chance to get out, because Lando grabs her firmly and pulls her toward him. Hard. Like he can’t take the distance anymore.

His mouth crashes into hers without any warning. It isn’t careful. It isn’t sweet. It’s the result of months of silence, of aching, of watching and wanting and never having. It’s teeth clashing, breath catching, fingers curling so hard into skin that it’ll leave marks.

She gasps into his mouth, as if the ground is crumbling beneath her feet, but at the same time, it’s the most exciting feeling she’s ever felt. Her arms are instinctively wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him closer like she’s been just as consumed by what they didn’t say. Lando fists a hand in her hair, the other gripping her waist tight enough to bruise. He’s all fire, hot and desperate, and there’s not enough water that surrounds them to cool what’s raging in his chest.

He gives her the kind of kiss that says I missed you too and I’m sorry and I never stopped thinking of you all at once. Her hand constricts around his bicep, grounding herself in the feel of him: his salty lips and the way he exhales with a relieved sigh like she’s air after being underwater for far too long. It’s impossible not to feel how much he needed this, because there’s nothing left unsaid in the way he holds her. The truth — his truth — was always there, waiting for the moment they’d both be brave enough to let in.

The kiss deepens before either of them realizes what’s happening. And it’s her who leans in a bit further. That brings him back to the present moment, not because she is just as desperate, but because of how much she means it. How much she wants this. It’s right there, in the way her mouth moves over his, open and urgent, like a need that’s been burning for too long. It makes Lando groan silently when her teeth graze his bottom lip, her tongue flicking against his like a dare. A dare that he answers to, meeting her halfway, teasing, then licking into her mouth with a skilled confidence that makes her head spin.

Oh, he’s a good kisser.

Dizzy from the sudden intensity, she clings to his neck, tilting her head as he takes control, his hands finding their way back to her waist after roaming up and down her body, guiding her back a few steps until her spine presses lightly to the railing. The breeze kisses across her bare legs, her thin nightdress doing nothing to hide the way her body shivers. Or how hard he gets against her. She feels it instantly, like a sharp contrast between his swim trunks and her body, and it sends a jolt of heat right between her thighs.

Her breath hitches once they stop, glancing up at him, caught between amusement and want. “What are you so excited for?”

Lando meets her gaze with an innocent grin twitching at his lips as he shrugs, “Sorry.”

She can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation she finds herself in. Loud. The kind of laugh that throws her head back a little and makes her cover her mouth when she realizes its heat.

Lando just watches her, enchanted by her mere existence. And, without thinking twice, he asks, “How can anyone be embarrassed by that laugh?”

The sudden comment silences both of them. Lando, because he just heard himself saying it out loud. And her, because of how sincere he sounds. How tender.

Still grinning, he lets his forehead fall against hers. They may never encounter such a moment of peace again, so neither of them hesitates to take it where it’s supposed to go to: her tiny cabin. The narrow door clicks shut behind them, and the space is barely big enough for one person, let alone the two of them tangled in something so close it’s hard to tell where tension ends and need begins.

She backs into the bed, and Lando follows, eyes fixed to her like she’s the only girl ever. When they finally collapse onto the mattress, it creaks under their weight. Their knees bump. Shoulders brush. Lando’s arm wraps around her waist in an instant, and she fits there like it’s hers. That grip. Him.

Somehow, he’s bigger than she remembers. Or maybe she’s just never noticed how broad his chest is, how his legs stretch past the foot of her bed, how small her frame feels when she pulls him into her. And now, in the closeness of their embrace, it’s impossible not to feel it.

It intimidates her, but she keeps her hands all over him, warm skin meeting her palms. Her eyes roam without shame, wandering from his abdomen up to his pecs and then stop on his freshly kissed lips. Her fingers trail along his arms, feeling the strength carved into muscle by years of racing and tension. She watches the way goosebumps rise under her touch, and when her hand flattens over his chest, just above his heart, Lando exhales heavily, with a slight shudder.

He doesn’t look away, though. He doesn’t have the heart or enough willpower. He simply looks back at her, eyes burning, as if seeing her underneath him like this is the only normal thing in their messed up lifes.

“I need to know where’s your head at,” he says, his long fingers brushing the outside of her thigh.

She closes her eyes for a moment. Mostly because she finds it hard to pay attention when her childhood friend — the skinny little boy who used to be blown away by the slightest breeze — is now on top of her in the flesh, displaying groups of muscles she’s never seen on his body before, let alone touched.

Her hand stays on his chest, “Am I ever going to get my best friend back?”

His hearts breaks a little, because he realizes that both of them know the implications of her question. The answer, too, but she still wants to hear him saying it, because that’s the only thing that’ll make it true.

Lando’s eyes search hers for a moment too long, and something in him rearrange, the muscle in his jaw tightening before he leans in. “No,” he simply replies.

She figured. Still, it is not necessarily the answer itself that makes her emotional, but the way Lando said it, as if it is torture for him to even admit it.

“I can’t ruin myself over and over again, pretending that what I feel for you is small. It never was.”

She nods, lifting her hand to the back of his neck, threading her fingers into his hair and pulling him down until their lips are barely brushing. Lando’s hands are pulling at her, slowly sliding the straps of her dress down. He takes his time, undressing her like he’s unwrapping a present he’s waited far too long to touch. And when she’s standing there, bare and warm and only for him to see, he sits back to stare and take as many mental pictures as he can.

“You’re…” he starts, voice nearly breaking, “So fucking beautiful.”

She presses closer, hands moving to his shorts with urgency. Lando lets her, barely breathing and, when the last layer falls away, she looks down at him. All of him. His golden skin that glows in the dim light filtering through the porthole, muscles tightening under her hungry touch.

Impatient, his hand slides between her legs while maintaining eye contact, his fingertips brushing over the soft skin at her inner thigh before he presses just lightly against her entrance. The reaction is immediate, a sharp breath followed by a soft whimper that catches in her throat. Her hips instinctively lift toward him, and his own breath wavers at the sound.

“So wet,” he breaks off, almost spiraling from the realization, from finding out just how much she wants him. Just like he wants her.

For a moment, there’s something feral in his gaze, something that won’t let her move her eyes. Like he’s balancing on a tightrope of restraint, and she’s the drop waiting to pull him under.

“It kills me,” he admits. Then he leans in, lips brushing against the shell of her ear, “But you need to be quiet, darling.”

She nods, her breath still uneven, knowing it’s going to be anything but easy.

Lando presses a kiss to her shoulder, then her collarbone before he continues, “Even though I love it when you’re loud, you’ll have to save that for later.”

Just the thought of her, waiting for his next move all warm and wanting, has his cock already pulsing in his palm. He strokes himself slowly, gaze locked on her as she shifts beneath him, spreading wider with a shaky inhale.

As curious as ever, she glances down between them, eyes filled with want, and he watches her bite her lower lip at the sight of him, so hard and ready. The gap between them closes quickly, suspended in that final moment before everything changes. Her fingers curl into the sheets, watching Lando lining himself up, just barely brushing against her clit. Then, he pushes in with a whimper that sounds like it’s been clawing at his throat for months. Like this moment has been sitting just under his skin, waiting to become real.

“Fuck,” he pants, silently. “You feel better than I ever imagined.”

Right now, all her senses are inhibited by him. The weight, the stretch, the warmth, the way his hands frame her hips like she’s the only thing keeping him in check, and she’s the only reason why Lando isn’t unleashing hell yet. Her legs wrap around his waist, holding him close, as if her body already knows what her heart won’t let her say.

Lando. Lando. Lando!

But he shakes his head, his voice going lower than normal, “No, baby, Let me.”

The bed is laughably small, making Lando huff out a frustrated breath, one arm sliding under her thigh as he shifts them both, gripping her firmly to guide her where he needs her. It’s not graceful in any way, but there’s something about the way he manhandles her, lifting, adjusting, controlling the angle until it’s perfect, that makes her head fall back with a gasp.

He exhales through his nose, lips pressing in a thin line to avoid making sounds that could get them both into trouble. “There. That’s it.”

She lets him move her, pliant and trusting, her breath getting heavier when their skin brushes in all the right places. Every thrust is slow at first, drawing soft moans from her mouth that only make him harder. The way her body reacts only fuels him, encouraged by the way her lashes flutter, and the way her hands slide into his hair when she can’t find the words. She couldn’t say it anyway. Can’t give voice to what’s blooming and breaking inside her.

But Lando feels it in the way she moves with him, and how her body opens like it was always meant to. That pushes him to thrust harder, feeling like the entire boat shakes at the force.

“Easy. You’re gonna break the bed,” she says against his jaw, her voice a breathy laugh.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve broken over you,” he mutters back, but there’s no malice in his tone, except a dangerous affection that’s always lived under his skin when it came to her.

It makes her curious to know what he means, but just as she’s about to ask, Lando finds that angle where their bodies align like puzzle pieces that should’ve never fit but somehow do. He rocks into her so sweetly, and that’s enough to silence her. The answer is in the way her breath stutters. The way her fingers grip his arms. The way her body pulls him in and clenches around his length like it’s never known anything else.

“Shit. Again, please,” Lando breathes wetly against her skin. “Do that again,” he repeats, already buried to the hilt, grinding against that perfect spot inside her, that once he found it, it’s impossible to stop. “Mhm. Let me make it right.”

“You said you can’t,” she challanges him, barely able to speak. “So stop taking your sweet time, Norris,” she pants, breathless but defiant, smirking even as her thighs tremble around his hips.

Lando lifts his head, curls damp against his forehead, eyes dark with a sudden annoyance. “Yeah? That’s how he’s had you all this time? Quick, in and out, job done?”

Her smirk drops into a scoff, her hands pressing against his chest like she might shove him off. But she arches into him instead, loving the way her back rubs against the mattress with each push.

“If anything, he had the balls to be honest with me.”

“Fuck’s sake,” he thrusts deeper, making her gasp mid-retort. “Stop defending him, will ya?”

The sheets are already half off the bed, twisted and forgotten, heat pulsing like a heartbeat between them. Lando starts moving inside her with a relentless rhythm, as if trying to erase anyone who came before him with every shove. But she won’t give him the silence he craves.

Not anymore.

Her head tilts back, sweat glistening at her collarbone, but her eyes are sharp, ready to catch his reaction. “No wonder you drive like that. Always trying to prove you’re better than the last guy, aren’t you?”

His hips slam forward, hard enough to make her gasp again, fingers bruising against her waist. “That’s rich coming from the girl who settled for someone who didn’t even know how to fuck her, let alone treat her right.”

She bites her lip, not in surrender but to hide the moan that slips out anyway. Her nails dig into his back, dragging down like a punishment until he grunts. “You’re such a coward,” she snaps. “At least he didn’t treat every conversation like a race he had to win.”

All of a sudden, Lando slows his movements, grinding deep, making her eyes roll before he fucks back into her harder than before. Only to make a point. Only to see all the places he takes her to.

“‘Cause he had the habit of abandoning before it even started, isn’t it? How many times did you have to fake it?”

Her eyes snap to his, speechless, but Lando doesn’t blink. He grins at her, knowing he is waiting for an answer he’ll never get.

She kisses him then, hard and angry, pouring all the emotions she never thought Lando, of all people, would ever awaken in her. Then she pushes him, her legs squeezing around his waist, her action emphasizing the duality of the thoughts going through her mind.

“Just so we’re clear. You’re not the first to try and fuck me into forgetting,” she finally replies.

At that, Lando stops for a breath, not from exhaustion but from the way her words claw straight through his big ego. He slams into her again, smiling at her, hand catching her thigh to spread her wider. “But I’m the one who’s going to succeed.”

She’s so close, he can feel it in the way her body aches to keep his cock inside and how her insults start to blend with moans. What amazes him, though, is the strength she has to continue their little argument, as if they’re not in the middle of something else right now.

“Never thought you could be such an asshole, it’s unbelievable.”

Lando doesn’t even blink when he speaks again, “He made you cry on New Year’s,” he growls, voice sharp, like a blade slipping between her ribs. “And I’m the asshole?”

Before she can throw a retort back, he tilts his hips, changing the angle, and drives into her so sudden that it knocks the breath from her lungs. Her back arches, while her hips are lifting to meet every punishing thrust.

“Lando,” she moans his name, arms winding around his shoulders like she’s holding on for dear life.

She can feel him in places she didn’t even know could feel. He’s fucking her with such intensity it turns into a blur of slick skin and strangled whimpers, the bed creaking beneath them.

The banter dies somewhere along the way, and all that’s left behind is the heat, the pounding rhythm, the kind of pleasure that makes thoughts disappear and stars dance behind their eyes. Her brows are scrunched, eyes glazed, and she realizes she’s about to scream. Actually scream.

Luckily, Lando places a hand over her mouth just in time, muffling the broken sounds pouring out of her throat. It takes her by surprise, realizing how well he knows all her signals without ever telling him. But it’s easy for him. Especially when he sees the way her body’s trembling under his weight, and the way her eyes plead and challenge all at once.

He nods, hips pistoning into her, watching her come apart beneath him, a quiet, shaking mess.

“Yeah,” he grunts as quiet as possible through gritted teeth, “That’s it. Just me now.”

The words hang in the sweat-soaked air as she comes around his length, clenching so tight it nearly takes him with her. Lando doesn’t stop moving. Instead, he talks her through it, his voice breathless against her ear.

“That’s my girl, let it all out. So fucking perfect.”

Her nails sink further into his back, riding the aftershocks with his cock still buried deep, stretching her in all the ways she was craving. It brings him right on the edge, and with a frustrated cry, Lando pulls out, the head of his cock flushed and swollen as it rests hot and heavy against her thigh. He lets himself go at the sight, thick ropes spilling messily onto her skin. Sticky. Warm. Heavenly.

“Lan,” she breathes, half a protest, half a moan, reaching up to drag him back on top of her.

Lando can’t resist the pull. Not when her touch unravels him with every glide of her fingers over his skin. He used to dream of it, but the reality is always better. He kisses her again, softer this time, letting the moment stretch before his hand finds the curve of her breast, fingers teasing with just enough pressure to make her arch against him. Patiently, his thumb sweeps over her nipple, circling, pressing, feeling it harden under his touch.

It makes her whimper, her hands fisting in his hair. Lando’s lips find the column of her throat then, biting gently just beneath her jaw. Her sounds light him up like the fireworks they didn’t witness that night. He trails his kisses down to her collarbone, one palm flattening over her stomach before traveling back up.

Somehow, the chaos has slowed, but the heat is still there.

Their bodies are tangled in ways that no one could tell where she starts and where he ends, the mess between them so satisfying. When their eyes meet again, he sees her flushed cheeks, the sheen of sweat on her brow, and her chest heaving. Her eyes are so vulnerable as she looks back at him — her Lando, stripped down and completely wrecked.

And without a single word, he slides back in.

No sharp words, no angry breathing. Just the sound of their pants, the wet glide of his cock moving inside her, the weight of emotion that neither of them dares to name. Every thrust is unhurried this time around, his sweaty forehead resting against hers, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of her walls fluttering around him, the way her thighs lock around his waist with each roll of his hips.

It’s not just sex anymore. Is so much more than that, something that will linger for a quite some time after they part tonight. And they both know it.

When the pressure builds again, it’s different. There’s less fire. More ache. She blinks up at him, and her lips tremble. Tears pool at the corners of her eyes, not from physical pain, but from the overwhelming closeness of it all.

Lando sees it, and kisses them away.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers.

And when he comes again, it’s with a quiet groan right against her lips, buried deep as her body pulls him in, taking every drop of his pleasure and keeping him as if he belongs to her from now on. All of it. All of him.

The silence that surrounds them afterwards feels too full. She lets him stay there, wrapped around her, her fingers idly tracing his back. But her gaze is distant, fixed on the ceiling, already somewhere else.

For now, at least, they can coexist in the same world, breathing each other in until the reality will catch them from behind.

But that’s a problem for tomorrow morning.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[grenadehearts]

Thinking about drunk Kirishima, red solo cup in hand, babbling on and on about his pretty, perfect girlfriend. His words are slurred with every compliment, cheeks flushed, grin wide and unashamed as he brags to anyone who’ll listen.

Girls try to flirt with him, tossing casual smiles and playful touches his way, but he doesn’t even notice—he’s too consumed with talking about you.

“Yeah, my girl does that way better,” he says without missing a beat, brushing off their attempts with a lazy wave of his hand.

“Oh, she went there—said it sucked. So nah, I’m not wasting my time.”

“She helped me train for my last spar—took one look at my stance and fixed it. Coach-level instincts, man. I’d be a mess without her.”

He keeps going, proud and loud about how perfect you are for him, how lucky he is. Somewhere between bragging about your pretty eyes, and how you always know when he's feeling off, he starts rambling about how he’s gonna marry you someday—says it with the casual certainty of someone who knows he’s already found his forever.

Then he sees you walk past, and his whole face lights up like someone just turned on all the lights in the room. His eyes go wide, voice shooting up in volume, puppy-dog excited as he points:

“Hey! That’s my girlfriend!”

Before you can escape, he’s already stumbling over with that dopey, lovesick grin, wrapping an arm around your waist and dragging you back to the group like he just won a prize. He looks at them all smug, like see? told you she was perfect.

masterlist link here.

[spaceyaemonds]

pairing: dr. jack abbot x reader

sum.: you meet a few of jack’s coworkers.

warnings: age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 23), slightish angst?? just incase?? i don’t think it is but just incase, unplanned pregnancy, jack is divorced, not a widower, and it is mentioned that he previously did not want kids. minors DNI.

notes: okay so this is not what i had initially planned for this part, but i could not get what was supposed to be the second half of this to flow how i wanted so i am scrapping some of it and putting into part 6! also, there will definitely still be a lot of teasing and stuff said by the ED staff!!! i just didn’t know how to incorporate everyone here quite yet, but it’ll come! starting with part 6, they will be slightly longer pieces (but all less than 4-5k words) so we can get more into the drama of the story. in the next part, there will be slight angst (that was supposed to be here LOL, i’m sorry!) AND smut! i also have a few more drabbles for this universe that i hope to post this week, but parts 6 (and possibly 7) will be taking priority along with the schedule i posted yesterday. unedited. and as always, any feedback is extremely appreciated, it helps keep me motivated. especially reblogs/comments/asks!

wc: 1k

prev next

Unfortunately, immediately after getting off the phone with you and getting his keys to Dana, an ambulance pulls up with a trauma, which not only means he is probably not going to be able to see you, but you’re meeting Dana alone.

Which leaves you in your current situation, standing awkwardly in front of said nurse while she looks you over, studying you.

Of all the things she was expecting when Jack Abbot told him a girl was coming to pick up his keys and drop hers off, you are not at all what her brain came up with.

Not that there’s anything wrong with you, except for the fact you look a little young for Jack. But she definitely didn’t imagine you.

“So, you’re borrowing Jack’s truck?” Her tone is friendly when she asks.

She seems nice, but she makes you nervous. Being here makes you nervous. You don’t know what Jack has or hasn’t told his coworkers about you or this situation.

You nod, a small smile on your face despite your discomfort, “Um, yes. I’m buying a new desk and my car is too small to get it home,”

She nods politely, “Are you neighbors?”

She knows the answer, that you are definitely not neighbors, but she’s curious about what you’ll say.

You bite your lip, “Uh, something like that?”

She raises her eyebrow at the way you word your answer as a question, but before she can speak up, Samira says your name.

She’s smiling brightly, “I thought that was you! Are you doing okay?,”

You smile back at her, “I’m good,”

“How’s the baby?”

You freeze, glancing at Dana out of the corner of your eye, praying to god that she doesn’t put it together.

Dana’s brows raise to her hairline, looking between you and Samira, and then briefly glancing at trauma two. No fucking way.

“Um, good- great actually. Just a little grape in there,” You chuckle, gesturing to your abdomen before turning to Dana, digging your keys out of your purse and clipping the key to your apartment off the chain.

“Anyway, um, can you just make sure Jack gets these, please?”

Dana nods, “You sure you don’t wanna try and wait for him?”

You look between her and Samira, a slightly anxious look in your eyes, “Yeah, no. He’s gonna be by later anyway so I’ll just see him then,”

You wince, why the fuck did you say that?

That causes Dana to smirk, “He’ll be over later,”

“Yeah, well I mean, maybe. He’ll have to get his truck back at some point. Probably tonight, but I mean who knows, ya know?”

In the midst of your rambling, you don’t realize Jack has finally wrapped up his case and is standing right behind you.

“What are you going on about?”

You about jump out of your skin, “Oh my god!” Your hand is on your chest as you take a deep breath, dramatically trying to calm yourself down, “You scared me,”

He laughs with a cheeky shrug, mumbling a small sorry as he squeezes your shoulder gently before taking your keys from Dana. He bites back a laugh at the lip gloss attached to your keychain, “You aren’t gonna need that?”

You smile, the anxious feeling finally leaving you, “No, I have a few in my purse.”

Jack briefly catches Dana’s eye as he places his hand on your shoulders and guides you out of the ED, her eyebrows are raised in question, glancing between the two of you. He shakes his head at her and mouths later and continues walking you to where he’s parked, not realizing the storm he’s started up at the nurses station.

“Now, don’t go lifting this desk by yourself or anything like that. It’s not good for you or the baby,”

You glance up at him, “I already places the order for it, they’re just going to put it in the truck when I’m ready and a neighbor said he could get his son and they can bring it up for me,”

He tries not to bristle at the mention of your neighbor that he hasn’t met yet.

“Alright, well I can help you get it put together tonight and make sure your equipment gets all set up.”

His offer makes you smile brightly at him, “Are you sure? I know you’ll be tired after working,”

He shakes his head, “I wouldn’t offer if I couldn’t do it, honey.”

There’s that name again. You love it when he calls you that, it makes you feel warm inside.

He bites back a smirk as he watches you squirm, already knowing you well enough to know your cheeks feel hot.

“Well, if you insist. I’ll have dinner and beer ready when you get to my place,”

“You sure know the way to a man’s heart, honey.”

“Just yours, anyway,” You don’t give him time to respond, leaving quickly and not even realizing the impact your words just had on him.

When he gets back inside, Dana is giving him a side eye, and try as he might, he just can’t ignore it.

“Just say what you need to say,”

Dana hums, “She’s young,”

Jack sighs, running a hand down his face before scratching at his jaw, “Yeah,”

“She pregnant?”

There’s no judgment in her question, she watches silently as he pulls out his wallet to hand her the photo of your ultrasound.

“Yeah, ten weeks.”

She sighs softly, looking at the baby, “Yours?”

Jack just grunts in response. Not sure what to say or how to say it.

Dana puts a hand on his arm, squeezing softly, “I thought you didn’t want kids?”

He closes his eyes, “I didn’t. This wasn’t exactly planned. But I’m taking responsibility for this, for her,”

“Does she want you to take responsibility for her?” Dana’s question is valid, and Jack knows that.

“I told her I wouldn’t abandon her. And I won’t.”

“You’re a good man, Jack,” She gives his arm one final squeeze before pulling her hand away, “She seems nice,”

He smiles, “Yeah, she is. Real fucking smart too. And funny,”

Dana feels her chest squeeze at how Jack looks when he talks about you, unable to recall if he’s ever been this way before.

They sit in silence for a few moments before glancing up at Robby when he makes his way up, devilish glint in his eyes.

Jack sighs, already knowing what’s coming.

“I didn’t realize your babies mom is in her twenties, Jack,”

“You mad I got more game than you or something?”

Robby laughs, “Is that what we’re calling it?”

[luveline]

hi jade I would love to see spencer post mexico with a BAU intern who’s nervous about her first few weeks, maybe he makes it his mission to see her settle in? 

ty for requesting! fem, 1.2k

“I still can’t believe I missed out on working with Aaron Hotchner.” 

Spencer nods as he stirs a spoon around his fiftieth cup of tea this week. “It’s genuinely a shame. And he worked here for more than half of the BAU’s lifespan, so if you look at it through a–”

“Mathematical standpoint?” you ask. 

“Exactly. It’s a statistical improbability to work at the BAU without him. Even when he wasn’t unit chief, he was still a profiler.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, glaring down at a tray of coffee and tea, your note resting beside it. 

“If Aaron were here,” Spencer says, taking his spoon to the sink for a quick rinsing, “he’d tell you that you don’t have to make the coffee for everyone. You don’t have to ask who wants a cup every time you make one. That’s… not very American.” 

“Who cares about being American? I’m trying to be polite.” 

“You’re being taken advantage of.” 

“Thank you for helping.” 

Spencer has taken the tea side of things. “You’re welcome.” And he knows a part of him has changed now after the last few shitty months, a confidence at having seen the worst scenario of your life playing out while you’re completely powerless to stop it, but Spencer has friends who love him, and he’s not really as powerless as he thinks. So when he looks at you and he thinks about how worried you are every day that you aren’t doing enough to belong here, he knows he can change that. “Maybe tomorrow, you can make coffee for you and nobody else.” 

“They like me.” 

“Well, yeah, but everyone will like you tomorrow when they have to make their own coffee.” 

You slow your stirring. Under your lashes, your eyes carry a dark sort of glow, mid-lit kitchen and— Spencer doesn’t know for sure, but he thinks you might have the loveliest eyes in Virginia. “Is it really stupid of me?” you ask quietly. 

Spencer shakes his head. 

Your shoulders relax. You’re wearing this cutesy long sleeve shirt, cream with black piping along the neckline cross-crossing below your chest with a little black bow nestled at the valley, accentuating the line of your shoulders, and the lengths of your arms. Spencer tries not to stare, but you catch his looking and peer down. “What?” you ask. 

“Nothing.”

“Do I have coffee on me?” 

“No.” 

“Spencer, were you…” 

“Don’t even joke about that,” he says, glad to hear you laughing, then, to know that you know he’s not a perv. “I was just thinking that I like your blouse.” 

“Blouse. You must be older than you look, Dr. Reid.” 

“How old do I look?” 

You huff a laugh under your breath and pick up your tray of coffee. “I’m gonna start passing these out. You don’t have to do the tea, I’ll come back.” 

There’s far less tea than coffee. “No, I can do it.” 

You nod with determination and turn away. ”Thank you!” you call as you go. 

Spencer takes the tea out. The second to last is for Emily, who’s digging at her forehead with a fisted hand when he gets through the door of her office. “Hey, Em,” he says quietly. 

“Spence.” 

“Brought your tea.”

“Jesus, thank you.” 

He lingers by her desk, glancing over her things. She kept some of Hotch’s stuff before he left. Spencer knows she can’t part with the photo of the group of them at their favourite bar a few months after JJ had Henry, even if she made a bunch of jokes after Hotch left it behind. Good boss, terrible guy. How could he just leave this here? 

Spencer sees it as a passing of the baton. You’re in charge. “You okay?” 

“Headache.” 

“PMS?” 

“Sure, but you shouldn’t ask me that, Spencer,” she says, laughing and taking her mug of tea eagerly. 

“You’re always tired at the start.” 

“Can you stop? You’re being creepy.” 

“Did you want a hug?” 

Emily sips her tea. “Mm, ask me later. So, who made this?” 

“Me. Why?” 

“The new girl steeps it for too long.” 

“Come on, don’t call her that.” 

Emily’s brows rise. “I don’t. To her face, I don’t. She is the new girl, though.” 

“I think she’s more than aware of it.” 

“Oh, you have a big crush on her, huh?” Emily leans back in her chair, her dark hair curled lightly against her shoulders. “She’s pretty.” 

“If it were that easy, I’d have a crush on you.” 

“You don’t?” 

Spencer rolls his eyes lovingly. On the landing, he looks out over the office and follows you moving from desk to desk. You’re quick, and you sit at your own desk to dive back into ViCAP chores glaringly without your own cup of tea or coffee. 

Emily’s right. He does have a crush on you. But it’s not something any of his friends need to know yet. He knocks Luke’s desk lightly as he passes and grabs his tea where it’s still steaming on his own. As he comes up behind you, he notices your fingers clenching and unclenching on your thigh, the tight knot of your neck. God, he’s not good at this, but he’s gonna try. 

“Hey, angel?” he asks quietly. 

You don’t realise he’s talking to him for a few seconds, then your head tips back, and you’re all softness in the April gloom when you smile shyly. “Yeah?” 

“Tea.”

Your lips part. “Oh. Oh, thank you. I forgot my coffee.” 

“Tea has an amino acid called L-theanine. It’s rare in that it can actually cause relaxation in the body. In comparison, coffee–”

“Sucks?” 

He grins. “Sucks. S’that why you forgot yours?” 

“I forgot mine ‘cos Anderson looked like he was gonna collapse, he’s so tired. Is that my future?” 

“Maybe. But it’s worth it. If you can’t do it that’s fine, obviously, the turnover rate isn’t exactly low, Emily told you that herself. But it’s worth it, I promise.” 

You hold his gaze. “I know.” 

Spencer clasps your shoulder, tentative and deliberate at once. He feels the bone when he squeezes, but he doesn’t do it too hard. 

“Sorry about all the fuss.” 

He strokes your arm with his thumb. “It’s okay,” he says, hand falling down the curve of your shoulder to warm your upper arm, “I don’t mind it.” He takes his touch away, not necessarily because he wants to. It’s too early to know what you’re feeling; he hasn’t learned your tells or whiles yet, but he hopes he will. 

Your face drifts toward your shoulder, as though following his touch unconsciously. Spencer’s heart races like a blinker circuit at the thought. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “I appreciate it, Spencer. All your help. I really do.” 

“You’re more than welcome.” 

As he stands up, he rubs your shoulder again, a half a seconds touch he thinks Hotch would be proud of, if he were still there to see it. 

(And you —ViCAP is kicking your ass and the smell of coffee makes your head hurt, but your hot new coworker makes each day easier, ‘cos he touches like he talks. Soft, and gentle, and eager to please.)

[randomhuman45]

All this, and I'd like to add, supporting other women.

Elle wanted to go to Harvard Law with no back-ups. When she tells her academic advisor she informs Elle of the difficulty of getting into the school (a fact and important information), when Elle confirms that she is aware and still wants to go with her plan her advisor TELLS HER HOW TO DO IT!!!!! No pushing her away from her goal or trying to tell her to be "more realistic", just does her job of giving her information about choice, as her advisor, then tells her how to achieve her goal!

When Elle tells her friends about her goal they are sat first confused because it's something new, but after Elle explains it to them they are there to help support her in every way they can! At no point do they reduce her abilities or sabotage her, their only goal is to be supportive of their friend just as much as she supports them. They celebrate with her when she passes and are genuinely proud and excited for her!

This first changes when Elle encounters Vivian. Now Vivian is our first encounter with someone not supporting Elle and Elle takes it hard, as anyone would. Note that this first occurs before Vivian even knows who Elle is, as far as she's aware, this is a fellow student in a competitive school who showed up the first day without any of the class materials or preparations (the required reading, computer, etc.). Here Vivian sees a fellow woman in a competitive field and unfortunately feels the need to put them down in order to make herself more favored in turn, this is unfortunately how a lot of fields work and how a lot of people will treat you in these kinds of competitive fields. Elle doesn't do the same to Vivian in turn however, no she instead notices that her plan to get the guy back isn't going to work and after reevaluating her commitment to class she takes all the necessary steps to be a dedicated and present student.

In doing so she is always kind and supportive of other students. She asks to join study groups offering muffins and wanting to learn and help her fellow classmates, helps the guy when he's getting rude comments from 2 girls he's trying to ask out, etc. She betters herself without reducing anyone else's worth, in fact bringing up others whenever she can, this is the Elle Woods we know and love from before Harvard. It's after this she gets the internship.

At the internship she continues this level of dedication of her own studies and doesn't reduce Vivian's abilities at any point. Here the professor is providing Elle more attention than Vivian, a full switch from when she and Vivian first met, but now with Elle more in the professor's favor, she doesn't put Vivian down as Vivian did to her. Vivian recognizes this and it allows Vivian to open up to Elle and respect her. This allows them to forgo the tension between them and support each other, even if on a smaller scale.

This is pained by Vivian when she thinks she sees Elle gaining the professor's favor via sexual favors rather than her own merit like Vivian thought. Vivian appreciated and respected Elle putting in her hard work, but from her perspective, if Elle was only getting where she was via sexual favors it means she wasn't putting in that hard work and didn't get there of her own merit. This is what upsets Vivian and hurts Elle after she was harassed. Note, Vivian is acting in the moment based on limited information.

It's when Elle is at her lowest here and goes to the salon her friend tries to help support her and Elle is placed back on her feet by her 1st professor. A woman in the field who sees a young woman down and decides to help support her. This is what gives Elle the energy to finish working on this case and continue with law school.

When she returns Vivian has been caught up with what happens and continues to support Elle. Here Elle continues with supporting her client and uses her abilities as a law student, resources via her friends, and her background information on hair care to win the case and continue on her way with getting her degree! Yay!

I mean there's more, I didn't even touch on the B-plot, which has even more women supporting women, but none the less. If you out here hating on women who aren't as femme, are putting other women down, etc, you did NOT get the point of Legally Blonde and Elle wouldn't be impressed.

The bimbo feminism girls who love Legally Blonde really missed like the whole point of the movie. The point is that she's not a brainless bimbo. She saves the day with her knowledge of haircare, sure, but she got in the room by going to law school. You cannot reduce that movie down to "Girl knowledge saves the day!" because the perm wouldn't have mattered if she hadn't spent the entire rest of the movie working her ass off in an unrelated field. The feminist angle is that she can have girly interests and also be smart, not that having girly interests is feminist in itself

[ijustwannabecool]

Moments You Wish You Caught on Camera

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary... Six strangers. Six ordinary places. One unforgettable couple. This is a collection of short, cinematic glimpses into Max Verstappen’s life with the woman he’s loved since high school. Seen through the eyes of strangers who just happened to be in the right place, at the right time.

A/N: Happy reading. I loved writing this piece and I hope to write more pieces like this, with Max and other drivers. You guys let me know who you wanna see next. As always enjoy it and have a beautiful day!!!

If you enjoy this story don't forget to like, reblog, and comment your thoughts and feedback.

---

The Pediatric Waiting Room

�� Sofia, a tired new mom running on a lukewarm oat milk latte, not expecting to witness a world champion be a world-class dad.

It was 8:07 a.m., and Sofia was already regretting not canceling the appointment.

Her youngest had just started cutting teeth and had been up at 3:15, 4:52, and again at 6:01—each time with a cry like she was personally offended by the universe. Her toddler was whining for screen time, the diaper bag was short one essential wipe packet, and her phone had just died after playing Cocomelon on repeat.

The waiting room was mercifully empty. Cold, quiet, sterile. Just her, a too-small chair, and a little boy whose nose was running like a faucet.

Then the door creaked open, and in stepped someone she almost didn’t believe was real.

First, the man. Tall. Athletic. Messy hair tucked under a cap. Hoodie. Sweat shorts. That kind of effortless “I’ve got my shit together even though I definitely haven’t slept” vibe.

Then the baby carrier.

A tiny girl inside, swaddled in a soft floral blanket, a yellow pacifier in her rosebud mouth. Peaceful.

Then the toddler on his hip—grinning around a banana biscuit, curly hair tousled like he’d rolled straight out of bed and into a Gap ad.

And then her.

The woman.

Clearly postpartum. Puffy eyes, leggings, nursing tank, hospital socks still peeking from her sneakers. Yet… radiant. And holding herself like she was used to being loved out loud.

Sofia couldn’t look away.

They settled into the opposite corner. The man gently set the baby carrier down first, then lowered the toddler into a seat with a whispered, “Remember our agreement? Sit quietly until snacks, yeah?”

The toddler gave a dramatic thumbs-up.

Y/N approached the check-in desk, voice low and melodic as she confirmed their appointment for baby girl’s six-week weight check.

Max—because now Sofia realized that’s who he was, Max Verstappen—leaned over the carrier, adjusting the pacifier and brushing a finger over the baby’s cheek. His hoodie bunched at the elbows, revealing the black-and-gray ink on his forearm.

“She’s still got those hiccups, huh?” he murmured to her, voice so soft that Sofia almost didn’t hear it.

“She’s just dramatic like you,” Y/N teased, returning to sit beside him.

“You say dramatic, I say expressive.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately, curling into his side.

Sofia turned her gaze back to her own child, who was gnawing on a toy giraffe like it owed him money, but she couldn’t help but steal glances at them.

There was a rhythm to them. An unspoken choreography. Max peeled open a pouch of applesauce, offered it to the toddler with practiced hands, and even remembered to wipe the crumbs off his chin without missing a beat.

Y/N shifted the baby, cooing when she stirred. “She’s getting fussy.”

Max was already unzipping the diaper bag. “Bottle?”

Y/N frowned. “Shit. I think I forgot it. I—” Her voice cracked with guilt. “I thought it was in the side pocket. I triple-checked. God, I’m so tired, Max.”

“Hey,” he cut in immediately, warm and gentle. “She’s fine. We’ve got options. We always do.”

“I didn’t bring a cover either,” she added quietly. “I’ll go feed her in the car.”

“No,” he said firmly, already pulling his hoodie over his head and handing it to her. “You stay here. We’re good right here.”

He used the hoodie to drape over her shoulder while she adjusted her top and helped the baby latch on.

“There we go,” he murmured, rubbing small circles into her back. “You’re doing great.”

The room was still, silent, except for the suckling sounds and the cartoon jingle still stuck in Sofia’s head.

After a few minutes, Y/N whispered, “I just… I don’t know if she’s getting enough milk. She pulls off a lot. I think I messed up something with my supply.”

Max shook his head. “Babe. She’s got cheeks like brioche buns and arms like croissants. She’s fine.”

Y/N huffed a laugh, resting her head against his. “Croissants?”

“You heard me. That’s pure Dutch baby chub. I know quality carbs when I see them.”

When the nurse finally called them back, Max scooped up the toddler, hoisted the carrier with his free arm, and glanced at Y/N.

“You okay, mama?”

She nodded. “As long as you’re right here.”

He grinned. “Always.”

Sofia watched them go, still stunned by what she’d witnessed: a world champion who didn’t care about being recognized, a mom who looked like a goddess in leggings, and a love that looked like it was built on inside jokes, sleepless nights, and endless grace.

She pulled out her phone to text her husband:

"We’re trying skin-to-skin tonight. And also, maybe don’t complain when I forget wipes. Just tell me I’m doing great like Max Verstappen did.”

---

The Tiny Café in Tuscany

— Luca, travel writer, espresso enthusiast, and recently dumped romantic.

It was a sleepy café tucked on the corner of a side street in San Gimignano—one of those blink-and-you-miss-it places where the tiles were chipped, the espresso machine screamed like an old woman in a mood, and the overhead fan wobbled dangerously every time someone opened the door.

Luca had been coming here every morning for a week, hunched over his laptop, pretending to update his travel blog while actually stewing over a messy breakup with a man who said things like, “I need freedom” and “You’re too intense.”

It was on day five, as he swirled the last bitter sip of his third espresso and stared blankly at the same paragraph for the sixth time, that the door jingled behind him—and he looked up.

The couple didn’t match the usual tourist aesthetic. No clunky cameras, no loud American voices. Just a man in a navy hoodie and black shorts—tall, relaxed, with sun-kissed skin and a quiet sort of confidence. His hand rested lightly on the lower back of the woman beside him, who was wearing loose linen pants and a tank top tucked in with no effort but all the grace in the world.

They were talking softly in a strange blend of Dutch and English—Luca caught pieces of both as they approached the counter.

“No, Max,” she laughed, gently elbowing him. “You had two yesterday.”

He mock-pouted, a hint of an accent curling around his words. “That’s called balance. Two yesterday, one today. I’m growing.”

The barista, clearly familiar with them, didn’t even ask for names. Just smiled and went to work preparing their usual: two cappuccinos, one extra hot, and a slice of fig-and-honey tart.

They slid into the table directly in front of Luca—angled just enough that he could pretend to be focused on his screen while secretly watching them over the rim of his coffee cup.

“I had a dream last night you forgot our anniversary,” Y/N said as she took the first sip of her coffee. “You gave me socks.”

“Were they at least good socks?” Max asked, pretending to be offended.

“They had race cars on them.”

He grinned. “So… on brand. What’s the problem?”

“You told me they were on sale.”

Max placed a dramatic hand over his heart. “Discounted love. Brutal.”

She leaned in, nudging her shoulder into his. “You know what’s worse? I still said thank you in the dream. Like a chump.”

“You’re a very polite chump.”

They laughed—quiet, unassuming, private laughter that made Luca feel like he was seeing something he wasn’t meant to.

He watched Max tear off a piece of tart and offer it to her on his fork. She opened her mouth with the same ease someone might accept a kiss.

The domesticity of it all—the comfort, the familiarity, the rightness—ached in Luca’s chest.

They weren’t checking their phones. They weren’t documenting the moment. They were just… being.

Max leaned his elbow on the table, fingers threading lazily through the ends of her hair as he spoke. “Do you remember that café in Bruges? The one with the green door?”

“The one where the waiter spilled a whole espresso in your lap?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, eyes soft. “I think that was the first time I realized I wanted this with you. All of it.”

She blinked, caught off-guard. “Because I laughed at you?”

“Because you didn’t care about the stain. You just said, ‘Well, now you match the chair.’ And I remember thinking… fuck, this is the person I want next to me when things go wrong.”

Y/N’s expression crumpled slightly with affection, her hand reaching to curl around his wrist. “You never told me that.”

“I didn’t have the words then.”

Luca was still staring when Max glanced up, eyes locking with his for a brief second.

Not in a confrontational way. Just a knowing look. Like he knew Luca had heard everything. Like he didn’t mind, as long as it made someone believe in something again.

He turned back to Y/N, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“You still get this little line here,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the corner of her eye. “Right before you cry. You’ve had it since we were seventeen.”

She swatted at him. “Stop making me sentimental, Verstappen.”

“I’m serious. It’s my favorite wrinkle.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Wrinkle?”

“Expression line,” he corrected immediately, grinning like he was proud of himself.

They finished their cappuccinos slowly, not rushing, like they had all the time in the world.

And when they stood to leave, Max held the door for her—let her step out first like it was second nature—and tucked his sunglasses over the bridge of his nose without releasing her hand.

They disappeared around the corner.

Luca stared down at his blank document for a moment longer before finally typing:

“Sometimes love doesn’t need to be loud to be heard. Sometimes it just needs a morning, a fig tart, and someone who remembers your first wrinkle.”

And for the first time in days, he meant every word.

----

The School Fundraiser

— Camille, 27, first-year teacher, very overwhelmed, very underpaid, and absolutely not ready to witness Max Verstappen handing out juice boxes like a literal dad dream.

Camille had been teaching first grade for exactly four weeks and seventeen hours.

And she already knew that if one more parent tried to explain why their child didn’t need to follow “standardized discipline guidelines,” she would fake her own death and move to Spain.

The school fundraiser was supposed to be a “light lift,” according to her ever-optimistic vice principal.

Which was, apparently, a lie.

Because nothing about organizing a bake sale, a bouncy house, three food trucks, a dunk tank, a raffle, and a very temperamental face-painting volunteer felt light. Her hair was frizzing. Her shirt was stuck to her back. A juice box had exploded in her tote bag.

She was stress-sorting Capri Suns when she heard the murmurs.

“Is that…?”

“No way.”

“Wait, that is Max Verstappen.”

Camille looked up—half expecting it to be a false alarm or some dad who just looked like him. But no. It was him.

Walking across the school field in a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, sunglasses pushed back into his hair, a backpack slung over one shoulder… holding hands with his toddler.

Behind them was a woman holding a baby strapped to her chest in a linen wrap, her other hand gripping the shoulder of a little boy in a Lightning McQueen hat who was dancing along the pavement like the ground was lava.

They looked so normal. And yet, not.

Max squatted down to fix the toddler’s shoe, glancing up at his wife. “Did we bring sunscreen?”

Y/N patted her tote. “Already did them before we left.”

He nodded. “That’s why you’re the boss.”

The baby squirmed in the wrap, and Y/N bounced instinctively, her voice light. “You’d think we’d remember to bring the pacifier.”

Max reached into his pocket and pulled one out. “Already ahead of you.”

“God, marry me.”

He glanced up, deadpan. “We are married.”

She smiled. “Marry me again.”

They made their way to the games area, Max lifting the toddler up so he could see better. “Where to, kleine muis?”

The little boy pointed at the duck pond game with such confidence that Max saluted. “Duck game it is.”

Camille tried to focus on organizing the juice cooler, but her eyes kept trailing back to them—especially when they came to her table.

“Hi!” Y/N greeted. “Can we grab some waters?”

“Of course,” Camille replied, fumbling a little. “They’re… they’re cold-ish.”

“Honestly, cold-ish is perfect,” Y/N said with a warm smile. “We’ll take four.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think the kids will go straight for the soda?”

“They can try,” she said, already tucking the bottles into her tote.

Max turned to Camille with a grin. “Let me guess. First year?”

Camille blinked. “How did you…?”

“The look of despair. I had the same one during my first press conference.” He said.

She laughed despite herself. “I wasn’t aware that despair was that universal.”

“It is. But you’re doing great,” he added sincerely. “This all looks amazing.”

Y/N nodded, reaching into her wallet. “Can we donate directly to your class?”

Camille’s heart skipped. “Oh—you don’t have to—”

“We want to,” Y/N insisted gently, tucking a folded bill into the donation jar.

Camille glanced down after they walked away and nearly choked.

A hundred euros.

Who just casually dropped that into a fundraiser jar?

The answer: apparently Max Verstappen’s wife.

—

An hour later, Camille was managing the chaos near the dunk tank when she saw them again—this time sitting on a picnic blanket beneath the shade of a tree. The toddler was in Max’s lap, licking an orange popsicle with sticky fingers. Y/N was lying on her side, her baby curled up against her chest as she wiped her son's mouth with a napkin.

“Easy, liefje,” she murmured when he got too excited and nearly dropped it.

“He’s trying to break his own record,” Max said, biting into his own popsicle and wincing. “Brain freeze. Why do I do this to myself?”

Y/N chuckled, tucking her bare feet under his thigh. “Because you never learn.”

He looked at her for a second too long.

Then, with all the gentle devotion in the world, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“I’m glad we came.”

She closed her eyes for a second, as if just letting herself feel the moment. “Me too.”

Camille tried not to stare. But it was like watching a scene from a movie that somehow escaped into the real world.

No drama. No noise. Just… partnership. Parenting. Love.

When the toddler reached up and touched Max’s cheek with a melting hand, Max just kissed his palm and said, “Sticky boy. My sticky boy.”

Camille went home that night and told her roommate, “Max Verstappen came to our fundraiser and made me believe in love again.”

And she wasn’t even exaggerating.

---

The Supermarket

— Zoë, 35, single, newly heartbroken, and very much just trying to buy oat milk and not cry in the produce section.

Zoë wasn’t in the mood to see anyone that day.

She’d cried in her car for twenty minutes in the parking lot, then sat scrolling through TikTok about “healing energy” while pretending she hadn’t just been ghosted by a man who once wrote her a poem about her freckles.

All she wanted was to get through her grocery list and be home before the sobbing resumed. The universe, however, had other plans.

Because as she turned into the snack aisle—debating between regular sea salt chips and the fancy truffle ones that cost way too much—she saw them.

Not in a tabloid. Not on TikTok.

In real life.

It was Max Verstappen.

Pushing a slightly scuffed shopping cart, baseball cap backwards, hoodie on, brows furrowed like he was solving a math equation instead of comparing two different brands of oat milk.

Next to him was a woman who could only be described as… anchored.

She didn’t look like a celebrity’s wife. She looked like someone who smelled like vanilla and fresh laundry. Her hair was tied in a messy bun. Her leggings had a juice stain near the knee. A toddler sat in the cart seat, happily munching on crackers.

And trailing behind them—barefoot inside Spider-Man crocs—was a little boy in a Red Bull jacket, holding a box of waffles like it was treasure.

“Did you write down whether it was the almond milk or oat milk that made her stomach weird?” Max asked, waving the carton slightly.

Y/N squinted at her notes app. “It just says ‘milk (weird tummy?)’ — which is completely useless. This is past-me setting us up for failure.”

Max sighed dramatically. “She’s going to be gassy for three days and we’ll never sleep again.”

“We never sleep anyway.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Zoë tried to duck behind a display of pretzels but ended up knocking a bag off the stack. It crinkled loudly. Mortifying.

Max glanced up — not with irritation, but mild curiosity — and when their eyes met, he gave her a small, polite smile. Then turned back to his wife like the world had narrowed back to just them.

“Do we have enough diapers?” Y/N asked.

“Define enough.”

“For two nights away and three ‘blowout emergencies.’”

Max tilted his head. “So… a hundred?”

“Give or take.”

He smirked and offered her the oat milk carton. “We’ll gamble. She’s had worse.”

Zoë followed them — not intentionally, just… coincidentally — into the produce section.

They were standing by the bananas when the toddler in the cart dropped her snack container and immediately began to whimper, tears bubbling up in her big blue eyes.

“Oh no, don’t cry,” Y/N cooed, reaching for it—but Max was faster.

He picked it up, brushed it off, and crouched so they were eye-level. “Hey, kleine prinses. Look—it’s back. Just a little floor spice. Builds immunity.”

The baby blinked at him, then gave a hiccupy giggle before popping a cracker into her mouth.

“You’re so weird,” Y/N said fondly, watching him rise.

“You married me,” he shot back, brushing his hands off on his sweats.

“And I’d do it again. But only if you promise to stop saying ‘floor spice’ in public.”

“I make no promises.”

The little boy—Ezra, they called him—was tugging at Y/N’s sleeve, holding out the waffle box.

“Can we get two? One for home and one for the car ride?”

Y/N crouched down, eyes level with his. “Do you promise not to eat them all before dinner again?”

“I pinky swear on Daddy’s racing helmet.”

Max gasped. “That’s legally binding. Now you have to behave.”

Ezra beamed as his mom kissed the top of his curls and stood back up.

They wandered past Zoë again near the bakery, Max now balancing a bouquet of tulips awkwardly in one hand.

“Who are those for?” Y/N asked, amused.

He shrugged, adjusting the flowers. “You. You’ve been in a mood lately and I like it when you smile.”

She blinked at him, stunned for a moment. “I’m not in a mood.”

Max raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, I’m maybe…slightly overwhelmed.”

“You’re allowed. But flowers still help.”

They shared a look so full of unspoken history that Zoë had to look away.

Later, while unloading at self-checkout, Max gently peeled open the baby’s fruit pouch and helped Ezra scan his waffle box. Y/N was half-asleep on her feet, leaning against the cart as he gently nudged her shoulder.

“Go wait in the car. I’ll finish up and load it.”

“You sure?”

He kissed her forehead. “Always.”

She left with the kids, and Max packed the groceries methodically, organizing by category.

Zoë stood frozen in line behind him, cradling her oat milk and sadness like a broken promise.

And then Max turned, caught her staring again, and—once more—just smiled.

Not like a celebrity. Not like a man who thought he was better.

Just a tired dad, happy husband, and guy who clearly lived for the people who called him home.

As he walked out of the store with a bag in one hand and tulips in the other, Zoë opened her Notes app and typed something new.

“It’s not the big gestures. It’s someone remembering oat milk, wiping cracker crumbs off your mouth, and handing you tulips in aisle seven because they just want you to smile again.”

---

The Train Station

— Matteo, 19, pizza delivery guy, chain smoker, and hopeless romantic against his better judgment.

He didn’t mean to stare.

But the girl was crying, and the guy was arguing with a vending machine, and somehow both things were happening like they’d done it a hundred times before.

Matteo was sitting on a bench at the Eindhoven train station, waiting for the 3:15. He was sweaty, out of cigarettes, and coming off a breakup where his girlfriend said he was “emotionally dense” because he forgot their six-month anniversary.

Whatever.

He wasn’t eavesdropping. He just… noticed things.

Like how the girl in the jean jacket had smudged eyeliner and messy hair twisted into a bun with a pen. And how the guy in the Red Bull hoodie kept slapping the side of the vending machine like it had personally insulted him.

“You’re not eating M&Ms for lunch,” the girl said, sniffling.

“I wasn’t going to. I was going to eat them for comfort,” he muttered, still jabbing the buttons.

“You literally have a race tomorrow.”

Max turned, grinning. “And if I crash, I want to know I died with peanut chocolate in my bloodstream.”

“Max.”

He sighed like it physically pained him, turned, and held out his arms. “Okay, okay. Come here, crybaby.”

She glared at him but walked straight into his hug. He wrapped his arms around her like he’d done it a thousand times.

Matteo watched her melt instantly.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled against his chest.

“You’re allowed to be upset. Your parents were unfair.” He leaned down to kiss the crown of her head. “But I’m proud of you for coming anyway.”

She wiped her eyes. “I look disgusting.”

“You look like my future wife.”

Matteo blinked. He hadn’t expected that.

She shoved him lightly. “You’re such a liar.”

“Nope,” Max replied, tone light but his eyes serious. “I’ve known since the first time you wore that ugly jean jacket.”

“Hey!”

“You looked like someone who’d ruin my life.”

“And?”

“You did. And I love it.”

They were quiet for a minute, sitting on the bench beside Matteo. Close enough for him to smell her cherry chapstick and his cheap cologne.

Max reached into his backpack and pulled out a chocolate croissant wrapped in a napkin. “Didn’t get your M&Ms. Got you this instead.”

Her face lit up like a child on Christmas. “You remembered?”

“You always want croissants when you’re sad.”

“I do.”

Matteo saw it then—saw the whole damn thing. The beginnings of forever.

They were too young. Too reckless. A little dramatic. But there was something magnetic about the way they looked at each other, like they were already writing the rest of their lives in real time.

As the train pulled in and they stood, Max laced their fingers together like it was automatic. She leaned her head on his shoulder, still holding the croissant.

They walked onto the train like two people who didn’t know how rare that kind of love was. Who didn’t need to.

Matteo pulled out his cracked phone and wrote a note he’d forget about until years later:

“Sometimes forever starts at a vending machine. And the person who buys you a croissant instead of saying the right thing is the one who actually gets it.”

---

The Airport Lounge

— Helena, 42, business consultant, solo traveler, professional people-watcher, and casual believer in fate.

The Zurich airport lounge was surprisingly quiet for a Friday afternoon.

Helena had parked herself near the floor-to-ceiling windows with a glass of pinot and a half-read book she was pretending to finish. Her flight to Madrid had been delayed, and she was nursing the rare, delicious silence that came with noise-canceling headphones and no Slack notifications.

Until she noticed them.

They weren’t loud or dramatic. Just… still.

The woman sat curled up in the corner of a leather armchair, knees tucked beneath her, oversized hoodie swallowing her whole, damp curls loosely braided down her back. She had a book open on her lap but wasn’t reading it.

Instead, she was watching the man beside her — Max Verstappen, though it took Helena a moment to place him without the racing suit, the cameras, or the speed.

He looked softer like this.

He was seated slightly sideways in the chair, legs stretched out, thumb stroking lazy lines into her ankle where it rested against his thigh.

Her sock had a tiny embroidered mushroom on it. He was focused on it like it held secrets.

They weren’t speaking. Not really. Just occasionally exchanging glances, faint smiles, little movements that spoke volumes.

Max reached into his backpack and pulled out a tupperware container. “Eat,” he said simply, handing it to her.

“I’m not hungry,” she murmured.

“You always say that and then eat half of mine.”

She squinted at him. “Is it the good pasta?”

“The good one. From that place near the ferry.”

“…I hate you.”

He grinned. “You love me.”

“I do.”

Helena didn’t mean to watch. But it was hard to look away from something that looked so much like home.

After a few quiet bites, the woman reached over, tugging the hem of Max’s sleeve with childlike gentleness. “Do you have to go today?”

Max hesitated. “Yeah.”

He said it softly. Not coldly. Like he hated the truth of it just as much as she did.

She nodded, lips pressing into a tight line. “It’s just a few days. I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t try to talk her out of it. Instead, he reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Open it after I leave.”

“Is this a love letter?”

“It’s a maybe-you-won’t-murder-me-for-being-gone-so-long letter.”

She smiled, but Helena saw the way her fingers tightened around the paper.

“I left little notes in your bag,” Max added. “One in your book, one in the snack pocket, and one in your makeup bag.”

“That’s excessive.”

“That’s love,” he shrugged.

Helena found herself blinking rapidly.

She wasn’t used to seeing people who still made space for each other like that. Who weren’t rushing, glued to their phones, or distracted by other people.

Just present.

After a while, Max stood, stretching slightly. His flight had been called.

He reached for his carry-on, then paused and knelt in front of her.

“C’mere,” he said softly.

She leaned down, and he kissed her — not rushed, not showy, but full. Her hands slipped into his hoodie, his thumb brushed her cheekbone, and Helena knew she wasn’t the only one watching now.

But neither of them cared.

When they parted, Max rested his forehead against hers for a beat. “See you Monday.”

“See you Monday.”

She didn’t cry. She didn’t cling. But as he walked away, she held that letter to her chest like it was armor.

Helena watched her breathe in slowly. Then she tucked the note into her book and picked up her phone—not to scroll, but to open the photos app.

She was scrolling through pictures.

Ones of Max. Their kids, probably. A dog, maybe.

Every one made her smile in that quiet, half-wistful way that meant: I’ll be okay, but I miss you already.

Helena turned back to her wine thinking about how beautiful of a relationship they had.

[formulaonecrumbs]

little bean 👩‍🍼

Lando Norris x older sister!reader

summary: reader meets newborn baby lando or in her words ‘bean’

warnings: nothing but tooth-rotting fluff and the love of an older sibling

A/N: the pipeline of a fangirl where u go from wanting to be ur comfort persons lover to their sibling. like i just wanna take care of this boy 😔 this is just the kind of fic i want to read but im a scaredy cat and don’t like requesting (i’m one y’all dw, i get u) then i realised i could just right it myself 😝 SO ENJOY! i’ll probably wrote more parts even tho y’all didn’t ask for them cause i’ve been working on these for about a month 🤷‍♀️ love uuuuu ❤️❤️

༻ ❤︎︎ ༺

home film #1 (out of a gazillion)- found in a cardboard box labelled ‘memories’

(recorded: st mary’s hospital, bristol)

timestamp: 2:34 am 11–13-1999

the camcorder is a little shaky when it turns on, the screen filling with warm hospital lighting and the soft beeping of monitors. cisca’s voice is gentle behind the camera, her laugh quiet as she whispers, “you’re shaking it again, adam.”

then it focuses—on you.

a small girl in a fluffy pink jumper, hair slightly messy from the rushed morning, hands tightly clutching a tiny stuffed rabbit. you stand near the hospital bed, eyes wide, not quite understanding what all the fuss is about.

“come on, sweetheart,” cisca says from behind the lens. “go on, say hi.”

you glance up at your dad, who’s sitting by the bed, holding something small. very small. the blanket is blue, the top of a tiny head just peeking out.

“is that him?” you whisper, taking a step forward, as if you’re not sure the baby is real.

“that’s your baby brother,” adam says softly, turning slightly so you can see better.

your eyes light up. you don’t say anything for a moment, just stare—then you walk closer, fast and determined, climbing onto the chair by the bed with all the clumsy energy of a three-year-old.

“can i hold him?”

cisca gasps a little behind the camera. “she’s so brave,” she murmurs, clearly touched.

“let’s sit you down first, yeah?” adam says gently. he helps you sit properly, adjusting a pillow on your lap before placing the tiniest baby you’ve ever seen into your arms.

you look down at him, eyes huge. he’s asleep, his little fist resting on his chest, his cheeks round and red.

“he’s squishy,” you say.

“he is,” adam chuckles. “his name is lando.”

you frown. “lando?”

“mm-hmm.”

you look down at the baby again. “he looks more like… a bean.”

everyone laughs.

but then you go quiet. your fingers brush over his blanket, careful and slow, like you already know he’s fragile. you lean down just a little, resting your cheek against his tiny head.

“hi, bean,” you whisper. “i’m your big sister. i’m gonna take care of you forever.”

cisca sniffles behind the camera. “oh, adam,” she whispers. “she loves him already.”

you don’t move for a long time. you just hold him like he’s your favorite thing in the whole world. lando doesn’t even stir—just stays curled in your lap like he knows he belongs there.

right at the end of the video, before it cuts out, you look up at the camera.

“mum?”

“yeah, love?”

“he’s my favourite.”

fade to black.

THE END :>

[lvnleah]

sweet treats | leah williamson.

You stood in the middle of your kitchen, hands on your hips, surveying the chaos of bowls, measuring spoons, and trays of freshly baked goods. Your Valentine’s and Easter menus needed finalizing, which meant weeks of experimenting with new recipes. The only problem? Your official taste tester was absolutely useless.

Leah had one standard response to everything you gave her and it was driving you insane. 

“It tastes amazing, baby.”

“This is your best recipe yet.”

“God, you’re so talented. How do you do it?”

It was sweet. Adorable, even. But it didn’t help. You needed actual feedback, something beyond heart-eyes and blind adoration. So, after another failed attempt at getting her to critique your latest batch of raspberry almond croissants, you made an executive decision.

You called in reinforcements.

This was why, at this very moment, your kitchen was filled with Beth, Steph, and Kyra, each holding half-eaten pastries, giving actual, honest reviews.

“These are nice,” Beth said, mouth half full of chocolate orange shortbread. “But I think the orange could be a bit stronger?”

Steph pointed at the cinnamon swirl buns. “This icing? Bangin’. The pastry could be flakier, though.”

Kyra just shrugged, “Could be sweeter.”

You nodded, taking notes as they gave their brutally honest opinions.

And then Leah walked in.

She stopped in the doorway, brow furrowing as she took in the scene. The girls, the half-eaten trays of baked goods, the notepad in your hand. Slowly, her gaze landed on you.

“Excuse me,” she said, crossing her arms. “What the hell is going on here?”

You turned innocently. “Oh, hey, love. Just getting some feedback.”

“From them?” Leah’s voice pitched slightly, pointing an accusing finger at your newfound taste-testing squad.

Beth smirked. “Yeah, turns out she wanted actual opinions.”

Steph leaned back against the counter, “You were just too biased, Le.”

“She needed someone who wasn’t blinded by love,” Kyra added. 

Leah’s jaw dropped. “I—blinded by love? That’s ridiculous!”

Beth snorted. “Leah, you told her those shortbread biscuits she burned last week were ‘incredible.’”

Leah scoffed. “They were! Just… extra crunchy.”

Kyra howled with laughter. “You’re so whipped.”

Leah’s offence deepened, lips pressing into a pout as she looked at you. “Can’t believe you’ve replaced me.”

You walked over, wrapping your arms around her waist. “Oh, love, don’t be dramatic.”

Leah huffed but didn’t pull away. “I am dramatic. And I should be your number one taste tester.”

“You were,” you teased. “Until you lost credibility.”

Leah sighed, slumping against you. “Fine. But I don’t like it.”

Beth clapped her on the back. “Welcome to the club, Williamson. We’ve all been replaced by pastries.”

Leah groaned, but when you pressed a quick kiss to her lips, she melted instantly. Maybe the girls were right—maybe she was a little biased.

But could you blame her? You were brilliant. And she was hopelessly in love.

[lastoneout]

I figure this is probably a joke but I'm gonna take it seriously because I think there's a pretty big difference between staying with a shitty or abusive person based on the incorrect assumption that if you just love them enough eventually they'll get better and recognizing that someone you like and who doesn't mistreat you has clearly been through some shit and making choices that help them relax and feel comfortable around you without prying into their past.

One is a person who is trapped in a horrible situation they don't yet realize is hopeless because it's hard to come to terms with the idea that someone who says they love you and who you love deeply is hurting you and you need to leave, the other is someone being a good friend or romantic partner to a person they are in a healthy and reciprocal relationship with who they like and want to help who in turn hasn't done anything to harm them.

And him being a man doesn't mean anything in this context?? OOP clearly likes men and there's quite literally nothing at all wrong with picking up on signs that a man you like has probably been hurt and actively trying to make them comfortable around you. If you are a woman attracted to men you're probably going to end up in a relationship with one and suggesting that no one should date men who haven't worked on themselves until they're 100% mentally healthy is just not a fair thing to ask of anyone, especially people who have past undressed trauma, nor is it fair to ask women to avoid dating any man unless they are 100% positive they will never have to do any emotional work to help them at all(that last bit is just straight up perpetuating toxic masculinity). Sometimes you can't heal until you're in a situation that makes you feel safe, that's how it was for me. If my fiancé hadn't done his best to make me comfortable and show me I can trust him to not leave when things got hard or mistreat me when I can't be perfect I don't know that I ever would have been able to heal as much as I have, and when I offer him the same understanding and comfort I am not a woman being exploited by a man child, I'm a person being a good partner to the person that I love.

I get that sometimes men suck, most people are capable of sucking, but we really, REALLY need to not be so anti-men and masculinity that we decry a woman who is actually doing the work to address real toxic masculinity in her partner by being kind and understanding and altering behavior to make him relax in a way that clearly is not asking too much of her so he can feel safe enough to heal and grow into a healthier, happier person. Telling men that no one around them is responsible for their trauma or feelings and they need to not rely on their loved ones when hurt or suffering is toxic masculinity and it creates abusive men. It doesn't matter if you slap a feminist "girl dump him lmao you don't have to fix him" coat of paint on it, it's perpetuating the idea that men are not allowed to have feelings and it makes our society measurable worse in almost every way.

No woman is obligated to fix anyone including their male romantic partners but there is a huge difference between an abused woman trying to fix her shitty bf and someone in a healthy relationship trying to make their partner comfortable and happy which is fucking normal behavior almost everyone will exhibit in their relationships because it's how you keep them. Wanting someone you love to be happy is not anti-feminist even if it's a girlfriend trying to make her boyfriend happy because she loves him. It's just being normal. Okay? Okay.

sickens me to my stomach. how dare this guy get to live my dream.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Besotted 9

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your new neighbour brings intrigue and a bit of danger.

Characters: ex-con!Bucky Barnes (silverfox)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"You're fucking cheating dude," Sterling sweeps the plastic chips from the table.

Colin and Trent cackle and Ryan cradles his head, a few too many cans stacked around him. The other girls giggle as they set on the foldout sofa. You watch from your perch near the window, uneasy from your run-in. You're almost sober. 

"You're a sore loser," Trent hurls back and belches. "And drinking all my beer." 

"The fuck ever. You said help myself." 

"Not much help can save you," Colin chirps. 

"Would you all stop whining? God, little boys," Angelique cackles. 

"Little boys?" Trent scoffs. "Not what you said last time--" 

"Average at best," she retorts. 

"Compared to some," Colin smirks, catching your eye. You glower and look at the wall. He's such a slime, yet you have bigger things to worry about. 

You turn and peer out over the deck. You squint into the dim blue and the stirring waves beyond the coastline. Did Bucky really mean it? Is he really watching you? 

Well, he said it himself. He told you, he warned you, how many times, and you were so set on what you wanted. So much so that you just didn't care about what he wanted. You can't really blame him after all. 

You put your palms to your neck and shudder. He said he went to prison. What did he do? You should have worried about that sooner... you should have thought a lot more about all of this. 

"Missing the geezer?" Harley snarks as she struts up, another bottle of neon swill in hand. 

"No, I'm just... tired. The sun..." you shrug, unable to finish the lie. Half a lie; you are exhausted. 

"You didn't tell us everything," Hazel approaches. "How big was it?" 

"Jesus," you gasp. 

"Oh, your prude days are over," Tracy snorts. "So," she puts her hands up before her, "tell me when." She starts to move them apart and you scoff.  

You roll your eyes as heat creeps up your neck. You want to stop thinking about him. Desperately so. You want to believe that if you do, he'll just go away. Bucky was great but scary. You played with fire and now you don't want to get burned any more than you already have. 

"You guys are children," you push away from the window frame and march buy them. "I need some air." 

"Were his pubes grey? Like one of those scouring sponges?" Colin taunts. 

You ignore him with a shake of your head and stomp behind his chair. You feel the air stir as he reaches for you. You dodge him and storm out into the balmy evening. The door snaps shut behind you and you huff. 

You cross your arms and pace up and down the porch. The boards creak and have you spinning with paranoia. You stop and stare out into the trees. It's too dangerous for anyone to be out there. Even him. 

You sit on the top step and lean your elbows on your knees. You cradle your head. You think about all the red flags you raced past. That shady bar and his bruised knuckles. Did he hurt someone that day? 

Then there's that other chill. Not fear, but deeper. The way he made you feel. His patience, his calm intent as he devoured you bit by bit. It was amazing but you're young and it just doesn't make sense. What do you really know about Bucky? You don't even know why he went to prison. People don't go for stealing five cent candy... 

The door swings open and the hinges squeak. You don't look up. It's probably Angelique coming to tell you you're being a buzz killer. Not really. You separated yourself from the situation. Better then sticking around and moping. She only knows how to make her problems everyone else's. You could blame her for all of this. She dared you to do it. Still, you did it. 

Footsteps tramp heavily up next to you and hop down on the second step. Colin drops beside you on the step and slings his arm over your shoulder. You shrug him off as he snickers. 

"You know, the old man's not around..." 

"Stop," you mutter and cross your arms. 

"Come on. It's vacation. Have a little fun," he plants his hand behind you, leaning against you. "I've been hard all day." 

"You've been a creep forever," you sneer. "I want you to go away." 

"Why? I mean. You wear that suit all day, ready to pop out, and you expect me not to notice?" He slides closer, nearly crushing you against the railing. 

"I didn't wear it for you," you push your elbow into his side. "Take a hint, buddy." 

"I took all the hints," he caress the top of your ass. 

You growl and lift your hand. You reel back but before you can swing, he flies forward and lands at the bottom of the steps. You squeal and look up as a deep black shadow puffs above you. Bucky steps to the edge of the top stair as Colin wheezes on the ground. 

"What-- How--" You stand and he catches your upper arm. 

"You're leaving. Now." He snarls. 

"Bucky, I was dealing with him--" 

Colin coughs as he writhes in the dirt. 

"Sure you were. Barely," he growls. "I seen men like him in the pen. Animals. He wasn't gonna stop." 

"Let go--" 

To your surprise, he does, but only to barrel down the stairs. He grabs Colin as he tries to sit up, gripping his wrist as he pushes his middle finger back. The pop of his joint roils in your stomach. Colin hollers. 

"Bucky!" You hurtle down and latch onto him. 

"Fucker! Touching my woman," he grabs another finger. "Wanna see what happens to rats like you--" 

"Bucky! Stop. Please. Don't hurt him--" 

"What the fuck is this?" Angelique's whiny screech comes from behind a flash. You turn as she lights up the seen with her phone. "Oh my god! Are you serious?" She slams each foot down as she crosses the porch. "You invited this loser? Withou even asking?" 

"No, I--" You cling to Bucky as you tug on him. "I didn't--" 

"Don't fucking worry," he throws Colin's arm away and boots him in the side. "I don't wanna fucking be here." He turns to face the others as they follow the chaos outside. "I came here to take her away from you filth." 

"Filth?" Harley gasps. "Excuse you. You might be hot as fuck but you can't talk to us like that." 

Bucky walks up the steps calmly. "You gonna stop me?" 

Harley backs up and grabs onto Hazel. Both of them hide behind Sterling who just stares, a drunken droop in his eyelids. The others gape, sharing looks as aimless as your own. What do you do? 

You're jostled from behind and stumble. Colin staggers up the steps only for Bucky to spin and send him plummeting again. The crack of his fist carries up into the sky. He shakes out his fingers then points at you. 

"Go get your stuff. Now." 

The thunder of his voice, the violence he's wrought, it has your throat in a snare. You can't breathe, you can't think. Why is he doing this?

"What the fuck--" Kissie exclaims. 

"Bucky, please--" you put your hands up. "Don't hurt anyone else, okay? I'm going to.... I'm going to get my things. Alright? Just no more hitting." 

He glares at you then tilts his head. "Five minutes." 

You gulp and sidle past him. As you get to the top of the steps and Angelique postures, "yeah, get the fuck out of here, slut." 

You flinch. It was always a joke before. Whore, slut, bitch; not anymore. The venom in her voice makes your insides sour. 

"Ang?" 

"You ruined this whole fucking night," she shoves you. 

She squeals as suddenly her arm is wrenched back. Bucky spins her, pulling her wrist between her shoulder blades. Trent and Sterling step up but Bucky doesn't relent. 

"Trying it, you skinny fuckers," he barks. 

They stop. Trent clears his throat, "look, dude, let her go and get out of here." 

"I will," Bucky looks at you. "Go on, doll. Before anyone else does something stupid." 

You look at him. His face is cast in darkness but you feel the anger roiling off him. You turn and flit inside. The door is caught behind you. 

"Are you fucking serious? You brought that criminal here?!" Harley's on your heels. "He's hurting Angie." 

"I'm going, okay? I'll get rid of him." 

"Doesn't change that you led him here--" 

"Would you shut up?" You grab our phone and spin to face her. "And grow the fuck up. Stop whining. All of you are so immature and maybe I'm better off without you. Even if it's with him." 

Ryan falls out of his chair and belches. "Shhhhhh, sleep." You stare at him as he all but reaffirms your statement. You frown at Harley and throw your hands up. 

"Wow, you're a bitch," she sneers. 

"Sure. Yeah, whatever you say," you drop your shoulders and brush by her. 

You go down the hall and grab your bag out of the room. You turn back and ignore Harley and Hazel as they stand just inside the door.

You step out, your stomach plunging, the sudden drop of your heart nearly folding your legs. Kissie is down with Colin as he whimpers and holds his hand. Bucky release Angelique and she whines. She stops a few inches from you. 

"Get the fuck out of here!" She snivels and bats her lashes against a wall of tears. 

You don't say a word. You're too embarrassed, too afraid. You don't have much of a choice. Your so-called friends wouldn't let you stay even if you could stand up to Bucky. What friends? Shouldn't they protect you like they did Angelique? 

Bucky grabs onto your wrist as you near and drags you down the steps. You stumble but keep your feet moving. You don't look back. You can hear Angelique hurling insults under her breath as everyone else comforts her. Your eyes sting. They really don't care about you. 

"Come on, doll," Bucky lead you into the dark, not hesitating as the gloom surrounds you. "They ain't no good for you." 

You let him. You give in to your own bad decisions. How stupid! 

It’s jarring how only last week, you were so excited, thrilled about this man. You were intoxicated by him and now you are terrified. That liberation has turned into entrapment. 

He stops you as you trip over an unseen root. He pauses then a light blooms ahead of you. He uses his phone to light the way. His bike is just ahead, like a beast against the evening hue. 

He takes your bag and shoves it into the saddle bag. Your phone drops as he does and he quickly swipes it from the ground. He puts it in his pocket. He grabs a helmet and puts it on your head. You wince as he secures the strap. 

“Bucky,” you croak. “Bucky, please...” 

“It’s late.” 

“Yes, and dark. It’s not safe--” 

“Don’t tell me what’s safe,” he snaps. “Not after today.” 

He puts his own helmet on then grabs the jacket draped over the seat. He puts his leather coat on you. The summer night has a sliver of a chill on it. He zips it to your chin then taps the rear seat. The one he installed only days after you met. 

He straddles the bike and extends his arm out. He helps you on behind him and you squeeze his shoulders to steady yourself. He exhales and leans back into you. 

“You know, doll, I missed you. I didn’t come to punish you,” he sits up and straightens the bike. “I came to save you.”  

He twists the ignition and the bike roars to life. It rumbles beneath you and you wrap your arms around his middle. You rest your head against his back as he twists the throttle. As the bike tears forward and he steers along the narrow path, your tears spring forth. A tunnel of wind encases you, adding to that sense of suffocation. 

He told you who he is. He told you what he is. Why didn’t you listen to him? 

[noirflms]

BEING A GIRL DAD — hq men

to them their daughter is their world, to them she is everything. or wherein haikyuu men experience being girl dads.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ HINATA SHOYO !

his little girl is his everything. he’d bring the whole wide world to her feet if he could. he would do anything for this little girl of his. the day she was born brought him nothing but immense pleasure, it was one of the best days of his life; the day that made him grow, the day he realised that there would never be nothing as important as the little one in his arms and you — the love of his life and the mother of his child.

to him, being a girl dad came easy. he had looked after a young girl once, who has now become an outstanding woman in the field of his very own expertise — volleyball. being a father to a daughter came easy to him, he loved her like it was breathing, to him she was the very thing that brought him to life.

he loves his little girl to pieces. for he sits at her tea parties, even wears the crown and play the princess in despair. he lets her paint his nails the colour that mummy’s (your) eyes are, he lets her do his hair the way she wants it to look for her daddy should always look handsome. he adores his little one to death; for she brought him strength, she grounded him to where he belongs.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ MIYA ATSUMU !

twins. you birthed twin girls. it was a miracle, yet there was no doubt they were supposed to be twins, it was the very thing that ran in his family. the day they were born, he wasn’t there and he hates that he was not present to see them be welcomed to the world, but you tell him, their love won’t change one bit for him. the girls are his universe, they mean so much to him, that he might go insane if they aren’t in his sight.

they are daddy’s little girls, they love their father too much. the press kisses to his cheeks when wishing him goodnight, they punch him when he hurts their mommy, they giggle when he turns into the kissy monster for them. he does everything for them; he calls it making it up for when he misses their birth.

he tries his best to be at home, to always be a face engraved in their memory, so they don’t forget him when he leaves for matches and tournaments and return after months. he doesn’t want his little girls to forget who he is. he cries in your arms at night thinking he does so less for the three of you, but only if he knew the girls screamed the loudest whenever their papa came on screen, their faces lit up with the brightest smile whenever they get to talk about him.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ KUROO TETSURO !

he always wanted a little girl. and his wish came true. she looked like you, yet had subtle hints of his features, yet she was so much like you. to him, his daughter was the very thing that breathed life in him, she meant the world to him. he remembers when he first held her, she was too small in his big arms, he couldn’t help but tear up at the sight, as you laughed with tears lingering in your eyes at the scene before you. in the moment he realised he would even go to war for this little soul he helped create.

being a girl dad came with consequences of their own. but he knew, that if he wished to give her the world, he would even take the bullet of circumstances and chaos brought to him. from seeing her take her first steps to seeing her blow the candles of her birthdays, from watching her say ‘dada’, to crying in the morning when he left for work — he wished he could take a leave but he knows you’d scold him so.

to kuroo, his daughter is his life. he gives her all, from the dresses she would only wear just once and throw away, to toys she just had to touch and they will all be brought. but she was his heart more when she touched the volleyball and the glint in his eyes grew, but he knows he would only do whatever she wants, for she was the one ruling his heart now.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ IWAIZUMI HAJIME !

his daughter was his exact copy. from loving godzilla to calling oikawa — uncle shittykawa. to giving names to people without a second thought behind her eyes. she was exactly like the man you married, it made you wonder if she even had the littlest of your traits. in hajime’s eyes he is proud for he has the strongest girl, his warrior princess as he calls her.

she has your eyes and that is what iwaizumi loves, for he gets to fall in love with the same eyes again and again. and those are also the eyes, that he would never be able to say no to. it takes all in him to begin with ‘no, sweetheart, not this time,’ that gradually turns into, ‘don’t tell your mom i got you this.’ but he forgets he is too loud at whispering within these thin wood walls and you’ll always know.

your daughter is an absolute hero is what you’ve also known. she was four when she had picked up an bug from the garden brought it to you, you almost fainted but kept your cool at the bug being suddenly brought up to your face. it’s funny how much she looks like you to only share traits with her father, and so it makes you wonder, would another little one have your traits of just the same as their father’s?

back and i am better 😝😝

NOIRFLMS 2025 ! all rights reserved - plagiarism is a crime , do not translate my works without permission.

[carbine55555]

random facts about columbine

(posting this for the 4th time since i keep getting termed)

* If Eric could change one thing about himself it would be his weight

* When Dylan was a sophomore, he volunteered at a day care. sue remembers him helping little kids line up neatly to take their turns on the swing

* Eric and Dylan's manager had a six year old daughter who was often there while they worked. She loved them and their manager said they treated her very well.

* When one of eric's neighbours lost her puppy, he looked for it and brought it back to her

* Eric would help his mom garden

* Eric and Dylan went to two rammstein concerts together. they were on december 8th, 1997 and may

* 1st, 1998. KMFDM opened for the first one.

* Dylan used the the Breman Bold font for his wrath shirt.
We're unsure what Eric used but it could potentially be
Massacre.
Dylan picked out his cat, rocky, from a litter of kittens when he was in 3rd grade

* Dylan's favorite baseball player was Roger Clemens

* At blackjack, Eric made $7.65 an hour and Dylan made $6.50 an hour

* Eric had $113 in his wallet at the time of his death

* For his english class, Eric chose these three books to read and write an essay about. Return from the stars was his favorite one.

* According to a Jennifer Harmon, a girl in Eric and Dylan's creative writing class, Dylan would pass out chips ahoy cookies during this class as an attempt to make friends. she said they were "the chewy kind with big chocolate chunks." During the basement tapes, Dylan pumped a shotgun and pointed it at Eric, who was filming, making him scream "jesus christ, put the fucking safety on!"

* During the massacre, Eric and Dylan had match strikers taped to their forearms so they could easily light their bombs. they are visible in this photo from the evidence exhibit. you can also see the tape on Dylan's wrist in the suicide photo.

* Eric and Dylan had other nicknames besides Reb and Vodka. Eric's were indigo, reverend, and war. Dylan's were green and death.
After they committed suicide, Eric had 18 9mm bullets and 14 shotguns shells left. Dylan had 3 9mm bullets and 14 shotgun shells left.

* On March 14, 1998, Dylan got a ticket for failing to stop at a red light. He had to go to court for it on april 29. he wrote, "red light court. dam ni**az better not take me license.

* Two months before columbine, Eric's dog was seriously ill. Dylan picked up Eric's shift at blackjack so he could stay home and be with his dog. Sue felt sad for Eric and told Dylan she was proud of him for being such a good friend.

* After the massacre, Kevin harris told friends he blamed himself because he went away to college and wasn't around to help his brother cope with whatever problems he was having.

* The morning after the massacre, Wayne Harris phoned the family dentist. Eric had an appointment on june 30th and he needed to cancel it.

* Eric was not Dylan's first choice for NBK. He originally wanted to do it by himself, with a girl, or with (presumably) Zack Heckler.

* Devon Adams said Sue wore Dylan's jeans after his death. The only person on their shitlists who got shot was

* Austin Eubanks. Austin was friends with Corey Depooter. He died in 2019 due to an opioid addiction.

* When Eric lived in Michigan, his dad was a scout leader and helped coach sports teams. he played basketball in their driveway with Eric and Kevin. His mom helped his 5th grade class make special shirts for halloween. Both his parents always attended the parent-teacher conferences

* A few weeks before the massacre, Dylan was banned from using the school computers because he called a librarian a bitch after she asked him to pay for printing over 10 pages. When told he was banned, he just said,
"well, you know, it doesn't matter. it doesn't matter."

* Dylan was friends with Rachel Scott's prom date, Nick Baumgart, between 3-5th and 7-8th grade (Eric was also friends with him 7-8th). In the basement tapes, Eric said he laughed too much and "those two girls sitting next to you probably want you to shut the fuck up too".

* Eric, Dylan, and Zach Heckler also targeted Nick's house during a Rebel Mission on February 7, 1997. Eric described what they did to his house and their reasoning for targeting him in his writings.

* Brandi Tinklenburg, the girl in the Eric In Columbine video, would study in the library every tuesday morning during her lunch hour. The only reason she wasn't there the day of the massacre was because she went to the tanning salon instead.

* The only reason cameras were installed in columbine's cafeteria was to catch students who left trash on the tables.

* Dylan's locker number was 837 and his combo was

* 19-37-9. And Eric's locker number was 624 and his combo was 16-48-30.

* V

* • Eric wrote "anniversary card" in his school planner under april 17, 1998 to remind himself to get his parents a card for their 28th wedding anniversary. When police arrived at Eric's house after the massacre and tried to go in his room, Kathy Harris tried to stop them. she said, "i don't want you to go in there." The officers persisted and she complied.

* Dylan's body was released to Horan & Mccontay funeral home. services were on april 24th, 1999 at 1:30pm.

8-10 people attended.

* Eric's body was released to aspen funeral home. No services were provided. It is unknown if the harris family had a private funeral for Eric or not.

* Eric got surgery to correct his pectus excavatum on December 16th 1993 at Fitzsimons Army Medical Centre in Aurora, co. He wrote, "when i got back from the hospital, i couldn't do anything that involved using my chest muscles. that meant i barely could even laugh."

* Dylan was going to major in computer science at the university of Arizona. Eric was almost positive he didn't want to go to a 4 year college, but he told a friend he might go to a 2 year college and "major in computer graphics or something."

* Eric knew he was rejected by the marines. Nate Dykeman said, "Dylan and I were the first ones Eric told about the rejection. He asked me, 'where do I go from there?' he saw it as a last option."

* Dylan's SAT score was 1210. He got 560 on the verbal part and 650 on the math part, putting him in the 75th percentile.

* During the massacre, eric or dylan (probably dylan) was heard saying, "today is the day the world comes to an end, today is the day we die," in the cafeteria. Eric and Dylan both dated the same girl, Sasha Jacobs.

* She went on 1-2 dates with Dylan and stopped because there was "something strange" about him. Then she went on 16-20 dates with Eric over a period of four months before also breaking up with him. After she broke up with him, Eric wrote in Chad Laughlin's yearbook about her. She also started to receive threats in her email which she suspected were from Eric.

* Eric's favorite magazines were Guns and Ammo, Penthouse, and Time.

* Dylan was born at the lutheran medical center in wheat ridge, co.

* Wayne Harris believed Brooks Brown was out to get Eric and that he was a "manipulative con artist." He wrote

"Eric is not at fault," him and Kathy felt victimized too, and they didn't want to be accused "everytime something supposedly happens."

* Eric scored a 46 on the marine recruitment asval test, which is an average score.

* Starting when he was 8 months old and until he was about 1 and a half years old, Eric went to the doctor at least 11 times due to a congenital leg problem. It wasn't elaborated on in his medical records, but his walk appears to have been bow-legged.

* Wilder Wien by RAMMSTEIN played in the original hitmen for hire during the scenes where Eric and Dylan were walking in their trench coats, but jeffco silenced the music (presumably) because of copyright.

* Mike Vendegnia (the guy in the white shirt in the Eric in columbine video) was friends with Corey Depooter.
Mike described Corey as "very bright and easy to get along with."

* Dylan tore off the bmw emblems on the front and back of his car. Zack Rissmiller said he did this, and after the massacre, police found the emblems in his glovebox. • A witness in the cafeteria heard Eric or Dylan yell

"check the window" and "one's coming in" as they were trying to detonate the bombs. They were likely anticipating that cops would enter the school at any second and were as shocked as everyone else was that they weren't coming.

* Eric's phone number was 303-762-1212.

* Dylan's phone number was 303-972-1131.

* Valeen Schnurr was holding hands with Lauren

* Townsend as she passed away.

* Dylan paid between $200 and $300 for his sunglasses.

* During the shooting, librarian Peggy Dodd told Brian Anderson, "i have to get out of here, they hate me, they're going to kill me." a few weeks before the massacre, Dylan called her a bitch when she asked him to pay for using the printer.

* Dylan told a classmate that the reason he wore a soviet pin on his boot was "just to get a reaction out of people.

* When Eric applied to tortilla wraps, he listed his english teacher, Mr. Webb, and Sue Klebold as references.

* One christmas, Sue fretted because Dylan wanted a collectible baseball card that cost as much as she had planned to spend on all his gifts. She worried about only having one gift under the tree. but that's what Dylan wanted, and that's all he got.

* Some of Dylan's favourite foods were scrambled egg, pizza, beef stew, lasagna, pumpkin pie spice cake and Dr Pepper as his favourite drink.

* Before Austin Eubanks left the library, he checked Corey Depooter for a pulse and detected no signs of life. Eric and Dylan threw a total of 31 bombs inside the library, but only 5 of them actually exploded.

* Neither Eric or Dylan wanted to have kids. Eric said, "i don't think i would want to bring a child into this world." Dylan said, "i'm never having kids. kids just mess up your life."

* A total of 76 bombs were found inside and outside columbine high school. Only 30 of those bombs actually exploded.

[awesomesauceme05]

And also Akio’s abuse of Utena is partially because her parents are out of the picture. Here’s a girl who’s essentially had to raise herself presumably since she was a child to her early teens. All the other adult figures in her life are uninvolved, and disapprove of her for not wearing the proper uniform or being feminine enough. Here comes Akio, the one adult to affirm her sense of style and the way she expresses herself. She finally has a figure she can talk to, go to for advice, and he’s the nice older brother of her best friend. Maybe even filling the void that her parents left somewhat. Making it all too easy for Akio to groom her like he wanted. And when it gets bad, who can she go to for help? The non-existent parental figures in her life? The uncaring teachers? No, Akio is the only one she can turn to. And that makes him so insidious.

Y’know, it’s kind of funny how much death isn’t talked about as a theme in Utena outside of analysis circles considering that the very first thing you learn about Utena Tenjou is that her parents are dead. I could go on about the use of parental death as a background trait in fictional characters, often to add a sense of tragedy and complexity with little effort put in, but Utena in particular plays off of these expectations to lull you into a false sense of security. You begin the show learning that the main protagonist has gone through a traumatic, life-changing event but that’s business as usual for protagonists, right? The fairytale setting adds even more to these assumptions, given how often parental figures die in folktales.

This all culminates in Utena being a typical plucky protagonist, until she isn’t. Until you realize that her parents being dead marks Utena as different from her peers, as uniquely vulnerable to the abuse she suffers through the series, and as someone whose life is permeated with themes of death. Her parents are dead, her prince is dead, 100 boys were killed on this very campus by her own foil, she is trapped within her coffin in the same way everyone else is but she has also literally laid in a coffin to die before. It’s not as overt as other themes, but it’s everpresent as a spectre haunting Utena’s narrative. It’s her life’s background radiation.

[megalony]

Dad's Coming Home

This is a new Eddie Diaz imagine I had a little idea for and as I've had a few requests for some more deaf! reader I decided to include one with Eddie for a change.

I hope you all like it, please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog @bear8585 @nickie-amore @elliott-calls @person-005 @mbioooo0000 @amara-mars

@teenwolfbitches28 @mandmilovehim @jooniesbears-blog

Eddie Diaz Masterlist

Summary: While Eddie is on shift, he gets a call from the kids asking him to come home. His eldest is having a bad seizure and they need help.

(Deaf! reader)

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie grinned around the toothbrush clasped between his teeth and his chest vibrated with a chuckle when he tilted his head down. He could feel a tiny fist tapping and bashing against his bare chest and when that soft hand began to rub up and down his chest, Eddie couldn't help but squirm at the ticklish feeling it created.

It was almost as if the newborn in his arm knew exactly what she was doing and exactly where to nudge Eddie and tickle him.

And when her head turned to the side and Eddie felt her lips pressing against his skin instead, it felt like she was trying to kiss him.

He made sure to keep his youngest girl steady in his left arm and his thumb glided up and down her leg as he jostled and rocked her in his arm. Tilting his head down, Eddie swirled his mouth out and tossed his toothbrush back into the holder in front of the mirror.

"Okay, come on baby girl."

He carefully readjusted Marie so her cheek was pressed against his bare shoulder and she was curled up into his upper chest. His hand cradled the back of her head and ruffled the soft wisps of hair she had and when he started to walk out the bathroom, he turned his head to kiss her temple.

He smiled to himself as his nose nudged against her hair that felt like cotton wool. Marie was much like Chris had been when he was born in the sense that both of them had very little hair. Not like Florence, when their eldest had been born Eddie had been shocked at the volume of fluffy hair his girl had.

His thumb began to stroke up and down the back of her head and the nape of her neck as he headed down the hall back towards the bedroom.

The smile on Eddie's face melted into something sweeter when he headed into the bedroom and looked ahead of him. His sights set on his wife instantly and for a moment, he stood just over the threshold of the doorway, content in watching her for a few seconds or more.

The way she lolled her head from left to right as if she were preparing to enter some kind of dance. The way her hips swayed in tandem with her head and shimmied to either side made her look like a dancer. And he could hear her humming. Not loud, not enough to be classed as singing a tune or loud enough for anyone else to hear, but just enough that Eddie could pick up on the quiet sound as if they were vibrations he could see through the air.

He watched her hands glide up to gather up her hair into a loose, quick style at the back of her head so it wasn't in her way. And Eddie watched the look of surprise that flooded her face and caused her lips to part when she turned on the spot and suddenly caught him staring. Something she should have been used to by now.

With Marie held against his chest with his left arm, Eddie moved his right hand out to point at (Y/n) before he pressed his fingers and thumb together in front of his mouth, pulling them away and opening his palm up. It was hard to sign with one hand and whenever he did, Eddie sometimes interpreted little quirks that weren't proper signs. Things they had picked up and stuck to when the kids were little and couldn't sign properly.

He murmured "Sounded pretty," after the small sign he did and he loved how (Y/n) ducked her head down and looked up at him through her lashes.

She hadn't realised she had been humming.

With (Y/n) being deaf, she couldn't hear the words she tried to say and sometimes she found herself humming or making little noises without realising it. She often worried if she was speaking too quietly or too loud whenever she talked to people, but it was something she didn't tend to worry about when she was at home with her family.

And whenever she hummed, she always realised because she would find Eddie smiling or just staring at her with that glazed look in his eyes like he had been cast under a spell.

(Y/n) rolled her lips together and looked down towards the baggy maternity shirt she was wearing and tried to smooth out the wrinkles and creases. Marie was only three weeks old, so for the time being (Y/n) was living in the stretchy, comfy maternity clothes she had stocked up on, and sometimes some of Eddie's lounge wear.

When she looked up again, she held one and near her mouth and the other out in front of her. She pressed her fingertips against her thumb and moved her hand near her mouth before she pointed at Marie.

"No, I fed her already." Eddie shook his head and looked down at Marie once he'd finished speaking. He had fed her while he had been up, he thought it would be one less thing for (Y/n) to do since he would be going to work soon.

This week back at work had almost killed Eddie, both because of the change in routine and the strain of being away from his family again.

He felt like he wasn't doing very much when he went to work and was leaving (Y/n) at home with four kids to look after.

When (Y/n) nodded, Eddie headed over towards the bed and carefully laid Marie down in the cot adjoined to the side of the bed. He kissed her temple and ran his hand over her chest for a few seconds until he was certain she was going to settle. Hopefully she would get a few more hours of sleep before she would wake and need more attention.

Eddie found it endearing how during the night, he often woke up and found (Y/n) laid with her hand on Marie's chest. It was her way of knowing whether or not their baby was asleep or crying and needing a feed or a change.

(Y/n) couldn't hear when Marie cried. With each child they had, (Y/n) had learned her own ways and adapted. She sometimes reached out and laid with her hand on her baby's chest so she would feel when they cried and needed her. Other times she had just adapted her sleep routine and woke up every two hours constantly so she could check and do feeds and changes through the night.

It got easier each time and when Eddie wasn't working nights, he would hear the baby and that would let (Y/n) know to wake up too.

"You going to work now?" (Y/n) curled her hands into fists and pressed the top of her right fist up against her left wrist to sign work. They always used a mixture of sign and speech when they were at home, it was just what came naturally to them all.

And Eddie knew if (Y/n) was nervous or uncomfortable when they were out because she would switch to sign and wouldn't dare speak.

Turning around, Eddie moved over to (Y/n) until there was less than a foot of space between them. His lips curved into a tired smile and he nodded as he looped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. He felt her hands settling on his biceps while he nudged his nose against hers and leaned down to capture her in a kiss.

He didn't want to go to work. If he could, he would stay home with them all, especially since the kids weren't at school this week. He always felt like he was missing out or doing something wrong when he went to work and the kids weren't at school.

(Y/n) turned her head so she could nuzzle her face into Eddie's neck and she looped her arms loosely around his shoulders as she leant forward into his chest. It had been lovely to have Eddie home for two whole weeks. No one rang him to call in favours or swap shifts or get him to cover emergency shifts. He didn't have to zoom off or disappear for a night shift, he got to be home with the kids and put them to bed and take them to the park and spend time with their newest addition.

She knew none of the kids were happy that Eddie was going back to work, they had gotten used to him being back in a home style routine with them.

When she felt Eddie's chest vibrating, (Y/n) lifted her head and leaned back a little so she could focus on his blushing red lips.

"You gonna miss me?"

Her lips quirked into a grin and she rolled her eyes and nodded. "Very much." She stole another kiss from his lips, savouring the touch until Eddie pulled back and tilted his head back.

She felt his chest vibrate, indicating he was either sighing or growling and she watched his brows raise before he looked down at her with that quirk at the corners of his eyes. She watched his lips move until he muttered "Flo," and ticked his head to one side.

Their eldest was calling out for him, which was a novelty in itself. The kids had all grown up using sign language as well as speech and they knew calling out for (Y/n) while they weren't in the same room wasn't going to achieve anything. It had been drilled into them to hurry into whatever room their parents were in if they wanted their attention. Or they could wave their hand if they were in the same room, (Y/n) didn't class that as being rude, it was them trying to reach out to her and that was fine.

But Florence and Chris were starting to call out for Eddie now if they weren't in the same room. It was a habit Lottie hadn't gotten into yet as she was still young.

With a lasting kiss to her lips, Eddie squeezed her hips and parted from her so he could leave the room.

He trailed down the hall until he reached the girls' room and poked his head around the door. He wasn't expecting both of them to be awake this early, considering they didn't have school and neither of them were morning people.

Lottie was sat on her bed, still in her pyjamas with a storybook open in front of her but she looked up and grinned when Eddie came into the room. The four year old was Eddie's shadow, she followed him everywhere even when he was just doing the washing or tidying up or trying to fix something around the house. Wherever he was, Lottie would be there too.

He looked across the room to see Florence sat up on the side of her bed, her head hanging down and her arms flopped on her knees. The eldest looked like she thought she was going to be sick or as if she was a robot that was powering down already.

Her strange stance alone made Eddie shiver and his features pulled into a frown as he moved forward and crouched down in front of her. His hands settled on her knees and his head angled to one side as he waited patiently for her to lift her head and look at him.

"You okay Carino?"

Florence slowly lifted her head and Eddie didn't like the half-lidded expression on her face or the dreary look in her eyes. His hand reached out to cup her cheek and he brushed his thumb beneath her eye as he waited for her to explain.

"Head hurts, dad." Florence leaned into his touch and almost lost her balance as she tried to nudge her temple into his hand to signal the problem.

She heard Eddie sigh and she felt him lean a little closer to her as both hands now cupped either side of her face and he tilted her head back so they were level. He looked at her eyes and felt her temple while he pursed his lips.

"Do you feel one coming?" When she shook her head, Eddie kissed her temple and nudged her back a little.

Since she was seven, Florence had been diagnosed epileptic and had suffered various types of seizures since then. She was thirteen now and the main type of seizures she suffered were absent ones. There had only been one time when Florence had a strange type of seizure where she had walked around like she had been sleepwalking.

She couldn't always feel or sense them coming, but sometimes she got little warning signs. Aggravating pain behind her eyes, a stormy headache. Tired limbs that felt too heavy to walk or sometimes she felt too groggy to move, those were all little tell tale signs, but it could take minutes or hours for a seizure to happen.

"You're not burning up, but you don't look well. Wanna stay in bed today?"

Eddie could see that she tried to nod, but it was too much effort and it made her head ache. He gave her a little nudge and let her flop back down on the bed and once she was laid on her side, Eddie dragged the covers back over her.

"I'm heading to work soon Carino, I'll tell mum you don't feel well."

He pushed up to his feet after pressing a kiss to her temple and he moved across the room to pull the curtains closed. Bright sunshine wasn't going to make her feel any better.

When he turned around, Eddie moved over to the smaller bed across from Florence and reached out for Lottie. She was frowning up at Eddie now that the room was cast in darkness and shadows. She couldn't see the pictures or the sensory pieces in her sensory book now.

The four year old picked up her book and promptly shook it up at Eddie with a small whine to make her point that she couldn't see. But she ceased the moment Eddie scooped her up and sat her on his hip.

"You can read in the front room, baby. Let Flo sleep." He pecked her temple and grabbed her book. It would be better for Florence to try and get some sleep and be on her own rather than having Lottie giggling and rummaging around in their room.

He reached down before he left the room and trailed his fingertips along Florence's cheek, smiling softly when she reached out to hold onto his wrist.

"I'll see you later Carino, call me if you need me."

Eddie was used to the kids calling while he was at work, they would call before they went to bed or if they weren't feeling well or if he was on a long run of shifts and they wanted to speak to him.

And when (Y/n) missed him or needed to talk to him she would Facetime him. Eddie loved it when she did because he didn't always have to worry about someone hearing their conversations since the station was usually crowded and bustling with people. If he spoke to (Y/n) over Facetime he usually whispered because as long as he pronounced his words, it didn't matter how quiet he was. And when he used sign language, almost no one in the station knew what he was saying so it was like they were speaking in their own private language.

He jostled Lottie on his hip and closed the bedroom door behind him as he walked out into the hall and headed through into the kitchen.

Once he got there, Eddie carefully sat Lottie down on the counter and kissed her temple. He watched (Y/n) flick the kettle on but when she turned and looked over her shoulder, she frowned.

"Flo okay?"

"Headache, she's gonna sleep for a bit longer." Eddie pointed to his temple before he leaned down and kissed Chris's forehead when the ten year old hugged him as he walked into the kitchen.

(Y/n) nodded and reached up to look through the medicine cabinet in front of her. She grabbed a sachet of painkillers and moved to get a bottle of juice from the fridge before she turned to Chris.

"Take to Flo please."

"Okay." He turned and backtracked out of the kitchen to pass along the items to his sister. Chris knew he would be the messenger today while Florence was in her room and he didn't mind.

Reaching out, Eddie clamped his hand down on the counter beside Lottie and moved his other hand to his hip as he looked across at (Y/n).

"You gonna be okay if I go to work? It's a long shift today."

Eddie looked at (Y/n) and bit his lower lip, trying to hide the anxiety in his eyes because he was going on a twenty-four hour shift and wouldn't be home until early tomorrow morning. He never liked to leave when any of the kids weren't well, it played on his mind when he was at work and he couldn't settle until he was back home to look after them all. And it wasn't just Florence, (Y/n) had the baby now and Chris and Lottie in between since none of them were at school or nursery.

It made Eddie feel guilty for going to work and leaving (Y/n) with all four of them to look after when Florence wasn't well. If she started to have seizures today (Y/n) would have to look after her in between settling and tending to Marie. And Eddie knew his wife was more than capable, but he didn't want to leave her to do everything. Not when she'd only just had a baby three weeks ago.

"We'll be fine, you go."

It was too short notice to call in for the day and it wouldn't be fair when the station always needed as many hands on as possible. (Y/n) could take care of the kids, Florence and Marie would need a bit more tending to but at least Chris and Lottie would be helpful.

"We call if we need you." (Y/n) curled her fingers until only her pinkie and thumb were sticking out and she moved her hand to her ear before she pointed across at Eddie.

One of the kids would call him if they needed anything, but they both knew it was more than likely that the kids would simply ring to talk to him and see how his day was going rather than to ask anything of him.

(Y/n) moved over until she was stood in front of him and she kissed his neck just below his ear where his sweet spot was and felt him shiver beneath her touch. She knew he was a worrier but he didn't need to panic, they would all be fine and here waiting for him tomorrow when he came home.

"Okay," His hand moved out to cup her face so he could kiss her before she unravelled her arms from around his waist to let him move.

A grin lit up Eddie's face and adrenaline shot through his stomach when he watched (Y/n) lean her waist back against the counter and watched her hold one hand up. Her other hand gripped the counter behind her while her right hand held up with her middle and fourth fingers pressing down into her palm. Leaving her other digits sticking up, and she moved her hand from left to right.

Love you.

"Love you too." He murmured and stepped close again to steal another kiss. He found his hands reaching out for (Y/n)'s hips despite knowing that if he didn't go get his shirt and get moving soon, he was going to be late for work.

He pressed another kiss to her lips before he felt (Y/n) tapping his shoulder and when he opened his eyes, he found her smiling and pointing behind him.

Eddie turned to look behind him and a chuckle left his lips when he looked at Lottie. The four year old was frantically doing the same sign as (Y/n) had done a second ago. She wanted the same kind of reaction.

She wanted a cuddle and a kiss before Eddie went to work.

***

Tilting her head back, (Y/n) leaned against the pillows and closed her eyes that were crying out for sleep, despite the fact that her mind wasn't ready to shut down just yet.

She continued to pat her hand against Marie's back and rub circles against her skin to try and soothe and wind her to get her to go back to sleep.

She could feel the newborn's lips against her shoulder and she could feel each tepid breath Marie let out. (Y/n) knew all the different vibrations, she knew when that rapid vibration in a baby's chest meant they were crying and when the mellow feeling signalled they were asleep or settling down.

(Y/n) wasn't sure what time it was. All she knew was that it was late and she hadn't managed to get to sleep yet. Around the time (Y/n) but Chris to bed and checked on Florence, she had been tired enough to drop down and sleep right then and there. Not now. Now her mind felt wide awake despite the fact that she was well overdue some sleep.

With a deep breath, she tried to recline and slouch back into the pillows and get comfy again. She had fed and winded Marie, hopefully the newborn would go back down for a few hours and (Y/n) would be able to catch some sleep with her.

She tried closing her eyes and sinking down into the covers with Marie now on the centre of her chest to try and get her to settle too. She pressed her lips against the top of her daughter's head and ran a hand slowly up and down her back.

(Y/n) tried clearing her mind to see if she could sleep, but she just had a feeling that it wasn't going to happen.

Her eyes opened once again but this time she stayed slouched down because she could feel that Marie wasn't crying anymore. The little girl was finally breathing softly against (Y/n)'s chest and was wriggling and trying to get comfy. She would settle soon.

(Y/n) thought about putting the tv on for a while, it wasn't as if she would have the volume on anyway so it wouldn't disturb any of the kids.

But her head turned to the left and she glanced down at the phone beside her on the bed. Even though she couldn't hear her phone, it was set to vibrate so (Y/n) could feel the vibrations when her phone was in her pocket or beside her in bed.

One of the cameras in the house was sensing movement.

They had cameras in each room in the house because it was an easy way for (Y/n) to keep checking on the kids, especially during the night if Eddie was at work. If the kids were awake and moving around their rooms or trying to put the tv on, or if they were sick and they needed (Y/n), they didn't have to get out of bed to come and get her. She could check the cameras or just get the alerts on her phone for where there was sensor movement in the house, and she could get to the kids and make sure they were okay.

It was great for the front door too. They had a bell that flashed a light in the hallway so (Y/n) knew if the light went red, someone was at the door. But having a camera doorbell connected to her phone meant she could be in any room in the house and know someone was there at the door.

A sigh passed her lips and she reached over to pick up her phone, squinting through the darkness and the bright glaring shine on her phone to see what sensor was going off.

The one in the girls' room. The pair of them should have been fast asleep by now, Lottie had been put to bed a few hours ago and Florence hadn't been feeling well all day. She spent the majority of the afternoon on the sofa and she had been asleep in bed when (Y/n) last went to check on her.

One of the girls was up and moving about and (Y/n) guessed it would be Florence, probably needing the toilet. But since she was awake, she might as well check that they were both okay.

(Y/n) barely sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed before the bedroom door swung open. Her eyes widened and her lips parted as she looked across to see Lottie stood in the doorway.

The four year old hurried across the carpet until she was stood at (Y/n)'s side next to the bed. There was a wild look in her eyes and she was practically shaking as she stood there with her thin tendrils of hair askewed around her head making her look like Medusa.

Her small lips were parted into a round shape and she began shaking her hands for a moment like she was panicking and couldn't remember how to sign.

"What's wrong?" (Y/n) tried to keep Marie tucked into her chest while she narrowed her eyes and leaned forward towards Marie whose eyes were petrified.

The four year old held her hand out and pressed her index finger and thumb together with the rest of her fingers sticking up. F, meaning Florence.

She then pressed her left hand to the middle of her chest and began moving her hand from left to right while she hovered her right hand over her temple with her middle finger touching her temple. She moved both hands back and forth. Sick.

"Flo not well." She repeated the signs again and muttered her sister's name a few more times until (Y/n) nodded and clearly got the hint. Florence wasn't feeling well.

"Okay, okay."

(Y/n) swiftly got to her feet and leaned across to settle Marie down in the crib attached to the side of the bed. She hoped Marie wouldn't become distressed and start crying again because (Y/n) might not be able to settle her for a while if Florence was being sick.

She reached out to rest her hand on Lottie's shoulder, following the four year old out the room as she was practically running to show (Y/n) what was happening.

(Y/n) flicked on the hallway light as they passed and once they got to the open door, she turned on the bedroom light.

She didn't like what she saw.

Florence was seizing, and she had fallen out of bed.

A quiet rendition of "Sit down," passed (Y/n)'s lips and she hooked her hands beneath Lottie's arms, lifting her up so she could move and set her down on her bed on the right side of the room. She didn't want Lottie trying to help or getting in the way and getting hurt.

Once she was out the way, (Y/n) turned and went down on her knees beside Florence. Her eldest girl was on her right side with her right arm bent oddly beneath her, she had her forehead bashing and pressing down into the carpet and one leg was still half hanging off the edge of the bed. The cover was tangled around her legs and waist showing she had fallen out of bed with a crash.

It had been over two months since Florence had suffered a clonic seizure like this.

"Come here Flo." (Y/n) tried to steady herself and take a deep breath as she shuffled closer.

Her hands reached out and she quickly unravelled the cover from around Florence's legs and waist and tossed it further back on the bed so it was out the way. She then held onto the back of Florence's ankle, feeling just how badly her daughter was shaking and spasming. She gently pulled and tried to shift her so she was laid on the floor and not twisted at an odd angle like that which would no doubt hurt her in many places if she stayed like that much longer.

Her hand reached out to cup Florence's cheek and she tried to look down at her but her eyes were rolled to the back of her head, only the whites of her eyes were visible. Each breath she took looked strained and her mouth was starting to froff, but she was still breathing which was a relief.

(Y/n) shuffled backwards a little so she could nudge Florence along with her as she was laid far too close to the bed frame and the side table which she might well have whacked her head against during the struggle.

Something akin to "Oh baby," left (Y/n)'s lips and she held onto Florence's shoulder so she could carefully reach beneath her and move her right arm which was pinned between her chest and the floor. She needed to try and stretch both arms out so she didn't hit herself during the seizure.

But (Y/n)'s lips curled into a frown and shivers ran throughout her blood when she looked down at her daughter's arm.

It didn't look right. Florence's right wrist looked out of place and it was starting to swell. Despite the way her arms were tremoring and rattling back and forth, her wrist had clearly been hurt during the fall or due to how she had landed on the floor.

(Y/n) tried her best to look and assess the joint and she could feel it wasn't in place, and she wondered if one or two of her fingers were also out of place with how oddly bent they seemed.

She quickly let go of her hand and laid her arms out in front of her again when Florence began to shake and her chest started to convulse. She was going to be sick. (Y/n) moved round once again and shifted until she was kneeling behind Florence and she pressed her hand against the back of her daughter's neck to tilt her head forward just in time as she began to throw up.

When she lifted her head, (Y/n) saw that Lottie was perched on the end of her bed, arms wrapped around her knees and a twisted, unsettling expression on her face as she watched her sister throw up and shake like she was possessed.

Reaching one hand out, (Y/n) curled her index finger and thumb into a C shape before she pointed towards the door and muttered Chris's name. Lottie needed to go and wake him up.

(Y/n) was going to have to call an ambulance. Florence might well have gotten a few more injuries from her fall and in the very least she had done something to her wrist. She would need to get checked out and seen by a doctor. And (Y/n) couldn't call for help and try to sit with Florence and look after her at the same time.

Her right hand stayed cupping the back of Florence's neck while her other hand began to glide up and down her waist to try and comfort her. She didn't know whether her daughter was somewhat conscious or if she couldn't hear or process anything. But on the off chance that she was conscious, (Y/n) wanted to comfort her and make sure she knew she was being looked after.

Each breath (Y/n) took felt as shaky as Florence's quaking chest and rapid breathing.

She had stopped throwing up, finally, but (Y/n) kept her hand on the back of her daughter's head just to be safe. She didn't want her trying to toss her head back during the seizure and starting to choke if she threw up again.

She hated to see each muscle in Florence's body tense and writhe. She hated how her throat pressed out and strained like she was presenting her neck to be slashed. It was awful to see her fingers bending and contorting and her arms straight out in front of her like a ballerina. Her heels were bashing against the floor in a manner that would surely leave bruises and the back of her calves kept whacking into (Y/n)'s knees, not that she cared at all.

Seeing her like this made (Y/n) think back to when Florence first got diagnosed. The teachers thought she was daydreaming in class when she would go mute and stare off into the distance, unresponsive. This happened two or three times before it then occurred at home and (Y/n) panicked, knowing that wasn't like her girl. And then when she collapsed at a family party in a full clonic seizure, the doctors confirmed with scans.

It had been awful to see Florence writhing and jerking on the floor when she was seven. So small yet thrashing around and gasping and shaking, it brought (Y/n) to tears almost every time.

She lifted her head when movement caught her eye and she watched Chris trot into the room. One hand was rubbing his eyes, nudging his glasses up near his temple where his curls were roaming wild around his head. But once he looked down and realised why Lottie had abruptly shaken him awake, his expression changed to one of fright and anguish.

He stood to one side near Florence's thrashing legs so he was somewhat close to their mum while Lottie moved around him and clambered up onto Florence's bed instead. That way she could be close to (Y/n) without the risk of getting in the way of Florence.

(Y/n) reached her hand out and grabbed Florence's phone that had been resting on the side table, and she held it out towards Chris.

Once he took the phone and frowned in confusion, (Y/n) held her hand out with her fingers spread and she pressed her thumb to her temple before pulling her hand away. Dad.

She then pressed her thumb and pinky near her ear before repeating the two signs until Chris got the message. Call dad. She didn't want him calling the emergency line until they had tried to get hold of Eddie first. Because if the team were available, (Y/n) needed them here.

It would be easier to sign with Eddie and Buck than trying to get the kids to interpret for her to strangers. And she would need someone to stay with the kids and someone to be with Florence. Otherwise (Y/n) would have to take all the kids, including the baby, down to the emergency room past midnight and wait there until Eddie could get off shift and come to help.

Chris quickly nodded and scrolled through his sister's phone until he found their dad's contact. His eyes roamed around the room, desperate to find something to focus on because he hated to see his sister having a seizure and he knew it wasn't nice for her to be stared at in this state.

Relief bubbled up in (Y/n)'s stomach as she watched Chris intently and saw the spark light up his eyes and he nodded. Eddie had answered the phone.

"Flo it's nearly half one in the morning. You'd better have a good reason for calling this late." There was a hint of panic and a flood of concern dripping from Eddie's voice that sang down the line to Chris.

It was late, Eddie wasn't used to getting phone calls past midnight like this when he was at work, not even from (Y/n). And Florence was thirteen, she wasn't supposed to be up this late, not even when she had no school in the morning.

"Dad, it's me."

"Chris? Buddy why are you calling me from Flo's phone, what's happening?"

When Chris looked down at his mum, he shrugged his shoulders because he wasn't altogether sure what he was supposed to say. Was he meant to ask Eddie to come home? Did he ask him to bring the whole team down here? Were they just calling for advice about Florence, because she had suffered seizures before and they didn't always have to bring Eddie home because of them.

(Y/n) carefully let go of Florence and held her left arm out in front of her chest and with her right hand flat, she started moving her hand back and forth over her wrist like she was pretending to cut her arm. She repeated the sign for dad before doing the same cutting motion again. Dad busy.

(Y/n) murmured "He out?" so Chris would ask if Eddie was on a call. If he was, they would just have to update him on the situation and switch to calling 911. But if the team weren't busy, (Y/n) would ask if they could come and help.

"Mum said are you busy?"

"We're not out on a call, no. Tell me what's happening please." Eddie's hand moved to his hip and his head tilted to one side as he stepped away from the kitchen so he was more towards the balcony.

Something was clearly going on if (Y/n) was asking the kids to call rather than trying to Facetime Eddie herself. Either she wasn't well or there was a bad situation happening and she wasn't able to come to the phone. Either way, Eddie wasn't sure he was going to like what he heard next. His heart was already hammering away at his ribs in panic of what was about to be said.

"Flo's seizing." Chris dared to glance his eyes back down towards his sister and he cringed at seeing her bent arms bashing into the carpet.

He watched his mum try and gather Florence's hair and hold it behind her head, smoothing it away from her face almost as if she was trying to settle her to sleep. He watched (Y/n) lean over Florence and run her hand up and down her arm to try and soothe her and he wondered if his mum knew she was hushing and humming as she did so.

"How bad?" It had to be bad if (Y/n) was asking Chris to call Eddie for help, but Eddie still needed to know the details.

Chris kept the phone pressed against his ear and he moved his free hand until his fingers were pressed against his mouth. He then pulled his hand away and turned his palm face down. Bad.

(Y/n) nodded and pointed to the bed before she rolled her index finger in a circle and pointed to the floor, indicating that Florence had fallen out of bed. That was a bad indicator in itself.

"Bad, she fell out of bed."

When (Y/n) waved her hand to get Chris's attention, he looked back down at her and turned a little so he was facing her, ready to watch what she was about to sign. She curled both hands into fists and held them out together in front of her with her thumbs touching. She then pulled her hands away as if she were snapping an invisible twig.

(Y/n) repeated the motion and then leaned forward to point to Florence's right wrist.

"Mum thinks she broke her wrist." Chris shivered and coiled in on himself when he heard the growl that left Eddie's lips.

"Shit! Alright, alright is she still seizing now?"

A deep sigh rumbled past Eddie's lips and his free hand moved from his hip to tangle in his hair. He reached his hand out and waved over towards Bobby who was just about to sit down at the dining table, a mug of hot coffee cradled in his hand.

They were going to have to take this call. Eddie couldn't have anyone else going to his house trying to blunder in and sort this. It was his daughter. He could assess her and get her to hospital, and he would need to so Florence wasn't on her own as they couldn't drag all the kids down to the hospital with them.

"Yeah, she's been sick too."

"Tell mum me and the team are coming home to you now, okay? We won't be long, I'll pass the phone to uncle Buck and you keep talking to him and tell him what's happening. Can you do that for me?"

"Okay," Chris looked over towards (Y/n) and held his hand out, pressing his thumb to his forehead and pulling away. Before he then curled his fingers to his palm so only his index finger was stuck out and his hand was held out in front of him. He then coiled his hand up towards his face. "Dad's coming home."

It was strange to Chris that he was the one signing and interpreting for (Y/n). Whenever they went out or they were with friends and (Y/n) didn't feel comfortable to speak, it would be Florence who interpreted for her if people couldn't sign.

Florence would be the go-between. She would phrase the signs (Y/n) made and then sign responses to (Y/n) if people were talking a bit too fast or simply to make it easier for their mum. She was the eldest, she was the most accomplished at sign language- other than Eddie. Whereas Chris had to take his time with signing to his mum because of his cerebral palsy and his signs were shaky.

A lot of the time Chris and (Y/n) used their own pantomime version of sign language. Simple signs and gestures that they had created which were easier for Chris to do which they both understood.

He felt older right now, like he was being given responsibility and that he was helping with being the go-between for his parents.

It didn't take long for the team to get down to Eddie's house, but to Eddie, it felt like they had taken hours.

He had rushed around the station like a headless chicken, telling the team they had to go, telling them what was happening and what kit they would need. He travelled in the ambulance with Chimney, his foot rapidly tapping on the floor and his hand pressed against his temple. He told Chris they would be five minutes and hung up the call because (Y/n) knew what she was doing and Florence was starting to mellow out. They didn't need Eddie on the phone for that.

He could barely control the shaking in his limbs when he hurried out the ambulance with a medic bag on his shoulder while Chimney sorted out getting the stretcher.

He barely registered that it was the middle of the night until he got up the path and realised the neighbours were peering through the curtains at the sirens and the flashing lights. He chided himself when he got to the front door and it was locked.

Eddie's house keys were on his chain with his car keys. Which were safely tucked away inside his locker. He didn't like carrying them around with him and risk losing them on the job.

"Chris, buddy it's me open the door please." He banged his fist down on the door while he shifted his weight from foot to foot. Waiting and watching as lights turned on and he heard pounding feet until the door finally unlocked and swung open a minute later.

Chris reached out instantly and deadlocked his arms around Eddie's waist, binding himself into his dad as relief rolled through him. He was here. The team were here. They would be able to help Florence now.

"Alright bud, let us in." Eddie leant down to kiss the top of Chris's head and he ran his hand up and down his back before he gently nudged him back and started to walk inside.

His arm stayed around Chris's shoulders as he led the team inside and Eddie looked over his shoulder to glance around the team when they got into the hallway. "Can someone get the baby? Chris, go wait in our room please."

He could hear Marie crying at the top of her lungs and it didn't take much to figure she was distressed with all the commotion.

His hand moved to give Chris a small nudge towards his and (Y/n)'s room where Bobby was aiming for to check on Marie. There wouldn't be enough room in the girls' room for all the team and the kids and a gurney. They all couldn't cramp in there. Chris seemed disheartened but he nodded and trudged further ahead while Eddie veered to the right into the room.

His eyes quickly scanned around the scene and he felt his heart clenching when he looked at his family.

Lottie was sat on the end of Florence's bed, her arms wrapped around her middle like she was giving herself a comforting hug and she was leaning towards the edge to try and keep watch over (Y/n).

And then there was Florence, laid on her right side with her back facing the bed. A puddle of sick in front of her, light tremors running through her body and her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

(Y/n) was knelt near her legs, constantly running one hand up and down Florence's thigh and waist to try and stimulate her and keep her calm. She had panic written across her face but the moment she looked up and saw Eddie, her shoulders dropped with relief.

When Eddie crouched down in front of her with Florence's legs between them, (Y/n) dropped her head forward with her temple on Eddie's shoulder and she reached her hand out to grip his bicep. She felt his hand move around to cup the back of her neck and his lips attached to the top of her head.

When he pulled back, Eddie glanced his eyes down to Florence before he looked across at (Y/n).

He curled his hands into fists with his thumbs pointing up and pressed into his chest, before tilting his right hand forward away from his chest. He then held his left arm out straight and glided his other hand down his arm from his elbow to his wrist. How long.

"How long was she seizing?"

"Five or more." (Y/n) held her hand out before shaking it from side to side. It could have been more than five minutes but she wasn't quite sure. All she knew was this was clearly a bad seizure and it had been going on for more than four minutes which meant a hospital visit anyway. Let alone the fact that she had damaged her wrist too.

"Okay. Lottie, go to Chris in our room please, I gotta move Flo soon."

"Daddy-"

"Out please." Eddie shook his head before Lottie had the chance to try and give him those sad eyes and that wobbling lip that always made him crumble. She had seen enough, it was time for her to go and wait with Chris while they got Florence sorted and ready for transport.

On her way past, Lottie leaned up against Eddie and waited until he kissed her temple before she trotted out the room and hurried over to Bobby.

Once she was safely out the way, Eddie opened the medic bag at his side and started rummaging through. He found a pen light and leaned over so he could gently lift Florence's eyelid and check her pupils which he could barely see with how her eyes were rolled near her skull.

"Flo, Carino are you with me?" When he waved the light across her pupils, they didn't constrict and they were blown wide as it was.

Eddie switched to a blood pressure cuff and slid it up her arm while he watched Buck crouch down beside him and look in the bag. He found a wipe and gently started to swab Florence's mouth before he checked she hadn't bitten her tongue and that her airways were clear.

"BP's rising high. I'll splint her wrist then we can get her moving. Buck, can you give her diazepam I don't want another seizure happening."

As much as Florence seemed to be settling down now, she was still tremoring and unconscious. She could easily slip into another seizure and they didn't want that. Giving her some meds would hopefully settle her system and prevent another seizure. They needed her conscious so they could check she had no other injuries or damage.

Eddie reached out and carefully pulled Florence's right arm so it was laid over his lap, allowing him access to assess the damage done. Her arm was starting to swell all the way down to her wrist and hand and when he pressed and checked over her fingers, he felt a clear break in her index finger.

It felt as though there was a clean break in her wrist, but Eddie couldn't be sure whether that was the extent of it or if she had more hairline fractures. And she could have damaged her tendons and muscles too.

(Y/n) shuffled round so she was knelt next to Eddie, hiding her grimace at how numb and heavy her knees felt from being sat on them for so long like this. She watched intently as Eddie placed two wooden splints on either side of Florence's wrist and then started to wrap a roll of bandage around to keep it from moving until she could get an X-ray.

Once her wrist was properly bound, Eddie found a tongue clamp from the bag and carefully wiggled it into Florence's mouth to pin her tongue down. He wasn't running the risk of her choking on her tongue or having her airways becoming blocked. Especially if she went into another seizure.

"Here we go Carino." In less than a minute, Eddie swabbed the back of Florence's left hand, placed a sticker there and inserted a cannula into her vein. He nodded in thanks when Buck inserted the IV line to push fluids into her system.

"Are we ready?"

Upon hearing Buck's words, (Y/n) looked from Eddie to Hen and Chimney who were hovering in the doorway with the gurney. Her lips rolled together and she took a deep breath before she glanced back at Eddie and moved her hands to point between him and Florence.

"You go." Her words confused Eddie for a brief moment before it dawned on him what she was trying to say.

"Are you sure?" Eddie pressed his index finger to his lips and pulled his hand away to sign his question. He could see in (Y/n)'s eyes that she wanted to come down to the hospital with them, but it wasn't ideal to drag their other three kids down there with them.

(Y/n) would stay with Chris, Lottie and Marie if Eddie could remain at the hospital with Florence. It would be easier than (Y/n) needing someone to interpret for her or feeling uncomfortable trying to talk to the doctors.

When she nodded, Eddie pressed his thumb and pinky over his ear in the call sign before he held his hand out with his thumb pressing against his chin and he pulled his hand away. "I'll call Abuela, ask her to come in the morning. And I'll call you when I have news."

He would ring his Abuela and see if she could have the kids as early as possible in the morning so (Y/n) could be at the hospital with Florence. Eddie had a feeling their eldest would be put under observation for twenty four hours after a seizure like this. And it would take a few hours to get her X-rays and then get her hand sorted in a cast and put her on medication for the pain and seizures. They were going to be a while.

Both Eddie and Buck carefully slipped their hands beneath Florence's shoulders and thighs and between them they eased her down onto the gurney that Hen moved behind them. It felt safer to tie a strap over her legs just in case she started seizing or trembling again, they didn't want to run the risk of her falling off the gurney.

Once she was on and Buck and Hen were set on moving the gurney out the room, Eddie held his hands out to (Y/n) and helped her up. His lips attached to her temple and he closed his eyes for a second or two, breathing in her scent as he tried to remain calm.

It was going to be a long night, and it wasn't over yet.

[regressionschool]

Big Girl Rebellion

I used to be potty-trained.

I mean, really trained. I had sparkle undies with cartoon kittens, knew when I had to go, and even wiped all by myself. I used to feel proud of that—smug, even. Big girl Sophie, the girl who didn’t need help. The girl who didn’t wear diapers like the other littles.

But that was before.

Before they decided I needed to be “reminded” of my place. Before the charts and the baby bottles and the locking potty lid. Before the first thick diaper was taped onto me while I screamed and kicked and swore I’d never use it.

Spoiler: I did.

And now? Now I’m sitting in the middle of the playroom, legs spread wide by the swollen padding between them, surrounded by plushies I didn’t choose and building blocks I’m expected to play with. I’m wearing a pastel onesie that snaps between my legs, stretched tight over a very obvious, very used diaper.

And I’m not letting Nanny Clara change me.

“You’re stinky again, Sophie,” she says gently, kneeling in front of me with the calm, patronizing tone they all use. Like I’m some baby who doesn’t know better. “Come on, sweetie. Time to get you cleaned up.”

“No,” I snap. I turn my face away like the toddlers do when they’re being bratty. “I like it.”

She blinks, but only for a moment. She’s trained for this. “Sophie,” she tries again, more firmly this time. “You’ve been sitting in that diaper for almost an hour. I can see it hanging between your knees.”

I spread my legs wider on purpose, grabbing one of the blocks and banging it on the floor.

“So?”

“So,” she says, biting back her sigh, “you need to be changed.”

“No, I don’t.”

She pauses. “You used to be such a big girl…”

I round on her. “Exactly. Used to. But you took that away. You put me in these. You made me sit in the corner until I messed myself. You’re the one who clapped when I did it. So now? Now this is you getting what you wanted.”

I shift deliberately, the mush shifting with me, and watch her flinch just the tiniest bit.

Deep down, some part of me loves it.

Nanny Clara puts the wipes and clean diaper back in the basket, standing slowly. “Fine,” she says, her tone still syrupy sweet. “You can come find me when you’re ready for a change, okay, sugarplum?”

I ignore her. She walks off.

Good.

I hate her. I hate all of them. I hate that they took away my panties, made me ask permission for everything, from snacks to TV time. But mostly, I hate that I stopped fighting.

Because now? I’m… getting used to it.

The padding between my legs feels natural. The squish doesn’t bother me anymore. The smell makes people wrinkle their noses and call me names “stinky butt,” “messy miss,” “diaper girl” but I’ve started to like those names.

When people talk down to me, coo at me, lift my skirt to check if I’m wet—I feel small. Powerless.

But safe.

That’s the worst part.

“Hey, diaper girl,” a voice calls.

I glance up. It's Brandon, one of the caretakers. Young, tall, broad shoulders and sleeves rolled up to show his arms. He’s smiling, crouching to my level, and he’s got that teasing twinkle in his eye.

I shift a little, letting the weight of my messy diaper tug at my hips.

He wrinkles his nose. “Yup, that’s what I thought.”

“What?”

“You filled your pants again, huh?” he says. He’s not mad. He’s amused. Like I’m a toddler who just finger painted on the walls.

I look down at the blocks, pretending not to care, but my cheeks go pink anyway.

“Did you already tell Clara no?”

I nod, sulking.

“Figures,” he chuckles. “You’re always so stubborn. Used to be the big bossy girl, remember? Telling everyone you were too old for naps and that only babies wore diapers.”

“I was right,” I mutter.

He leans in. “You still think you’re not a baby?”

I glare at him.

His eyes flick down to the bulging seat of my diaper.

“Coulda fooled me.”

I should hate that.

But I don’t.

I like the way he looks at me now. Not like an equal. Not like a girl with control. But like a helpless little thing who can’t even keep her pants clean.

And maybe I am that now. Not because they forced it on me but because I let them. Because it’s easier to lean into it than to keep fighting. Because it’s soft and warm and oddly comforting to give up the grown-up fight and just be… soggy.

“Come on,” he says, scooping me up like I weigh nothing.

I squeal in surprise, my arms going around his neck on instinct. “I didn’t say yes!”

He smirks. “You didn’t say no either.”

He carries me easily, one arm under my bottom, not even flinching at the squish he’s got his hand pressed against. The air shifts as he walks, and I catch a whiff of myself, sharp, thick, unmistakable.

He definitely notices. But he doesn’t stop holding me.

“Bet you’re proud of yourself, huh?” he murmurs, bouncing me slightly. “Filling your diapers like a good little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl,” I whisper, but it’s weak.

“Coulda fooled me,” he repeats, echoing himself.

He lays me down on the changing mat in the nursery, the crinkle of the plastic loud under my onesie. I stare at the ceiling as he un-snaps me, exposing the bulging diaper underneath. His hand hovers.

“Still want to say no?”

I glance down at the disaster I made in my pants, and I actually smile.

“Maybe just five more minutes,” I say softly. “I like how it feels.”

He raises a brow, but he doesn’t argue. Just gently re-snaps my onesie and sits beside me on the mat, tousling my hair.

“Guess you’re really one of the littles now, huh?”

I nod.

No shame. No fight left.

Just a warm, squishy diaper and the soft hand of someone who treats me like the messy little girl I’ve become.

And for the first time, I don’t want to be anything else.

[oaksgrove]

hello! can i request knight/ simon x princess reader, maybe with angst ? loved the one where the roles where inverted

Oathkeeper

Pairing: Knight!Simon Riley x Queen!Reader

Synopsis: You were crowned Queen in a wedding of duty, bound to a cold king who sees you as nothing more than a vessel for heirs. But Simon—your knight, your shadow, your heart—has never once failed you.

Warnings: Angst, emotional infidelity, mentions of implied non-explicit marital intimacy (cold/obligatory), quiet yearning, unrequited love, tenderness in secrecy, historical power dynamics

The wedding had happened in spring. A grand affair, hollow in its grandeur. Flowers bloomed, birds sang, and the kingdom celebrated—but not her. Not Simon.

He stood at her side, resplendent in silver and dark blue armor, unmoving like a statue as she walked toward the cold, pale prince who barely met her eyes. A man who bowed to duty but knew nothing of warmth. She had looked back once before taking the prince’s hand, eyes searching for Simon in the crowd.

And he had nodded.

That was months ago. Now, she was Queen. A Queen with no power. A wife in name, a consort for heirs. A soul caged in silk and expectation.

The King rarely visited her quarters, and when he did, it was always late, always silent. A touch here. A whisper there. Her fingers curled against satin sheets, her heart elsewhere. His duty ended as quickly as it began, and then he left, not even glancing back.

But Simon always came.

The door creaked softly, hinges long worn by quiet visits. She didn’t turn, only tightened the silk robe around her body, eyes fixed on the flicker of the candle by her bedside.

Simon’s armor was gone—he came to her like a ghost, dressed in quiet linen, the crest of the royal guard pinned discreetly to his chest. He never asked what happened. He never had to.

“You’re late,” she whispered, voice strained.

“I know,” he murmured, moving to kneel beside her. “I had rounds by the west gates.”

She turned to him finally, and Simon’s chest ached.

Her hair was tangled. Her cheeks were hollow. The bruises weren’t cruel, just proof of cold, indifferent obligation. But they were bruises all the same.

“I made you something,” he said, trying to distract her as he always did.

She didn’t ask what.

He helped her to her feet gently, hands firm but kind, and guided her toward the adjoining room where a small wooden tub steamed with rose-scented water. His hands undid the ribbon at her robe’s collar, eyes respectfully lowered, though he had seen her bare more than once.

Not like this.

Never like this.

She stepped into the bath and sank into the warmth with a soft sigh, head tilting back against the rim.

“I wish it was you,” she whispered.

His throat tightened.

“I wish it was you I married.”

He sat beside the tub, his knees bent, fingers slowly stirring the water near her hand. “If I could trade places with him, I would. You know that.”

“I do.” Her eyes opened, lashes wet from tears she hadn’t meant to cry. “But you’re the only one who treats me like I matter.”

“You matter more than anything.” He reached for a cloth, soaked it, and ran it down her back with reverence. “And I’ll stay. However you need me. Guard, knight, shadow.”

She leaned forward suddenly, resting her damp forehead against his. Her skin was warm, fevered from sorrow. “Just be here. Just for tonight.”

“I always am.”

Later, when her body trembled from exhaustion, he wrapped her in towels, dried her hair, and helped her into fresh linens. She clung to him, more girl than queen, more heart than duty.

He brewed her tea—chamomile and lavender—and cradled her against him in bed. The candlelight flickered as she finally drifted to sleep, his hand stroking her back, whispering comfort not even the crown could offer.

And in the silence of her chamber, Knight Simon Riley held the woman he would love for the rest of his life, even if she would never be his.

Because his oath wasn’t just to the crown.

It was to her.

And he’d honor it—no matter the cost.

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