#and she doesn’t even know because I had to break up with her because she ghosted me out of her life

[cowgirlvi]

mdni, sub top!vi with a dick, fem bottom!reader, vaginal sex, breeding

wc; 1,586

thinking about whiny, girlcock vi who has the most sensitive dick you’ve ever bared witness to. the two of you have been hooking up for months now and she might be the best sex you’ve ever had. her reactions are priceless too, especially when she first pops the head of her cock inside your hole and she looks like she’s ascended to heaven. you can always picture her blissed out face so clearly in your mind whenever you touch yourself.

her cock is girthy, so fat that you can’t even fit your entire hand around it, and when she’s inside you, you can feel her reach your bellybutton. plus, when she’s fucking into you, she moans as if she’s the one getting fucked. if anyone were to overhear, they’d assume those were your squeaky whimpers, the sounds of you begging.

sometimes you try to just lay back and relax, allow vi to ravage you with her cock, but then she’s breaking you out of your trance and asking if it feels good, if she’s doing it right— and you sigh because she’s so dependent on you, she needs you to tell her what to do. your pussy makes her feel dumb, it makes her brain melt out of her head.

currently, you’re in her lap, bouncing on her cock like she’s nothing more to you than a toy. you’re riding her with a maddeningly slow rhythm, just because you like the faces she makes when you do; like vi can’t decide if it feels good or if she’s going to cry out of frustration.

you whimper, clenching down hard on the thick shaft impaling you, feeling it pulse and throb inside your fluttering walls, feeling the heartbeat in the thick veins running up the sides. you grinds your hips down, taking vi as deep as she can go, loving the way that her fat cock-head kisses your cervix.

vi’s desperation is palpable, her hips twitching and jerking with the effort of holding still, of letting you set the pace. It's clear that she's absolutely dying to just grab your hips and rail into you with pathetic fervor, to fuck you through the goddamn mattress until you’re both a babbling, drooling mess. but she's trying so hard to be good, to let you use her like the fucktoy she is.

vi’s hips twitch with uncontrollable desperation against you and a sudden cry escapes her lips. “baby, fuuuck, please— just, just a little bit faster— ohh!”

“are you really going to— hmmff— going to make me tell you again, vi? stay still,” you say, grabbing her face firmly, cupping her chin so she’s forced to look up and see the disappointment in your eyes. then you lean in, capturing vi’s lips in a filthy kiss, all teeth and tongue as you suck the air from her lungs. you bite at vi’s bottom lip, tugging on it with your teeth before soothing the sting with a kitten-lick of your tongue. she moans into your mouth, pulling you closer to her chest with frenzy of hands. “just make me come. okay, sweetheart? then we can, ahh, talk about what to do with you.”

vi chokes on a sob. her eyes, so blue, are staring at you pleadingly. “you’re so t-tight— unghhh! holy shit, i can’t, i can’t, i can’t,” she mindlessly babbles.

vi clearly doesn’t realize the strength in which she’s gripping onto your waist, because it’s hurting you, but right now you can’t even bring yourself to care enough. you’re consumed by the thought of her cock, excited to feel her come inside you, to stuff you full of her arousal. the pain at your waist stings pleasantly anyway, it makes your pussy clench around her cock harder and she gasps as if she’s been stabbed.

”shhh, i know it’s hard, baby. but you gotta— hnngh— hold it together for me, you gotta wait until i’m, ahh, ready to come. don’t you want to feel me come around your cock?”

vi’s chest is heaving and her face is flushed a deep, pretty candy-pink. she’s staring at you like you hung all the stars in the sky. she looks utterly debauched, completely lost in the feeling of your velvet heat squeezing her so fucking tight, but she nods obediently anyway. she’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

”mmm, you can take it,” you say encouragingly, rubbing circles on her rosy nipples. vi’s head falls back against your headboard, moaning like she’s been gutted. you know she’s going to have a sore throat after this because she hasn’t been quiet once.

”ughh, mmmff, yes—“ vi’s moans are raspy and urgent. her breaths come out in sharp, staccato gasps and her eyelids flutter as she struggles to keep them open.

you hum pleasantly, pleased to see that you’re making vi feel so good, like she’s on another astral plane. sex with her is always intimate and passionate, despite how cruel you can often be.

vi puckers her lips, tilting her chin up to capture your own in a slow, deep kiss. it’s a stark contrast to the frantic, desperate kisses you shared earlier. your tongue traces the seam of vi’s lips, coaxing them apart, and then you’re slipping inside to stroke along vi’s own tongue, tasting her, savoring her.

vi whimpers into the kiss, her hands coming up to tangle in your hair, holding you close as she loses herself in the sensual slide of your mouths. she can taste herself on your tongue from an hour ago, when you had her cock down your throat. the lingering flavor of her own arousal mixes with the unique taste that is purely you, and it makes her head spin with desire.

pulling away, you pepper kisses down her neck— vi is sensitive everywhere, not just her cock. you suck more bruises into her flesh, laving your tongue over older marks that are beginning to fade away.

vi gasps sharply. she’s always been a sucker for neck kisses.

then, despite your numerous warnings this entire time, vi’s cock starts swelling as her orgasm approaches faster. you can feel her skin buzzing and you’re about to give her a piece of your mind, to remind her that you haven’t come yet, until she starts thrusting her hips up into your with abandon. you bite your tongue, holding onto her broad shoulders for dear life. your breasts bounce right in her face.

”yes, yes— oh my god, yes!” you cry, and you’re close, you can feel electricity starting in your toes and making its way up your body. 

vi’s back is arching off your headboard, her toes are curling in the sheets. her toned body withers beneath you, the muscles in her arms flexing as she starts to lose herself in the intense pleasure radiating from her core.

“fuck me, fuck me— nghhh, fuck me!” vi is chanting, then her words dissolve into a soundless scream of ecstasy as her climax crashes over her. 

vi’s entire body tenses up; she feels like a rock beneath you— hard muscles and all. her cock erupts like a volcano inside your pussy, jet after jet of white-hot come filling your womb. she’s shamelessly painting your insides white and her eyes are rolled back in bliss, her tongue lolling out of her mouth like a dumb puppy. she’s completely lost in the throes of her orgasm; she’s dizzy with the pleasure wracking her body.

you have no choice but to clench down hard on vi’s spasming cock, milking it for her entire creamy load. you grind down hard on her twitching shaft, taking every last inch of it inside your pussy. you want to feel vi’s come sloshing around in your stuffed cunt, you want to be absolutely filled with her essence.

vi’s cock gives a few more feeble pulses inside your hot, clenching cunt before finally starting to soften, the thick shaft slumping heavily against your stuffed walls.

that’s when you begin to orgasm on her cock, while she’s sensitive and exhausted, and vi lets out a sob when she feels your pussy walls contracting around her. it’s her punishment for coming before you. and you redouble your efforts, slamming your hips down with a brutal, punishing force that has the headboard slamming against the wall.

“ohhh, vi— mmf! feels so good, babe,” you moan, rolling your hips fast and uncoordinated. you’re grinding down on her so hard that you can feel her heavy balls slap against your ass, the ones that emptied her thick load inside you.

vi grips onto your waist, trying to pull you off her cock with hazy eyes, but you shove her hands away until you’re completely satisfied. vi lets out a garbled moan, her eyes rolling back in her head. every time you roll your hips and drop them into her lap, it sounds like you’re jumping in a puddle of rain outside; because vi’s lap is completely drenched in your wetness, her fat loads of come are messily spilling out around her cock, too much to fit inside you— making the mess even worse.

“fuuck— unngh!” vi sobs.

when you’re done, you collapse against vi’s chest. she looks utterly ruined, completely fucked out and satisfied in a way that makes your heart clench with possessive pride. vi sits there, utterly boneless and spent.

you don’t have the heart to be mad at her.

[azzibuckets]

All Fell Down ~Part 2~

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

*masterlist in collab w/ @imaginespazzi*

a/n: here’s my first part (azzi’s perspective)!! i know these chapters are short lol but bear with us :) let us know your thoughts!

It’s almost two in the morning and Paige is on the sticky floor of a filthy bathroom. She feels the burn in the throat where it’s raw from having puked up the shots she’d pounded earlier, and she feels the ache in her knees from kneeling from so long. She’s conscious of all this, and yet the thing that hurts the most is the excruciating feeling of half of me is missing throbbing in her heart.

From behind her, Paige hears the sound of shoes shuffling against tile. If she shuts her eyes hard enough she can almost smell the floral undertones of Azzi’s favorite perfume, feel the familiar comfort of Azzi’s calloused palm against her cheek. Her heart beats rampant as she indulges herself in thoughts of Azzi could be here, Azzi could be here and take Paige in her arms and everything would somehow be alright. But then a hand reaches out to smooth her hair back, wrapping a hair tie two times around before pulling it into a ponytail, and Paige has to swallow her hopes.

Azzi always ties it three times.

“I told you to slow down earlier.” Evina’s voice is gentle but firm, and Paige doesn’t have to look at her friend in the eyes to feel the disappointment dripping off her words.

Paige spits into the toilet one last time, trying to escape the bitter feeling of bile coating her tongue. “I’m fine,” she mutters, unleashing her long blonde hair and plumping it up in the mirror. “Just needed some space.” She studies herself in the mirror. She’s paler than usual, and her forehead is covered in a light sheen of sweat. But other than that, she looks pretty decent, even though she doesn’t feel like it at all. But isn’t life always about pretending?

“You’re going back out there?” Evina asks, not bothering to hide the judgment on her face.

“We just beat Notre Dame by 20 points. I think I deserve to let loose for one night.” Paige is on the defensive, but she doesn’t know why. Even she knows that she’s self-destructing, has been for the last two weeks. But what else are you supposed to do when she can’t stop missing something that she never had?

Evina’s eyebrows furrow, and Paige’s heart drops as the older girl’s face slowly morphs into pity. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“The way all of you guys keep looking at me.” Paige’s voice comes out strangled. She rubs harshly at her eyes as they start to dampen, willing herself to hold it together for one more goddamn second. Paige has gotten used to breaking down over the past year, but Azzi had always been one call away and now, for the last few months, only one hall away. But this time Azzi isn’t here to put her back together, and now she’s picking up the pieces alone.

“Getting drunk isn’t a healthy way to cope with your problems.”

“And what are my problems, Evina?” P aige laughs mockingly. “The fact that I can’t have a normal conversation with my best friend anymore? That I stutter if I talk to her for longer than five seconds? That I have to create space between us when it’s the last fucking thing I wanna do?” One after another, the words tumble out of her mouth, a cacophony of hurt and bitterness, and Paige presses a hand to her lips as she realizes what she’s done.

“You think we pity you?” Evina says incredulously. “Honestly, Paige, you’re the one who pities yourself.” The hardness of Evina’s tone yanks Paige out of her drunken stupor. She blinks at her teammate, at a loss for words. “Azzi’s the one who’s alone in her dorm right now. Azzi’s the one who’s sidelined with an injury and can’t play for god knows how long. Azzi’s the one who got to this school four months ago and needed, needs, her best friend to help guide her through everything, but is getting ignored because you’re too pussy to do anything about it.”

Evina turns to leave, but looks over her shoulder as she opens the door. Paige expects a glare, but the older girl’s eyes are uncharacteristically soft, the corners creased, and Paige thinks that’s even worse. “Go home, Paige. I mean it.”

Paige slumps against the wall, her mind reeling. Before she knows it, her phone is in her hand, the screen opened up to a photo of her and Azzi from her birthday a few years ago. Azzi’s arm is wrapped tightly around her, and Paige is leaning into her touch, like she always seems to subconsciously do. She remembers how Azzi’s hand had lingered on her waist even after Katie had put her camera down. She remembers clasping their hands together under the table, their fingers and their futures intertwined in a way that couldn’t be undone. She remembers being in the bathroom at the end of the night, drunk off chocolate and sugar and everything Azzi when she’d told her best friend that she was her favorite person in the entire world.

Paige doesn’t know she’s crying until a teardrop lands on her screen, but she hurriedly brushes it away before tapping on the number under the picture and bringing the phone to her ear.

“Paige?”

[d-z20]

Made to Suffer, Made to Serve (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: Caught in Agatha’s web of control, you find yourself entangled in a night of unrelenting dominance and submission, where every command is law and every touch is deliberate. With Rio trembling beneath you and Agatha’s sharp gaze keeping you in line, there’s no room for hesitation—only obedience.

-OR-

You thought you were just here for a drink, but now you’re balls-deep in Rio while Agatha micromanages your stroke game like an overbearing coach. When you disobey her order, you quickly find the roles reversed.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, dom stone top Agatha, sub bottom Rio, switch Reader has a penis, 'good girl' used for reader, edging, overstimulation, degradation, orgasm control, begging, breeding, blowjobs, rimjobs, pegging, 69 positioning, a singular spank

Words: 2.5k

A/N: Requested fic :)

AO3 | Masterlist

You don’t entirely know how you ended up here. One moment, you were just an acquaintance—someone who had, maybe foolishly, entertained Agatha’s invitation for a drink. The next, you found yourself wrapped up in something far beyond your usual experiences. It started slow—a knowing glance from Agatha, a playful touch from Rio that turned into something more. And somehow, it had escalated to this.

Now the air in their dimly lit bedroom is thick with the scent of sweat and anticipation. Rio is sprawled out on the bed, her wrists bound loosely with silk, her body trembling, her face a portrait of desperate need. She’s been like this for hours, denied and teased until she’s nothing but a quivering, overstimulated mess, her mind emptied of anything but want. Her lips are parted, her eyes glassy, and her whole body is trembling, just on the edge of breaking.

And Agatha—Agatha is standing beside the bed, looking as put-together as ever, her sharp eyes glinting with satisfaction. She’s the perfect picture of control, arms crossed over her chest, her mouth curled into a smirk that’s equal parts amused and cruel.

“Look at you, Rio,” she hums, tilting her head. “You’re fucking pathetic. Just a dumb little thing, shaking and whimpering because you can’t even think anymore, can you?”

Rio makes a sound—half whimper, half gasp—but doesn’t answer because she can’t. She’s too far gone, her body so desperate for release that she can do nothing but lie there and tremble.

Agatha chuckles and turns her gaze to you. You’re kneeling between Rio’s legs, gripping her thighs, your own body tense with the weight of the situation, your cock hard and aching with need. As much as you try to convince yourself you’re just here for the ride, you can’t deny the thrill that courses through you, the way your own arousal tightens deep in your chest.

“She’s been waiting all week for this,” Agatha murmurs, stepping closer, her fingers sliding along your jaw, tilting your head up to meet her gaze. “Haven’t you, sweetheart?” The question is meant for Rio, but she never takes her eyes off you. “And you—don’t get any ideas about mercy. You’re not here to be kind. You’re here to fuck her.”

You swallow hard, nodding, and Agatha smiles. It’s not a kind smile. “Good.”

She steps back, watching as you line the tip of your cock up, pressing against Rio’s soaked entrance, the heat of her making you groan under your breath. Rio whimpers, her body arching off the bed, her bound hands clenching in the sheets. But you don’t move yet—you wait, waiting for Agatha’s command.

“Slow,” Agatha instructs, her voice smooth and firm. “Make her feel it.”

You press in just an inch, and Rio’s whole body tenses, her legs trembling. A high-pitched whine escapes her lips, her head tipping back against the pillows.

Agatha laughs softly. “Look at her. She’s already falling apart.” She leans in close, whispering against Rio’s ear. “Poor thing. I bet you’d let anyone fuck you right now, wouldn’t you? Just desperate to be filled, to be used.”

Rio nods frantically, panting, her thighs squeezing around you, trying to pull you in deeper. But Agatha tuts, shaking her head. “No, no. You don’t get to move. Our sweet little guest here does. They’ll fuck you when I say they can.”

You bite your lip, dick throbbing, but you hold steady, gripping Rio’s hips, waiting. Agatha watches you for a long moment before nodding. “You can give her what she’s been begging for. But she’s not to cum. Not yet.”

You thrust in deeper, and Rio sobs, her whole body convulsing around you. She’s barely coherent, babbling nonsense, pleading with every breath, but you obey Agatha’s command. You pull back, slow and torturous, before thrusting in again, setting a rhythm that keeps Rio teetering right on the brink.

Agatha hums in approval, her fingers tracing over Rio’s flushed, sweat-damp skin. “That’s it. Keep her there. Keep her suffering.”

You don’t question her. You don’t slow down, either. Because Agatha told you to, and because you love the way Rio breaks under the pleasure, her body writhing, her mind slipping further and further away until all she can do is take what’s given to her. Exactly as Agatha intended.

You feel Agatha’s hand press slightly at the base of your spine. “Good, that’s it,” she hums, voice rich with satisfaction. “You see how pretty she is when she’s like this? Completely ruined. Just a body for you to use.”

Rio whines at the words, eyes glazed over as she rocks helplessly against you, trying to take more, trying to chase what you still refuse to give. She’s drenched in sweat, her skin burning hot under your touch, her thighs trembling from exertion. You almost feel bad for her; you almost give in to the way her walls clench around your aching cock so insistently.

But then Agatha grips Rio’s chin, tilting her face up to meet her dark, knowing gaze. “You want to cum, don’t you?” She coos mockingly.

Rio nods frantically, lips parted, but no words form beyond another needy sob.

Agatha chuckles, dragging her thumb over Rio’s bottom lip before tapping it lightly. “Too bad.”

Rio sobs again, throwing her head back, and Agatha turns her attention back to you. “And you, darling? You’re enjoying this too, aren’t you?” Her tone is amused, but there’s an edge to it, a command hidden beneath the casual question.

You swallow, nodding. “Yes, Agatha.”

Her smirk deepens. “Then keep going.”

And you do. Because you want to. Because Agatha told you to. And because you love every second of watching Rio unravel, just as Agatha intended.

However, you’re barely holding on yourself—the way Rio clenches around you, the way she sobs and whimpers, her body shuddering with every precise, agonising thrust. It’s intoxicating. You grip her hips harder, driving yourself deeper, feeling that tight coil in your stomach wind itself impossibly tight. Your breath stutters, and before you can stop yourself, the words tumble out—

“I’m—fuck—I’m gonna cum. Gonna fill you up so good.”

Rio keens at that, her entire body tensing, eyes glassy with tears as she chokes out, “Please, please—need it, need you to—”

“No, you’re not,” Agatha interjects coldly. Before you can react, she grips the back of your head, yanking you back just enough to force your gaze on her. Her eyes are sharp, unwavering.

You swallow hard, hips faltering for a split second, but her fingers tighten, nails scraping against your scalp. “Neither of you are allowed to.”

Your hips stutter, the order cutting through the haze of pleasure. You try to slow down, to hold yourself back, but Agatha's grip tightens, and then—a sharp smack lands on your ass, stinging and sudden. You jolt forward, a gasp tearing from your throat.

“I didn’t tell you to stop though, did I?” She scolds, voice smooth but firm.

A shudder runs through you, and you pick up the pace again, fucking Rio harder. You’re barely thinking anymore, just chasing that thin thread of control, focusing on Agatha’s steady presence, on her authority, on her voice. The heat in your gut coils tighter, every nerve alight, but you know you won’t last much longer.

Minutes pass, each thrust pushing you closer to the inevitable, until finally, your body betrays you. With a strangled grunt, you cum inside Rio, biting down hard on your lip, trying to play it off, trying to keep moving, to keep fucking Rio like you haven’t just disobeyed a direct order.

But Agatha sees. Of course she sees.

Her fingers dig into your jaw, forcing you still. “Oh? What’s this?” Her tone is mocking, full of condescending amusement as she watches it start to seep out of Rio, slick and glistening.

“How pathetic,” she continues, shaking her head.

Your whole body tenses as her words cut through the haze of your orgasm, as her fingers tighten in your hair again, pulling you away from Rio. “I gave you one order. One.” She shoves you back roughly, forcing you to pull out completely, leaving Rio twitching and empty beneath you. “And you couldn’t even follow that.”

You sit back on your heels, panting, your thighs trembling from exertion and shame as you watch Agatha’s lip curl in disgust. “Couldn’t even hold it. Couldn’t even control yourself for a few more minutes.” She huffs, shaking her head. “And you really thought you deserved to keep fucking her?”

You don’t answer; don’t dare to, because you know anything you say will only make things worse. Agatha tilts her head, considering you, before reaching out, fingers gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at her.

“I think you need a reminder of your place.” Her voice is deceptively soft, but the promise beneath it is anything but. “And how to follow simple instructions.”

You shiver, anticipation and humiliation twisting together in your gut as Agatha smirks.

“Clean it up.”

Your stomach clenches. The demand is clear. Hesitating would only make things worse. Swallowing hard, you lower yourself between Rio’s trembling thighs. You press your tongue to her swollen folds, tasting yourself as you lap up the mess you made. The mortification only adds to the heat pooling in your belly. Above you, Rio whimpers, her body twitching, overstimulated, and wrecked.

After untying Rio, Agatha watches you with a satisfied smirk. “Good girl. Now, get on all fours facing me.”

You obey instantly, positioning yourself as instructed. Agatha tightens the harness at her hips, running the silicone tip of her strap over your lips before pressing it between them.

“Suck.”

You take her in, moaning softly as she pushes deeper. There’s no affection in the act, no real pleasure for her—this isn’t about stimulation, not for Agatha. She’s using your mouth for convenience, nothing more than a means to slick up the strap, to prepare you for what’s next. She doesn’t react to your gags or the way you hollow your cheeks; she just watches with sharp, expectant eyes, waiting for you to do your job properly.

Behind you, Rio shifts, her breath warm against your ass before her tongue flicks out against your tight hole. The sensation makes you whimper, your body twitching under the dual stimulation.

A moan rips from your throat, muffled by the stretch of Agatha’s strap. She chuckles, fingers tangling in your hair, controlling your pace. “Look at you. So easy to break.”

Rio’s tongue is relentless, licking, teasing, and delving inside, and it leaves you trembling. You push back against her, needing more, but just as you start to lose yourself, Agatha shoves you down beside Rio.

“Enough.”

She wastes no time, spreading Rio’s thighs once more and thrusting in and out of her roughly. The lewd squelch echoes in the room, and Rio sobs in pleasure, too wrecked to form words. 

The force pushes more of your cum out, slicking the inside of her thighs. Agatha swipes it up with her fingers, then smears it across the strap before positioning herself behind you. “Ass up, baby.”

Your stomach clenches with anticipation as you do as you’re told and your breath hitches as you feel the pressure against your entrance. She doesn’t rush, doesn’t let you adjust—she just pushes in, inch by agonising inch, until you’re stuffed full, stretched, and shaking.

You whimper, pushing back against her, desperate for more. Agatha sets a rhythm, slow at first, making sure you feel every inch of her claim. But soon, it turns brutal. 

Your head drops forward, overwhelmed. And that’s when Rio moves beneath you, positioning herself so both of you have your heads in between the other’s legs.

“Go on,” Agatha orders. “Rio has earned her orgasm; let’s see if you can give it to her.”

You obey without question, lowering your mouth to Rio’s swollen, dripping folds. Your tongue flicks over her clit, fast and relentless, and Rio is right back on the edge after being denied for so long.

She chokes out a sob, her hips bucking up into your mouth, but Agatha’s firm grip keeps her pinned in place. “Stay still,” Agatha commands, voice sharp, “or I’ll make you wait even longer.”

Rio whimpers, but she obeys, her body trembling with restraint. And then, as if to urge you on, you feel her lips wrap around your length, her mouth warm, wet, and desperate as she takes you down her throat.

You groan at the sensation, hips jerking forward before Agatha’s firm hand at your lower back reminds you who’s in control here. Still, the wet heat of Rio’s mouth has you seeing stars, her tongue swirling, sucking, desperate to take everything you give her.

You work her just as ruthlessly in return, sucking and lapping at her oversensitive clit, feeling her body tense and quiver beneath you. She’s so close, hanging on by a thread, and then—with one last flick of your tongue—she shatters.

Rio climaxes with a strangled, broken cry, her entire body convulsing as pleasure crashes over her. Her legs quake, her hands clawing at the sheets as she drowns in her long-overdue release. It’s messy, overwhelming, and absolutely beautiful.

You cry out, caught between them as Agatha pounds into you from behind, forcing you further into Rio’s mouth. It’s too much, too good, every nerve alight, every sensation amplified by the relentless pace.

Agatha grips your hips tighter, thrusting harder. “Don’t you dare cum again until I say so.”

She doesn’t stop. If anything, she pounds into you harder, using your body as she pleases, pulling you closer until you’re dizzy, breathless, and utterly lost in the pleasure.

You can feel yourself unravelling again, pleasure coiling tight and desperate. “Please,” you whimper, barely able to form the words. “Please, let me—”

Agatha hums, dragging her nails down your spine. “Do you think you deserve it?”

You nod frantically, eyes squeezed shut. “Please. Please, I—”

“I don’t think you do,” she considers for a moment, “but you’ve already proven you can’t hold off, so do it, cum for me,” she relents.

Relief and ecstasy crash over you at once, and you shudder as you finally reach your peak, your cum spurting down Rio’s throat as she swallows you greedily. The pleasure is blinding, your body quaking from the intensity.

Agatha pulls back slowly, letting you collapse beside Rio, utterly spent. She strokes a hand down your spine, her touch almost gentle. Almost.

A satisfied hum leaves her lips as she surveys you both—wrecked, used, and thoroughly ruined beneath her. She leans in, fingers curling under your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze. “Next time, you’ll do better.”

A flicker of something warm pools low in your stomach at her words. A promise. A threat. A guarantee that this won’t be the last time she has you like this, weak and obedient under her command.

And god, you can’t wait.

-----

Agatha for sure knew exactly what she was doing and wanted you to end up disobeying her because she wanted to peg you. She just likes watching you struggle first

-----

taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6ange19 @jujuu23 @juls-stark

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

General Sevika Headcannons

Sevika x Female Reader (Fluff)

Content (w): You’re horny in like.. once? Angst at the end, but its short.

Proofread || Note: I didn’t mean to disappear, writers block got to me :( Kinda short and this is, a tiny bit, rushed.

MEN DO NOT INTERACT!!!!

Random

Big on whistling. Does it when she needs your attention, when she’s checking you out, even when she’s teasing. She likes seeing the look on your face. Especially eye rolls, do one with a face and she’s giddy.

Insanely good at Sudoku. She picked it up a while back when Silco taught her the magic behind the numbers. Now, she’ll challenge the old man and watch as he pinches the bridge of his nose while she’s smiling smugly.

Loves when call her, or anything that belongs to her, cool. She likes being cool. That’s probably why she lets her cape fly off during fights.

Hates her glasses, mainly because they lack functionality, but enjoys seeing you thirst over them. She’d going blind and you’re over here drooing over her, she loves that. And, just for fun, she’ll wear a turtleneck; which, gets you hornier than ever.

Expression

Is she good at being romantic? No. She’s never had someone to be.. soft with. In a way, you’re the first person she’s ever opened up to. Be it letting you know her interests, her dislikes, her favourites, or just small, “not so very tough” things about her. However, she’s only just getting used to those things.

Flowers is all Sevika really knows. On her way back from her backbreaking job, she’ll grab you a few flowers from the market or straight up pluck one she randomly saw and surprise you.

Not so good with words. That woman doesn’t have a clue on how to comfort you. Why? Because she’s never been in a situation where she’s had someone talk her through her problems. Where she’s been able to let slip an ounce of vulnerability. Tragic, but she’s learning.

Things she does that she doesn’t realize

Stares so much that, before the two of met, it scared you. You thought you were her next target and lived in fear for the next week or so until the woman, finally, decided to talk to you. And, after a few months of dating you finally brought it up. She denied it at first but, when she caught herself staring at you a million more times she came clean.

“I was only appreciating you.” She brings it up so abruptly that you’re confused, “what are you talking about?”

With a sip of her whiskey, she rolls her eyes and sighs.

“Nothing..”

Her grip’s a little too hard. Her flesh fingers always end up digging into your waist whenever she’s trying to keep you close. Your girlfriend never noticed it until you had to talk to her about the slight redness she had left on your skin. And, for the next week, Sevika brought home boquets of flowers— not the cheap kind— every day until you told her you forgave her. (You didn’t know she wanted you to say so.)

So sassy that you sometimes have to take deep breaths in order to not tell her off. It’s not on purpose, she’s just so used to having that tone. One time you thought she was pissed at you when, in reality, she was just trying to find the next row for her Sudoku round.

Snores loudly. Jannah have mercy on your soul because that woman will not stop snoring for the love of her life. You’ve tried giving her different pillows, different positions, anything and everything, but nothing seems to work. Somehow, over time, you found a way to fall asleep with her deep snores beside you, even though, sometimes, you want to smack her in the face with a pillow.

Dislikes/Hates

Being ignored. Sevika will, quite literally, go insane if you ever give her the silent treatment. She’s not used to being treated like she’s not there— hell, she’s one of the most respected woman in Zaun, why would she be alright with not being acknowledged? Just to get back at you, she’ll annoy you until you break. Chewing loudly in your ear or shaking you up by heavily sitting on the couch beside you, she’s determined, and she knows you know that.

Her own overthinking. She’s been through a lot, and she doesn’t know why you still stick around with all her problems. Even the risk of you being in danger, because of her, makes her stay awake at night, she doesn’t want to lose you and she hates how her mind needs constant reassurance that you want the same thing. Even though she rarely says the amount of doubts she has, she’ll hit you with this look that only you can read. It’s a silent need that you, happily, provide. Murmuring soft words she’ll end up being embarrassed about later.

The saddest one of them all: her face. :(((( Seeing herself in the mirror makes her feel a sense of shame that she’s never fully able to verbally express. It’s the scars that make her feel self conscious, the wrinkles on her face that makes her groan, the masculinity of her jaw that makes her question herself. But, luckily for her, she’s got this amazing girlfriend, you, who will reassure all her problems away. You swoop in when you hear how quiet the apartment has gotten, follow behind her and give her a few looks of awe and comment on whatever she needs you to. Tell her she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen and she’ll melt. Smiling like some teenager while looking away in embarrassment; in that moment, she’s thinking about how lucky she is to have you with blush on her cheeks.

[honeyryewhiskey]

mirrored souls

or, dean dreams of what he believes he can never have. warnings ! angst, hurt/some comfort, dean's feelings are hurt, unexpected pregnancy, tough conversations, two ppl with the same fears j's note ! hey so let's not even talk about the fact that this is neither of the two fics i posted snippets of lol idk what possessed me to write 5k fucking words for this i'm sorry i just want to baby trap dean winchester erm idk enjoy? it's sad but maybe pls dont take my word for it i'll continue this and let them be happy also i stopped proof reading half way through bc it is my bed time <3 5k words

He’s had this dream every night for weeks. 

The sun is golden, thick with warmth, stretching over endless fields of green. It settles on his skin like an old friend, seeps into his bones, loosening the ever-present tension in his shoulders. The air is clean, carrying the scent of wildflowers and summer, and for the first time in his life, he feels safe. Like he could lie back in the grass, close his eyes, and let the world move on without him.

Then, he hears her.

A laugh—small and weightless, like wind chimes in a summer breeze—rings through the stillness. It stops him cold, strikes something deep in his chest that he doesn’t know how to name.

He turns, and she’s there.

She can’t be older than four, standing barefoot in the grass, staring up at him with wide, curious eyes—green as polished emeralds, too big for her little face. His eyes.

But everything else—her delicate nose, the slope of her cheekbones, the way her wild hair frames her face—that’s you.

She tilts her head, smiling in a way that makes something inside him shatter. Then she reaches for him, small fingers wrapping around his calloused hand like she’s always belonged there.

And just like that—like the break of a wave, like the snap of a thread—she’s gone.

Dean wakes with a sharp inhale, the remnants of warmth already fading, replaced by the cold press of reality. His chest aches, heavy with something deeper than longing. A quiet, creeping fear slithers in, curling around his ribs.

Because she has his eyes and your face—a combination that will never exist.

You left. And you haven’t come back in months.

It was always cat and mouse with you—years of fleeting moments, an unspoken desire for more that neither of you had the courage to face. You’d cross paths, use each other's bodies to release some tension, but never linger long enough to ignite anything real. 

Until about eight months ago, when everything changed. You stayed longer than just a weekend. Dean had you in his arms for four months—four months that felt like a lifetime of stolen moments, of finally letting down walls you both had built so high. But when it all started to feel too real, when the weight of it all settled between you like an unspoken truth, you pulled away. You told him it was too much, that you needed space, that you couldn’t do it anymore. You needed to breathe, to step back before it swallowed you whole. And with that, you walked away, leaving him to sift through the pieces of something that was never meant to last.

His heavy hand slams down on the bleating alarm clock beside his bed. The sharp noise cuts off, leaving only the ragged sound of his breathing in the dark. He drags a hand down his face, fingers pressing into his tired eyes, but it doesn’t do anything to clear the remnants of the dream—the sunlight, the laughter, the way she looked at him like he was her whole damn world.

Dean exhales sharply and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Another short night, another dream of something that doesn’t exist, of someone who will never be real. He tells himself it’s just a trick of the mind, a byproduct of too many years spent running on empty. But the truth—the one he won’t say out loud—is that the dreams never started until you left.

And maybe that’s what makes them feel more like a haunting than a fantasy.

He’s spent each day the past four months trying to shove it down, burying it under booze and hunts and half-hearted distractions. But it doesn’t matter how many times he tells himself he’s over it, that he saw it coming. Because he did. He knew you would run the second things got too real, the second you got too close, too comfortable, like maybe you wanted this life with him.

And then, just like his dream, you were gone.

You never said it outright, but he knew—deep down, you were always more like him than you wanted to admit. Built for the road, for the chase. Love wasn’t something you stayed for.

Except you never really left, not completely.

Every now and then, his phone would ring, and it’d be your voice on the other end—casual, distant, asking about a hunt, about a lead on something nasty you were tracking. Always avoiding the bigger conversation, never asking how he’s been, never giving him the chance to ask where you are.

And Dean let it happen. Let you keep him at arm’s length. Because at least this way, you were still something in his life.

But now, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, the dream still fresh in his mind, it pisses him off.

He stands, yanking on a t-shirt and running a hand through his hair before heading for the door. He just needs coffee—something to shake off the lingering ache sitting heavy in his chest.

But the second he steps into the hall, Sam is there, hovering with that anxious look that never means anything good.

“Hey,” Sam starts, lifting a hand like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Before you go in there, just—don’t freak out, okay?”

Dean’s stomach tightens, his muscles tensing. The look he cuts Sam with makes the younger brother’s eyes widen, searching for words to mediate and settle the storm brewing at either side of him. “Sam, what the hell are you—”

Before Sam can answer, Dean hears it.

The sound of pacing. Quick, uneven steps against the kitchen floor. His body goes still, his breath catching in his throat. He doesn’t need to see you to know.

You’re here.

Dean’s pulse pounds in his ears. His stubborn rage choking out the glimmer of childish hope that sets his nerves on fire. He stares at Sam, waiting for some kind of explanation, but Sam just shifts on his feet, uneasy.

That’s when another sound cuts through the silence—your voice.

Muffled, pacing, like you’re muttering to yourself between shallow breaths.

Dean swallows hard, his jaw clenching as he pushes past Sam. His mind is already racing, his thoughts a tangled mess of you, his dreams, his heartache and the damn voice in his head telling him to grip you tight enough so that you can’t leave him again. Whatever this is, whatever brought you back, he’s not in the mood for it. Not today. Not after all this time.

But when he steps into the kitchen, the world tilts on its axis.

You freeze mid-step, eyes wide, hands curled tightly around the edge of the counter as if you’re holding yourself together, bracing for something. For him, maybe. Your posture is rigid, your whole body taut with tension. You look… different. There’s an unreadable heaviness in the way you stand, the nervous bite of your lip as you chew it—like you’re preparing for a blow, for him to lash out, to reject you. 

A heavy silence falls over the room, thick and suffocating. His heart hammers in his chest, but there’s no anger now, no easy target to aim it at. Just this painful, aching pull between what he wants and what he’s afraid to hope for.

“You…” He’s barely able to get the word out. His throat feels tight, words caught somewhere between anger and something much softer, something more dangerous. He’s not sure which one is scarier.

You glance at him, then quickly look away, the uncertainty in your eyes like a crack in a mirror he never thought he’d see. Dean feels something in his chest twist—familiar, painful, like it’s been waiting for you to come back and break him open all over again.

His mind is a whirlwind. He wants to be angry—hell, he’s had four months of anger built up over your disappearing act. But standing here, with you so close, he realizes just how torn he is inside.

He wants to scream at you, demand to know why you didn’t come back sooner, why you couldn’t have just stayed. But that’s not the real question, is it? Because deep down, a part of him knows it wasn’t just you who ran. It was him, too. He shut off long ago, convincing himself it was easier that way. He was easier that way.

But you? You always seemed to slip through his defenses.

Dean stares at you, struggling to find his voice, his hands suddenly feeling useless at his sides. The walls he’s built up for his entire life—years of anger, bitterness, and pain—are cracking, piece by piece, and he has no idea how to stop it.

Dean crosses his arms, trying to shove down the storm already brewing inside him. “Well,” his voice is rough with sleep and something dangerously close to hurt. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Your spine straightens, and just like that, the tension shifts. Whatever nerves had you pacing seconds ago are buried under the sharp edge of your own attitude. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly plan on it either.”

Dean scoffs, a bitter chuckle, the undertone to the eye roll he throws you. “Oh, great. That makes me feel real special.”

“I…” You hesitate, fingers digging into the edge of the counter before you let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, Dean. I don’t know if this is the right thing, or if I’m just—” you stop yourself, biting your lip again. You were never as good as he was at hiding your pain. It’s evident now, in the vulnerability in your eyes that cuts through him, raw and unguarded, and it makes everything inside him spin faster.

Sam clears his throat. “Why don’t I give you guys some space?” He glances between the two of you, clearly ready to escape the tension.

Dean doesn’t look at him, just stares at you as you stand firm, the scowl on your face trying desperately to cover the sadness in your eyes. The fact that you’re asking for anything at all should piss him off. After months of the half-hearted check-ins that only ever came when you needed something, after the way you left—why should he give you the time of day?

But he can’t say no.

And that scares him more than anything.

Sam nods to himself when neither of you protest and slips out of the kitchen, leaving you and Dean in thick, suffocating silence.

“Why are you here?” His voice comes out quieter than he intended, but the question hangs in the air, laced with something deeper, something that sounds too much like hope. A falsehood he’s terrified to acknowledge.

You take a shaky breath, your shoulders slumping just slightly, as if the weight of being in the same room as him is too much to carry alone.

Dean takes a step toward you, his feet heavy on the floor, his chest aching. His instincts shout at him to pull away, to protect himself from the inevitable hurt, but something else—something buried deep inside him—begs him to go closer.

The words come out before he can stop them, quieter now, barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can do this again, are we gonna keep pretending we have nothing to talk about?”

You wince, a flicker of pain crossing your face, and it rips through him. He wasn’t trying to hurt you, but he can’t stop the words. He can’t stop the fear, the resentment, that’s built up over all this time.

"I don't know if I can just act like nothing ever happened between us. Like you didn't leave me. Like..." His voice breaks off, his throat thick with emotion he’s been swallowing for far too long. He’s not even sure who he’s trying to convince anymore, you or himself.

His hands are trembling now, and he clenches them into fists, fighting to keep the storm inside him contained. But every time he looks at you, sees the way you’re standing before him, so tired and lacking the fire that he always adored. That you’re here now when he never thought he’d see you again, it pulls him under a wave of emotion he can’t quite place.

“I don’t know how to do this, not after everything,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. “You can’t just waltz back in here and expect me to be okay with it.”

Your eyes fill with regret, but there's something else too—a quiet understanding. You know what you’ve done. You know what this looks like, but still, you're standing here. And that small, painful spark of hope flickers in the pit of his stomach.

“Can we just sit and talk, please?” Your voice is soft, pleading. And this time, you don’t look away.

Dean stands there, his whole body tense, his mind screaming conflicting words in the crosshairs—walk away, stay. But something in your gaze, in your quiet desperation, tugs at him. For a moment, he’s paralyzed—conflicted in the most unfamiliar way.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, he nods. “Fine. But we talk,” he jabs a finger at you, his brows set with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat, “really talk. No more running.”

You nod, your shoulders relaxing, just slightly, and Dean wonders, not for the first time, if maybe—just maybe—he’s still capable of believing in the possibility of this. Of you.

His eyes narrow, the weight of years of unresolved anger and hurt pressing down on him. But despite it all, despite everything you put him through, he can’t seem to dig his heels into this anger. Not when you’re standing here, so close, with those big, pleading eyes that always seemed to strip him bare.

The years of touch and go, the broken promises, the words left unsaid—they all float between you, a suffocating fog that neither of you knows how to break. But Dean’s tired. Tired of fighting this pull, this pull toward you he can’t seem to ignore, no matter how many times you leave.

With a frustrated sigh, he crosses the kitchen, the hard floor beneath his boots clacking louder than it should. He grabs two chairs from the worn wooden table, scraping them across the linoleum as he sets them down. Wordlessly, he nods toward the seat beside him.

“Sit,” he mutters, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.

You stand there for a moment, the air between you thick with things left unsaid. And then, quietly, you take the seat next to him.

Dean can feel the weight of the moment in every fiber of his being. He doesn’t want to look at you. Not yet. Not until he’s ready to hear whatever it is you came to say.

The silence stretches on, thick and uncomfortable, as you sit side by side, neither of you knowing how to begin.

Finally, you clear your throat, a small sound, but it’s enough to break through the tension. “Look, I know I don’t have the right to ask you for anything. But… can we just talk, like we used to? No games. No running away this time, okay?”

Dean stares at the table in front of him, his fingers tapping restlessly against the edge. Your words hit harder than he expected, and for a second, his chest tightens with something raw and unfamiliar.

“I don’t know how to do this anymore, you know?” he says quietly, almost to himself. “Every time you leave… it’s like you take a piece of me with you. And I’m just left here picking up the pieces, wondering if you’ll ever come back.”

You wince at the admission, and it hits him harder than he wants to admit. He doesn’t know why he said it—maybe because this is the first time in years that you’re actually sitting here, facing him. Maybe because it’s the first time in years that he feels like you might actually be willing to stay.

You reach out, placing a tentative hand on his, stilling the tapping. And for a brief moment, his breath catches.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Dean,” you say softly. “I never wanted to be another person who hurts you.”

to forget the months of silence, the aching space you left behind. He wants to pull you close, bury his face in your neck, and pretend none of it ever happened—that you never walked away, that he never let you.

But reality crashes down just as fast.

He can’t let himself go there, can’t let himself believe this is something he can have without it slipping through his fingers. So instead, he exhales sharply, shoving that fragile part of himself deep down where it belongs. His jaw tightens, and when he finally speaks, his voice is rough, edged with his angry armor.

“Then why did you leave?” he grits out, his voice quiet but commanding. He needs to know. Needs to understand why the person he thought he might finally let himself love disappeared without a trace.

You pull your hand back, lips pressed tight. “I—”

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy, like the weight of months spent apart. Dean’s still trying to wrap his head around what’s happening, why you’re here, why you’re sitting beside him, but something shifts in your expression.

You take a deep breath, eyes falling to your lap before lifting to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words soft but full of weight. “I’m sorry for always running off. For disappearing when things got too real. I know it’s not fair.”

Dean’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t know what to say, what to feel.

“I was scared,” you continue, voice breaking just a little. “I still am. I…” Your words falter, but then you press on, searching his eyes for understanding. “I was consumed with this fear of losing it all. That I’d attach myself to you and this life would rip you away.”

The quiet admission sits heavy in the air. Dean feels his heart thudding faster beneath his rib cage. A pang of regret washes over him, for never admitting he shared that fear. That he thought he would be the thing that rips you apart. And maybe if he had, you wouldn’t have felt alone in those thoughts. 

You run a hand through your hair, a nervous gesture, and he watches the movement, the tension in your body. “I didn’t think I could do this. I didn’t think we could do this. I don’t see a world where something like that survives,” you shake your head, lost in the thoughts that shuffle through as you try to find your words, “Where… where we get a happy ending.”

Dean feels his chest tighten, his pulse speeding up as he takes in what you’re saying. The words hang between you, both of you holding your breath. And for a long, painful moment, the only sound in the room is the distant hum of the refrigerator, a constant reminder that time is still moving, even when it feels like everything’s frozen in place.

“I’m not saying that I don’t want it, Dean,” you add quickly, your voice cracking. “I just—I don’t know how to believe it’s possible. But I didn’t come here to ask for you to take me back.”

Dean stares at you, his pulse hammering against his ribs. There it is—that damn crack in your voice, the one that always cuts through him like a blade. He wants to be angry, to hold onto the bitterness that’s been festering since you left, but it slips through his fingers the second he sees the way you’re looking at him. Like you’re scared. Like you don’t expect him to want this.

Like you don’t expect him to want you.

His throat tightens, his fists clenching at his sides as he fights the urge to reach for you. “Then what do you want?” His voice is quieter now, rougher. “If you’re not here to ask me for anything, then why come back?”

You open your mouth, then close it, searching for words. Your fingers twist in the hem of your jacket, your shoulders curling inward, like you’re bracing for him to tear you apart. And damn it, that does something to him, because he’s never wanted to be the reason you look like that.

Dean drags a hand down his face, trying to ground himself. His mind is a battlefield, waging war between the fear clawing at his insides and the need to fix this—fix you. But how the hell is he supposed to do that when he’s still not sure how to fix himself?

“You don’t know how to believe it’s possible?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, join the damn club.” His chest feels too tight, his voice breaking under the weight of it. “You think I had some fairytale idea of us, sweetheart? That I thought this would be easy?” He lets out a breath that’s more of a laugh, humorless and hollow. “Hell, I don’t even know if I’d be any good at this. But you didn’t give me the chance to figure it out, did you?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, a tear slipping down your cheek before you can stop it. And God, he hates that. He hates seeing you cry. Hates even more that he’s the reason for it.

“I was scared,” you whisper, your voice breaking apart like shattered glass. “I am scared.”

Dean swallows hard, his anger flickering, giving way to something deeper, something more painful. He’s scared too. He’s scared as hell. Of not being enough. Of screwing this up. Of losing you all over again.

But when he looks at you—when he sees the way you’re trembling, barely holding yourself together—it hits him. He’s not the only one drowning in this.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair before finally, finally stepping forward. His hands hover for a second before settling on your arms, grounding you. Grounding himself.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, softer now, “I guess we can be scared together.”

You drag the backs of your hands across your cheeks, trying to contain the tears that just won’t stop flowing. “No, Dean, you don’t get it—” you cut yourself off with a groan. Your breathing is coming out uneven as anxiety pulls at your every nerve, and suddenly you can’t sit still. You can’t do this. 

You’re up on your feet again, pacing slightly as you try to steady your breathing. 

Dean watches you, his stomach twisting as you distance yourself. There’s a wild, frantic energy in the way you move, your arms wrapping around yourself like you’re trying to hold yourself together. Your breath is uneven, shaky, and those damn tears keep slipping past your lashes no matter how hard you try to blink them away.

His fingers twitch at his sides, itching to reach for you again, to do something—anything—to stop that panicked look from overtaking your face. It melts his resolve, steadies his rising temper.

His voice comes quieter this time, hesitant. “Hey—what’s going on?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you press the heels of your hands into your eyes, shaking your head as if you can will away whatever storm is raging inside you.

Dean’s chest tightens. His mind is running through every possibility, each one worse than the last. “Sweetheart,” he tries again, the pet name easing off his tongue as if no time had passed since he last called you that, “talk to me.”

"I... I didn't catch it in time, I'm sorry." You start, your voice barely more than a whisper, the words thick with something he can't quite name. Your eyes squeeze shut as if the simple act of speaking is too much.

Dean’s chest tightens, a knot of confusion twisting in his stomach. “What the hell are you talking about?” His tone is gentle now, trying to coax it out of you, but the moment you raise your eyes, he sees it—the fear, raw and trembling beneath the surface.

He’s on his feet again, closing in on you like you’re a scared animal that’ll take flight from any sudden movement. 

“I just thought it was stress making me miss my period again, but…” You choke, your voice cracking as if admitting it out loud is tearing something inside you apart.

Dean’s breath hitches, and his heart races, but he doesn’t dare interrupt you, his own confusion giving way to a growing sense of dread. He takes another step toward you, but you flinch, eyes shimmering with tears that slip through your heavy breathing.

You finally break, the tears turning into sobs that shake your shoulders. You shake your head, wiping at your face again, as if trying to push it all away. But it’s too late now.

“I’m scared, D.” You gasp the words out, the weight of them crushing you. “I’m so scared.”

Dean’s chest tightens, a cold sensation creeping down his spine, even as his heart lurches in his chest. He can feel the tremor in your voice, the rawness in every syllable, but he can’t make sense of it. The world seems to slow, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place—but not quickly enough for his mind to catch up.

“What… What are you saying?” He asks, his voice quiet, strained with confusion and something that feels dangerously close to panic.

You glance up at him, eyes wide and glassy with tears. You open your mouth, but the words seem stuck, lodged in your throat. The silence between you is deafening.

Finally, you take a deep breath, almost like you’re gathering the strength to face something unbearable. “I’m pregnant, Dean.” The words fall from your lips in a broken whisper. “I’m pregnant.”

Dean freezes. His entire body goes still, as though he’s forgotten how to breathe. The weight of your words hits him like a freight train, and for a moment, everything goes silent except for the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

Pregnant.

His mouth goes dry, his thoughts scrambling, trying to make sense of it all. The pieces click into place—the missed periods, the way you looked at him when you walked in, the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes.

His dreams.

 He takes a half-step back, his mind too far behind, too rattled by the weight of what you just said.

And then, slowly, it hits him—this isn’t just a shock; it’s a bombshell. One that could tear everything apart, and yet, at the same time, it pulls something from him that he hasn’t felt in a long time. The edges of his world begin to blur. He’s scared. He’s terrified.

“Are you… are you sure?” His voice comes out rough, almost panicked, like he’s waiting for you to tell him this is some sick joke, but he knows it’s not.

You nod, sniffling. "I took a test, I went to the doctor and they told me I was already four months along." you whisper, choking back a sob. "I didn’t know what to do."

Dean steps closer, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady you. But you flinch again, the space between you thick with everything you’ve never said to him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to tell you. I could have just called, I should have—” Your voice cracks, and you finally meet his gaze, eyes full of everything—regret, fear, and a raw, aching vulnerability that threatens to break him.

Dean's heart races, the panic starting to crawl up his throat. He wants to scream, to tell you that he’s terrified—that he doesn’t know how to be a father, that he’s too broken, too fucked up to raise a kid. The thought of something happening to you, to your child, terrifies him in ways he can’t even put into words. But you’re standing there, so small, so vulnerable, looking at him like he’s the only one who can fix this. And damn it, he has to be strong.

He closes the distance between and pulls you into his arms before either of you can second guess it. His hands are warm and steady on your back, but inside, his mind is a storm. His pulse is erratic, his breath shallow, but he holds you close, trying to give you the comfort he doesn’t know how to find for himself.

“Hey,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice like a lighthouse to steer your sinking ship. “Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re not alone in this.”

You shake your head against his chest, a shaky breath escaping. “I’m so scared, Dean. I don’t know what to do.”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression soft but full of intensity. His thumbs pushes away your tears, warm and rough against your skin. “You don’t have to know right now,” he assures you, trying to convince himself as much as you. “We’ll figure it out. One step at a time. I’m here, okay? We’ll get through this.”

Inside, though, his mind is spinning out of control. He doesn’t know how to be the man you need. He doesn’t know if he can even be the father this child deserves. But in this moment, he’s all you have. And somehow, he knows that no matter how badly he’s freaking out, no matter how scared he is, he’ll find a way to make this work—for you, for the little life growing inside of you.

He gently strokes your hair, pressing his cheek to the top of your head, grounding himself in the act. “We’ll figure it out,” he whispers again, his voice thick with the promise of something more than just words.

But inside, the panic churns, a rising tide he can’t escape. He holds you tighter, pretending for your sake that everything will be fine, even as the weight of the world presses down on him.

edit to add tags why do i always forget tags @titsout4jackles @floralscented @deansbeer @snowluvvie @ultravi0lence14

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 2

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy, seizures and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

By the time Lizzie heard the knock on her door, she was almost regretting inviting Lando over.

Not because she didn’t want to see him—she did. But because she was still exhausted, her limbs felt like lead, and she hadn’t had the energy to change into anything more presentable than this.

Which was how she found herself standing in front of her door, dressed in sweatpants and a vintage Ferrari hoodie that was older than both of them, trying to summon the will to care.

She pulled the door open, and there he was—Lando Norris, grinning at her like she hadn’t texted him less than 6 hours ago to say, Hey, I had a seizure, so can we not do the fancy restaurant thing?

“Hey,” he said, then his eyes dropped to her hoodie. His expression morphed into pure betrayal. “You—Lizzie.” He pointed. “Is that—is that a Ferrari hoodie?”

She crossed her arms, ignoring the amusement bubbling in her chest. “It was my dad’s.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” Lando said, still staring at it like it personally offended him. “It makes it worse. It’s, like, vintage blasphemy.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes and stepped aside to let him in. “You’re in my apartment. You don’t get to insult my clothes.”

“I absolutely do.”

“You really don’t.”

"You literally live in Woking," Lando said darkly as he stepped into her apartment. "A stone throw away from the MTC!"

Lizzie rolled her eyes once more, closing the door behind him. "And I'm still a Ferrari girl at heart."

Lando groaned, shaking his head. "You're breaking my heart here, you know that?"

"Is now the time to mention that Mara is also named after Ferrari?" she asked with a grin, as he followed her into the kitchen and sat down a grocery bag on the counter.

Lando blinked. "How is Mara named after Ferrari?" he asked her.

"Well, Mara is short for Maranello," Lizzie said brightly.

Lando's mouth fell open. "You have got to be kidding me," he said, staring at her. "Your dog is named after Ferrari headquarters?"

Lizzie just smiled, not even trying to hold back her amusement. "Yep," she said, popping the p on the word.

"First the hoodie, then the dog... what's next, a Vettel tattoo?" Lando asked her with a sigh.

"I mean, I was considering it," Lizzie said, completely deadpan.

For a moment, Lando actually looked worried. "You're joking, right? Please tell me you're joking."

Lizzie cackled, a deep, full-belly laugh. "Relax, Lando. I'm kidding."

His shoulders sagged. "You're an evil woman. An actual evil woman."

"What is even in there?" she asked with a nod to the grocery bags.

Lando smirked. “Backup nuggets.”

Lizzie frowned. “Backup nuggets?”

“In case yours suck.”

Lizzie snorted. “Wow. True trust issues.”

Lando grinned, but there was something softer behind it. She felt it when he looked at her for just a second too long.

She shoved the nuggets into the oven before he could say anything annoying about it.

"I also brought ice cream. I didn't know what you like..."

"Vanilla," she said immediately.

"Vanilla it is," he agreed. "Where's Mara by the way?"

Lizzie's eyes darted down the hallway. "She's probably passed out in the living room, honestly," she said. "Dad said she barely left my side last night, poor thing. Probably wore herself out."

Lando winced. "I can imagine. Must've been pretty freaked out, huh?"

Lizzie nodded. "She kept licking my face. Apparently they do that to wake you up when you have a seizure."

For a moment, his gaze softened, and he looked at her thoughtfully. "You don't get hurt, right? When you have a seizure, I mean."

"Generally, no," Lizzie said, "I might accidentally bite my tongue, and I'm usually sore and tired after, but I don't get hurt."

Lando nodded, but she could see the concern still lingering on his face. "But you're okay now?" he asked quietly.

Lizzie managed to bite back her smile. "I'm fine, Lando. I promise. This really is normal for me."

His head dipped. "You're sure?"

She softened, touched by the worry in his voice. "I'm sure," she said gently. "No need to look so serious, pretty boy."

“Excuse me, I’m not pretty.” He objected with a disgusted expression.

Lizzie snorted. “Yeah, you aren’t if you pull a face like that.” She shot back immediately.

“Excuse me, that’s not very nice!”

“Mate, make up your mind,” Lizzie said with a snort. “I say you are pretty, you disagree. I say you aren’t, you also disagree. What are you then?”

“I am ruggedly handsome,” he told her seriously.

She could only stare at him.

“If you somehow manage to grow a beard, then, maybe. But with that clean-shaven look you have going on right now? Not in a million years. You’re pretty, and that’s that.”

Lando's eyes widened, taken aback. "Did you just—" he spluttered. "Did you just insult my ability to grow facial hair and then go and call me pretty in the same breath?"

"I absolutely did," Lizzie said, barely able to hold back her grin. "What are you gonna do about it, pretty boy?"

What she hadn't expected was for him to advance and corner her against her kitchen counter.

She froze, eyes wide, her heart suddenly thumping in her chest. Lando planted one hand on either side of the counter, caging her in.

He leaned in, his face inches from hers, expression still tinged with faux offense.

And his eyes...she could spent a whole book describing their colour and Lizzie was quite sure that it was going to fall short. Even in the dim light of her kitchen, they shifted from blue to green and back.

The intensity of his gaze was almost unbearable. Lizzie's mind went completely blank, and she found herself staring at him, a flutter of nervous energy coursing through her like electricity.

Lando was so close now that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. She was suddenly hyper-aware of every nerve in her body, like this new, intimate proximity had set her senses on fire.

Lizzie wasn't even sure who moved first.

All she knew was that suddenly, his lips were on hers. The kiss started gently, almost tentatively. But something shifted in an instant.

It became hungrier, more desperate, like a dam had burst. Lizzie couldn't help herself; her arms wrapped around Lando's shoulders and pulled him closer, every part of her body pressed against his.

One of his hands threaded into her hair, angling her head to get better access, and she made a small, needy sound in the back of her throat. Her fingers curled into the soft cotton of his shirt, clutching at it as she kissed him back, dizzy with the feel of him.

Oh. 

Oh. 

Lando groaned, the sound reverberating through her. His free hand slid beneath her hoodie, seeking out the bare skin of her waist.

Her own hands moved over his back, desperate and urgent. The kiss turned hotter, less controlled as her world narrowed to this, to him, to the intoxicating feeling of his body against hers.

And then the sound of the oven timer beeped. Loudly. She jerked in his grasp, managing to make one of her cookbooks clatter down onto the floor.

A second later, Mara was barelling into the room, clearly thinking that she had had a seizure and destroyed her house.

Lizzie and Lando sprung apart, both of them flushed and more than a little breathless.

Lizzie couldn’t help it; she burst into a fit of giggles, watching Mara skid across the linoleum.

"I'm fine, Mara," she said through her laughter. Her dog whined, clearly not convinced.

Lando was looking like a deer in headlights, his cheeks flushed and his hair messed up from her fingers. He stared at her as if he'd never seen her before, and she bit her lip to keep herself from grinning like an idiot.

"We should rescue the dino nuggets," Lizzie suggested.

Lando still looked stunned. "Right - yeah - nuggets-" he said, blinking.

Lizzie chuckled and knelt down to pat Mara to reassure her. The dog was practically whining with worry, licking her face and nudging her. Lizzie gently pushed her back in an attempt to give herself some space.

"I think you traumatized my dog," she said, looking up at him with a smirk.

He scratched the back of his head, still endearingly awkward. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I wasn't exactly...thinking when..."

She just shook her head, grinning. "Maybe we should focus on rescuing those dino nuggets, don't you think, pretty boy?"

He swallowed, glancing at her briefly before nodding. "Yeah. Nuggets."

Lizzie pushed herself off the floor, giving Mara's head a final pat before she headed over to the oven. Lando joined her in the kitchen, his gaze flickering to her every other second. Lizzie took the plate from the oven, setting it down on the stove top.

"They look fine," she said, inspecting the slightly-singed edges of the nuggets. "All things considered."

Lando leaned against the counter beside her. "Great," he said, but his voice was still a little unsteady.

She shot him a sideways glance, amused by the way his gaze kept dropping to her mouth.

"Was that..." he trailed off and she watched to see a slight blush cover his cheeks.

"What?" she asked, hiding a smile. He was even more adorable when he was embarrassed.

He cleared his throat, looking vaguely flustered. "That was okay, right?"

And just like that, her own cheeks grew warm. They'd just made out in her kitchen, and now he was asking her if... if it was okay?

She studied him, taking in the pink hue on his face. There was something so vulnerable about the way he was looking at her. It was like he couldn't believe it had happened, and now he was scared he had overstepped.

"It was..." she began, only stopping to consider her words."...pretty incredible."

Relief flickered across Lando's face. "Yeah?" he said, a hint of the cocky demeanor returning. "You liked it, then?"

In response, Lizzie just rolled her eyes, pushing the plate of dino nuggets towards him to end the conversation before he could say anything else.

"Try a damn nugget."

Lando raised an eyebrow, but his smile grew even wider as he picked up a nugget from the plate. "Bossy."

She just rolled her eyes again, biting back a laugh. "Eat your nugget before I regret telling you that I liked it."

He chuckled and popped the nugget into his mouth. "Not bad," he said, still grinning.

Lizzie found herself returning the smile. He was impossible.

But then again, she thought as she looked at him, she supposed she wouldn't want him any other way.

"Let's take this to the living room," she suggested.

"So is there even more Ferrari merch there?" Lando asked her. She just rolled her eyes.

"Not Ferrari merch, no," she said drily. “I keep that in the bedroom.” Lando gave a squawk in response. She just laughed. 

Did her living room kinda look like the set of a fantasy movie had thrown up all over it? Yes. 

She had a near life size portrait of Astrid and Ciaran, the main characters of her book series hung over her fireplace, which an amazingly talented fan artist had painted and she had purchased.

Lando was staring at the portrait with something close to amusement. He turned to her, eyebrow raised. "Okay, so who is that guy, and why does he have bat wings?"

Lizzie sighed, taking a seat on the large couch that dominated the room. "That would be Ciaran. Bat wings and all."

Lando took a seat beside her, still eyeing the portrait suspiciously. "And who exactly is Ciaran supposed to be?"

"He is the Dark Prince...The Heir to the throne of the land of Kasharia," she said with a wave of her hand. "He's the love interest in the Seasons of Fate Series."

Lando's eyebrows shot up, turning back to the portrait, studying it with more interest this time. "And the Wings are his thing, I'm guessing? Makes him the 'Dark Prince'?"

Lizzie bit her lip to keep a laugh from escaping. "Basically."

"Right, right." He was nodding now. "What about the woman, then? Blondie with the dagger?"

Lizzie found herself smiling, remembering the story behind that particular piece of art. "That would be Astrid," she said.

Lando looked like he was starting to put pieces together. He leaned back on the couch, eyes on the portrait once more. "And Astrid is, what? The princess or something?"

"She's a handmaiden of the Princess of another kingdom he's supposed to marry," she explained with a wave of her hand. "She ends up married to Ciaran instead."

Lando was nodding along as Lizzie described it, a look of fascination on his face. "Oh, so it's like one of those forbidden romance deals, huh?" he asked, sounding surprisingly invested.

"In a sense, yeah," she agreed, finding herself amused by his interest. "You seem surprisingly interested in this, considering you thought the wings were over the top a minute ago."

Lando shot her a look, his eyes twinkling. "Hey, I can appreciate a good love story, can't I? Besides, million of people adore your books. There must be something pretty special about them."

Lizzie felt a surge of warmth in her chest at his words. It still surprised her, at times, how much her books meant to people.

Lizzie felt a surge of warmth in her chest at his words. It still surprised her, at times, how much her books meant to people.

"I don't know about that, but people seem to enjoy them," she said lightly. "Still thinking you are going to pick one up?" she teased him with a grin.

"It’s probably gonna take me two months to get through the first book, between my schedule and my dyslexia, but the bat wings have totally sold it," Lando told her seriously.

She couldn't help but laugh at that, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably. The idea of Lando, who was about as far from a fantasy fan as you could get, actually trying to read one of her books was too absurd. "You are absolutely not going to read one of my books," she said, grinning.

"Hey, I could!" he objected with mock offense. "Don't underestimate me."

Lizzie shook her head, still laughing. "I'm not underestimating you. But let's be honest, you've got better things to do with your time than read about bat winged princes and handmaiden."

"Don't you have better things to do than too watch 20 men in their cars drive around in wobbly circles?" he shot right back. "You created these books. You poured your time and energy into them. I don't think there are many things that are more important than that." 

Lizzie fell silent, taken off guard by his words. He had a point, she thought.

"I suppose you have a point there," she admitted quietly.

Lando seemed pleased with himself, his cocky demeanor falling back into place. "See? I do have some smarts in there."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't keep the smile off her face. "You are insufferable, you know that? Besides, what's with your job," she teased him. "Isn't Miami coming up?"

Lando just snorted. "Yeah, we are all looking forward to hear the Dutch national anthem. Again."

Lizzie chuckled, picturing the familiar sight of the podium at a Grand Prix - the winning driver and the Dutch and Austrian anthems playing. "You are so dramatic. Maybe you'll win in Miami."

He gave her a look, his expression clearly communicating that he thought her words were ridiculous. "Uh-huh. You obviously don't know my luck. Second place is basically my second name."

Lizzie laughed, finding his complaining endearing despite herself. "You sound like Mara when I have a treat, but don't give it to her. Stop whining. Second place is still impressive as all hell, you know that right?"

Mara perked up at the mention of her name and took that moment to jump up on the couch, and once again, not caring at all about personal space, just drape herself all over Lando.

Lando looked startled, his gaze flying down to where Mara was settling onto his lap. "Uh..." he said, his voice full of confusion.

Lizzie tried not to crack a smile at the way he looked like he'd never encountered a dog before. Mara, meanwhile, looked incredibly pleased with herself.

Lando looked up at Lizzie, his expression a comical mix of disbelief and alarm. "What...what is she doing?" he asked, clearly bewildered.

Lizzie couldn't help herself; she burst out laughing. "She likes you," she managed to say through her mirth. "Clearly a woman of excellent taste."

Lando gave her a dubious look, clearly not sure if he was being insulted or not. Then Mara shifted in his lap and let out a happy sigh, and he looked back down at her. Lizzie could see the exact moment he melted. No man was immune to dogs.

"I'll go against my core beliefs and root for the ugly orange car with your number on it if you promise me that you'll believe that you have a chance of winning."

Lando shot her a look, a little surprised at her request. Then his familiar cocky smirk spread across his face.

"You'll root for papaya? Over Ferrari?"

Lizzie just nodded. "As long as that big ego of yours lets you believe you can win," she said dryly.

[azsazz]

Over Ice (Part 9)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3178

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8)

Notes: ughhhh. i don't like this part. fml

_________________________________________

Annoyance courses through your veins when Rhys’ phone buzzes against the tabletop again. The devilish device has been blowing up with messages since before your tutoring session had even begun, as soon as Rhys walked into the room with a mumbled greeting, fully immersed in the device.

Each vibration has slowly chipped away at your feeble concentration. You quickly lost focus on studying, and you’ve had to re-read the same paragraph three times over, restarting every single time he received a new message. Not a single fact has clicked in your head, and the urge to collapse in defeat is all too tempting right now.

Rhysand is in no way phased by your unpleasant aura and blatant glares. His laptop is open, eyes glued to the screen as his fingertips fly across the keyboard. He has a paper due at nine in the morning, and although he’s known about it since the end of last week, between tutoring you, the Halloween party, hockey practices, and games, he’s up to his ears busy.

But he wanted to see you.

He’d spent all week thinking about you. During practice, he’d found himself glancing up into the bleachers, looking for you, hoping he’d catch a peek of you in that sinfully butchered jersey of his. That reminds him, he needs to get you a new one because you’re more than distracting in that scrap of fabric.

He’d searched for you the same way at the away game the Bat’s had this week, even though he knew you weren’t in the building at all, weren’t even in the same city.

And psychology is fucking ruined for him. He thinks about you the most when he’s sitting in class, staring at the lecture slides he should be copying down. It’s a good thing that the information comes so easily to him, otherwise he’s pretty sure he’d be fucked with the amount of time spent daydreaming about how your lips felt on his, soft, shy, intimate.

“You know, if I’m keeping you from something,” you finally say, snapping Rhys from his paper. It’s hard to keep the annoyance out of your tone but the surprise on his face, the way his brows knit together in confusion has a pang of guilt stabbing you in the chest. Clutching your pen in your grasp only helps a little. “We don’t have to do this tonight.”

You refrain from admitting that you really do need his help tonight due to the quiz you have coming up later this week. It’s the only night he’s available to tutor you, with his hectic schedule. Right now, his presence is more distracting than it is helpful, and from where you sit across the table, you can tell that he’s stressed.

It’s in the way that he runs his fingers through his jet-black hair, tugging on the roots when whatever he’s typed doesn’t make sense. You know this is his tell because it’s followed by the prominent clicks of the backspace key for each letter he removes. Clack. Clack. Clack.

You can fully see the exhaustion written on his face, the circles beneath his violet eyes, and how every so often you’ve caught him rubbing his fists into his eyes. The bruise on his jaw looks better than it had the last time you saw him, splotches of yellow-green dust the area instead of the deep purple coloring it was when the injury was fresh.

He must see your frustration on your face because his shoulders drop in shame.

“What? No, I’m here,” he insists, shoving his computer away from him. Yeah, maybe a break is what he needs. Shame crawls up his throat. He’s supposed to be your tutor, and he’s been so caught up in his own work that he forgot that he’s supposed to be helping you.

Rhys frowns when his phone jolts against the desk again. You take a calming breath, closing your eyes, but they still prickle with frustration. You’re just as frazzled as he is. If you don’t pass this quiz, you’re not sure there’s hope of salvaging your grade.

You’re arguably just as exhausted as Rhys. Your other classes are also on the verge of kicking your ass, and you can only blame it on the fact that you actually have a semblance of a social life this year and aren’t holed up in your dorm room 24/7 outside of your classes, studying your ass off. No, you’re hanging out with your roommates more, meeting new people, going to hockey games and parties, both of which are things you never thought you’d be into.

And trying to keep up this façade as Rhysand’s fake girlfriend isn’t easy. Amarantha seems like she’s everywhere. You can barely count the number of times last week Rhys messaged you about her. You meet up with him when you’re close and able, in the commons, the food halls, you even met him between the stacks of bookshelves in the library while she pretended to peruse the non-fictions, but you can’t be everywhere at once. It’s a lot. Just last night, Amarantha was at the hockey house when Rhys arrived home. She had sunken her blood-red claws into one of the freshmen who’d been invited over for a few beers with a small group of players. Azriel had warned him of the devil under their roof, and Rhys had showed up at your dorm with a sheepish smile and a box of cookies from the convenience store he passed on the way over.

If he didn’t have those sweets in hand—and if your roommates hadn’t gone to a movie that you wanted to see but couldn’t because of the amount of studying you had to do—you would have slammed the door in his face.

You spent the night studying alright, but it wasn’t the words in your psych textbook. You couldn’t help but examine Rhysand, who sat across from you on your couch, the way that his hair fell from his brow when his chin tilted down to his own work. The way that he held the chocolate chip cookie in his mouth between his teeth as he wrote in his notebook. The zip of excitement you felt when your fingers brushed against his rough ones in the cookie box.

Your cheeks warm at the memory. You swear you can still feel his touch, the sheepish smile he gave you when he pulled his hand away, letting you pick whichever cookie you preferred. You wanted to lean over and taste that soft smile against your lips. You managed to find the restraint, offering him a gentle smile in return before stuffing a bite of the chocolatey goodness in your mouth as you ripped your gaze from his.

“No, really,” you try to insist politely. “If you need to go, you should. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” It’s difficult to hide your cringe. You really do need his help.

Rhysand stares. He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong, and when he opens his mouth to ask what has you so on edge tonight, his phone pings with another message, and realization sets in like a boulder in the pit of his stomach at the way your gaze drops back to your book.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, snagging his phone from the table. It’s Cassian, again. His roommate won’t let the fuck up in the group chat, demanding mandatory attendance from every single member on the team at the party he’s hosting at the hockey house the night before team plays the Springview Wolves.

Rhys would be worried about the potential jinxing Cassian’s text puts into the universe if he didn’t know that this is the one superstition his defenseman has. The past two years, the entire hockey team had attended one of Cassian’s pre-celebration parties. It was the last party before their meet with the Wolves, who they’d then slaughtered in a 6-2 game. The following year, they’d beat them in nail-biting overtime with a snapshot that could’ve broken the plexiglass had Azriel missed. Safe to say that this party has become as much as a tradition as it is a superstition, and Rhysand needs to be there.

But right now, he needs to be here, focusing on you and the psych class you’re bombing.

“Look, if you’re too busy to tutor me I’d rather you tell me now so that I might have a chance at finding a new tutor before this quiz.” It’s difficult to mask the disheartened etch to your voice. Who are you kidding? There’s no way you’ll be able to find a tutor when the quiz is two days away.

Yep, you’re officially screwed.

“I’m not,” Rhys protests, shaking his head. Something about the idea of another person tutoring you has annoyance flaring in his veins. He silences his phone, something he should have done as soon as he walked over the threshold of the study room. “It’s just Cassian, anyway.” Rhys slides his chair around the corner of his table so close that your knees knock into each other. The touch sends a shockwave up your thigh and you try not to recoil at the surprising feeling. “Sorry. I’m done texting. Remind me what you’re working through, and I can help with any questions you have.”

You’re apprehensive to let this tutoring continue. It’s become very clear that Rhys has other priorities. He’s the captain of the hockey team for fuck’s sake; he probably has more on his plate than you think he does.

At your hesitation, he questions, “What?”

You shrug, feeling completely defeated. All you want right now is to crawl home with your tail between your legs and curl into a ball in your bed. You’ve pretty much accepted that you’re going to fail this class, tutor or not. There’s no way you’re going to admit any of this to Mor’s cousin right now, so you deflect, lamely. “I don’t know Cassian that well, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that likes to be ignored.”

Rhys rolls his eyes, and your breath hitches as the corners of his mouth twitch in amusement. Sadly, a grin doesn’t break through, but it lights a fire under your ass. You want to see that smile, and you’ll do just about anything to make it happen.

It’s sad, almost, how much effort you’d put into earning that grin, but not apply that same energy toward studying.

“He’s going through our roster in the group chat, calling every single person out by name to make sure their schedules are cleared for the party we’re throwing this weekend.”

You catch yourself before your eyes roll into the back of your head in what might possibly be the most dramatic, epic eyeroll ever.

“Wow,” you feign an amused laugh. “That sounds dramatic.”

“That’s Cass for you,” Rhys says, amused. He crosses his arms and places them on the table. It takes effort not to watch the way his muscles pop beneath his t-shirt as he leans in closer. You’re only a foot away from each other. If you wanted to recreate the kiss you shared on Halloween, all you’d have to do is angle forward, tilt your head, and his lips would be on yours. You wonder for a fleeting moment if Rhys was as thrown over the kiss that night as you were. If he still thinks about it, can still feel the phantom sensation of your lips pressed together.

You remember that you shouldn’t be thinking about the kiss at all, and you sit back in your chair.

“You know,” Rhys starts, and you don’t like the telltale signs of a scheme that lines his tone. You almost groan out loud but settle on shooting him a warning look. “Since you’re my girlfriend—”

“Fake girlfriend,” you correct instantly.

Rhys rolls his eyes and tips back onto the back legs of his chair. “Fine. Fake girlfriend,” he mimics and you toss your pencil at him. He catches it against his chest and the smile you’ve been waiting to see finally cracks his face. Fuck, he’s gorgeous when he does that. You’re even gifted those pearly white, straight teeth of his. You’d keel over in your chair like one of his many conquests if it wouldn’t give him an ego. You almost miss the end of Rhys request with how entranced you are. “You should probably make an appearance at the party.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. Realization strikes you like a fist. Rhys all but preens in his seat. You blink as his words settle, frows knitting together. “Wait, no, I can’t.” His face immediately falls. Rhys’ face scrunches adorably and you’d really like to reach out and smooth the crease between his brows right now.

There are more than a handful of reasons that you should not show your face at the hockey house party, the most prominent being that you’re his cousin’s best. She doesn’t want you anywhere near him, and you can’t break that promise even more than you already have.

Well, I won’t tell anyone if you won’t. His words echo in your head and you shove them away as quickly as they arrive.

The second reason you shouldn’t be going to his party is that you’re barely even friends, you’ve somehow been sucked into a mess of a situation, pretending to be his girlfriend in exchange for tutoring. Tutoring that right now isn’t helping improve your grade at all.

“Why not?” He challenges. “What if Amarantha shows up?”

“Because I have other plans,” you answer plainly. You don’t need to give him a reason. You press, “I can’t be your buffer between Amarantha forever, Rhys. You’re a big boy; you can fight your own battles.”

He looks awfully like he doesn’t want to fight his own battles, with his lips pressed into a pout. If you thought that he was distracting before, this is an entirely new level of diversion. A much better kind, to be honest.

“You’re seriously not coming to the party?”

“No,” you respond, packing up your things.

“But what if she corners me and tries to kiss me or give me a hand job or something?” He asks.

Your eyes almost bug out of your head. “Then you tell her no, Rhys,” you state. “It’s really that simple. And don’t guys enjoy hand jobs? When was the last time—” He opens his mouth and you shake your head. “No, nope, I don’t even want to know.” You glare until he shuts his mouth, but the amusement lingers in his eyes.

He huffs. “Those nails are sharp,” is all he offers.

You wince. Amarantha does keep her nails long and pointed at the tips, crimson red, like blood. You almost look down to admire your own hands but catch yourself at the last second. You do not need to be thinking about how your fingers might look like wrapped around Rhys’ eight inches.

Your cheeks burn and Rhysand raises a brow in question.

He must read the plea on your face because he thankfully changes the subject. “What could you possibly have going on that’s better than free booze, good music, and seeing yours truly?”

“Wow, Rhys,” you scoff. “Your ego is unbearably suffocating tonight. Did you get your dick sucked recently?” You ask sweetly, then busy yourself by turning to a fresh page in your notebook.

His answering grin is fucking smug.

The muscle of your jaw twitches with how tightly you clamp it shut.

“Hoping it happens at the party,” he answers, suggestively.

You fake gag. “No way.”

“Didn’t say it was going to be from you,” he teases. “But if you want to, you’ll know exactly where I’ll be.”

Gods, this boy and his fucking filthy mind. You certainly haven’t forgotten that he’s your best friend’s cousin, but the fact that you’re his cousin’s best friend has either slipped his mind, or he doesn’t care.

Either way, this isn’t a good situation to be in.

You divert, pulling your focus back to the books splayed out on the desk. Studying. Right, that’s what you need to be doing instead of whatever…this is.

“I told you; I can’t go.” You try and reach for your pen that’s in Rhys’ grasp but he pulls it out of reach, ignoring the glare you send his way. Fine. You search your backpack for a backup but come up empty. Ugh.

“Can’t, or won’t?” He shoots back.

“Both,” you sigh, checking the time on your phone. It’s well past nine o’clock in the evening, and you really thought that you’d be back at the dorms already, curled up on your bed with your laptop overheating on the sheets as it played a movie. “Can we get back to studying?”

“In a second,” Rhys assures. Why does he want you to come to the party so badly? Besides the obvious. Amarantha surely can’t be that much trouble. She is a little bit of a nightmare and you could see how Rhys wants her to take the hint that he’s moved on, but if he’s that worried about her in the first place, why doesn’t he tell her that she’s uninvited? Or make the hockey team aware that she’s not allowed in the party? Why is flaunting you around the only answer? “What if I said please?”

“That wouldn’t magically cancel my plans.”

“What plans?” You frown. You wonder why he’s pushing this so hard.

Studying for this quiz is going to be impossible. You and Rhys might as well pack up and vacate the room so that people who are actually trying to study can use it. You’re almost positive that the group lingering by an overcrowded area of the library keep shooting you scathing looks every time you open your mouth.

“Gwyn is turning twenty-one and since Mor and I don’t turn twenty-one until next year, we’re planning on ordering in and getting a little tipsy at the dorms.” Rhys gives you that seriously? look that makes you glare. “Not that I care about your opinion, like, at all, but is there something wrong with that?”

“Only the fact that you’re ditching a party whose halls aren’t patrolled by snitches?” He explains, and he would think that the resident assistants live for getting college kids in trouble. “It’s the dorms! How freshman of you.”

“Whatever, Rhys. Some people don’t want to drink until they can’t see straight in front of a bunch of strangers.”

“I’d be your eyes for you,” he winks, as if what he said was comparable to a knight in shining armor defending a princess.

“Good,” you retort. “Because I’m about three seconds away from gouging them out if you keep hassling me about this. Come on, I really need to study.”

Luckily, Rhys relents. His shoulders fall and the feet of his chair meet earth again.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he says, and cranes his neck to see what you’re reading about. “Let’s get you nice and ready for your quiz.”

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

@saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @mrsjna @velarisdusk @bionic-donut @tenshis-cake @eleganttravelercloud @lilah-asteria @serena05 @bwormie @soph1644 @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125 @judig92 @se7enteen--black-blog @thecraziestcrayon @cherry-cin @itsinherited @justafictionalnerd @bookishbroadwaybish @405rry @w0nderw0manly @bbykaixx @marina468 @taechvita @marigold-morelli @esahintzkanen @miakxn @ssmay123 @webvics

[gpcwsl]

Katie McCabe x Reader

- Straight Red -

MasterList

Warnings: very short, injury? McCard.

WC: 614

I wrote this one before Katie got the red card. 😭

The match had been heated from the first whistle, the tension building with every play. You were in form, giving the opposing team plenty to worry about, which only seemed to fuel their aggression. Katie, as usual, was playing with her signature fiery intensity, keeping one eye on the ball and one on you.

The game changed in an instant. You were sprinting down the wing, the ball at your feet, when an opposing defender came flying in with a reckless, studs-up tackle. You didn’t even have time to brace yourself before you hit the ground hard, pain exploding in your ankle.

The whistle blew, and chaos erupted. You clutched your leg, wincing, as your teammates rushed to surround you. But you didn’t need to see who was yelling the loudest—you already knew.

“What the hell was that?!” Katie’s voice cut through the noise like a knife.

She stormed over, shoving past players and pointing an accusatory finger at the defender. “Are you trying to break their leg, or are you just that useless?”

The referee was quick to intervene, but Katie wasn’t done. “That’s a straight red! You’re letting them get away with murder out here!”

The opposing player muttered something under their breath, and that’s when Katie truly lost it. “Oh, you’ve got something to say? Say it to my face!”

By now, the referee had heard enough. The red card came out—but it wasn’t for the player who’d tackled you. It was for Katie.

“You’ve got to be joking!” Katie shouted, throwing her hands in the air. “I’m the one protecting my partner, and you’re sending me off? Unbelievable!”

As she reluctantly marched toward the tunnel, she turned to the referee one last time. “Might as well start calling me Katie McCard, because you lot love handing me these!”

Even through the pain, you couldn’t help but laugh. Leave it to Katie to crack a joke in the middle of her righteous fury.

By the time the medics helped you off the pitch, Katie was waiting at the edge of the tunnel, pacing like a storm cloud ready to burst. The moment you were close enough, she was at your side, her anger replaced by worry.

“Let me see,” she said, crouching down and carefully taking your hand. “How bad is it?”

You gave her a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. “I’ll live, Katie. Probably just a sprain.”

Her jaw tightened, and she shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. They shouldn’t have gotten away with that. I swear, if I see them after the game—”

“McCard, please,” you interrupted, smirking at her. “You’ve done enough damage for one day.”

For a second, she looked like she might argue, but then she huffed out a laugh, running a hand through her hair. “Alright, fair point. But they deserved it.”

“Maybe,” you said, leaning into her touch as she gently brushed a thumb over your cheek. “But you getting sent off isn’t going to fix my ankle.”

She sighed, her expression softening. “I just can’t stand seeing you get hurt. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you said, squeezing her hand. “And I love you for it. Even when you’re turning into McCard out there.”

She chuckled at that, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Alright, I’ll let it go. For now.”

As the medics led you away for further assessment, Katie called after you, “Don’t let them screw it up! And tell them McCard says they better take care of you properly!”

Despite everything, you couldn’t stop smiling. Katie’s fierce protectiveness might earn her a few cards, but it also reminded you just how deeply she cared.

[sirhamburrger]

BREAKING NEWS: CHART-TOPPING ARTIST YN LN PUBLICLY DISSES PXG STAR PLAYER AFTER HISTORIC VICTORY AGAINST BASTARD MÜNCHEN?!

after #JusticeForPXG starts to trend on most major social media platforms within a mere two hours, you receive an email from their manager. they… want you to perform before their match against the ubers? for a horrifying moment you’d thought your career might actually end over an offhand comment, but it seems you’ve been thrown a lifeline.

well, so much for that lifeline, because you’re pretty sure you trample all over it and set it on fire when, during your performance item three evenings later, a photo of none other than rin freaking itoshi appears on the big screen -

and the flash of a thousand cameras captures the very moment you roll your eyes in front of ten thousand people. and the whole internet.

you grimace when you step off the pitch and head back to the holding area, still panting from the exertion of the set. as the players stream out from their locker rooms, you brush against someone’s elbow, and as you turn a second later to wish the teams luck, you notice the man of the hour himself staring back at you.

and you really hate that you might care what he thinks about you.

---

“look,” aiku snickers, pointing at the screen in the locker room. “it’s your favourite bm fan.”

“it’s not even that funny.” rin tightens the laces on his cleats a little too aggressively to punctuate his sentence.

but he’s thinking: does she really hate him all that much?

“i’m pretty sure sendou dated her at some point,” karasu chimes in, rather unhelpfully.

“no way,” aiku says dismissively and more than a little seriously. “she’s waaaaay out of his league. she’d have to be blind - or really, really desperate.”

“get out of my player’s head, aiku.” julian loki pulls his jersey over his head, shooting the ex-u20 captain a withering stare. “or is it because you know you don’t stand a chance against us?”

“casse toi!” charles pipes up.

rin groans.

---

pxg wins that evening. you can’t even say you’re surprised - you knew, somehow, that it would turn out like this.

and here’s how the rest of it goes:

you tell yourself you’re going to leave the stadium quietly. slip out before anyone can get another picture of you, before the internet takes your face and pastes it onto another meme.

but fate has a funny way of playing games with you, because when you round the corner leading to the underground parking lot, you walk right into him.

rin itoshi.

you freeze, half because of the collision, half because - well, you’ve never actually been this close to him before. he’s taller than you expected. his hair is damp from the showers, and his stare is impassive, unreadable.

you expect him to be mad, or annoyed, or at the very least, indifferent enough to walk right past you. but instead, he speaks.

"you don’t like me."

it’s not a question.

you could lie, smooth things over, but that would be too easy. and honestly, you’re still annoyed - at the internet, at this whole situation, at the fact that he looks this good after running across a pitch for ninety minutes.

"what gave it away?" you say dryly.

his brow twitches, just the slightest bit. "is it because of pxg?"

you sigh. "no, it’s because i think you’re kind of an ass."

his lips press into a thin line. you expect him to snap at you, but instead, he just studies you - like he’s trying to solve some kind of puzzle.

"fair," he says after a beat, and for some reason, that catches you off guard.

you cross your arms. "that’s it? no defense? no ‘you don’t even know me’ speech?"

"if you think i’m an ass, i probably was." he shrugs, looking away for a second before flicking his gaze back to you. there’s something almost amused in his expression now. "but you still came to perform."

you roll your eyes. "only because your manager begged me to."

"right. had nothing to do with me."

"nothing at all."

he hums, as if he doesn’t quite believe you. as if he can see the way your resolve wavers, just a little, under the weight of his attention.

and you hate that he might be right.

he shifts then, stepping aside, giving you space to leave. but before you do, he says, almost offhandedly, "i don’t hate you, you know."

something about the way he says it makes your stomach flip. or maybe it's the compression shirt. (yeah, it's probably just the compression shirt.)

---

© sirhamburrger 2025

[cryingpariah]

I know that we (Usopp Nation) love to discuss the multiple different ways the eventual meeting between Usopp and Yassop could go but today I wanted to discuss how I think the Strawhats would react to Usopp having/wanting/feeling like he needs to meet his father but hesitating for [Insert reason here].

Luffy: Likes Yassop obviously and would be excited to see him again! But our emotionally intelligent king would pick up on Usopp's vibes and just outright ask him what’s wrong. Would respect his decision to go or not go. If it’s a no though, he'd go and break the news but do it much too bluntly (“Yeah, Usopp didn’t want to come!”). Honestly the whole time there he’s unintentionally making Yassop feel like the biggest piece of shit.

Zoro: Pretends to not care/not have an opinion when he in fact has plenty of both. Zoro's just not the kind of person to care about blood connections, not his own anyway, so he'd probably veer on the side of not going but acts neutral. Regardless of Usopp's decision though Zoro is there to make sure he sticks to it, no wussing out! If he says he’s going he’s going, even if he’s got to hide behind Zoro the whole walk there.

Nami: Usopp's BFFL. She’s there to hype him up! No shitty absent father is allowed to make him feel like shit! She’s helping him get ready, picking a killer outfit and hairstyle for him, everyone knows looking good is the best social armour! If he decides not to go she’s still dressing up him but this time to go and paint the town red! If he does want to go she’s heading there right alongside him! Even if it looks like she’s engaged with something else best believe she’s keeping a hawk eye on Usopp.

Sanji: Guy who is so anti biological father. Is staunchly against Usopp going but tries to hide it behind neutrality and fails miserably. Ultimately though having had some emotional catharsis with facing his own father he’ll accept Usopp's decision no matter what. Absolutely tags along and brings a dish because he was raised a proper chef. (“Oh this? It’s Usopp’s favourite. Not that you had any way of knowing.” *faux polite customer service smile*)

Chopper: Little fella is CONFLICTED. On one hand he’s literally only heard good things about Yassop from both Usopp and Luffy so obviously this guy must be great! But if that was true why did Ussop look so..scared? He decides to approach this from a doctor perspective first by sitting Ussop for a checkup and letting him ramble all his thoughts out. If Usopp decides not to go Chopper's making an official announcement that Usopp's got ‘can’t-leave-the-boat-disease and has to stay for his own good.

Robin: Notices Usopp's discomfort immediately and whisks him away. Sits him down with a cup of her secret stash of soothing tea and lays down all the facts for him. Yes, he has no obligation to go see his father just cause he’s here. No it doesn’t make him a bad person if he doesn’t want to. Despite how wildly different they are, she’s the best at understanding his feelings right now and all that come with it. If he decides to not go, she’ll go in his stead to explain (and also to make sure Yassop doesn’t try to go himself).

Franky: He’s about as emotional as you’d expect. He’d probably be encouraging Usopp to go, not for his dad but for himself. His dreams of being a ‘proper man’ and ‘brave warrior of the sea’ means he shouldn’t live or die with regrets or what ifs. Regardless of Usopp's decision, Franky just wants to make he won’t regret for one reason or another. Will tag along and hype up Ussop to anyone and everyone.

Brook: Like Robin he’s taking Usopp somewhere else to calm down and think. He’s also playing him some soft violin to relax to. They don’t talk much, just let the music guide them for a bit. In a moment of violin driven vulnerability, Brook would tell Usopp that regardless of what does or does not happen, he has a place and a family right here, and that won’t ever change. Places neutral but would prefer if Usopp stayed and didn’t risk getting hurt.

Jinbei: Probably knows Yassop on a semi-causal level and therefore knew of Usopp long before FMI. Was really stunned upon hearing this would be Usopp's first proper meeting with his father. Jinbei's got plenty of sage of advice and can wash away Usopp's parental insecurities by reminding him of who he is and how any man worth a damn would be proud to call him his son. Stays behind if Usopp goes but only because he’s worried of overstepping if he does.

BONUS! (Argue with your mama, your daddy and your congressman Vivi will be the final Strawhat!!)

Vivi ft Karoo: They’re absolutely gobsmacked. Vivi's the one that brings out some latent anger Usopp doesn’t even realize he’s been holding in. I can definitely see Vivi wanting to go even if Usopp's not, she’s very confrontational after all but she defect to what Usopp wants ultimately. If he does want to go she’s right there with him and is totally throwing some shade Yassop's way. Karoo is there as a supportive friend and a quick exit strategy if Usopp needs it.

[munsonsmixtapes]

I Have You Strung, Strung in My Web

Billy Hargrove x Hopper!reader

You and Billy try to make it clear that you want more, but you keep missing each other.

part one

The bed shakes and squeaks as Billy pounds into this girl-what what her name? Jamie? Jackie? Definitely something with a J, but that doesn’t matter. Her usually just calls her “bitch” and she responds to that quite well.

She’s responding exactly the way he wants her too, so close to coming, but he doesn’t care. He actually couldn’t give less of a fuck. He’s only going this to get over you. He knows the only way to get over someone is to get under-well in this case, on top of-someone else.

But it’s not working. In fact, all he can think about is you and the way you made him feel so good. He wants that again. He wants it so bad but he’s not going to ask you not matter how much he wants to.

You have to initiate it because if Billy does, he’s gonna look like a goddamn pussy. He wouldn’t even know how to initiate it. He’s always the one being approached, and he certainly doesn’t fuck the same girl twice. That’s not who he is.

Then what makes you so different? Why are you the one he wants to break all his rules for? He doesn’t know but he wishes he did, wishes he could make sense of his feelings. Because being around you makes him feel like he can be himself. He doesn’t have to put on that persona he does with everyone else.

He zones back in as the girl finishes and he’s never been so eager to pull out, so he does. He didn’t even come and for the first time, he doesn’t care. He just wants her out so he can be left alone.

Thankfully, she knows her place and is quick to leave without even so much as a goodbye. Billy just stands there, facing his closet, now feeling like he needs a shower. He really needs to wash off this girl’s perfume along with the entire experience because now he feels dirty.

He heads to the bathroom and as soon as the faucet is turned on, he immediately feels a lot better. He stands there as the steam fogs up the mirror and as he wipes it away and looks at his reflection, he can’t help but think that he doesn’t recognize himself. Is that a smile he sees? Who hell is that staring back at him? He has no idea but he kind of likes it.

He gets into the shower and feels himself relax. In here, no one can bother him. Not his dad, not Susan or Max, and especially not you. Then why are there flashes of the two of you showering together in his mind?

He wants to have you pinned against the wall as he fucks you senseless, showing you who’s really in control. He let you take over that one time, but if he were to fuck you again, he’d be the one in charge. That’s how he operates, how he likes it. How he needs it. He has say about anything else in his life so sex is what he relies on in order to have some control.

After he’s out of the shower, he’s thinking about calling you. You told him not to be a stranger, but he’s nervous to actually give you a call. He also doesn’t want to go ask Max for your number because he’s sure that she’ll tease him about it.

He wonders if you’ll be home if he just shows up. Or maybe Chief Hopper will be there and grill him about his intentions with you. Yeah, he doesn’t want that. He knows your dad doesn’t approve of him, that much is clear. He’s been arrested for so many fights that he’s seen Jim Hopper more than his own father.

What would Jim say if he knew what Billy and his daughter had gotten up to the other night? He definitely wouldn’t make it out of the cabin alive if he ever found out. Because you’re Jim’s little girl and he’ll always think of you as such no matter how old you get.

He decides against contacting you altogether as he gets dressed. He wouldn’t know what to do or say and figures that you’ll reach out eventually. At least, he really hopes so.

“So you really went and did it?” Steve sighs as he looks at you from where he’s sitting on his couch. He’s there for your Friday night movie you do every week and the two of you are just waiting for the others to show up.

“Yep,” you nod, knowing that he has no interest in hearing anything about it and you respect that.

“Gross,” he grimaces. “Did you…enjoy it?” He honestly just wants to make sure you’re safe and that’s it. He feels like your older brother sometimes even though you’re the same age. He just wants to protect you.

“I did, actually,” you nod, trying really hard to keep the smile off your face. “ And he did too. I sense that he’ll be calling me any minute now.” You glance at the watch on your wrist. Billy hasn’t called you all weekend which doesn’t surprise you. Calling isn’t really his thing and you don’t care anyway. You guess it was only meant to be a one time thing.

“Yeah, good luck with that pipe dream,” Steve scoffs.

“It could happen.” You’ve now crossed your arms over your chest and Steve can’t help but laugh at your optimism.

“Need I remind you that we’re talking about Billy Hargrove. He’s not me.”

“And thank god for that,” You reply as a knock sounds at the door. You head over and open it to see Robin on the other side. You usher her inside and take the six pack of beer she’s carrying as she follows you inside.

Steve takes the beer from you and takes them to the kitchen, leaving you alone with Robin. The two of you take a seat on the couch as you wait for the others to arrive. Robin is someone you feel like you can tell absolutely anything to. There are things you can discuss with her that you just can’t talk about with Steve.

You want to tell her the truth about Billy. That you’re convinced he’s the best you’ve ever had and you’re desperately waiting for him to call you. But you don’t. You can’t. You know how much she dislikes Billy and you supposed she has a right to because it’s for the same reasons why you hated him.

But now that you’ve slept with him, you’ve seen a different side of him. It was softer and gentler and you wonder why he’s not like that all the time. You’re sure that he could get more women into bed if he behaved just a little bit more like Steve. But the day that happens is the day Hell freezes over.

“So what’s new with you?” She asks, scooting closer just in case there’s something you want to say that you don’t want Steve to hear.

“Just been reading,” you reply, which is partially true. You have been reading a lot. So much so that you’ve already finished all the books you own and had to buy a couple more to hold you the last couple weeks of summer.

She eyes you suspiciously and you know that she can tell that there’s something you’re not telling her. She always can. But your lips stay zipped. She’s not getting anything out of you. And you can’t imagine how she would react when you told her that you slept with Billy Hargrove.

“What have you been up to?” You ask, giving her a little nudge. “How has it been with Vicky?”

“Really good,” she replies and you can see a blush creeping up on her cheeks.

“Good,” you nod. “I’m really happy for you, Rob.”

“And I’m happy for you,” she nudges you back. “With whatever you’ve got going on.” She winks then stands from the couch. “I’m gonna go get a drink.”

“Robin-“ you’re about to chase after her, but there’s another knock at the door before you can. Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle, and Eddie are on the other side, all holding what you asked them to bring except for Eddie who always conveniently forgets every time. You’re not even sure why you even ask anymore.

You usher them all inside and once all of the snacks are on the coffee table, they all take their favorite spots in Steve’s living room. You’re on the couch next to Steve and he starts up the movie which just so happens to be a horror movie that he’s actually terrified to watch.

As you look around at your friends, you hate that you’re wishing that Billy would call, even worse, that you want him right next to you as you cuddle into his chest. You want to cuddle into his chest at the particularly scary parts as he comforts you, telling you that he;s going to be okay as he rubs your back sympathetically. What is wrong with you? Why are you even thinking about him in that way? You slept with him once and automatically think he’d want to be your boyfriend? This is Billy Hargove and Billy most certainly doesn’t have girlfriends.

-

Billy keeps to himself the rest of the day. He doesn’t even go to work because he’s afraid of running into you. He doesn’t want to do something he’ll regret like telling you that he likes you or something. He just holes up in his room and thinks about nothing but you, wondering what you’re up to, if you’re thinking about him like he is about you.

You’ve fucked with his head, used some sort of sorcery on him because he’s never felt this way about anyone before. He wants to see you so badly, even just a glimpse will help. So before he can stop himself, he’s throwing on his shoes and hurrying out the door so fast that Susan isn’t even able to ask him where he’s going. To be honest, he doesn’t even know.

But when he pulls up to your house, he realizes just how crazy he is. Why is he showing up unannounced? He could have at least had the decency to call first. But that’s not him. It’s just like Billy to randomly show up without even so much as a phone call. He doesn’t know why, but he just feels like you deserve better.

He nervously knocks on the door and is taken aback when Jim Hopper answers the door. He looks like he really doesn’t want to be bothered and Billy is so close to just making a run for it. Jim is standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, surely wondering what the hell Billy Hargrove is doing at his house.

“Hargrove,” Jim greets and Billy nods, putting on his most charming smile even though he knows it won’t work here.

“Jim, hi.”

“That’s Chief Hopper to you,” he crosses his arms over his chest. “Now what do you want?” Billy really is considering leaving because he actually doesn’t know what he’s doing. But then he sees a tiny glimpse of his sister and for once, he’s actually grateful for her existence.

“I’m actually here to pick up my sister. Dinner is soon and Susan wanted to make sure that she was home for it.” He’s smiling even weirder now, so proud of himself coming up with that on the fly.

“Max,” Hopper calls out to the girl and she’s quick to head over to him, her eyes widening at seeing her brother at the Hopper residence twice in one week. “Your brother is here to pick you up.” He says the words like he doesn’t believe Billy and he doesn’t. But he’s going to let him off the hook. This time, at least.

Max heads out the door and as soon as it’s closed, leaving her alone on the porch with her brother. She glares at him, one of the few people who can see through Billy’s bullshit. He’s up to something and she knows exactly what it is. It’s no secret that there’s something going on between the two of you and she’s going to do everything in her power to get the two of you together. Why you would willingly want to spend time with Billy, though, she has no idea.

But if she’s going to help him, he’s going to do something for her. That’s the deal, the only way any of this is going to work. It’s going to take a lot of work to make Billy boyfriend material, a chore in itself, for sure. She wonders how much she can get from him if he offers to help. Because at this rate, he’s going to need all the help he can get.

“What the hell was that?” She finally asks as she follows him down the steps. He’s walking so fast that she can barely keep up.

“Nothing,” he replies as he throws the driver’s side door open, Max heading over to the passenger seat.

“Nothing, right,” she winks as she gets into the car and for once, Billy actually makes sure that she’s fully in the car before he speeds down the road.

-

You and Steve finish cleaning up his very messy living room after the movie. You’re the only ones left. Steve’s going on and on about how unrealistic the movie was. But you’re not listening. You’re wondering why Billy hasn’t called and you don’t know why you care. Clearly it was only meant to be a one-time thing and you were just reading too much into it.

You can get his pretty moans out of your head. Images of his head leaning backwards, those sounds falling from his lips flash across your mind. You need to just get over him. Life’s too short to be anxious about getting a call from a boy who wouldn’t have even given you the time of day of sex hadn’t been on the table. Isn’t that the only reason why he agreed to meet you?

After everything is cleaned up, you say goodbye to Steve and make your way home. Only, you’re not turning onto the right street. You turn left when you’re supposed to go right and now you’ve ended up on the road that you’ve driven down so many times. You recognize every house since you bring El here almost every day before you go to the pool.

You honestly don’t know what you’re doing. You’re not thinking straight and are clearly blinded by your anger. And why wouldn’t you be? You’re so mad at Billy and you feel like he deserves to know how you feel.

You stop in front of the house you could draw from memory then quickly get out of your car. You’re stomping up the driveway and towards the front door, knocking furiously before waiting for someone to answer it.

Just your luck, it’s Max who’s on the other side. She gives you a suspicious look but then it quickly turns almost into pity. You can do so much better than her brother and she has no idea why you’re settling.

“He’s not here,” she tells you and actually feels bad when your face falls. “You just missed him, actually. But don’t worry, I’ll tell him to give you a call.”

“Thanks Max,” you smile lamely and she mimics it before closing the door.

You make the drive home and lock yourself in your room for the rest of the night, trying your best to not stare at your phone that sits on your desk. You’re silently begging it to ring, but when it reaches midnight and there’s no call, you eventually just decide to forget about the whole thing and go to bed. From now on, in your mind, Billy Hargrove doesn’t even exist.

[trendywaifus]

Greetings trendy! It is I! The great and mighty Kaijunon! I'm here with just a wholesome suggestion, giving Miyabi headpats. Y'know? Gently caressing her hair, giving her small kisses, cuddling her like just giving her general affection bc I the epic and cool Kaiju rat am feeling extra affectionate today, anyway I shall now drink Pepsi

🍞 anon

hi hi!! coke better>> since I’ve been thinking about miyabi recently, here guyths🤓

also miyabi will take any type of affection you give her. the baby is touched starved and loves being praised. miyabi is at her clingiest when it’s cuddle time.

“ is my fox comfortable? “ you asked gently, tangled in the the sheets with miyabi’s small form snuggled up against you, cold nose burrowed in the crook of your neck. with toned arms hugging you tight, she let out a pleased sigh which felt like cool air fanning against your neck. “ yes, i am. “ after a long day at work, she finally gets to indulge herself in you. miyabi didn’t get to see you one time today due to being busy with slaying ethereals and she did not even get the chance to answer your texts or call before entering and exiting the hollow. it was all thanks to dragging and nonsensical reports too. you’ve been on her mind all day and the amount of times miyabi mused out loud to herself about wishing to see you made harumasa shake his head and tease her, yanagi reassure her, and soukaku offer her candy throughout the whole mission.

you run a hand up and down miyabi’s back repetitively, massaging invisible lines into her back through the inky kimono in a manner that makes her melt and fox ears push back against her head with contentment. “ you sure you don’t want to eat dinner? aren’t you hungry, ‘yabi? “

she shakes her head, “ no, i ate a bowl of two miso noodles before coming home so we can get straight to this. i have. .missed you too much today, my love.”

cracking into a warm smile, you give the crown of her head a kiss. “ i see. long day too? “

“ admittedly so. “ she replies in seemingly bland tone but you know her well enough to hear her words sounded a little heavier than usual. you don’t like how miyabi’s treated sometimes—her squad members are amazing, it’s the h.a.n.d. higher-ups. just because she’s the strongest void hunter right now doesn’t give them the right to treat her and her other members as some sort of weapons. they’ve been buried in missions recently because of the influx of increased hollow activity in some hollows. you briefly sighed before planting a lingering kiss on her head again. one of miyabi’s ears flickered with delight.

“ I’m sorry to hear that, my heart. but i know you handled it well today, you always do. as expected from my amazing lover. i just don’t like how you’re not getting any breaks lately. “

if she had a tail, it would undoubtedly be wagging right now. you can feel a small smile pressed against your next. “ . .they’re nothing. and no matter how many missions they give me, i’ll finish them all because of your unshakable support and you having me in your prayers. “

gently, you retract miyabi’s head away from your neck. ruby eyes connect with yours in brief confusion before they shine with soft affection. your hand place itself on her cheek and almost immediately, she leans into your tender warmth, soaking it in to her cool skin. “ of course, i’m yours after all. “

you lean in to share a soft kiss with miyabi who returns the gesture right back. she’s been getting better and more relaxed with kissing recently. you definitely can conclude that she’s a very good kisser now that her stiffness is disappearing away. “ rightfully so. “ the sable haired woman responds back with softness of her own.

“ haha. .rightfully so? do i sense the great miyabi showing off her arrogance? “ you teased, pressing your lips against the right crevice of hers.

“ no, i just firmly believe i’m the only one who can honor you and call you mine. . .however, if you want to view that as arrogance in a way. .then so be it. i do not pay it no mind. “

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Apple Pie Life

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: angst, threat of divorce, tired of coming in second

Summary: While Dean is out there saving the world, you’re back at home with your daughter wondering if you’re ever going to see him again or if he’s alive. There comes a point where you just can’t do it anymore so you bring up the one thing that will definitely destroy your relationship. Will Dean accept it or change who he is for you?

Square Filled: “So you think I’m broken? Fix me. ‘Cause I’m no quitter.” (2021) for @spnquotebingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

Alyssa crawls under the covers and hides her face, and you go tickling her to see where she’s at. Her giggles bring a smile to your face but you’re still so sad about your whole situation. You remove the covers from her head and smooth back her frizzy hair.

“Are you going to go to sleep this time?” you ask.

“Maaaybe,” she sings.

“Go to sleep and maybe I’ll make chocolate chip pancakes in the morning.” You kiss her head. “I love you, snugbug.”

“I love you too,” she grins. Her two front teeth are missing, but you can see the adult teeth peeking out from her gums. You get up to leave but her next words stop you. “Where’s Daddy?”

Just like that, the happiness is gone. Your heart cracks at her questions because you truly don’t know where he is. You don’t even know if he’s alive. Still, you can’t tell that to your six-year-old, so you tell her something that will bring her comfort.

“He’s with Uncle Sam right now.”

Good. Keep it vague.

“When is he gonna be back?”

“Soon. If you go to sleep, he might be here when you wake up.”

Alyssa snuggles in her blanket, eyes already closed. You turn off the light but keep the night light on before closing the door behind you. The tears want to come but you will them not to fall. You can’t cry right now. You have to pretend to be strong even if it’s killing you. You walk downstairs to the kitchen and pour yourself a big glass of wine. You take that glass to the couch in the living room, and you pull your phone out to call Dean.

Like always, he doesn’t answer. He sends you straight to voicemail, and a piece of your heart breaks off and turns to ash. You’re not sure how long you can do this for. Soon, there won’t be enough of your heart to give to him. You should be sleeping. You should be tucked under the covers and in a dreamless sleep, but you can’t sleep not knowing if Dean is alive or where he is.

So, you drink and when that glass is done, you pour another and continue drinking. You’re halfway through your third glass when the front door opens. Dean walks through and tries to be quiet for your sake, but you’re already jumping off the couch.

“Thank God. Where the hell were you? I called you, like twenty times.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. There was this pack of werewolves that refused to die. They broke my phone.” He proves this by pulling it out of his pocket. It’s true. It’s smashed to pieces. “Plus, we were in the mountains where the reception wasn’t that great, anyway.”

“Alyssa was asking about you.”

Dean sighs and runs a hand through his short hair. “What did you say?”

“What I always tell her. That you’ll be here in the morning.” You let silence befall between you two. “Will you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Mmm.” You walk toward the kitchen and put your lass into the sink. Now that you know he’s safe and alive, you can sleep. “Maybe stay more than a week this time, okay?”

“Y/N…”

“I’m going to bed.”

You leave him standing in the kitchen all alone, and he curses to himself once the bedroom door closes. The next morning, you wake to the sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen, Alyssa knows better than to not mess with those on her own so Dean must have been telling the truth. He’s here. You really shouldn’t have had that extra glass of wine. You have a small headache but knowing Dean is here makes the pain worth it.

You brush your teeth before going downstairs, and you see Alyssa on a step stool as she helps Dean mix the batter in a bowl. She’s the first one to see you standing in the doorway.

“Mommy! Daddy and I made pancakes!”

You smile at her enthusiasm. “It smells good, baby. Good job.” Dean pushes a plate of two pancakes to you, and you grab a fork. “Thanks.”

“Daddy said he was going to take me to the zoo this weekend! He also said that we can get as much ice cream as I can eat!”

“Is that right?” You look at Dean but instead of a happy smile on his face, he is racked with guilt. You know that look all too well. He’s not taking her to the zoo which means you’ll have to. “Alyssa, I’ll be taking you to the zoo.”

“Y/N--”

“What? I’m just saying it like how it is. You have work to do, don’t you?”

“Daddy?”

Dean is forced to confront reality and looks at Alyssa with a guilty face. “Alyssa, I just have to do something with Uncle Sammy. It won’t take long.”

“Can I come?”

You’re immediately put on alert but Dean isn’t stupid. He knows better than to put his daughter in danger.

“Not this time, baby.”

She stirs the batter but it’s not as happily as before.

“When will you be back?”

“I’ll try to be back before Friday.”

You look at your watch and widen when you see what time it is.

“Why don’t you get ready for school? The bus will be here in thirty minutes.”

You and Dean keep the peace as long as Alyssa is in the house. The second she hops onto the bus, you let it show just how pissed off you are with him. You walk back into the house and head straight to the kitchen to clean the mess they made. Your pancakes are left untouched; you’re not hungry anymore. Dean stays silent but he knows he has to say something to you even though he knows whatever he says won’t be of any comfort to you.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, you’re always sorry.”

“Don’t do that.”

You slam the plastic bowl onto the kitchen island a bit too hard, and splotches of batter land on the counter. “Are we not important to you?”

“You know that’s not it.”

“It seems like it is when you leave us behind. You’re not here, Dean. When she asks me where Daddy is or when he’s coming home, I never know what to fucking tell her because I don’t even know if you’re alive!”

Something dark crosses over Dean’s features. “This is the life, Y/N.”

“Yeah, I know,” you scoff. You grab the batter bowl and toss it into the sink. You’ll clean it later. You grab a few paper towels and start to wipe the surface of the counter. “That’s always the excuse.”

“It’s not an excuse. It’s my life.”

“What about my life?!” you yell. “What about Alyssa’s life? You never see the disappointment in her eyes when I tell her that you’re not coming home. When will it be our turn to have you?”

It breaks your heart to even think about doing this, but you don’t know what else to do. You toss the paper towels into the trash and grab your purse. You pull out a packet of papers and slide them across the counter over to Dean.

“What is this?”

It hurts to even say these words but you know they have to be said. You want them to come out strong but they only come out as a whisper.

“I think the only way to save this family is to break it up.”

Dean grabs the papers and skims the first page.

“You want a divorce?”

You can’t meet Dean’s eyes. If you do, you’ll break down in tears and give in. You’re done bending to what he wants. It’s time you try and protect your fragile heart.

“I won’t ever keep Alyssa from you, but I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep wondering when the love of my life is going to come home, and if he does, will he be in one piece? I admire what you do and I know people need you, but I need you.” Your voice cracks and the tears come. “I’m losing weight, Dean. My eyes are sunken in. My head hurts all the damn time. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat properly. I can’t do this anymore.”

Dean crushes the papers in his hands and throws them onto the counter. He’s never been one to confront how he’s feeling, and this is one of those times. He wants to comfort you, but he doesn’t know how. He’d hate to do or say something he’d regret so he turns and storms out of the kitchen and out of the house. When the door slams behind him, you sink to the floor in tears.

It’s not like you don’t love him. You’re in love with him, but you can’t keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. You can’t keep waiting for death to come for you, Alyssa, or Dean.

Dean doesn’t know where to go but his brain is on overdrive. He drives straight back to the Bunker where Sam is. Dena has to talk to someone, he needs someone to tell him what to do because he doesn’t know what to do. Do you think he’s fine with leaving you for weeks at a time? It breaks his heart. He hates that you are living this hollow life. He knows you deserve more.

Sam knows something is wrong the second Dean walks into the war room, and he provides his brother with a listening ear. He knew this was coming. It was inevitable. When you live two lives, one of them always crumbles.

“What do you want to do?” Sam asks after Dean is done.

“I can’t lose her, Sammy, but if I continue doing what I’m doing, I will.”

Sam is silent for five minutes trying to find the right words to say.

“What if you let her go?” Dean looks at his brother with red-rimmed eyes. “What if letting her go is the only way to protect her? To protect both of them?”

“There has to be another way.” Dean puts his head down and actually cries. Sam has never seen his brother like this. A thought of realization crosses Dean’s mind, and he looks up at his brother. “There might be another way.”

Alyssa was disappointed when she got home from school and didn’t see Dean waiting there for her. You had to keep her distracted with a new toy, but you know this can’t go on like this for much longer. She’s getting older and smarter. She’ll figure out something is wrong with Mommy and Daddy fast.

She usually likes to stay up and watch movies with you, but she wants to go to bed early tonight. Maybe she’s hoping when she wakes up, Daddy will be there waiting for her. You’re downstairs with a glass of wine just staring at the divorce papers. The look on Dean’s face when he realized what they were… true heartbreak. It hurt for you to even bring this up, but you don’t know of any other way to make this work.

You have a pen in hand but you can’t seem to sign it. The front door opens and you look up to see Dean walk in. He’s back. You set the pen down but you don’t get up to greet him. You do set your glass of wine down on the kitchen island.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hi.” He walks into the light and you can tell he’d been crying for hours. His eyes are red and puffy, as you’re sure yours are. He sits next to you and looks at the papers. “Is this really what you want?”

“I don’t know any other way. It hurts when you’re not here. It hurts seeing you in pain. It just hurts so much.”

Dean grabs the pen but he doesn’t sign it. He just stares at it and thinks back to the conversation he had with his brother. There is a way to fix this. But if you don’t want it fixed, then he’ll sign.

“If I sign this, I don’t know if we’ll ever come back from it.”

“If you don’t, I don’t see how we can move on.”

He’s about to say something when a small voice comes from the top of the stairs. You both turn to see Alyssa in her pink pajamas holding the stuffed unicorn that Dean got her.

“Are you guys going to read me a bedtime story?”

You’re about to get up when Dean stops you. “Let me.”

Dean follows Alyssa to bed while you stay downstairs. You spent the entire time just staring at the divorce papers wondering if this is what you really want. Of course, it’s not. You don’t ever want to be apart from Dean. You love him so much. That’s why it hurts so much. Dean walks back downstairs thirty minutes later and rejoins you in the kitchen.

“Look, if we’re going to do this, I think it’s best if you leave before the morning.”

“No.”

You look at Dean. “What?”

“No, I’m not doing this. I’m not getting a divorce.”

“Dean…”

“No, listen to me. I never knew I could have what you have given to me. I thought I was going to die bloody and that was that. Then you came along and showed me there is more to this world than blood and gore. Then Alyssa came alone and I had the apple pie life I’ve always wanted. I hunt for you and her. I hunt to keep them away from you, but I now see it’s tearing you apart. So, you think I’m broken? Fix me. ‘Cause I’m no quitter. I’ll fix me. I’ll work better on us for us.”

Tears well in your eyes and roll down your cheeks in waves. “I don’t think you’re broken. Our system is broken. I love you, Dean, but I can’t keep coming in second.”

Dean grabs both of your hands and runs his thumbs across their backs.

“You don’t have to anymore. I talked to Sam. I’m out.”

You pull your hands back “Wait, what?”

“I’m done hunting. Sam agreed he’d call if he needs help researching, but I won’t be hunting anymore.”

“You love hunting,” you whisper.

He touches your cheek gently. “I love you more.”

“What about Sam? Who will do it with him?”

“Jody has a few girls she’s been training. Sam loves to teach. I think they’d be good with him. Plus, he has Eileen and Garth and Donna.”

You shake your head as you try to wrap your mind around this. “Wait, Dean, I can’t ask you to give up hunting. That’s who you are.”

“You are who I am. Alyssa is who I am. I’d do anything for you and that includes this. I’m okay with this decision, but I am not okay with divorcing you because I am not done loving you.” You break out in a fit of sobs and Dean pulls you closer to him. “I will always be here. I won’t leave anymore. Sam even found me a mechanic job near here.”

“You’d really do that for me?” you whisper, unable to believe it still.

“I’d burn the world for you.” You lean up and kiss him with everything you’ve got. He pulls away from you and grabs the divorce papers. He rips them to shreds and tosses them into the trash. “It’s me and you, okay?”

“Forever and always.”

Dean captures your lips again, this time, picking you up by your thighs. This isn’t going to fix everything but it’s one hell of a start.

x

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[diminuel]

Since I’m still down the Rocks rabbit hole and pondering this AU some more (I'm boring and just calling it Time Travelling Rocks AU for now) I think the path of angst for any time traveling AU would go like this:

Either little Pebble (I'm just going to use this as a name for now because it's cute! Technically, unless I change my mind, Crocodile's name is Keres) gets taken off Hachinosu and Rocks has been chasing for leads, leaving a trail of destruction for days/ weeks that finally leads to God Valley once he hears the broadcast. Or if the kid was on Rocks’ ship it’s also possible they lost sight of her on God Valley because a D. Clan child is not going to just sit around and hide. There has probably already been tension between Pebble’s parents regarding whether it was appropriate to bring a child on high stake raids and if it maybe wasn’t better to drop her off on Sphynx instead where a child can grow up safe and sheltered (but alone and ultimately defenseless if it turns out Sphynx isn’t safe after all).

It's possible that Rocks believes that Pebble has been killed which starts him on an even worse spiral of destruction, with no holds barred. And there’s a real danger that killing a lot of the present World Nobles would rain destruction down on the seas below, enough that Roger and Garp know that they have to stop him even if that means killing him and protecting Celestials in the process. Yes, it’s tragic that Rocks’ child is among the casualties but they can’t let Rocks trigger a "great cleansing". (Rocks would of course think that those are empty words coming from Garp, who knows that innocent children are experiencing unspeakable suffering and die at the hands of World Nobles every day. Who knows and does nothing about it. Who knows of the wanted poster that had been put out for Rocks’ innocent child and does nothing.)

Rocks, who has no devil fruit power but uses magic (or ancient civilization technology that looks like magic), knows that if he gets killed, a last resort/ emergency spell will be triggered. He doesn’t know what exactly it does but he doesn’t care.

But maybe as he lays dying he sees his child run past. Wearing different clothes, hiding her identity, having everyone fooled that she died, even her own parents. Such a smart child. And in true D. clan fashion Rocks can die with a laugh.

And then the magic is triggered and Rocks gasps awake and instantly swallows salt water. Disoriented, with wounds carried over from the battle, it takes him a while to get to land. He learns where he is and, shockingly, when he is. 36 years thrown into the future, on an island called Dawn.

If I go with a 36 years jump then that would put him shortly before Luffy’s departure, so he would be the only Monkey kid still on Dawn. In a serious AU I would go with that for sure. So that Rocks might only return to the world stage in/ around Marineford as well, having spent the time before acclimatizing to this time (and being babysat by Garp to make sure he’s not taking the first opportunity to return to his King of the World/ World Destroying ways.)

Maybe he’d meet Luffy in Impel Down because Rocks also had the brilliant idea to break into the prison to get Ace and Crocodile out, just that he’s a lot more stealthy than Luffy. But once Luffy’s made such a commotion then all bets are off for him too. It’s a fun family trip! :DD (Crocodile doesn’t think it’s fun at all. And he’s not looking forward to seeing his parents' reunion in Marineford of all places where the stakes are just too high for relationship drama...! And from the way Rocks is talking about Whitebeard there is definitely going to be relationship drama and Rocks might just kill the old man and the doing the World Governments job for them.)

I think while the Marine would still claim victory because they think Ace died (he gets better), Whitebeard does survive.

(In a sillier AU where everything is changed anyway the time jump could be earlier.)

[makeila04]

I’ve always wondered… What was Adler like with his former family? What kind of father was he?

I mean, we know he was married because of his comment about his ex-wife in Call of Duty: Cold War, and in Black Ops 6, we see the "children" section censored in his file. So, with the little we know about him, we can only speculate and hypothesize based on what we know about his work, personal life, history, etc. What was Russell Adler like with his former family? What was he like with his two children? And perhaps… What led to his divorce from his ex-wife? We only know that by the age of 44, he was already divorced.

What was Adler like as a husband? Adler is a reserved, controlled man, addicted to his work. His life has been marked by manipulation, betrayal, and constant paranoia, which means his marriage couldn’t have been easy for his wife. Despite that, I don’t think he was an openly hostile or cruel husband, but he was emotionally distant. His wife was probably an intelligent and strong woman, someone who initially saw beyond his coldness and believed she could connect with him. But over time, Adler’s lack of emotional openness, combined with the tension and secrets of his work, must have made the relationship increasingly difficult. The fact that he still remembers her (as he does in Cold War) indicates that the relationship wasn’t irrelevant to him. But at the same time, his sarcastic tone suggests that the relationship ended on bad terms or with resentment. It’s most likely that Adler tried to protect her from his world, which led him to hide many things, becoming even more closed-off and disconnected in the relationship. It’s possible that his wife couldn’t stand living with a man who was always emotionally and physically absent, trapped in missions, unable to share what was really happening in his life. Even if he loved her in his own way, his nature and work made him incapable of being a present husband.

What was Adler like as a father? This is where the story becomes even more interesting. In Black Ops 6, the "children" section of his file is censored, suggesting that the topic is too delicate or painful to be exposed. This could mean several things:

His children are dead → This would explain why the information is censored and why Adler never mentions them.

Adler lost custody and completely distanced himself from them → Perhaps his ex-wife gained full custody, and Adler no longer had contact with them.

His children are alive, but he keeps them secret for their safety → It’s possible he decided to distance himself from them to protect them. In any of these cases, one thing is very clear: Adler couldn’t have been a fully present father. If his children died, that might have been the breaking point in his marriage. Perhaps they died due to an accident, an illness, or even something related to his work (retaliation? a threat?). This would explain why the topic is censored and why he never mentions them. If his children are alive but he lost custody, this suggests that his ex-wife didn’t want them growing up near a man like Adler. It could be that his work and lack of stability made him a danger to his own children, and she decided to keep them away from him. If they’re still alive but he distanced himself for their safety, this would make him similar to other agents who cut ties with their families to avoid putting them in danger. But, beyond what happened to them, Adler isn’t the type of man who could have been a traditional father. I can’t imagine him playing with his kids in the park or helping them with homework. But I can imagine him fiercely protecting them, even if he didn’t know how to show affection. If his children ever saw his tender side, it must have been in rare and fleeting moments, like when they were asleep or when no one else was around. He might never have known how to express love, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t care for them. If his relationship with them ended in tragedy or forced distance, this could explain part of the cynicism and extreme hardness we see in Black Ops 6. If he was already broken in Cold War, by 1991, there’s nothing left of the man he might have been as a husband and father.

What led to the divorce? Considering all this, there are several reasons why his marriage ended before 1981:

Adler couldn’t disconnect from his work. He was always on missions, in the CIA, in covert operations. He wasn’t a present husband.

His wife couldn’t stand the paranoia and secrets. Living with someone like him must have been like living with a ghost.

If his children died or something terrible happened to them, that destroyed them as a couple. Guilt and grief might have made it impossible to stay together. It’s possible that Adler wanted the marriage to work at first, but his nature, his work, and his inability to connect emotionally made it impossible. And when they finally divorced, instead of grieving too much, he simply moved forward with more brutality, cynicism, and coldness. But the fact that he mentions his ex-wife sarcastically in Cold War suggests that, even if he doesn’t talk much about her, what happened still weighs on him. And if his children are no longer in his life, that would also explain his emotional hardness, lethality, and emotional detachment.

Conclusion: Adler, a man broken by his past Adler wasn’t an ideal husband or an affectionate father, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t feel love in his own way. It’s just that his way of showing it must have been clumsy, distant, and full of silence. The censorship in his file in Black Ops 6 suggests that the topic of his children is something very serious, something that can’t be revealed or that he himself doesn’t want to face. If his children are dead, if they’re alive but don’t remember him, or if he distanced himself to protect them, the fact that he never mentions them is a sign that it’s a pain he can’t afford to show. His ex-wife, his lost family, are invisible scars that turned him into the man we see in Black Ops 6. And even though he seems "indestructible," the small moments when he mentions Bell, Hudson, or his ex-wife tell us that his past still haunts him, even if he’ll never admit it. Personally, I lean toward the idea that they died, perhaps due to retaliation, and that’s why everything ended in a divorce full of pain and resentment. It would explain why the "children" section of his file is censored. Because if he had them or not, it would’ve been as simple as writing "yes" or "no." And not blacking out everything. Maybe the long line had their names and/or status, something like "John Adler, Mary Adler. Status: deceased," and that’s why the censorship bar is so large. And maybe that’s why Adler, even with sarcasm and pain, can mention his ex-wife but never his children. Because that pain is even greater, and we know that Adler can be defined as: reserved. Especially when it comes to hiding his pain and maintaining that impeccable image of a tough guy who isn’t affected by anything.

What led to the divorce?

Of these three possibilities, I lean toward the third: that his children died. Why do I insist on this? Because first comes the couple, and then the children. It’s likely that Adler’s ex-wife already knew him while he was working for the CIA or at least when he was still in the military.

Let’s remember that Adler joined the military at 18, and by his late 20s and early 30s, he was already working for the CIA. By 44, he was divorced. So it’s obvious that she already knew what being with a man like him entailed.

Obviously, she would also have to be a very independent woman. Few types of women can be with someone like Russell Adler.

Especially because no one can change Russell Adler.

So while we don’t know anything about his ex-wife, we can sketch a profile of what she was like based on what we know about Adler. Because to take THE Russell Adler to the altar, we’re talking about a VERY specific and particular type of woman.

As I said, Adler isn’t easy, so the divorce must have been over something extremely serious and irreparable. Because she wouldn’t be a woman who’s easily intimidated; she had to be someone on his level. Because Adler wasn’t a conventional husband due to his work, and you’d have to know exactly what you were getting into to get involved with someone like Russell Adler.

But it’s also true that when it’s just the two of you, life is one thing, but when children come into the picture, everything changes. It’s easy for me to imagine that she didn’t have as many problems when they were just dating or newlyweds, just the two of them.

But when the children came along, she probably tried to endure as much as she could, maybe she still didn’t mind Adler’s work too much. Also because, well, I don’t know how someone convinces Russell Adler that having children with his job is a good idea, but it must have seemed like a good idea to both of them. Maybe out of naivety or overconfidence, and that’s why if the children died in an accident or as retaliation, it would explain why when we meet Adler in Call of Duty: Cold War, he’s already resentful toward his ex-wife and already hides his pain.

During the missions in Vietnam in the 60s, when Adler was in his 30s, we still see him fairly relaxed, within his serious demeanor, not as cold, even smiling at times. But when we return to the present in 1981, the contrast is stark: Adler distrusts Bell, beyond the fact that he was Soviet, Adler is manipulative to the extreme by subjecting Bell to MK-Ultra, Adler is colder and more distant than usual, even with Sims, whom we know Adler has known since Vietnam from the "Fracture Jaw" mission. And it’s implied that the others know Adler more personally because even Helen Park strongly recommends how to deal with Adler to Bell. Maybe she even knows the real story behind Adler’s scar.

Maybe it’s because of all this that, even at 44 in 1981, Adler could tolerate or hide his pain better, but by Black Ops 6, which is set in 1991 when Adler is 54 and in the meantime has experienced the deaths of Jason Hudson and Frank Woods being confined to a wheelchair, among other events, it was like a breaking point, compounded by someone in the CIA framing him for the 1989 disaster in Panama, where Hudson was killed and Woods was left in a wheelchair, and although we don’t know for sure, Alex Mason probably died too.

So, having lost his only close circle of, the closest thing Adler could have to friends, was what finally broke him, and that’s why in Black Ops 6, we see this Adler who’s no longer afraid because he has absolutely nothing left to lose.

He’s lost everything: wife, children, friends… he has nothing left. At the end of the campaign, Adler regains his position as a CIA agent and is no longer a criminal, but… he doesn’t smile. In Black Ops 6, he smiles a little between jokes with Woods or out of pure sarcasm. But at the same time, in his room, there are beer cans scattered on the floor and several whiskey bottles, with one half-empty on his nightstand… which we can infer that everything that’s happened to him over the last ten or fifteen years, since Cold War at least, has weighed heavily on him. To the point where, internally, we see signs of a collapse or crisis. But as always, he hides it.

This explains lines from Zombies mode like:

"Hudson would’ve loved this shit."

"I didn’t survive Fracture Jaw to die in this hole."

Interesting, "Do you mind if I call you Tinker Bell?"

"You and I have work to do." Especially the ones referencing Bell, because even though he says it sarcastically, it means Bell still lingers in his memory, even though he killed him. And that’s a lot for Adler… The same goes for Hudson, whom he mentions with a melancholic and nostalgic, almost sad tone, because he’s already dead…

Returning to the topic… The theory that his children died as retaliation fits too well with the censorship in his file, his emotional detachment, and the visible transformation in his personality between the 60s and 90s. He’s a man who’s lost everything, but instead of completely breaking down, he clings to the only thing he has left: his work and his facade of absolute control. If his children died, I imagine the guilt consumed him in a silent but constant way. Adler is a man who doesn’t show weakness, but the pain doesn’t disappear; it’s just hidden under layers of cynicism, alcohol, and suicidal missions. Maybe he never got over the idea that his work, the very thing that defined him and made him feel in control, was what indirectly led to the tragedy. The fact that he mentions his ex-wife but not his children is a key detail. With her, there can be resentment, anger, or even disdain, but with his children… there aren’t enough words for the kind of loss that represents. If they survived but were taken from him, the result is similar: they’re dead to him emotionally, unreachable. And the mention of his evolution in Black Ops 6 is brutal. He’s not the same man we met in Cold War. In the 80s, he still had some structure; his mask was strong. By the 90s, he’s at a point where alcohol and nihilism are eroding him. He has nothing and no one left. He’s a ghost clinging to the only thing he knows how to do: fight. Not for a noble purpose anymore, but because it’s the only thing he has left. The detail of the Zombies lines is incredible. Especially the references to Bell and Hudson. It means that, no matter how much he pretends nothing matters, the memories are still there, etched in his mind. Adler isn’t a man who "gets over" things; he just buries them until they become part of his essence. All this makes me think… if he ever had a moment of weakness, of true catharsis, what would it have been like? Did he ever allow himself to cry for his children, even if it was in solitude, or did he just let the pain eat away at him in silence, like everything else?

What did Adler feel after the divorce? If his children died, he probably felt a mix of love, hate, and guilt. He might have loved her but also hated her for what happened. Maybe he never forgave her, or maybe he understood that she also suffered and let her go in his mind. If she just left him, maybe she remembers him with resentment and pity. She knew him when he still had a spark in his eyes, but if she saw him in the 90s, she’d know that man is broken. She might hate him, but deep down, it would hurt her to see him like that. This profile fits the idea that Adler never mentions his children but does mention his ex-wife. With her, the pain is bearable; it can be disguised with sarcasm or indifference. With his children… the pain is too deep, too real. And that’s something he can’t allow to surface.

Why do I also believe his children died, and that led to the divorce?

Because Jason Hudson was married and had children, Alex Mason was also married and had a son, though his wife passed away. So, in essence, marriage or Adler’s job weren’t obstacles to having a relationship. Even with Adler’s personality, that wasn’t the issue. Clearly, it was something so grave that it led to a breaking point in the relationship…

The marriage itself wasn’t the problem. Hudson had a wife and kids, and Mason did too, though he ended up a widower. Even Woods, with his hardened soldier’s life, managed to build a bond with his son. What sets Adler apart from them is that something happened that made it impossible for him to stay married. Something irreversible. The divorce wasn’t just the result of a worn-out relationship; it was the final point of a devastating event. And the best explanation is that his children died, and that destroyed everything left between him and his wife.

Why is the death of his children the most likely explanation?

Adler doesn’t mention his children but does mention his ex-wife.

If his children were alive, even if he had no contact with them, the way he’d talk about his family would be different.

Instead, he mentions his ex-wife with bitterness and sarcasm but never talks about his children, not even in jokes. The silence is a scream.

If his children had survived, the CIA might have given him some access to them.

The CIA has the resources to protect identities but also to facilitate secret contacts if necessary.

Hudson could see his family. Mason, though under different circumstances, could too. If Adler has no relationship with his children, the most logical explanation is that they no longer exist.

The way Adler deals with pain is self-destructive.

We know Adler is a man who, despite his control, has self-destructive tendencies.

Alcohol and cynicism are his ways of numbing himself.

If his family simply left him, it would hurt, but it wouldn’t destroy him the way losing them forever would.

The event that changed everything: the death of his children How did they die? The death of Adler’s children wasn’t accidental or natural. For it to have had such a brutal impact on his life and marriage, it had to be related to his work.

They were killed in retaliation for his work Adler made too many enemies over the years. KGB, Viet Cong, traffickers, toppled dictators… anyone could have wanted revenge on him. His family was his weak point, and someone knew it. A targeted attack on his wife and children would have been a clear message: "you’re not untouchable." If this happened, Adler probably feels guilty because he knows it was his fault. His work, his life, brought danger to them.

They died in an attack he couldn’t prevent Maybe they were in a foreign country under CIA protection, and there was an attack that went wrong. Perhaps a bombing, explosion, or shooting caught them by surprise. If this was the case, Adler was far away when it happened. He couldn’t do anything. He only received the news too late. The helplessness of not being there would have destroyed him.

An "accident" that was never clear It’s possible that the CIA officially classified it as an "accident." But Adler knows it wasn’t a coincidence. Maybe there was a cover-up, maybe he never found the responsible parties. That would consume him even more.

The divorce: the final breaking point When his children died, his wife never forgave him. Maybe she blamed him directly. "If you hadn’t been in the CIA, this never would’ve happened." "You knew we were in danger, but you never protected us enough." "You chose your job over your family, and now we’re paying the price." Or maybe she didn’t blame him directly, but the pain was too great. It didn’t matter how much they loved each other; the weight of the tragedy was unbearable. Both became shadows of what they once were. Every time they looked at each other, they only saw the memory of what they’d lost. Adler probably reacted by throwing himself into his work. He didn’t face his grief. He dove headfirst into more missions, more war, more adrenaline. His wife watched him drift away until he became unrecognizable.

What kind of man was left after that? The Adler of the 80s and 90s is a man without roots. He has no family. No home. No purpose beyond war and missions. He’s trapped in a cycle of self-destruction. But, above all, he never allowed himself to grieve. That’s why he doesn’t mention them. That’s why he never talks about his children. Because if he did, all his control would crumble. The only thing that doesn’t add up is… if his children died for any of these reasons, whatever it was, why didn’t Adler seek revenge? If the guy is unstoppable… why just self-destruct? If his children died and he didn’t seek revenge, something really messed up must have happened. The most likely reasons:

Because he never knew who was responsible If the attack was planned, it’s possible that the person or group behind it left no trace. If the CIA covered up what happened, Adler might have received manipulated versions of the events. If it was a covert attack, maybe the responsible parties were eliminated before he could find them. If it was a calculated assassination, maybe the culprits were too well-protected for him to reach. If he never knew for sure who did it, he couldn’t take revenge. And that would drive him insane. Not knowing, being in the dark, would be worse than anything else. It would leave him without direction, without a clear enemy to kill. And instead of focusing on revenge, he’d end up consumed by his own despair.

Because he already took revenge… but it brought him no peace Another possibility is that he did find the responsible parties and killed them, but it didn’t help. Maybe it was something cold and calculated, a hunt where eliminating the culprits felt empty. Maybe he thought killing them would bring relief, but the truth is that his children were still dead. When your only reason for revenge is to bring back the dead, there’s no satisfaction. If this happened, it was the final straw that broke him.

Because it was an internal betrayal This scenario is messed up, but it’s possible that his own people—the CIA—were involved. Maybe his family was exposed because someone in the CIA decided they weren’t worth protecting. Maybe the CIA covered up the truth to protect their own reputation. If Adler found out about this, he knew that confronting the CIA would lead nowhere. This would explain his resentment toward the agency. It’s not just bitterness over the time he gave in service. It’s contained rage, helplessness from knowing he was betrayed in the worst way. In this case, the self-destruction isn’t just from grief but from being unable to get justice.

Because deep down, he blames himself Regardless of who was responsible, Adler probably feels that his children’s deaths were his fault. "If I hadn’t been in the CIA, this never would’ve happened." "If I’d protected them better, they’d still be alive." "If I hadn’t left them alone, they wouldn’t have been killed." Maybe even his ex-wife said something that destroyed him: "You were an unstoppable soldier all over the world… but you failed at the one thing that really mattered." If he believes it’s his fault, then his punishment isn’t revenge but his own suffering. That’s why he doesn’t seek justice. Because in his mind, the real culprit is himself.

In honor, and in advance, for: @mypetitelune

I hope you like it. ______________________________________________________________ Siempre me he preguntado...¿Cómo debió ser Adler con su antigua familia? ¿Cómo era cómo padre?. 

Quiero decir, sabemos que estuvo casado por su comentario a su ex esposa en call of duty cold war y en Black ops 6 vemos la parte de "hijos" censura en su expediente, así que con lo poco que sabemos de él sólo cabe preguntarse e hipotetizar en base a lo que sabemos de él, su trabajo, lo personal, historia, etc. 

¿Cómo era Russell Adler con su antigua familia? ¿Cómo era con sus dos hijos? Y quizás… ¿Qué los llevó a su ex esposa y él al divorcio? Solo sabemos que a los 44 ya estaba divorciado. 

¿Cómo era Adler como esposo?

Adler es un hombre reservado, controlado y adicto a su trabajo. Su vida ha estado marcada por la manipulación, la traición y la constante paranoia, lo que significa que su matrimonio no debió ser fácil para su esposa. A pesar de eso, no creo que haya sido un esposo abiertamente hostil o cruel, pero sí emocionalmente distante.

Su esposa probablemente era una mujer inteligente y fuerte, alguien que inicialmente pudo ver más allá de su frialdad y creyó que podía conectar con él. Pero con el tiempo, la falta de apertura emocional de Adler, sumada a la tensión y los secretos de su trabajo, debió hacer que la relación se volviera más difícil.

El hecho de que él siga recordándola (como lo hace en Cold War) indica que no fue una relación irrelevante para él. Pero, al mismo tiempo, su tono sarcástico sugiere que la relación terminó en malos términos o con resentimientos.

Lo más probable es que Adler intentara protegerla de su mundo, lo que lo llevó a ocultar muchas cosas, volviéndose aún más hermético y desconectado en la relación.

Es posible que su esposa no soportara vivir con un hombre que estaba siempre ausente emocional y físicamente, atrapado en misiones, sin poder compartir con ella lo que realmente pasaba en su vida. Incluso si la amaba a su manera, su naturaleza y trabajo lo hacían incapaz de ser un esposo presente.

¿Cómo era Adler como padre?

Aquí es donde la historia se vuelve aún más interesante. En Black Ops 6, la parte de "hijos" está censurada en su expediente, lo que sugiere que el tema es demasiado delicado o doloroso como para ser expuesto. Esto puede significar varias cosas:

Sus hijos están muertos → Esto explicaría por qué la información está censurada y por qué Adler nunca los menciona.

Adler perdió la custodia y se distanció completamente de ellos → Quizás la ex esposa ganó la custodia total y Adler ya no tuvo contacto con ellos.

Sus hijos están vivos, pero los mantiene en secreto por seguridad → Es posible que él mismo decidiera apartarse de ellos para protegerlos.

En cualquiera de estos casos, hay algo muy claro: Adler no pudo ser un padre completamente presente.

Si sus hijos murieron, es posible que eso haya sido un punto de quiebre definitivo en su matrimonio. Quizás murieron debido a un accidente, una enfermedad, o incluso por algo relacionado con su trabajo (¿una represalia? ¿una amenaza?). Esto explicaría por qué el tema está censurado y por qué nunca los menciona.

Si sus hijos están vivos, pero él perdió la custodia, esto sugiere que la ex esposa no quería que ellos crecieran cerca de un hombre como Adler. Podría ser que su trabajo y su falta de estabilidad lo hicieron un peligro para sus propios hijos, y ella decidió alejarlos de él.

Si aún están vivos, pero él se distanció por seguridad, esto lo haría similar a otros agentes que cortan lazos con su familia para no ponerlos en peligro.

Pero, más allá de lo que haya pasado con ellos, Adler no es el tipo de hombre que podría haber sido un padre tradicional.

No lo imagino jugando con sus hijos en el parque o ayudándolos con la tarea.

Pero sí lo imagino protegiéndolos ferozmente, aunque sin saber cómo expresarles afecto.

Si sus hijos alguna vez vieron su lado tierno, debió haber sido en momentos raros y fugaces, como cuando estaban dormidos o cuando nadie más estaba cerca.

Puede que nunca haya sabido cómo demostrar amor, pero eso no significa que no los haya querido.

Si su relación con ellos terminó en tragedia o en distancia forzada, esto podría explicar parte del cinismo y la dureza extrema que vemos en Black Ops 6. Si ya estaba roto en Cold War, para 1991 ya no le queda nada de la persona que pudo haber sido como esposo y padre.

¿Qué llevó al divorcio?

Teniendo en cuenta todo esto, hay varias razones por las cuales su matrimonio terminó antes de 1981:

Adler no podía desconectarse de su trabajo. Siempre estaba en misiones, en la CIA, en operaciones encubiertas. No era un esposo presente.

Su esposa no soportó la paranoia y los secretos. Vivir con alguien como él debió haber sido como vivir con un fantasma.

Si sus hijos murieron o algo grave les pasó, eso los destruyó como pareja. La culpa y el dolor pudieron haber hecho imposible seguir juntos.

Es posible que Adler haya querido que el matrimonio funcionara al inicio, pero su naturaleza, su trabajo y su incapacidad para conectar emocionalmente lo hicieron imposible. Y cuando finalmente se divorció, en lugar de lamentarse demasiado, simplemente siguió adelante con más brutalidad, cinismo y frialdad.

Pero el hecho de que mencione a su ex esposa con sarcasmo en Cold War sugiere que, aunque no hable mucho de ella, aún le pesa lo que pasó. Y si sus hijos ya no están en su vida, eso también explicaría su dureza emocional, su letalidad y su desconexión emocional.

Conclusión: Adler, un hombre roto por su pasado

Adler no era un esposo ideal ni un padre afectuoso, pero eso no significa que no sintiera amor a su manera. Solo que su forma de demostrarlo debió haber sido torpe, distante y llena de silencios.

La censura de su expediente en Black Ops 6 sugiere que el tema de sus hijos es algo muy serio, algo que no puede ser revelado o que él mismo no quiere enfrentar. Si sus hijos están muertos, si están vivos pero no lo recuerdan, o si él se alejó para protegerlos, el hecho de que nunca los mencione es una señal de que es un dolor que no puede permitirse mostrar.

Su ex esposa, su familia perdida, son cicatrices invisibles que lo convirtieron en el hombre que vemos en Black Ops 6. Y aunque él se vea como alguien "indestructible", los pequeños momentos en que menciona a Bell, a Hudson o a su ex esposa nos dicen que su pasado lo sigue atormentando, aunque jamás lo admitirá.

Personalmente elijo la opción de que murieron, quizás por represalias, y por eso todo terminó en un divorcio lleno de dolor y resentimientos. Explicaría el por qué en su expediente la parte de "hijos" esta censurada. Porque si los tuviera o no, era tan fácil como poner "si" o "no". Y no tachar todo. Quizás el renglón extenso tenía sus nombres y/o estado, algo como "John Adler, Mary Adler. Estado: muertos" y explica por qué la barra negra de censura es tan grande. Y quizás por eso Adler, aún con sarcasmo y dolor puede mencionar a su ex-esposa, pero jamás a sus hijos. Porque ese dolor es aún más grande y sabemos que Adler se puede definir en: reservado. Sobre todo cuando implica que puede ocultar su dolor y seguir con esa imagen impecable de tipo duro que nada le afecta. 

¿Qué llevó al divorcio?

De estas 3 posibilidades que más creo que podrían ser me decanto por la tercera, que sus hijos murieron, ¿por qué insisto en esto? Porque primero viene la pareja y después nacen los hijos. Es probable que la ex-esposa de Adler ya lo haya conocido trabajando en la cia o como mínimo cuando aún era militar. 

Recordemos que Adler entró al ejército a los 18 y para finales de sus 20 y principio de sus 30 años ya trabajaba en la cia y para los 44 estaba divorciado. Así que es obvio que ella ya sabía todo lo que implicaba estar con un hombre como él. 

Obviamente ella también tendría que ser una mujer muy independiente. Pocos perfiles de mujeres pueden estar con alguien como Russell Adler. 

Sobre todo porque nadie puede cambiar a Russell Adler. 

Así que si bien no sabemos nada de su ex-esposa si podemos trazar un perfil sobre cómo era ella en base a lo que sabemos de Adler. Ya que para poder llevar AL ALTAR AL MISMÍSIMO RUSSELL ADLER estamos hablando de un tipo de mujer MUY específica y particular. 

Como digo, Adler no es fácil, así que el divorcio debió ser por algo sumamente grave e irreparable. Porque ella no sería una mujer que se deje intimidar fácilmente, ella debía ser alguien a la altura de él. Porque Adler no era un marido convencional por su trabajo y tendrías que saber muy bien dónde te estás metiendo para involucrarte con alguien como Russell Adler. 

Pero, también es cierto que cuando la pareja es de a dos la vida es una pero con los hijos cambia demasiado. Me es fácil imaginar que ella no tenía tantos problemas cuando eran solo novios o recién casados, siendo solo dos. 

Pero cuando se sumaron los hijos seguramente intentó aguantar todo lo que pudo, quizás hasta seguía sin molestarle tanto el trabajo de Adler. Además porque, bueno, no sé cómo convence alguien a Russell Adler de que tener hijos con su trabajo es una buena idea, pero a ambos debió parecerles. Quizás por ingenuos o sobre-confianza y por eso si murieron los hijos en un accidente y o como represalia podría explicar por qué cuando lo conocemos a Adler en call of duty cold war ya era resentido con su ex-esposa y ya guardaba mucho su dolor. 

Durante las misiones en Vietnam en los 60s, cuando Adler rondaba los 30s, aún lo vemos bastante relajado, dentro de lo serio que es, no tan frío, hasta se sonríe. Pero cuando volvemos al presente en 1981 se nota demasiado el contraste: Adler desconfía de Bell, más allá de que era soviético, Adler es manipulador hasta el extremo por someter a Bell al MK-Ultra, Adler es más frío y distante que de costumbre incluso con Sims, a quien por ejemplo sabemos que Adler conoce desde Vietnam por la misión de "fracture Jaw". Y se da a entender que el resto conocen de forma más personal a Adler, porque incluso Helen Park recomienda a Bell encarecidamente cómo tratar con Adler. Hasta que quizás ella sepa la verdadera razón de cómo Adler se hizo su cicatriz. 

Quizás es por todo esto que aún con 44 años en 1981 Adler podría de cierta forma tolerar o ocultar mejor su dolor, pero para black ops 6 que es en 1991 cuando Adler tiene 54 años y en medio han ocurrido las muertes de Jason Hudson y Frank Woods quedó en silla de ruedas, entre más eventos, fue como un punto de inflexión, sumado a que alguien en la CIA lo había incriminado por el desastre de 1989 en Panamá, donde mataron a Hudson y Woods quedó en silla de ruedas, y aunque no sabemos, probablemente también murió Alex Mason. 

Entonces, al haber perdido a su único círculo cercano de, lo más parecido que Adler podía tener como amigos, fue lo que terminó de romperlo y por eso en black ops 6 vemos a este Adler que ya no tiene miedo, porque no tiene absolutamente nada que perder.

Ya lo perdió todo: esposa, hijos, amigos...no le queda nada. Al final de la campaña Adler recupera su puesto como agente de la CIA y ya no es más un criminal, pero... no sonríe. En black ops 6 sonríe un poco entre bromas con Woods o por sarcasmo puro. Pero a su vez en su habitación hay latas de cerveza regadas por el piso y lo mismo con varias botellas de whisky, mientras que una esta a la mitad en su mesa de luz... lo que podemos intuir que todo lo que le ha pasado en los últimos diez años o quince, desde cold war al menos, le ha ido pesando demasiado. Hasta el punto donde, internamente, vemos que ya tiene señales de un colapso o crisis. Pero como siempre él lo oculta. 

Esto explica frases del modo zombies como: -"A Hudson le habría encantado esta mierda", "no sobreviví a Fracture Jaw para morir en este agujero", Interesante, "¿te molesta que te llame campanita?", "tú y yo tenemos trabajo que hacer". Sobre todo las que hacen referencia a Bell, porque aunque lo diga de forma sarcástica significa que aún ronda el recuerdo de Bell, aunque lo mató, en su memoria. Y eso en Adler ya es bastante... Lo mismo con Hudson, que cuando lo nombra, se nota el tinte melancólico y nostálgico, casi triste, porque ya está muerto…

Volviendo al tema…

La teoría de que sus hijos murieron como represalia encaja demasiado bien con la censura en su expediente, su distanciamiento emocional y la transformación visible en su personalidad entre los años 60 y 90. Es un hombre que lo ha perdido todo, pero en lugar de derrumbarse por completo, se aferra a lo único que le queda: su trabajo y su fachada de control absoluto.

Si sus hijos murieron, imagino que la culpa lo devoró de una manera silenciosa pero constante. Adler es un hombre que no muestra debilidad, pero el dolor no desaparece, solo se oculta bajo capas de cinismo, alcohol y misiones suicidas. Tal vez nunca superó la idea de que su trabajo, ese mismo que lo definía y que lo hacía sentir en control, fue lo que indirectamente llevó a la tragedia.

El hecho de que mencione a su ex esposa, pero no a sus hijos, es un detalle clave. Con ella puede haber resentimiento, ira o incluso desdén, pero con sus hijos... no hay palabras suficientes para el tipo de pérdida que representa. Si sobrevivieron, pero fueron alejados de él, el resultado es similar: están muertos para él en el sentido emocional, inalcanzables.

Y la mención sobre su evolución en Black ops 6 es brutal. No es el mismo hombre que conocimos en Cold War. En los 80 todavía tenía algo de estructura, su máscara era fuerte. Para los 90, está en un punto donde el alcohol y el nihilismo lo están erosionando. No le queda nada ni nadie. Es un fantasma aferrándose a lo único que sabe hacer: pelear. Ya no por un propósito noble, sino porque es lo único que le queda.

El detalle de las frases en Zombies es increíble. Especialmente las referencias a Bell y Hudson. Significa que, por mucho que quiera aparentar que nada le importa, los recuerdos siguen ahí, grabados en su mente. Adler no es un hombre que "supera" las cosas, simplemente las entierra hasta que se convierten en parte de su esencia.

Todo esto me hace pensar… si alguna vez tuvo un momento de debilidad, de verdadera catarsis, ¿cómo habría sido? ¿Se permitió alguna vez llorar por sus hijos, aunque fuera en soledad, o simplemente dejó que el dolor lo carcomiera en silencio, como todo lo demás?

¿Qué sintió por Adler después del divorcio?

Si sus hijos murieron, probablemente sintió una mezcla de amor, odio y culpa. Pudo haberlo amado, pero también odiado por lo que pasó. Tal vez nunca lo perdonó, o tal vez entendió que él también sufrió y lo dejó ir en su mente.

Si solo se alejó de él, quizás lo recuerda con resentimiento y lástima. Lo conoció cuando aún tenía un brillo en los ojos, pero si lo viera en los 90, sabría que ese hombre está roto. Puede que lo odie, pero también que en el fondo le dolería verlo así.

Este perfil encaja con la idea de que Adler jamás menciona a sus hijos, pero sí a su ex esposa. Con ella, el dolor es soportable, se puede disfrazar con sarcasmo o indiferencia. Con sus hijos… el dolor es demasiado profundo, demasiado real. Y eso es algo que ni él puede permitir que salga a la superficie.

¿Saben por qué también creo que sus hijos murieron y eso llevó al divorcio? 

Porque Jason Hudson estaba casado y tenía hijos, Alex Mason también estuvo casado y tuvo un hijo, pero su esposa falleció. Así que en sí, el matrimonio o el trabajo de Adler no eran impedimentos para tener una relación. Aún con la personalidad de Adler, eso no fue el impedimento. Evidentemente fue algo tan grave que llevó a un punto de inflexión en la relación…

El matrimonio en sí no era el problema. Hudson tenía esposa e hijos, y Mason también, aunque terminó siendo viudo. Incluso Woods, con su vida de soldado endurecido, logró crear un vínculo con su hijo. Lo que diferencia a Adler de ellos es que algo pasó que hizo imposible que siguiera casado. Algo irreversible.

El divorcio no fue solo el resultado de una relación desgastada, sino el punto final de un evento devastador. Y la mejor explicación es que sus hijos murieron, y eso destruyó todo lo que quedaba entre él y su esposa.

¿Por qué la muerte de sus hijos es la explicación más probable?

Adler no menciona a sus hijos, pero sí a su ex esposa.

Si sus hijos estuvieran vivos, aunque no tuviera contacto con ellos, la forma en la que hablaría de su familia sería diferente.

En cambio, menciona a su ex esposa con amargura y sarcasmo, pero nunca habla de sus hijos, ni siquiera en chistes. El silencio es un grito.

Si sus hijos hubieran sobrevivido, la CIA podría haberle dado algún acceso a ellos.

La CIA tiene recursos para proteger identidades, pero también para facilitar contactos secretos si fuera necesario.

Hudson pudo ver a su familia. Mason, aunque en circunstancias distintas, también. Si Adler no tiene ninguna relación con sus hijos, lo más lógico es que ya no existan.

La manera en que Adler lidia con el dolor es autodestructiva.

Sabemos que Adler es un hombre que, a pesar de su control, tiene tendencias autodestructivas.

El alcohol y el cinismo son sus formas de anestesiarse.

Si su familia simplemente lo dejó, eso dolería, pero no lo destrozaría de la misma forma que perderlos para siempre.

El evento que lo cambió todo: la muerte de sus hijos

¿Cómo murieron?

La muerte de los hijos de Adler no fue accidental ni natural. Para que haya tenido un impacto tan brutal en su vida y en su matrimonio, tuvo que estar relacionada con su trabajo.

1. Fueron asesinados en represalia por su trabajo

Adler hizo demasiados enemigos a lo largo de los años. KGB, Viet Cong, traficantes, dictadores derrocados… cualquiera pudo haber querido vengarse de él.

Su familia era su punto débil, y alguien lo supo. Un ataque dirigido a su esposa e hijos habría sido un mensaje claro: "no eres intocable".

Si esto pasó, Adler probablemente se siente culpable, porque sabe que fue su culpa. Su trabajo, su vida, atrajo el peligro hasta ellos.

2. Murieron en un ataque que él no pudo prevenir

Tal vez estaban en un país extranjero bajo protección de la CIA y hubo un ataque que salió mal.

Quizás un atentado, una explosión o un tiroteo los tomó por sorpresa.

Si este fue el caso, Adler estaba lejos cuando sucedió. No pudo hacer nada. Solo recibió la noticia demasiado tarde.

La impotencia de no haber estado ahí lo habría destrozado.

3. Un "accidente" que nunca quedó claro

Puede que oficialmente la CIA lo haya clasificado como un "accidente". Pero Adler sabe que no fue casualidad.

Quizás hubo un encubrimiento, quizás nunca encontró a los responsables. Eso lo consumiría aún más.

El divorcio: el punto de quiebre final

Cuando sus hijos murieron, su esposa nunca lo perdonó.

Tal vez lo culpó directamente.

"Si no hubieras estado en la CIA, esto nunca habría pasado."

"Sabías que estábamos en peligro, pero nunca nos protegiste lo suficiente."

"Preferiste tu trabajo a tu familia, y ahora estamos pagando el precio."

O tal vez no lo culpó directamente, pero el dolor fue demasiado grande.

No importaba cuánto se amaran, el peso de la tragedia era insoportable.

Ambos se convirtieron en sombras de lo que fueron.

Cada vez que se miraban, solo veían el recuerdo de lo que perdieron.

Adler probablemente reaccionó hundiéndose en su trabajo.

No enfrentó su duelo. Se tiró de lleno a más misiones, más guerra, más adrenalina.

Su esposa lo vio alejarse hasta volverse irreconocible.

¿Qué tipo de hombre quedó después de eso?

El Adler de los 80 y 90 es un hombre sin raíces.

No tiene familia. No tiene hogar. No tiene más propósito que la guerra y las misiones.

Está atrapado en un círculo de autodestrucción.

Pero, sobre todo, nunca se permitió llorar.

Por eso no lo menciona. Por eso nunca habla de sus hijos. Porque si lo hiciera, todo su control se desmoronaría.

Lo único que no me cuadra es...si sus hijos murieron por cualquiera de estas causas, haya sido lo que haya sido, ¿por qué Adler no buscó venganza? Si el tipo es imparable...¿por qué sólo autodestruirse?

si sus hijos murieron y él no buscó venganza, algo muy jodido tuvo que haber pasado.

Las razones más probables:

1. Porque nunca supo quién fue el responsable

Si el ataque fue planeado, es posible que la persona o el grupo detrás de ello nunca dejó rastro.

Si la CIA encubrió lo que pasó, Adler pudo haber recibido versiones manipuladas de los hechos.

Si fue un atentado encubierto, tal vez los responsables fueron eliminados antes de que él pudiera encontrarlos.

Si fue un asesinato calculado, tal vez los culpables eran figuras demasiado protegidas para que él pudiera alcanzarlas.

Si nunca supo con certeza quién lo hizo, no podía vengarse. Y eso lo volvería loco.

El no saber, el estar en la oscuridad, sería peor que cualquier otra cosa. Lo dejaría sin dirección, sin un enemigo claro al que matar. Y en vez de enfocarse en la venganza, terminaría consumiéndose en su propia desesperación.

2. Porque ya se había vengado... pero no le trajo paz

Otra posibilidad es que sí encontró a los responsables y los mató, pero no le sirvió de nada.

Quizás fue algo frío y calculado, una cacería donde eliminar a los culpables se sintió vacío.

Quizás pensó que al matarlos encontraría alivio, pero la verdad es que sus hijos seguían muertos.

Cuando tu única razón para la venganza es traer de vuelta a los muertos, nunca hay satisfacción.

Si esto pasó, fue la gota que lo terminó de romper.

3. Porque fue una traición interna

Este escenario es jodido, pero podría ser que su propia gente—la CIA—estuvo involucrada.

Quizás su familia quedó expuesta porque alguien en la CIA decidió que no valía la pena protegerlos.

Quizás la CIA encubrió la verdad para proteger su propia reputación.

Si Adler se enteró de esto, sabía que enfrentarse a la CIA no lo llevaría a nada.

Esto explicaría su resentimiento hacia la agencia.

No es solo amargura por el tiempo que le dieron en servicio.

Es rabia contenida, impotencia de saber que lo traicionaron de la peor forma.

En este caso, la autodestrucción no es solo por el dolor, sino porque no puede hacer justicia.

4. Porque en el fondo se culpa a sí mismo

Independientemente de quién fue el responsable, Adler probablemente siente que la muerte de sus hijos fue su culpa.

"Si no hubiera estado en la CIA, esto nunca habría pasado."

"Si los hubiera protegido mejor, todavía estarían vivos."

"Si no los hubiera dejado solos, no los habrían matado."

Tal vez hasta su ex esposa le dijo algo que lo destruyó:

"Fuiste un soldado imparable en todas partes del mundo... pero fallaste en lo único que realmente importaba."

Si él cree que la culpa es suya, entonces su castigo no es la venganza, sino su propio sufrimiento.

Por eso no busca justicia. Porque en su mente, el verdadero responsable es él.

En honor, y adelantado, por y para: @mypetitelune Espero te guste.

[ozwriterchick]

Back to Us - Epilogue

Summary: Y/n wakes after an accident to her Avengers team-mates. But something isn't quite right and only Steve and Tony can see it

This part starts with a time skip and there are a couple more time skips in it as well.

Characters/Relationships: Steve Rogers x Reader; Tony Stark; Natasha Romanoff; Other Avengers Characters

Content warnings: Mentions of an accident (no details yet); Infertility; If I missed any, let me know

A/N: If you want to be tagged, let me know.

Not beta'd so any mistakes are my own. I don't write smut, but there are allusions to smut in my stories.

Back to Us Masterlist

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Word count: 2555 (approx.)

6 months later

The team is gathered once more, this time for your and Steve’s wedding.  Nat is your maid of honour and Bucky is Steve’s best man.  Noah is the ring bearer and he’s super excited to see his Mum and Dad get married, even though he doesn’t really understand what it is all about.

Your nerves are present, given everything you, Steve and Noah have been through the last 12 or so months, you are constantly feeling on edge about it slipping away at a moment’s notice.  Steve has been nothing but amazing in reassuring you that the past is in the past and that nothing is going to stop you and he being together and maybe even giving Noah a sibling or 2.

Nat walked into the room and offered to help you into your dress and zip you up, so you could get onto the main event of the day.  “Nat, I don’t know why I’m so nervous” you say to her.

“Oh babe, it’s totally normal to be nervous on one of the biggest days of your life.  But trust me, that man can’t wait to start his life with you.  When you were unconscious, before we knew your memories had gone, he was beside himself thinking he had lost you forever.”

“Then, when you woke up and didn’t remember him, he was inconsolable.  He even talked at one stage about taking Noah and disappearing and having no contact with this life any more because it was so painful for him to see you and not have you know who he was and how much you meant to him.  And don’t get me started on Noah, he wouldn’t separate the 2 of you for anything, but he damn near did because he knew how much it hurt him and he didn’t want to see Noah go through it as well.”

“We all had to tell him that taking Noah away would hurt him even more because he already didn’t have you in his life, and if he thought you’d gone forever it would just break his little heart.”

Just then, you were both interrupted by a light knock on the door to your room.  Nat walked over and slowly opened the door, to ensure it wasn’t Steve trying to get a pre-emptive look at you before the ceremony.

Instead, she found a little man in a little tux who was looking for his Mama.  She opened the door wide enough for him to come into the room and he stopped when he saw Yn.

“Oh Mama, you look so booful.  I telled Daddy that you would, I just knowed it. He aksed me to give this to you.” With that he presented her with a small wrapped gift and an envelope.

Yn knelt down and opened her arms for her son to walk into.  He stepped forward and threw his arms around her neck and just held on for dear life.  He still remembered the few months when his mum wasn’t around and he took every opportunity to let her know he loved her and to make sure she really was here with him again.

“Thank you my little man,  Are you being good for Daddy and Uncle Bucky?”

“Yes ma’am” came his little soldier response.  His father had trained him very well.

“Good boy, then you run along back to Daddy so you can help him finish getting ready because Mama will be done soon and then we are going to have a big party, ok?”

“K, Mama.  I lub you bery much.”

“I love you too Noah, you have no idea how much.  Tell Daddy I love him too and I will see you both soon.”

With that, he ran out of the room and down the hall to where Steve and Bucky were getting ready in their own room.

Nat looked at her through misty eyes.  “I know I shouldn’t get like this Yn, but I really wish I’d be able to have what you have, but just having Noah in my life makes it a bit better.  He’s such a precious little soul.  You and Cap did well.”

“Yeah, I think we did.  Maybe we might do well again – who knows what could happen” Yn winks at Natasha.

Natasha side-eyes Yn. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“No, I’m not pregnant, not yet anyway, but I’m just saying, it might be something we work on during our honeymoon.”

12 months later

Yns pov

Well, we have worked on a sibling for Noah for longer than we expected to.  I’m not sure what is wrong and why my body can’t conceive the 2nd child we so desperately want.  It happened so effortlessly with Noah, we weren’t even technically trying when we fell pregnant with him and so this has been a big struggle.

We have an appointment with a specialist doctor today to get some testing done to see if there’s a reason why this is not happening for us.    I’m very nervous because I feel like the issues I had after my accident and the subsequent memory loss and the other falls I had might have something to do with it.  After all, my husband has super sperm so it couldn’t be that, right?  It has to be a me problem.

Sitting in the doctor’s office we heard the words Secondary infertility and my whole world just shattered.  “But doctor, I don’t understand, we’ve already had a child, how can we be infertile?”

The doctor explained that it sometimes happens after a couple has a child that they have a harder time conceiving and if they’ve tried for 6-12 months, they can diagnose it as this at that time.  He did assure us that there were things we could try and referred us to a fertility specialist to see what options we could have.

Steve pov

As we left the doctors office and got into our car, Yn was very quiet.  I know she’s struggling with this and thinking it is her fault, and now the doctor has used the word infertility I’m sure she’s even more in her head about this somehow being all on her.

“Babe, can you please talk to me.  We can work through this, it will be ok.”

“That’s easy for you to say Steve, this has nothing to do with you.  Your super sperm will work no matter what.”

“Hey, we don’t know that, maybe the serum has finally taken a toll on my sperm production and maybe this is all on me.  Point is, we won’t know until we see the fertility specialist and get some more testing done.  So, let’s call them and make an appointment for as soon as possible, that way we know where we stand and what our next steps should, or can, be.”  I move my hand off the steering wheel and onto her thigh, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

“Yeah, I suppose, but if it turns out it’s me then maybe we should re-think this whole thing.” She sounded so dejected, I wasn’t sure what she meant.

“Ummm, re-think what whole situation my love?”

“Oh, you know.  Us.  Marriage. You should be with someone who can give you more children and not some washed up, barren old cow.”

“I’m sorry, what did you just say about my wife and mother of my son?  About the love of my life?  About the woman that I can’t live without?  Because if you’re even slightly implying what I think you are, then you’re crazy delusional to think that I would ever leave you just because we can’t have any more children.?

“If all we get is Noah, then I’m the happiest man on the face of the earth Yn.  You and Noah, you’re all I need.  Would it be nice to have another baby, of course, but it’s not a deal breaker for me you know.”

“Oh Steve, you always know the right thing to say, how are you so perfect?”

“I’m not perfect baby, I’m just perfect for you.” I smiled at her and hoped she got the dumb idea of us separating out of her head.

5 weeks later

Today was the day Yn and Steve were finally seeing the fertility specialist to get their test results.  Yn didn’t realise so many people were in a similar boat to them and where she had though they would get in to see the specialist within a week, they had to wait 3, then they took samples from both Yn and Steve to send away for the comprehensive testing needed to determine their next step.

Yns leg was bouncing all over the place with nerves as they sat in the waiting room, waiting for their turn with the doctor.

Steve placed his hand on her leg and squeezed, which seemed to calm her down a bit and mostly stopped the bouncing.  “Relax babe, whatever is meant to be will be, we can’t change it right now.”

“I know Steve, but I just wish we already knew and that I could hold a new baby in my arms who would be another mix of you and I, just like Noah.”

“Yeah, but…”  As he started to reply, the nurse called Yns name and they stood up to go into the consultation room.

Steve turned and put his arms around her and kissed her on the forehead as he said “We’re going to be ok Yn, no matter what happens in this appointment.”

They walked into the consultation room and the nurse closed the door behind them.  “Now, before the doctor comes to see you, we just need a little more blood from you Yn.”

“Oh, ok, why is that, is everything ok?”

“Oh yes, there’s just a note on your file that we need to do one more quick test today on you.”

“Ok, do you need me to go to another room or can you take the blood you need here?”

“Here is fine” the nurse said and proceeded to take the blood sample from you.  “The doctor will be in with you shortly.

Both Yn and Steve were nervous now.  They were under the impression that all the testing they needed had been done so they weren’t sure what this extra test that needed to be run was or what it meant.  They held hands as they waited for the doctor to come tell them what was going on.  Steve rubbed his thumb over the back of Yns hand to help calm her down.

“Steve, I feel like this is bad, very bad.”

“It’s going to be ok my love.  Whatever it is, we will face it together, just like everything else.” He once again kissed her on her forehead to try and reassure her and hoped she couldn’t feel his heart beating a million miles an hour and the nerves exuding from his body.

After about 10 minutes the doctor entered the room and greeted them.  “Hello Captain & Mrs Rogers, it’s good to see you both again.  So, we got the results of all your tests and everything looks good I have to say.”

“So, there’s no issue you can see that is stopping us from conceiving?” Steve asked the doctor incredulously.

“Nothing I can see at all.  Captain, your sperm are definitely super, there’s more than normal and they’re fast little buggers.  And Yn, your egg production is still right on track and they look very healthy as well.”

“Well, that’s good to hear Doctor” Yn said “But why can’t we conceive.  And what is this extra test they took blood from me for today – we thought we’d submitted everything for ever test under the sun.”

“Well, that’s where it gets a little tricky, because something did show up on your test that we weren’t quite expecting” the doctor began. “So we wanted to grab a little more blood just to quickly run another test to make sure the results were accurate.”

“And…” Steve was staring to get impatient. “Is my wife ok?  Is there something wrong that we need to see another doctor for?”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with her technically.  At least, nothing that won’t get better in about 8 months.  Congratulations you are pregnant.  Sometimes these things resolve themselves and it looks like it was just a matter of time for you two, and now you are about 4 weeks pregnant.”

Steve and Yn just looked at the doctor in absolute shock, they were totally not expecting this news.

“Are you sure Doctor?  I don’t feel pregnant.” Yn asked.

“Well, it’s still early, luckily we have sophisticated tests that can pick up the HCG changes very early, otherwise we might have missed it.  But the blood we took from you today has confirmed that you are indeed pregnant.  Now, I would recommend scheduling an appointment with your regular doctor and also an ultrasound for sometime in the next couple of weeks.”

“Thank you Doctor” Steve stood up and shook his hand.

Yn stood up in complete silence as if she was still having a hard time taking in this news, even though it was everything they wanted.

Steve moved her towards the door of the Doctors office, dealt with the paperwork with the receptionist and then led her towards their car for the drive home.

Time skip – 8 months later (approx.)

“On more big push Yn, you can do this, you’re about to meet your new baby.” The midwife encouraged her to keep going.

“I can’t.  They’ll just have to stay there.  I’m too tired.” She looked up at Steve who was holding her hand.

“Yn, you can absolutely do this my darling.  I know you can.  You did it with Noah, now you will bring our new baby into the world.  You want to meet him or her, don’t you?  We’ll be able to give them a name and see their little eyes and nose and fingers and toes.”

“Yes I want to meet them, but I’m soooo tired Steve, why can’t you push this baby out for me??” she asked.

“Believe me Yn, if I could, I would but you have to do this.  Now, when the doctor tells you to, just give one more big push and we’ll meet Noah’s sibling for the first time.”

“Okay, Yn, give it all you’ve got.”

Yn rolled her eyes, took a deep breath and pushed with all her might.

“Here they are” the nurse exclaimed.  “Dad, did you want to come cut the cord and give Mama the good news?”

Steve nodded, tears in his eyes as he stepped forward to cut the umbilical cord.  Hearing their baby’s first cry as he did so made the moment even more special.

Once he’d done the deed, he grabbed the baby and moved up to where you could see.  Placing the baby on your chest he said “Congratulations Yn, we have a beautiful baby boy”

Yn could not believe this day was finally here.  She kissed the baby’s head and said “Welcome to our family, little one.  We love you so much already, we’ve been looking forward to meeting you for so long.  We can’t wait for you to meet your big brother, he’s going to be so excited.”

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