#can you tell i did this in five minutes?..

[dcxdpdabbles]

#holiday request Hi, I love your writing! Could you please update either "Danny's grill", "Congratulations! It's Triplets!" or "Phantom's number 1 fan"? Please and thank you

Jason is once again reviewing the map of potential areas Alvin could have been operating in when his burner phone rings. He snatches it up before it can pass the fourth ring, pressing it gently against his ear.

He offers no greeting. It's a tactic he uses to ensure that whoever is calling him has permission to do so. If someone attempts to conform his informants' and allies connection with him, Jason is not about to give them away by speaking first.

"Hey Boss," Honeycomb's voice filters through, edged by that familiar overdramatic southern draw she did when working. Apparently, the clients like listening to her use her accent. "I got eyes on that doll you've been searching for."

Jason sits up straighter. "Where and when?"

Honeycomb is one of the working girls who's been with him since his return to Gotham. She was the first to sign up for his protection, long before he did the whole heads in a duffle bag thing, and was one of his best eyes and ears on the street in exchange.

He didn't know her real name or age- but he was sure she wasn't underage. He made it clear he wouldn't allow it. All Jason knew about Honeycomb was that she had run away from her home in the southern states with nothing but her pretty face, blond curls, hazel eyes, and the clothes on her back.

She was feisty and could charm her way out of most problems with her silver tongue. Her manipulation of her clients was almost an art form, and she could get any information out of anyone with a well-placed hand on the air and a sweet little "darling" on her grubby lips. He often thought she would have been a lawyer if life had been fair to her.

"Just now, on Ruby Street. He was with a man in his late teenage to early twenties. About six feet five inches, black hair, blue eyes, and Caucasian. Alvin was wearing black tights and a red hoodie. The man is in jeans and a white zip-up." Honeycomb rattles in one smooth report, the huskiness of her accent making her articulation more pleasant to the ear. "Seems they were doing a photo shoot."

Jason is already moving towards his bike, switching her call to his helmet. His stomach turns slightly as he grunts, "What kind of photoshoot?"

"Not that kind, Darling. Seemed more like a scavenger hunt, according to Alvin. They are finding specific landscapes and making posses that are answers to some riddles." Honeycomb responds. Distantly, her heels clicking against the concrete echo a little louder, letting Jason know she has wandered into an alley. "I approached Alvin when the man with him went up a fire escape to take a picture with a gargoyle. I offered him my service to him as a cover. Once he confirmed his name was Alvin and he was already with a client, I left before he could get the idea I was attempting to steal his work."

"Good job." Jason boots up his bike, flying out of his hideout without hesitation. He was still twenty minutes away from Ruby Street, but if the pair was going to be a moment, he could close the distance between them and find a trail to follow once on scene.

He questions as he flies through two lanes, ignoring the honking of angry divers. "How did Alvin look? He's supposed to be with one of my contacts, so if he's with someone, it might be a John roughing him up."

I'll deal with Victorian later. He mentally swears How dare he not tell me, Alvin went back to the field after hiding out for so long without a ounce of protection.

"The sweetheart doesn't seem hurt, but I can tell his client is one of those problematic kinds." Honeycombs sighs, the edges of unease slipping into her voice. "He looks at Alvin like he's in love."

Shit. It's never suitable for working folks to meet someone who "loves" them. Nine out of ten times, it was just a wacko who became violent the moment the prostitute so much as hinted that this was only a job to them. Jason had pulled out three women's bodies from the Brown River the last time one of those clients fell in love.

Jason pressed harder on the accelerator. "Are they still there?"

Honeycomb hums "The John is on the roof now, but Alvin is waiting for him under the street pole-Oh shit!"

Jason nearly slams into a nearby car at her sudden yell. "What happened?"

She doesn't answer, but he can pick up the sound of her running and her fast breathing. He knows she is getting out of danger because if there is one thing Honeycomb is as a person, she's a survivor. He wants answers but would rather she focus on getting herself safe first.

He meanwhile, concentrates on the phone calls and the vehicles he's flying between.

It's a few minutes before she gasps. "Sorry, Darling, I had to run. Batman was on the roof with the John."

What.

"Batman just appeared out of nowhere and threw a bucket of mud at the john. Alvin didn't seem to notice, but I did. Batman made eye contact with me, so I ran." She concludes, pushing through her uneven breathing. "I have to go, Darling. Hideout before the Bats lock me up."

"That's alright. Stay safe." Jason tells her, taking a turn sharply as she hangs up the call without another word. The second she does, he double-taps his helmet to connect to the Bat communications.

"Barbie. I need to know what B is up to now."

_________________________________________________________

Bruce watches the Fae shake the mud out of his face after he has scrambled down the fire escape. Tim was at his side in a second, using a handkerchief to gently clean up the Fae's face.

There were a lot of whispered words, but based on what Bruce could pick up from lip reading, Tim had no idea he was up here. He just assumed the Fae got caught up in a juvenile prank.

Oddly enough, that was primarily due to the Fae covering for Bruce.

It was rather disappointing the repealing spell hadn't worked, but the Justice League Dark the mixture of John's Wort, primroses, and marsh marigolds mushed together with water socked in iron during the full moon should have made it possible to force the contact with Tim to break down.

Of course, this had been a desperate attempt, seeing as all the JL Dark had been unsure which method was best when he asked how to get a Fae to leave a human alone.

A lot of debate went into finding a solution, but in the end, Bruce had chosen a mixture repellent. He had even decided to use some holy water and trough in blessed soil and blessed iron just to make it extra powerful.

The magic users had all assured him it would work as long as it touched the Fae skin while Bruce chanted Tim's full legal name. It had felt rather ridiculous dragging a bucket half the size of himself through the city, trying to spot where Tim and his companion were, and even more so when he had sprinted across the rooftop screaming.

"Timothy Jackson Drake! Timothy Jackson Drake! Timothy Jackson Drake!"

The Fae had been in the middle of taking a photo. He set up his camera on a little tripod and, after pressing the time, had run to face the city- back facing Bruce- raising his arms to form a triangle above his head. Based on fact the camera was slightly lower then the Fae's torso, Bruce could deduct her was attempting to capture himself making the triangle top of one of the most iconic buildings in Gotham.

Spear tower.

He waited only long enough for the flash to go off, so by the time the Fae turned around, he had a face full of mud.

It splat all over his front, covering every inch of what should have set Tim free. The silence followed was louder than anything Bruce had ever heard, even as the Fae calmly picked up his camera and scurried to the ground.

Bruce let him go, wondering why he had failed. Thankfully, it seemed Tim and the Fae were getting back in their car- not the food truck for some reason- and were driving away.

Tonight, Bruce would find its lair and get his son home because letting him take a relaxing vacation was alarming to the rest of his children.

He rushed to the Batmobile, climbing into the driver seat and taking off after the pair. As he was driving, he could have sworn Jason just passed by him, moving like the devil was after him.

Bruce wondered briefly if he should check in on his third oldest but thought better of it when he noticed Cass, Dick, and Duke driving right behind Jason on their own bikes. His children had each other backs.

A few hours later, Bruce stood before a large empty field. He had watched the Fae drive into it and vanish from sight. None of his machines could pick up any hint on where they might have gone, but he was reasonably sure there wasn't any teleportation involved.

Sometimes teleportation left some traces in the airwaves. It's how Bruce could track people using the boom tub or find the Flash whenever Barry went on a craze.

Bruce was thinking that this was the Fae's court and his magical home was being protected by supernatural means. He just had to figure out how to get in and Tim out.

As he was considering the field, a soft, distant roar made him reach for his weapons. He turns one hand poise for a throw, his trusted batarangs in between his fingers, only to become surprised when he recognizes the vehicles driving towards him.

It was his spare Batmobile and four bird-themed motorbikes. His children.

"B?" Dick questions after spinning to a stop and sliding right in front of Bruce. He lowers his window, looking at him with apparent confusion despite the Nightwing mask blocking his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Following a lead on the Fae. What are you doing here?" Bruce asks, lowering his arm but keeping his weapon. He could never be too sure this isn't a trick.

"Following a lead on Tim." Dick responds, stepping out of his car. Two other doors open, and out steps Steph and Damian, both looking posed for a fight. Of all his children, those two tend to be the most territorial and have not taken to Tim being a semi-held hostage well. "Oracle was able to track him through the city cameras after he popped up taking photos."

"hmm"

Jason jogged over to them with Cass not far behind. "Wait,, you got a lead on your cases too? We would check in on Victorian and see if he knew anything about Alvin."

He gestures to those behind him, indicating Cass and Duke, but the daytime hero is not paying attention. Duke was staring at the field, mouth slightly open as if in awe. Bruce straightens once he realizes Duke can probably see or at least detect the magical castle.

"Victorian?" Damian asks, crossing his arms. "Who is that?"

"The owner of the giant mansion we're standing in front of. He's one of my contacts."

"Ugh, not to make you feel crazy, Hoodie," Steph speaks up, placing a hand on the crook of her hip and waving her hand to the field. "But there is literally nothing there

"What are you talking about. This place is bigger than Wayne Manor."

Bruce heard about this. Guests who have been here before or have permission to enter can see glimpses of the Otherworld that Fae deals in. However, it is surprising to know Jason has already been in contact with the Fae before and has not been kept.

Did that throw a wrench in his theory of Tim and Alvin being the same person? Why would the Fae ask Jason to find Tim if he was in the creature's home?

Before anyone could say anything else, a giant gate entrance suddenly manifested mere feet from where Bruce stood. A soft creek was heard as it was thrown open, and a glowing woman in an old mail outfit floated just a foot off the ground on the other side. She eyed them all in an eerie, emotionless face before bending her own into a low bow. "Welcome. My King wishes to invite you in."

Well, that's not ominous at all.

His children shared a look between them, silently letting each other know to be cautious as they followed the floating woman. She led them down an impressive driveway that slowly gave way to a massive mansion.

Bruce fought to keep the surprise off his face. Jason was right. This place was more prominent and grander than his manor. It didn't just scream wealth. It screamed nobility; it screamed royalty.

The group walked into the main hall, some muttering thanks to the bowing woman who opened the doors. "Of course. The King stated that his home would always be open to Master Alvin's kin."

She vanished from sight like mist fading away as soon as they crossed the doorway.

Bruce's eyes instantly landed on the figure standing atop the grand stairs. Tim was gawking at them, wearing nothing but a long, seductive black robe with fluffy collars and wrists. The front of the rob was open, displaying a large amount of chest and thigh, but keeping the significant bits out of sight.

Thankfully.

His skin was glowing, his hair tussled stylishly, and a dozen red roses were in his hands. Tim looked like he was planning a romantic evening in his get-up.

"Oh," He said dumbly. "You're not Danny."

"What the fuck is going on" Jason demanded after a long period of silence.

"Um...I was planning on seducing my friend. What are you all doing?"

"Regretting waking up this morning," Damian demands, pressing a hand over his eyes. "Please get decent. My nightmares are horrid enough."

Bruce nods. "You were Alvin Draper and are romantically involved with the Fae. He seems to be treating you well. That's good."

All of his children stared at him for a long moment before the hall erupted with displeased noises. Bruce was taken aback.

Did none of them know any of this? It seemed obvious to him.

[emilys-bangs]

of broken bones and hearts | e.p

Tags: established relationship, mom!emily, broken bones :(, mild hurt/comfort, a dash of angst, healthy helping of guilt ridden momily because of course she would be, use of petnames, no use of yn

Summary: Eloise breaks a bone. Emily freaks out, you exercise damage control, and the both of you pamper her with affection.

Word count: 2.7k

Work is slow. Slower than usual. No cases, no consults, nothing except brain numbing paperwork. Usually Emily doesn’t mind it—it means being home for dinner, helping settle Eloise into bed and unwinding with you on the couch. But today it grates on her.

She’s staring down at a half filled report for last week’s case, tapping her pen on the dotted lines with an idle restlessness. Her sugar-brimmed coffee is down to dregs. The fluorescent lights make her feel caged.

Her phone vibrates with a call; Emily is answering before the first ring dies out. She automatically knows it’s you—or she hopes it is.

“Hi, babe.” She thumbs the skin between her brows, waits for the sweet relief of your voice to come through.

“Hi. Okay, listen. I’m gonna tell you something, but don’t freak out.” 

Emily stiffens. Her spine goes ramrod straight; immediately, her thoughts flit to Eloise. 

“Is it Eloise?”

“She’s fine.” You insist. “We’re at the hospital. She broke her arm at play time, we just got done with the x-ray and we’re waiting for the doctor.” You say it all in one breath, a long string of words that makes Emily’s mouth go dry. “She wants to talk to you.”

Emily is still blinking at her computer when movement rustles in her ear—the phone being pressed to Eloise’s cheek. A belated tremble rocks her hands.

“Mommy.” Eloise whines quietly. The sound grips Emily’s chest in a vice. She’s still stuck in five seconds ago, before images of her daughter in a cast flooded her mind. She roughly shakes her head, as if she can force them out.

“El, hi.” Her voice is rusty. Emily clears her throat, digs her knuckles into her eye. Stars burst along her vision. “I heard you’re at the hospital. How do you feel, my love?” 

“My hand hurts,” Eloise sniffles. She sounds like a kicked puppy.

Emily’s fingers flex into a sweaty fist. “I know it does, honey. The doctor’s gonna make it all better now, okay? You just…you just have to stay really still for them so they can put a cast on. And then you’ll get to choose a color for it!” She forces fake cheer into her voice. “I bet they have a ton of colors.”

There’s a stretch of silence on the other end. Emily’s thumb forces its way between her teeth.

“Pink?” Her daughter mumbles eventually.

“Pink sounds perfect. Just remember to stay really still while they’re putting it on, okay?”

“Mmn.” 

The dulled tone of her voice makes Emily’s heart clench. Eloise is almost always cheerfully rambling about one thing or the other, her inner monologue spilled out for you and Emily to hear, taking up more space than she does. Hearing her reduced to weak, monosyllabic responses twists at Emily’s gut. She blows out a stuttering breath.

“I love you, Eloise. I’ll see you real soon.”

“’Kay.”

Emily is already standing by the time your voice comes through again. 

“Why did you just call?” She questions, only paying half a mind to the way she bites out the words.

“Because I knew you’d do this and I didn’t want to freak you out—well, more than necessary,” your voice lowers, “—before knowing she’s okay. And she is. She’s in a bit of pain but they gave her Ibuprofen a few minutes ago, it should kick in any minute.”

“A broken bone isn’t fine,” Emily mutters, flipping her report closed and grabbing her purse. She doesn’t meet Reid or Morgan’s gazes as she steps past their desks to Hotch’s office. “I’m on my way.”

“We’re almost done here.” You say. For the first time, she hears the threads of exhaustion in your voice. Emily’s frown deepens.

“I’ll meet you at home, then.” Her tone leaves no room for argument.

You resign to it. So does Hotch. Emily tries to ignore the tremble in her hands as she gets in the elevator and presses P.

___

She gets home before you do. When you walk in with a McDonald’s bag in your hand it’s clear why. A pharmacy bag dangles from your wrist, dangerously close to slipping over the heel of your hand as you shut the front door. Eloise is in your arms, slumped and limp; her purple cast hangs listlessly off your shoulder.

Emily distantly clocks the deep violet but doesn’t linger on it, hurrying instead to lighten your load, taking the food and the meds before easing Eloise’s school bag from your grip. You murmur a quiet thanks. Her lips find your cheek, a wordless response, and then she’s stepping behind your shoulder to glance at your daughter.

“She’s pretty out of it,” you whisper. 

You’re not wrong. Eloise’s eyes are closed, lashes threaded together and resting on her cheeks. Mouth pressed into your shoulder, she breathes evenly, not stirring at her mother’s light touch when she reaches over to sweep the mussed bangs over her brows. 

“Poor thing.” Emily sighs quietly. “Let’s get her to bed.” She murmurs. You nod, though the sun still streams in through the windows and paints the house gold. 

It takes more effort than it usually does to settle your daughter into bed. You take careful steps all the way to her room and Emily drowns Eloise’s bed with more pillows than usual; when you finally set her down in it, you gently elevate her arm the way the doctor showed you to. Throughout it all Eloise only stirs when you move the cast. Her whine is muffled, fingers twitching where they peek out from under the plaster. Emily bites down on her thumb to stop herself from grabbing your hand away.

“How did it happen?” She asks when you’re in the kitchen, putting the happy meal in the oven. 

Your brows tick upward. “She was trying to do a cartwheel.”

“Jesus.” Emily groans into her hands. Guilt curdles in her stomach again, making her shudder with nausea. 

She was the one who suggested gymnastics lessons in the first place. Ballet and soccer failed to catch Eloise’s attention; she was too listless in her tutu and too disgruntled at being jostled around in her soccer jersey. Gymnastics seemed like a perfect fit. It’s only been a few months but she’s obsessed with it, constantly twisting and bending on the mat you’d gotten her, all but abandoning her toys in favor of rolling around in the living room. You and Emily had warned her time and time again about practicing without either of your supervision, but the girl is four years old and half Emily.

“It’s my fault,” Emily mutters. She digs her palms deeper into her eyes, sparks flashing in the dark. “God, what was I thinking? She’s fucking four years old—”

“Hey, hey, none of that.” You say, gripping Emily’s wrists and pulling none too gently. The look in your eyes is hardened with determination—a common sight that usually pulls her from the edge whenever she spirals about anything regarding your daughter. “You said it yourself, Em, she’s four. Accidents like this are bound to happen, whether she’s doing gymnastics or not.”

“She wouldn’t have tried to launch herself into the air otherwise,” Emily mutters, unsurprised to feel a dampness on her lashes.

“Wouldn’t she?” You tilt your head. Eloise is nothing short of adventurous, and both you and Emily know that. You squeeze a soft pattern on her wrists, fingers digging lightly into her skin before letting go and doing it again.

“No.” Her mouth pinches as she drops her forehead on your shoulder. “Maybe we should stop sending her to those lessons. They’re making her reckless.”

“They’re making her fearless. That’s not a bad thing, Emily.” Your fingers release her wrists and travel to the base of her neck, finding knots of tension. You start working them. “She’s not scared to try, and she shouldn’t be, just as long as we’re with her. But the point still stands—this could’ve happened for any other reason.”

Emily doesn’t say anything. She resignedly grabs on to your waist and inhales, filling her lungs with your familiar scent—shampoo, perfume, fabric softener. Something else sneaks in, too, spoiling the usual comfort of your fragrance. Emily recognizes it; faint traces of antiseptic. Her stomach turns.

“I know it’s hard for you to believe,” you murmur, now tracing her jaw, nudging her chin up to get her eyes to meet yours, “but not everything’s your fault. Things just happen sometimes.”

Emily responds with a sound deep in her throat, her brows arching wryly.

Your eyes narrow. “Okay,” you announce. “As your spouse, I demand you stop feeling guilty. Since I do know best and all.”

A smile tickles the corners of Emily’s lips. “Well, if my spouse insists,” she drawls, though her stomach is still unsettled from it all. A few years ago she’d have gaped in disbelief at this version of herself, but by now she’s well used to it—though she still doesn’t like it. Emily is perfectly composed, unshakable. Always. Except when it comes to you and Eloise. That has become a hard fact, as sure as the day is long. She’s entirely helpless to stop it.

“I do,” you murmur, pulling her in for a kiss. 

Emily belatedly realizes it’s the first time she’s kissed you since the morning. Her shoulders loosen from the press of your lips, soft against hers, the way you thread your fingers through her hair. Warmth builds in her chest; she wraps an arm around your back to keep you close, humming into your mouth. The world quiets for a moment, her frazzled nerves smothered into something more tame under your touch. Your nails gently scrape against her scalp and her spine warms, muscles unlocking as she lets go of your lower lip and nuzzles her nose into yours.

“Sorry I snapped at you,” she whispers.

“It wasn’t really a snap. More of a nibble,” you shrug, like you’re rolling it off your shoulders.

“Still.” Emily insists.

“It’s okay,” you give her a quick peck before escaping the cage of her arms, “I know how it feels. She’s my kid too, you know.” You make your way to the counter, peering into the grocery bag she’d left there before you came. “You went to the store?”

Emily nods as you pull out two sheets of stickers. “Got her ice cream,” she says, “and those. So she can decorate the cast.”

“Smart.” You hum. “She was pretty torn up about it not being pink.”

“What kind of hospital doesn’t have a pink fucking cast?” Emily scorns.

“A bad one,” you agree mildly. As your eyes scan the—very pink—sticker sheets, a smile starts to curve your lips. “But,” you wave them in the air, “at least you had the foresight.”

“At least.” Emily says dryly.

Silver linings and all that.

___

Emily’s leaning over dinner on the stove when a small voice catches her attention.

“Mommy,” Eloise mumbles, half squished into your shoulder. 

Emily turns to face the both of you, a sad smile spreading on her lips when she sees the cast again. It starts just under Eloise’s right elbow and continues until her little knuckles, leaving only her fingers exposed under the purple. The toddler’s head is cushioned on your shoulder, her eyes drowsy with sleep but fighting to stay open. You’d hoped she’d sleep through the night, but barely two hours after you put her in bed she called out through her ajar bedroom door.

Emily steps away from the stove and into the reach of Eloise’s stretched arm, obliging her daughter and gingerly taking her from you. She’s unsurprised at this show of affection; Eloise—like herself—often demands it, more so when she’s sick or hurt. It’s one thing she’s infinitely glad her daughter inherited from her, even if right now it comes with more work. You help adjust her casted arm across her chest.

“Hi, Eloise.” Emily whispers, a muscle somewhere deep under her skin unlocking at the familiar weight in her arms. She brushes a kiss on her daughter’s sleep-warm cheek. “How’s my brave girl doing? Is your arm still hurting?”

Eloise shakes her head, her brows dipping into a frown identical to yours. “S’okay now,” she says. That doesn’t stop her lips from curving into a pout, her frown growing deeper by the second.

Emily presses her thumb to the wrinkled skin between her brows. “What is it, my love?”

Eloise burrows into Emily’s neck, her free hand curling around the collar of her sweatshirt. She huffs out a warm sigh, deeply grieved. “They didn’t have pink,” she mumbles.

You chew on your lip, clearly attempting to keep the smile at bay. Emily pulls a face at you as she absently smooths between Eloise’s shoulder blades.

“That’s awfully rude of them.” She says softly. Her lips find the warm skin of Eloise’s forehead; Emily presses a kiss there. “What if we put some pink stickers on it? Would that make it better?”

The sound Eloise makes isn’t entirely too pleased, but Emily carefully carries her over to where the stickers are anyway. She grabs a sheet and holds it up, thumbing at the plastic covering. “I got these for you. What do you think, would they look pretty on your cast?”

Eloise frowns at them, unconvinced. She reaches out to touch a sticker, her finger hovering between a slice of strawberry topped cake and a pink ice-cream cone.

“Those are pretty,” you nudge gently, sifting your fingers through Eloise’s bedhead and tucking some of the hair away from her face. “Do you wanna try putting them on?”

Her lips purse into a contemplating pout. Eloise shakes her head, turning to bury her face back into Emily’s neck again. Her frown is practically etched onto Emily’s skin; she can feel it, as sure as she feels the wild hair tickling the underside of her jaw. While this is a lesser pain than hearing her daughter’s distressed voice through the phone, it still throbs dully. Biting back a sigh, she sets the stickers down.

You step in again.

“Are you still hungry, El?”

Suddenly the weight of Eloise’s head lids off of Emily’s shoulder. “Did we get McDonald’s?” She asks, more energy in her voice than Emily’s heard all day. It’s a familiar burst of sunshine, the warmth of it sinking instantly into her skin. She closes her eyes and absently kisses the side of Eloise’s head, thanking all her lucky stars for you.

“We did, honey. Do you want to eat that now?”

Eloise’s frantic nodding makes both you and Emily smile. She comes out of her hiding spot, sufficiently appeased with the shift in conversation. As you heat up the meal, Emily grabs the toy inside and hands it to her daughter. 

“I’m gonna set you down now, honey.” She says. Eloise doesn’t pay her any mind, too preoccupied with the toy in her hand to care. Emily sets her down on the counter and hides a wince at the pull in her shoulder as she grabs the golden, sugar infested cup of apple juice in the greasy bag. You chat to Eloise as the food heats up, pulling her attention away from Emily diluting the juice.

“Can we also watch Star Wars?” She mumbles, fiddling with the toy one-handed. 

No TV while eating is a strict rule of yours. But under the weight of Eloise’s pleading eyes and her vibrant cast, it bends. A soft sigh answers, and Emily stifles a smile as you nod and murmur your assent.

That’s how you end up eating dinner on the couch, two pasta bowls and a happy meal on your respective laps, an army of stuffed animals joining you amongst the cushions to watch Lego Star Wars. Sergio serves as a willing armrest for Eloise’s cast, and that night the whole family wedges into your bed, carefully nestled between you and Emily.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi@temilyrights@professorsapphic

[trustmypoison]

SVT when you simp for them

Requested? Yes!

Request: ‘Hiiii, just saw Ateez and simping for them, can I request same for Seventeen please 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 Thank you very much🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻’

Seungcheol

Have you ever seen someone try to look smug while also blushing profusely? That’s what this would be like. He wants to be cool and say, “Of course, you love me,” but any smugness he tries to inject into the statement falls flat because of how pink his cheeks are. 

Jeonghan

Genuinely smug. If there’s any blushing at all, it’s so minimal that you might not notice. He’s absolutely going to egg you on and be like, “Uh huh, and what else?” I fear he’d be smug either way, so you might as well tell him what you really think. 

Joshua

Giggly. Not even blushing, just giggling at how sweet he thinks it is. He’ll dish it out as well - in five minutes though. He’s gotta soak up all of your lovely compliments first. 

Jun

A whiner!! Doesn’t know how to take it so he groans and tells you to stop fangirling from behind his hands as he covers his face. But if you do stop, he might peek between his fingers because he wasn’t serious. Keep going, he just can’t look at you. 

Hoshi

Melts into a puddle. I mean, just curls up into a ball against you because he’s overwhelmed by the compliments. Blushing with a big smile. Joshua needs five minutes but Hoshi needs hours to be able to properly return the simping. 

Wonwoo

Totally entertained by this. Will not blush and might not even crack a smile, doing his best to look unaffected. But he thinks you’re cute and your words are sweet. An underwhelming reaction of “Mhm, whatever you say,” but I’m not sure what you expected here. 

Woozi

Another one that’s secretly entertained by this, but whereas Wonwoo’s reaction is flat, Woozi actually does a great job of looking annoyed. He’ll be like, “Why are fangirling like this right now??” He’ll fold if you seem worried that he’s genuinely bothered, but he otherwise will act like your compliments are physically painful. 

DK

A shy baby. He has so much to say usually, but he’ll be a little flustered and soft-spoken when you do this. Later, when you’ve settled down, he’ll ask if you really meant all the nice things you said. Tell him yes!!!!

Mingyu

I think he’d genuinely be pretty smug to start, but the longer it goes on he might start to feel sort of flustered. I think he likes words of affirmation and this really feeds that need. But I think one of his preferred love languages to give is physical affection, so this just ends in him wrapped around you. 

Minghao

I think he’d be one of the few who doesn’t get flustered or shy, but at the same time isn’t super smug either. I think he’d just soak up your attention with a sweet, slightly entertained smile. He won’t fish for more simping or anything, but he’ll let you go on as long as you feel like. 

Seungkwan

Did you ever think that simping would end in a fight?? Not serious, of course. But for every statement you have, he’s going, “And what about YOU!!” Aggressive as it is, there’s a lot of sweetness in how vehemently you both simp after one another. 

Vernon

A long stare and a few blinks, and finally, a simple nod and an “okay.” I hope you didn’t expect anything more. I mean, he’s delighted by the compliments but I just don’t see him being expressive about it. He takes your simping and ranting in stride. 

Chan

This is an ego boost for him for sure, but he can’t let you know that. He’ll listen and slowly nod, sometimes looking concerned. He’s totally joking when he finally kisses your cheek and says, “You worry me sometimes.” 

[pinkyqily]

IT OKAY,WE'RE OKAY, WE ARE DEFINITELY OKAY

Summary: juju apologize and makes it up to you like the good girlfriend and teammate she is.

Part one

Contains: fluff, snappy lovers, cursing, groveling, not proofread throughly yet

A/n: here is part two as promised with a happy ending, would love to get reactions or feedbacks of what you guys think, if you have any juju requests feel free to send them in anyway happy reading readers 🩷

Next few days between you and JuJu pass by a blur. Having your coaches telling you guys to solve out your shit was definitely a wake-up call for you, you're mind just keeps on replaying those awful words from juju.

Was that how she really saw you as a player? was all your mind could wonder.

But at the same time, you couldn't stop thinking about how she felt even though you were the one that got hurt the most.

Ken, who was your roomie and heard about what happened between you and juju,tried getting you out of your hotel room. But you declined again. the only time you went down was when there was barely anyone down at the lobby side.

You couldn't face your teammates after that embarrassing showdown. It made you feel like a failure.

"Come, you'll still have to face everyone when we leave for the arcade, why do you have to be the one embarrassed juju was basically at fault too". She said trying to shake you up.

"She's literally one of the best players of course, what she said is going to get to me, if it was said in private, okay, but she did that in front of everyone". You told her, feeling a cold wind reach your spine.

"For somebody who always steps up for us you sure love discrediting yourself like you also aren't the best out there, juju saying that was nasty and loud for no reason so please get your ass up". Was all Ken said.

This time you did, because fuck juju who clearly had her head far in her ass to see how great of a player you are. and what you bring to the team all those 3s she be pulling must have blinded her vision or what.

"You know what you're right fuck her from now I'll be standing on business, she can go find another bitch to be pissy on cause I'm not the one".

"That's my girl now let's head down, and when you see her, you keep your head high." She told you, pulling you into a tight hug.

But the universe had other plans by slapping you in the face, because as you opened your room door, there was a juju watkins pacing back and forth in front of your door with a messy looking bun that definitely not her brand.

With only one look, you could tell she wasn't the only one who had a bad night.

Normally, you two would fall asleep on call listening to each other's voices as it helps the other person calm down.

It didn't matter if you were states away one block away down the street or rooms separating you guys would still call.

but after what happened last night, you both couldn't bring yourself to pick up that telephone.

And here you both are staring into each other's eyes unable to speak up until a familiar voice does it for you.

"JuJu, what are you doing here?". Ken asked her, crossing her arms over, letting her disapproval be known.

"I know you guys are mad at me rightfully so, but please give me 5 minutes that all I ask for." She said, fidgeting with her hands.

"Five minutes is all you're getting don't think I'm not timing it." She said as she left you both heading downstairs herself.

You and juju stood in that silence for a good two minutes, avoiding eye contact most ju.

"You have three minutes left, so whatever you want to say now,speak up." You said with a mean tone, not glazing any bullshit.

"I know, I messed up really bad and shouldn't have said what I did, you're an amazing player to our team you pick up the pieces whenever everyone seems lost." She started by saying her voice breaking as she fought back tears so she could speak.

"you put the teams needs before your own, your flow on the ball is way different than anyone else and you're a very unique player who contributes so much to the team"

"You're so important to me way beyond being teammates but girlfriends at the same time not only was I a bad teammate but also a bad girlfriend for saying and treating you like that." She told you this time around, able to meet your eyes after avoiding them.

"I just want to apologize because I know that I'm better than that, you deserve better and I want to be the better person you deserve so would you forgive me you don't have to rush it". She finished of by saying.

You we're definitely shocked to see her being so vulnerable and raw to you.

"You really hurt me by saying all those things in front of everyone I felt so embarrassed standing there looking like a fool ju, but that doesn't mean I hate you I'm just really hurt you had me overthinking like I did something wrong when I wanted was to help you". You told her, feeling a little hesitant as you moved your hands to grab hers.

"But that doesn't mean I'm not willing to forgive you". You told.

"I know, baby, take your time can i hug you, though?" She asked you before doing anything. You pulled her into a hug, forgetting about your whole standings on business cause you missed having your 6'2 social awkward girlfriend in your arms.

And that is how you found yourself standing next to her at one of the arcade games because she said she was going to start by winning you a prize. She didn't lie about that one and won the biggest bear in there for you.

Ken was already looking disappointed but was happy that you guys fixed things.

"Couldn't even stand on business for 24h". You heard a voice say.

"Bruh, she's still not fully forgiven how do you expect me to stay that mad at her?". You told her

"Whatever you guys are ruining my mood with your sappyness."

"You're just mad and single Ken it okay you'll find the one". You told her.

On the way back, you both sat down together in the bus, falling asleep on each other. Everything ended up being okay. ju stil has hella groveling to do, but you guys are okay, and that's all that matters.

[monimccoythings]

A Little Break

Look, out of all the ways I expected my week to go, falling in love with the cocept of a sentient ball of Play-Doh that was made of three different children who were experimented on, that carries the weight of the world on his shoulders and has severe trauma and inferiority complex wasn't on my list. Doey was a great and tragic character, It's been very long since I've last seen some good and complex character. He deserved way better and we were robbed. Out of all the chapters to have different endings depending on your choices, this was the one that should have had that option. I really hope they bring him back if not for Chapter five, for the movie.

I just really had to write something for him, I couldn't get it out of my head. Reader is as gender neutral and as poc friendly as possible, can be interpreted as either platonic or romantic, whatever you wish.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦

It had all happened so fast. One moment Doey was there, right in front of you, being his cheery and goofy self, and the other he was groaning in pain as the freezing agents completely reduced his body to a giant block of ice.

Panic flowed through your mind. What had just happened!!??? Did he die??? What were going to tell to the inhabitants of Safe Haven?? Dread filled you at the thought of the Safe Heaven's protector having perished. Your brain went overdrive, brainstorming thousands of ideas to get yourselves out of this predictment.

And then you saw it. Old, heavy and metallic, a valve. Not thinking twice, you aimed your grabpack towards it.

The plastic hand attached itself to the valve with surprising ease, given that by that point it was a bit worse for the wear.

With great effort, the rusty valve, turned with a loud creak that resonated among the empty halls of that prison/laboratory.

"Hurts! HURTS HURTS HURTS!" The giant doughman lamented, panting heavily while doubling over. Your heart ached with sympathy. Slowly, you approached him as if the half a ton super strong and shapeshifting monster was some sort of scared little animal.

"Hey, are you okay?" You asked tentatively

"Yeah, yeah, just a nasty spook." It didn't sound very convincing, that freezing agent must had really done a number on him.

"Here, let's sit down for a bit, okay?." You encouraged, grabbing his massive hand with both of yours, ignoring his insistent reassurances that he was fine.

"I SAD I'M FINE." His free hand slammed against the brick wall, leaving a huge crater in the shape of his handprint, a harsh reminder that this creature in front of you wasn't really human, not anymore, and could easily tear you limb from limb with ease if he desired so. You thought you caught a glimpse of sharp red fangs in his usually empty mouth.

It felt like walking on eggshells, you had to measure very carefully your next words, as the usually goofy and kindhearted Doey seemed to be at his wits' end. Yet you couldn't just stand there and move to the next room as if nothing had happened and leave him to deal with his pain alone.

"No, you're not." You tried to keep yourself calm and composed, despite the persistent feeling of terror at his sudden outburst. "You're hurting, you can't keep going on like this. You need to rest."

"I. Can't. They are all depending on me, and time is not on our side. We need to end this now." His words were bitter, sharp, but they didn't have the dangerous edge they had before. That was good, you supposed.

"Please, I know that you carry a heavy burden on your shoulders, but I'd feel more at ease if we took a rest. Just a couple of minutes. Please." You knew it was wrong to take advantage of his Atlas complex and pathological need to take care of those at his charge to manipulate him into doing your bidding, but he needed to rest, no, he deserved to rest, and more so after that very painful experience.

He scrunched his eyes, having some sort of internal fight, before he finally relented with a long suffering sigh.

"Okay, but just a couple of minutes, nothing more."

Dragging his feet like a petulant child, he dropped to the floor, arms crossed, making the floor tremble slightly. You quietly followed and sat close to him, but still keeping some distance, just in case he decided to explode again. Even then, you could feel the coldness emanating from his skin as a result of the ice that had comoletely engulfed him merely seconds ago.

"You're cold." You stated.

"It'll pass." He tried to act nonchalantly, to rest importance to his own suffering, but the wince he let out while changed positions betrayed him.

You quickly disposed of your grabpack, possibly the only protection you had in this place, and quickly made work of your jacket and outershirt.

"Wha- what are you doing-"

"Shhh" You shushed him, drapping your pieces of clothing over his large frame, they looked comically tiny on him, like a baby blanket on a full grown adult. Still, you hoped they'd do the trick. "You said we don't have time to waste, maybe this will help you warm up faster."

He stood silent for a moment, his oval beady eyes made it impossible for you to know what crossed his mind.

"Oh... thank you..." You could tell he wasn't used to this, not being the caregiver. Having been used for so long to put everybody else's needs over his own it now felt awkward to suddenly be offered some comfort. Doey wasn't sure how to properly react to that aside from the obvious words of appreciation.

The two of you just sat in silence for the rest of your 'pause', afraid that if any of you spoke it would break that peaceful moment and bring you back into the harsh reality.

Doey had to reluctantly agree with Poppy on something.

You were truly special.

[sgiandubh]

Critics' Choice Awards, 2025. Let's go!

She wears Prada tonight, which is interesting and also looks like a huge relief recently hit her:

First red carpet shots:

Where is that damned ring, anyways?

That long gone light seems to be back on her face. I wonder what might have happened, in the meanwhile:

Gareth Bromell, always serviceable:

I downloaded the reel and slowed it down, at a 0.25 speed ratio. Here is what I saw, in what clearly was a rented sort of space/serviced flat, while preparing for the event.

A third person is in that room. Nope, that is clearly a blonde young woman and her sleek, black handbag:

Clearer, my God, to Thee:

Handbag and silver glasses case (?):

This is how C, a very touchy-feely person, playfully thanks/encourages her queer hairdresser. I can honestly assure you this is nowhere near what I saw at that Taylor Swift concert, with S:

The black overcoat/whatever on the far right (blue arrow) belongs, I believe, to the Blonde Young Woman, who is wearing matching pants:

Now, for the million dollar question: who is that Blonde Mystery Woman?

It's not Karla Welch, her stylist tagged by Gareth. This is Karla Welch:

We know Karla Welch was there today, working. But not on that reel, nope:

Is it Mary Wiles, her MUA?

This is Mary Wiles...

... who was also skin prepping her for the event, in that room. But not on that reel:

Is it the third person tagged by Bromell, Grace Wrightsell, stylist and self-awoved 'lover of tchotchkes'?

Clearer:

I think so, or at least, I am reasonably leaning towards it. The nose, forehead, smile and hairstyle are a very good match with Mystery Blonde Woman:

I mean, it's hard to tell, with that appalling light and no makeup, as compared to this pic of Mrs. Wrightsell in full battledress (delicious East Coast style, by the way):

She was there, too. Tagged Bromell and two other stylist friends, Caroline Ninger and Maya Heslow. None of which look like Blonde Mystery Woman (you can go check, I am done with following dead tracks, tonight):

Five stylists to prep C. Important moment, apparently and one in which *** would definitely like to be directly involved (relevant in a very short while, below).

Residual theory: could it be The Nanny and not at all the above glamorous apparition? I mean, why not, after all, but there is way too little evidence to circumstantiate that. Could it be a minder/PA? Yes, but in fact, no. Minders/PAs don't play along all the prepping process and they tend to keep to their job description (remember McGill sultrily dragging that accoutrement bag on a wet sidewalk, with no C in sight, some years ago?).

And *** was prominently there, of course:

Mrs. Allison Hoffman, President, Domestic Networks for ***. Nope, not The Mystery Blonde Woman, either. Took me a while, as both look fairly generic Anglo-Saxon.

And then, we have this weird interview, just in on YouTube:

Just two things, as I take them verbatim for our Spanish girls:

Access Hollywood Journo (AHJ)- 00:45: 'You and S have such great chemistry, talk to me about your bond off-camera, cause I know you guys really support each other...'

C: 'Yeah, I mean, look, we've been such good mates and we've sort of... we've varied (?), we've made a very conscious decision back in Season 1, like a million years ago, that we have to have each other's backs and we've kinda stuck to that, and I was texting with him yesterday, and he's great, you know, he's living his best life at the moment, so...'

AHJ: 'He kinda... I remember him (scrambled..) he's like a big outdoorsman, like he's very into the ..'

C:'Yeah, he got the whole keep fit bug, I did not. Sooo... anyway...'

Wait a minute, Mrs. B, you don't have 'the keep fit bug' and yet you ran a marathon (ah, those romantic pics with McGill... 😅😅😅😅) and allegedly prepare to run another half-marathon in Paris, shortly? Wow. I am shocked.

Also, Mrs. B, you don't have 'the keep fit bug' and you keep literature like this on your bookshelves? Blimey. I should consider buying an orthodontics treatise, then.

[ Remember how I landed here, ROFLMAO? https://sgiandubh.tumblr.com/post/720483288334090240/it-all-starts-with-a-smoke-alarm]

But sure, go ahead, treat your Stans and the Casuals with formulaic, semi-annoyed BS like this. Especially when Mrs. Hoffman is around, mind you. That contract ain't over, yet.

To save the best for last, let's draw The Husband card from that tarot deck. Always, always a success with The Masses:

AHJ: '(...) who is your biggest fan?'

C:' Who's my biggest fan? Oh... whoa...I hope my husband' [contrived laughter].

'I hope.' What?! "I HOPE'? Hello?

Just two quick notes. If her face could speak by itself, while her brain was scrambling to quickly answer something to that question, we'd probably hear Bridget Jones' most famous line ever:

Also, her Irish brogue was back at full speed. Something we know she always does when she is really, really pissed.

But wouldn't you like to know who was C's +1 at that event, after all?

Come on, I know you do. All of you, ladies. Even the people in the back who snoop in here without logging in, from a different browser and then send Anons across the street with The Scoop (ROFLMAO).

Here is who I think was C's +1 tonight:

Karolina Wydra, her best friend ever. And yes, the picture was taken on behalf of the Critics' Choice Association, unlike many of the whole lot, which makes it almost official.

We were told so.

Something is definitely going on. Enough said, this post is horribly long, but I tried my very best.

Anyways Kathy Bates won. But that was really a no brainer.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Fantasy 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Curtis Everett

This AU is called Watcher Anonymous and will include different series for different characters. This is our introduction to Curtis and Whimsy.

Summary: the bookshop window holds intrigue for both buyer and seller.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The door creaks shut as another customer enters. Curtis looks up, greets them with a silty, hey, then goes back to reading. His business isn’t extravagant. He doesn’t need one of those paperback mills selling mass-produced ‘Now a Feature Film’ shills. He works for himself, by himself, and he likes it that way. 

The sunlight traces the outline of the marquee painted on the window onto the table of fiction classic and ripples over the floor. A silhouette appears on the other side of the glass, another passing by. He looks without lifting his head. He’s honed the skill of looking without looking. 

It’s her. She passes everyday, twice a day. Once alone, and once with that man. As she admires the cover he hand-painted to display on the ledge, her escort comes back to hurry her along. Her disappoint darkens her eyes and tugs at her lips. She turns and walks away with him. 

Curtis sighs. She deserves better. Almost a year of her stopping and staring and she’s never set a foot inside. It’s not the business he mourns, it’s the smile that faded at least nine months ago. She used to point out the displays to that other man but after he shrugged her off enough, she stopped trying. 

He can’t claim sainthood. He’s not the most enthusiastic person but he never blights out someone’s passion. He has his own, it’s his business fortunately enough, and he keeps it locked up to keep it safe. Some might see him as stoic but he’s really just cautious. 

He closes the book. He’s not in a mind to read anymore. He can’t follow the dialogue. The customer comes up to pay for a three for five combo and he packs it in a paper bag before sending them off. 

As he sits on his stool, he pulls out the old anthology of Grimm tales he found on eBay. He can restore it but he’s not sure he should just fix the binding or replace the cover altogether. He has an idea, a princess and a cad, robbing her away from her tower... 

Hm. 

The hours tick by and customers come and go. A few children flurry in with their mother only to be disappointed by the lack of Dog Guy or whatever the new fad is. Their guardian pays for a copy of Bronte and goes, promising ice cream to her unsated brood. 

He closes up at six. He has routine. He balances the till and locks everything up. His stomach stirs as he stands outside the door. That night, he has other plans. 

He did it one time. Once. He followed her and that man. He locked the door and left a sign, back in twenty. It was an hour. 

He retraces the steps he made all those weeks ago. The ones he strode in his dreams. He should be doing this. He gets to her building and turns back. He stops himself at her corner. 

He opens Discord. He pulls up the chat with Jake. 

‘You there?’ 

A minute then it shows his friend typing. 

‘Sup?’ 

Curtis doesn’t know how to explain. He knows he can tell Jake anything; Jake tells him everything. 

He gets his thoughts together. He leans on a pole and taps the keys. ‘I’m here.’ 

‘At my place????’ 

‘Hers’. He sends and a shiver rolls over him. 

‘Everything ok?’ Jake asks. 

‘Don’t know why.’ Is all Curtis can come up with. 

He puts his phone away. It doesn’t matter what Jake says. He's there and he’s not turning back. Besides, it’s not like he’s going to do anything. 

He walks by her building. She’s on the second floor. He saw her in the window the first time. It’s hard to see up but climbing a tree is a little much. He sees the lamp light and her shadow, but not much else. He’s annoyed. He didn’t think this through even though it’s all he thought about. Ever. 

He lingers, retracing his steps, wandering around the building, avoiding odd looks. It’s almost nine. The side door opens on his twentieth lap of the block. He pauses at the jangle of cans. He knows her by her gait, even as he can only see her legs behind the big bin of recycling. 

She goes to the taller bins lined up behind the dumpster. She struggles to get the lid up before she dumps the contents. She leans the empty container on top and sniffles. She wipes her eyes and winces. She pulls away but lingers at the corner of the building. 

She touches her cheek as if checking it. It must be tender as she lets out a squeak. He doesn’t know many ways she’d hurt herself there... 

His sole scuffs and she flinches. She looks over at him and hikes up the bucket. He’s been caught. 

“Nice night,” he says and tries not to cringe. He sounds as cheesy as Jake. 

“Sure is,” she agrees with a croak. 

Silence. Awkward and unfurling. She teeters as if afraid to move. He can tell she wants to flee. He doesn't want her to be afraid of him, not like she is with that man.

“You okay?” He asks. 

She twitches again, “f-fine,” she ekes out. 

“Sorry to bother,” he says, “have a good one.” 

“Thanks... you too,” she turns and flops away in her slippers. 

His chest is tight. He makes himself walk away. That was too close.  

He takes his phone out at the end of the street. Jake sent him several messages. He assures him everything is alright. He knows his friend won’t read it for a while. It’s late and he’s doing his ‘surveillance’. All the better, Curtis doesn’t feel like talking. 

[lsunstreakerl]

sunny i would die for seb and lewis’s reactions to finding out they neglected max in that a/b/o verse

maybe... maybe more on this later... I'm already at 1.6k words though so here you go!

"I mean, come on man, it can't be any worse than Max."

Lewis's voice is light as he laughs, and he's trying to ease the new rookies into the pack, make them feel at home, but Daniel's jaw clenches anyways, scent sharpening.

He's been butting heads with Lewis for the past year- hard enough convincing Max that his omega status didn't have anything to do with him leaving, even harder to actually leave him.

He'd been hoping with three new rookies maybe the pack would start to ease up- they're closer to Max's age, knew him as kids.

But here Lewis is, using him as some kind of scapegoat, and Daniel-

Hulk nudges him gently.

"Mate- you are going to stink up the whole room if you don't quit."

Daniel forces the feeling back down, gets control back over his scent. Still- when Lewis gets a taste of it, looks over at him with concern- Daniel meets his gaze head on, lip curling slightly in a snarl.

It's openly defiant, and he's lucky no one else notices, otherwise Lewis would be forced to confront it immediately, handle whatever challenge Daniel has for him publicly.

But Lewis doesn't like to lead like that, so he just narrows his eyes before he finishes the rookie tour.

Daniel means to forget about it, scrolling his phone in the lounge when the door swings back open. Lewis stalks back in, and his scent is both confused and agitated.

"What the fuck, Daniel?"

Daniel barely glances up from his phone. He hasn't done anything close to forgetting about it- he's spent the last forty five minutes remembering every slight against Max, getting progressively more worked up about it, and his scent is permeating the room, defensive and angry.

If he's finally going to blow his lid about the Max thing, he's going to make it worth it.

Seb slips in, and both Charles and Hulk follow- two people Daniel is likely to listen to if somehow the pack alpha and omega can't get through to him.

They'll probably have a whole crowd by the time Daniel is done.

"Can I help you?"

Seb's eyebrows shoot up as Lewis snarls softly.

"I don't know what your problem is Dan, but if we could talk about it, instead of you challenging me when I'm bringing in rookies-"

Daniel scoffs.

"What, like bringing in rookies is sacred? I'm not exactly sure when you two started giving a shit about that."

Seb looks startled at being included, but Daniel's certainly not letting him get out of it.

"Daniel- bringing in rookies has always been important to us."

The snarl from his chest surprises even him, the result of years of watching Max, endlessly hopeful for approval and acknowledgment but never getting it, watching a pup- an omega pup- try and hide his heartbreak each time he's passed over-

Garages are not meant to be packs, but Redbull is, because the drivers pack has failed.

"Go ahead and tell that to Max, yeah? I'm sure he'll agree with you."

The scents in the room sour, and Lewis's face scrunches up.

"Okay- I know we dropped the ball on Max, but Daniel- he's a beta. And he's okay, clearly."

Daniel's scent is a thick cloud in the room, ozone and lightning, a near oppressive miasma.

"Alex is a beta. So was Sergey. That didn't stop either of them from being brought into the pack, did it?"

He abruptly stands up, and Seb takes a step back while Lewis snarls back at him, but Daniel's not backing down, not even to the pack alpha, not for this, not for Max.

"And don't fucking tell me that 'he's okay'. You aren't in that garage- you'd love to pretend he doesn't exist, wouldn't you?"

His accent has thickened, and Seb releases his scent a bit, tries to sooth the room.

"Daniel- I think we've had a miscommunication, yes? Max has not wanted to be in the pack."

"Oh don't- don't even start-"

Daniel's growling, low in his chest.

"You wouldn't know, because you never fucked asked- and if you had, maybe you would have realized that he did, he just doesn't know how to say it- and maybe that's because he's a fucking pup!"

He's right up and Lewis's face, and Lewis finally lets go on his scent- there's a brief moment where it's smothering, telling Daniel to stand down, but-

"Or maybe you could use your eyes, or your nose, or if you're feeling really generous, your brain- and you'll notice he's not a damn beta at all, you stupid cunts, he's an omega, and right now Redbull's picking up all the slack!"

Max had- Max had begged Daniel not to tell them, but Daniel can't keep it to himself anymore, can't bear to watch it- and Max feels betrayed enough already, it's not like he can make it worse.

There's a sharp scent change, horror from Seb and a deep note of surprise from Charles and Hulk, but Lewis-

Lewis makes a wounded noise, stepping back.

"No- no? No, we would have- we would have noticed."

Daniel feels the laugh bubble out of him.

"Well, great job on that front, cheers to the pack alpha, yeah? Wrap it up, Lewis Hamilton is soooo great he can decide dynamics now!"

"Daniel."

Seb's voice is sharp, the one he used when Daniel was younger, getting into things he shouldn't, toeing the line in press conferences. Daniel doesn't care- he's not the rookie anymore, he had his own rookie, and he's doing exactly what Seb taught him to do- protecting him.

Daniel doesn't want to hear whatever it is Seb has to say- something to smooth over the situation, to make it less than it is, and he doesn't-

He doesn't want to hear it.

"No, fuck that, I'm going out."

He stalks past Lewis, who takes a few steps after him.

"Hamilton, if you don't actually want to fight with me right now, stop following."

Daniel lets the door slam behind him, and some part of him feels the sting- he's treating pack like shit right now, but deeper, tucked underneath it-

He wants to go see Max. If only to sooth the ache in his own chest. Wants to curl up in the team nest and have Max doze off next to him, bury his nose in his hair and smell pine and tart blackberries, the slight edge of milky pup scent he hasn't quite managed to get rid of yet.

No one in Redbull has told Max- as far as Daniel is aware- that when he's curled up in a pack pile, deeply asleep, sometimes he'll purr.

It's a treasured memory, because Max straight up refuses to do it any other time. GP has the best luck in the team of drawing it out, but Daniel is a close second.

Was a close second.

He stops for a moment, realizing he can't. He can't go to back to Redbull and climb in the nest, can't curl up with Max and the others, and this is why garages aren't usually pack- it hurts too much when a driver leaves.

"Fuck."

------

It's Charles that breaks the silence, looking wide-eyed at Seb.

"Max? Max is an omega?"

Seb opens his mouth before shutting it again. He's not-

He doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know how to make it better, hasn't even fully digested the implications of what Daniel had shouted at them.

Max Verstappen is a beta. He's an aggressive beta, cocky and arrogant, who wants nothing to do with them, and he's a danger to the pack on track.

Seb's head hurts. Trying to reframe it-

Max Verstappen is an omega. He's practically still a pup, has pack bonded with his garage, and-

And wanted to be part of the pack. As a driver. Because he is, he's a driver, and he's so young still, and he's-

"Seb,"

It's Lewis with his hand on his shoulder, soothing him, and Seb barely recognizes his own scent, drenched in shame and guilt and sorrow.

"We'll fix it- we can go talk to him."

An omega. They're few and far between as is- the loss of Nico to the grid had been rough, and even now as Seb is thinking about it, Nico had spent so much time with Max-

"Lewis- Lewis, Nico knew-"

He sees the moment it hits Lewis as well, jaw clenching as his squeezes his eyes shut briefly.

"Damn it."

Lewis turns to Charles and Hulk.

"You two- none of this leaves this room until Seb and I get it figured out, got it?"

Charles nods meekly, half hidden behind Hulk, and Seb is sure the two of them smell horrid at the moment, but they need to fix this-

Omega. A pup, and Seb had seen Jos, there's no way Max got what he needed, and he's-

He's relying on his garage for his needs, when garages aren't built for it, aren't designed to withstand pack dynamics. They can't function under the strain, and the chances of having a Team Principal who is also a pack alpha are slim. A Team Principal and separate pack alpha leads to issues within the pack, and he has no idea how Redbull has been managing for two years.

God. Max wasn't even an adult, and all Seb had seen was an arrogant kid, hadn't even taken a second to look further.

Maybe if he had they wouldn't have missed it.

Instead, they now have a deeply damaged pack bond with Daniel, a nonexistent pack bond with a grid omega, and potentially an entire team under packbond strain.

How this is only blowing up their faces now is a miracle.

[gold-onthe-inside]

blind date

who? spencer reid (s8) x blake!reader summary: you finally give into your godmother's insistence on going on a date with her colleague, if only to get her off your back, and find yourself having to break the heart of someone who could have been the love of your life. content warnings: not a happy ending (i warned you, you don't get to yell at me), reader is blake's goddaughter and a therapist. word count: 2.1k

You let out a slow breath before entering the restaurant, smoothing down your dress, still second-guessing your outfit - a purple dress matched with a dark velvet jacket and a black purse with a gold chain belt - as if you hadn’t spent your day looking up what women in their 30s wore on first dates. Not like it matters, you told yourself. You’d get through the date, politely tell the guy that he was great but you weren’t interested, and hopefully be home by 10pm. You turn your gaze to the maitre’d, telling him the table was under Reid’s name.

You had told yourself on the way that you couldn’t hold it against him if he was late — you still remember the coffee meetings your own godmother never turned up to — but it turned out he was earlier than you. Where you showed up to everything ten minutes in advance, he showed up twenty-five minutes.

You saw him first, looking into the silver ware and flattening down his hair and adjusting his tie, clearly nervous, looking up when he heard you thank the maitre’d. Spencer almost stumbled over himself as he stood up to pull your chair out for you and you feel an overwhelming urge to reassure him. “H-Hi,” he said, matching your awkward smile. “You look really nice.”

“Thanks,” you said softly, taking the seat and watching him take his, his hand splayed against his chest to keep his tie back. “You’re taller than I thought you’d be.”

His laugh is nervous, God help him, and he corrects the displaced silverware so they align perfectly before he looked at you again. “I, uh, I get that a lot.”

“Go on a lot of blind dates then?” you asked, sipping the water within reach, and you can see panic flash across his face.

“No! I mean, I’ve-I’ve been on dates before. Just um—” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I meant I get the-the height thing, quite a bit. Not that there’s been a lot—”

“Breathe, Spencer,” you feel compelled to say as his face flushes. You’d meant to tease, not give the man a heart attack.

“Sorry,” he murmured, trying to get a grip on himself. God, how did Derek do this? “Um… Blake, sorry, Alex, told me that you’re a therapist,” he said, focusing on something concrete.

“Uh, yeah,” you answered, not sure how much information you wanted to tell him. Though, to be fair, he was a federal agent. He could have it found out anyway. “I work at a clinic in Georgetown,” you said, folding your hands in front of you and overthinking whether you should be crossing your legs or not. This was usually the point where the guy would ask if you could read his mind, or attempt to educate you on how mental health was a sham and everyone just needs to get some exercise, and that would be your cue to fake an emergency exit. Maybe you’d get home in time to watch some decent TV.

“Is it hard?” he asked, taking a sip of water before he leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with genuine interest. It was endearing, and surprising.

“It can be,” you answered, leaning in slightly. “Some days you get really, really good sessions, you know? And other days it’s…”

“Hell?” he offered and you let out a small huff.

“Try having a seven year old drawing on furniture with chalk,” you told him, watching him wince.

“I, uh… have a confession,” he said, leaning even closer, his voice a dramatic whisper. “I did that as a kid.”

"Understimulated in class, huh?" you asked, smiling at him a little more.

“A lot,” he admitted. “I learned to read very young, and… well, then everyone wanted me to read, and it wasn’t as fun anymore, you know?”

“Mm,” you say in agreement, but before you continue, the waiter comes, and you both order a glass of wine, and appetizers to split. “So, you must be dealing with a lot worse than pre-pubescent vandalism, right?” you asked, pulling apart the fried mozzarella balls with delicate precision, and you watch him think for a moment.

“I’m just trying to decide if the last case we worked would be preferable to handling a toddler, and I honestly think I’d prefer the serial killer,” he said thoughtfully and you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you.

"Yeah, no, I don't blame you," you replied, sipping your wine.

“What about you?” he asked between bites. “Did you know you wanted to be a psychologist from day one?”

"Uh... No, I actually thought I would go into linguistics, like Alex, but somewhere around my first year into undergrad, I realised that psychology was my calling," you said.

“What changed your mind?” he asked, tilting his head to the side and leaning his elbow on the table. You liked the way he gave you his full attention; his eyes hadn’t strayed from you since you’d gotten there.

“Uh, we used to have to do these case studies and we’d do these role plays where everyone had a presenting concern to work with, and I used to get this… high whenever I’d figured the client out. Like that moment where everything just… clicks into place. And I got addicted to it,” you said, your words and love for your job captivating.

“I know exactly what you mean,” he said, his smile widening. “I’m sure Alex’s told you that I have an… impressive memory. The cases we work on-the ones they don’t put in our files on purpose-I remember every single piece of information. It’s like the details don’t leave me. So when we finally catch the unsubs, the-the serial killers…” His voice lowers, leaning further over the table to you and he’s so close, you can almost smell his cologne. “That’s when it clicks.”

You stared at him for a beat, like everything else in the world had gone still, his soft hazel eyes looking affectionately into yours, and then the waiter comes over and the bubble between you two pops, springing apart like two teenagers being walked in on. You can see the flush come over his skin, just as the waiter places his plates in front of him, and focus on ordering your dinner, Spencer agreeing to whatever you ordered.

“So,” you started as the waiter left, and you could see the hint of a smile cross his lips. “Spencer, what do you do for fun?”

He hums a little, thinking. “I read, obviously, and I play poker, although I think half the team suspects I’m counting cards.” He leans forward. “Don't tell them, but I am.”

“You can count cards?” you asked, looking at him in disbelief.

He tilts his head to the side, and he looks like some kind of adorable dog, and your cheeks flush a little darker. “Is it that surprising?” Spencer asks. “I mean, if you know the math, it’s-“ He seems to stumble a little, like he’s worried he’ll bore you with the explanation.

“Keep going,” you prompt him, interested.

“I mean, it’s not foolproof,” he starts, the words flowing quickly from him. “You can’t really predict probability with any certainty. It’s just… really good guessing.” He smiles proudly. “I’m actually banned from a few casinos in Vegas.”

You sipped your wine, shaking your head. "You've gotta teach me how, cause I swear, Alex beats me every time."

“You play poker?” Spencer asked, and you nodded, taking another sip of wine. “Of course, you do,” he added, smiling. “You’re perfect,” he blurted, then started, his face flushing a deep colour.

You could fall in love with this man if you let yourself, and it’s a scary thought. Alex hadn’t been kidding when she said that Spencer was perfect for you. Then why was there this horrible pit in your stomach, like an anvil hovering over you?

The rest of the dinner went perfectly, Spencer pulling out your chair for you as you both prepared to leave. The air was crisp, just a little chilly — spring wasn’t quite ready to fully come out of hiding yet. There was a certain energy between you both; a sense of hope you had long forgotten, and as he walked you to your car, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking up and meeting his eyes.

You'd felt this way before... four years ago when you met the man you thought you'd spend the rest of your life with, and suddenly, the idea of going through that again... It scared the living daylights out of you. "This was really nice," you managed, looking at him.

“It was,” he agreed, his hands shoving into his pockets. “I’d like to see you again.” He said it casually, but his eyes betrayed him, like he was afraid you were going to refuse.

You swallowed, reminding yourself to take a breath. "Spencer, you're... really great. I mean, seriously, any girl would be lucky to go out with you," you said slowly. "But if I'm honest... I only came out tonight to get Alex off my back."

You can see the way it crushes him; the light in his eyes dimming. His shoulders drop and his head lowers, and you feel a wave of guilt overcome you, but your feet stay rooted to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but you know his words are meant more for his own failings than for you - you can see it in his body language, how he’s withdrawing into himself. What you expect is for him to walk away; instead, he looks back up at you, and you feel your heart break as your eyes meet his pained ones.

"I'm the one who should be sorry," you said softly. "I should never have..." You took a sharp breath. "I like you, Spencer. A lot, probably more than I'm ready for. But I just got out of a long-term relationship. I'm not ready to jump into another one, especially with someone who... who deserves a lot more."

“I-I don’t mind taking things slow,” he said, his voice soft as his eyes searched your face, and you knew he was telling you the truth. But he doesn’t deserve to be some kind of… emotional training wheels for you, as you work through a bad breakup. He deserves more than you’ve got to offer.

"Of course you don't," you said, with a tinge of fondness. "You're perfect."

"I think I'm far from perfect," he says, with a self-deprecating grin. "But I'd be happy to be, um... whatever it is you're ready for."

You don't want to say it, but he's really, really, really hard to say 'No' to, and the fact he was so genuine in wanting to be around you made your heart clench. You wanted to say 'yes' so desperately.

Maybe you should say 'yes'. Just to see what happens.

"It's a bad idea," you said reluctantly, your resolve crumbling.

"But it might be just what you need," Spencer said, and he's right - you hate it but you can feel the way he's pulling you in. The way those hazel eyes hold you; the way you just want to spend more time with him.

A mistake, you think to yourself, just as his hand slides down, his fingers slotting with yours. A glorious mistake.

"I don't want to do that to you," you murmured, even though all you wanted to do was kiss him and take him home and ruin him.

"Please," he murmured, stepping just a little closer, as if you had any resolve left at this point. "I'm a big boy. I can make that decision for myself."

The way he stepped so close to you made your skin tingle, and something deep within you tightened, and you were sure that Spencer could see it in your eyes. Your free hand lifted, sliding along his cheek. "I can't," you said, thumb gliding against his cheekbone. "I'm sorry."

Spencer stepped back, and you watch the way his face falls, your hand falling away to your side, but he nods, and the part of you that wasn't ready for this, was happy you'd made that decision. That he would stay safe and away from you - but then he leaned down, and before you can process what it was, he presses a warm kiss to your cheek. "I had a really nice time, tonight," Spencer murmured, and you can hear the sound of his footsteps leave before you can get your mouth to work again.

"Me too," you murmured into the air, sinking against your car, wondering if you'd just made the biggest mistake of your life, letting him slip through your fingers.

[fluentmoviequoter]

You Know I Love You

0.5k+ words of you stressing Deacon out by not saying "I love you" back.

“That’s not right,” you murmur. “He didn’t even read her Miranda rights.”

“Are you still watching this show?” Deacon questions, chuckling as he returns from the kitchen with your favorite drink.

“I thought it would get better,” you defend. “It hasn’t.”

“So, you’re going to turn it off now?”

You shrug, and Deacon shakes his head in amusement.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” he promises.

Deacon places his hand on the back of the couch and leans down to kiss you. As he stands, you click the remote and begin the next episode.

“Don’t,” Deacon warns. “You’ll regret it. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“I won’t,” you assure him. “I’m giving it five more minutes. Ten maybe.”

Deacon slides his phone into his pocket and retrieves his keys from the table beside your door.

“I love you,” he says as he opens the door.

“See you when you get back,” you reply.

Deacon pauses in the open doorway and watches you. You’ve never hesitated to tell him how you feel; you said I love you first and kissed him a minute ago, so he knows you aren’t mad at him.

“Want me to bring dinner back?” he asks.

“I was actually thinking we could cook,” you say, turning to face him. “If you want.”

“Sounds good.” With your attention on him, Deacon tries again. “I love you.”

“Be safe.”

“Yeah… Text me if anything comes up, okay?”

You nod, and when Deacon says, “I love you,” again, you smile and turn to sit properly again.

Deacon drops his keys onto the table again and closes the door. He walks around the couch and then drops to sit directly beside you.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course,” you promise. “Just wondering what these writers were thinking.”

“Can I get your full attention for three seconds?” Deacon requests.

You pause the show and smile, leaning toward him as you nod. “I’m all yours,” you say.

“I love you,” Deacon says slowly, intentionally.

“I know.”

Deacon’s brows raise, and his shock is evident. You can’t take it then, laughing as you fall forward into his lap.

“I’m so sorry,” you force through your laughter. “I just wanted to see your reaction.”

Deacon raises your hand to his chest, and your amusement turns to guilt when you feel his heart beating rapidly.

“I’m sorry, Deacon,” you repeat, sitting up and taking his hands. “I love you - you know that.”

“Well, I thought I did, but then I said it a half-dozen times and you just asked about dinner.”

“Dinner with you!” you point out. “It was stupid; I really didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Say it again,” Deacon requests.

“I love you, Deacon.”

Deacon sighs, kisses your forehead, and then stands.

“Although, after a kiss like that, I shouldn’t have to tell you,” you joke.

“I will be back in a few hours,” Deacon says again, and you can tell he’s fighting not to smile. “And I hope for both of our sakes you are in a better mood.”

“I’m in a great mood when the man I love is here,” you flirt.

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs as he opens the door.

“I’ll see you later with food!” you call. “Love you!”

“I know."

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Thirty Two)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Thirty Two: Cillian is keen to ensure Y/N takes it easy, wanting her to be as calm as possible. They agree that his sons need to hear the news from them - and soon. But Y/Ns suggestion for doing that surprises Cillian a little when both of them find it difficult to sleep. Y/N tries to ease the tension, but she voices a feeling Cillian had always known she feels. [Angst/Anxiety & Fluff/Sexually suggestive]

@cherry-cilly @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @watermeezer @strangeions @borntodiemp3 @lavender-haze-01

----------

“You need to relax. I'm annoyed about it, and we need to talk to Mal and Aran sooner than later, but what's more important to me right now is that you calm yourself down.” Cillian says, his hands on your biceps in the middle of the kitchen. He's been home an hour. Cuddles and welcomes have long since passed, and the obligatory cup of tea has been drained. It took you twenty minutes before you raised the article, and a further five minutes before you cried. “We've time enough to talk to them, and sure now I'm at home there'll be no more, but I think we should talk to them before the scan. I know you're iffy on that, but I think they're going to need the time to process it too. And Yvonne. I mean we're only after telling them we're not having a baby, and we've to go back on that now.” He moves his hands and wraps them around you, pulling you in against his chest. “I know it's scary. But we've got to do it.” 

“It isn't just that.” You sigh, sniffling your sobs down. “They printed things about us, Cillian.” 

“Yeah,” he inhales as he mutters the word. “And didn't I tell you they would?” You can hear in his tone he's not fishing for points to score, but you feel it anyway. “It's a shitty article, by a shitty group of so-called journalists. And there'll be more, about whatever the fuck they want to write. But we're having a fucking baby!” You can hear his small laugh through his ribcage. “And they're scumbags, and it'll be fucking shit, and it's exactly what I didn't fucking want - but we're having a fucking baby, Y/N. I'm happy. I'm shit scared to tell me own kids, but I'm happy.” 

“I don't want to hurt your boys, Cill. They're going to be…,” you sigh and push up against his chest. “They're going to be so mad, hurt, they're going to think we lied to them.” 

Cillian takes a deep breath, “Maybe they'll be all of those things.” He nods, “But they're going to have a brother or sister in a while, and that's not going to change because they feel whatever they do. I don't want to hurt them either, ever. But this is my family too. You and that baby.” You're aware it might sound cold to others, but to you it's what you need to hear. This is his home, his life, his family. It's not erasing his sons at all, but this is the immediate life he lives now. 

“And telling Yvonne?” You raise your eyebrows, and your heart flutters as you say her name. 

“Yeah,” he drags his mouth to the side and frowns, “That's going to be a fucking mission too.” he sighs and shakes his head. “But it's nothing to do with her. It's the boys that matter. She deserves to know, of course, and hear it from me, but that's as far as that loyalty goes.” It's an amazing string of words to hear him say, soothing so many of your anxieties if just for a while. “What she thinks doesn't matter. Like I said, it's the lads I'm worried about. But this is happening regardless. There'll be a cot, and a pram, and fucking…pumps and nappies and dodies.” He smirks. 

“Dodies?” You repeat. 

“Yeah, the wee dummies.” He grins. 

“We called them dadoos when we were small.” You chuckle. 

“Dadoo?” He laughs, “Where the fuck did youse pull that name outta?” 

“Same place you got dodie, you big freak.” you swat your hand against his chest, and sigh to try and feel calmer. “Fuck, Cill, why can't this just be simple, like every other couple, having babies? Why did I find you when I did?” 

He smiles softly, but he looks sad. “Cause that's when I needed ya.” 

You feel an emotional swell at his words, and your chin quivers, “Oh, love.” You bring your hand up to his cheek. “When do you want to do it? Tell them?” You bring your hand down again and rest it back on his chest. 

“After Christmas?” He says, brows raised. “Or do you want to do it before? I only say after so it's peaceful fucking Christmas.” He scoffs. 

“They're your boys, it's your decision when.” You tell him. “I'll support whatever you decide.” 

Pursing his lips, he nods slowly, then sighs heavily. “I'll think about it.” He whispers, and pulls you in closer again. He rests his cheek on the top of your head and holds you tightly. “Will we get dinner?” He asks, swaying you slightly from side to side. 

You wrinkle your nose, though he can't see it, “Like what?” 

“Spin down to the chipper?” He suggests. 

“You go,” you shake your head and slowly pull yourself from his arms. You would stay there - it's comfortable, and intimate, and you're so glad he's here - but the mere suggestion of food is turning your stomach. “I don't want anything.” 

“I won't get a feed without you,” he raises his eyebrows. “Will you not have anything? Will I cook?” 

“No, love, you're just in the bloody door.” You shake your head. “Go and get your chips, don't eat them near me,” you laugh, “Then we've the whole night.” 

“To sleep, I hope?” He grins. 

“God, yes,” you sigh with a laugh.

You wake up with a sudden jump, and you're not sure why. You can't recall a dream, but suddenly you're awake and you're cold. You turn onto your back and instantly realise that Cillian isn't there. Shifting to retrieve your phone, you check the time - just gone three am. You throw your legs from the bed and sit up, shivering in the chilly room. Cillian's hoodie from the day is thrown over the chair in the corner, and you grab it and instantly snuggle yourself into it. You push your feet into your Ugg slippers and slip from the room, not being too quiet. As you step down the stairs you can hear the TV, and there is the glow of a light from down there, too. You brace your hands as you walk down, and land at the bottom feeling even more cold than upstairs. “Hey, what're you doing?” You ask, catching sight of Cillian on the sofa. He's laid out across it on his front, head against a cushion in the corner and legs stretched down, arms tucked up beneath the small cushion. He's wide awake, glasses on, and watching the TV. He shifts his head slightly and looks at you, pushing his lips into a pout. He looks tired and you're not sure if it's because he hasn't slept and is flagging, or because he hasn't been up long and is still exhausted. 

“Watching Interstellar.” He says and sniffs. He draws his hand from under the cushion, clutching the controls, and pauses the film. “What are you doing?” he asks, and yawns tightly. He doesn't sit up, but he snuggles his head against the cushion a little. His cheek is pushed up and it makes his lips look fuller. 

“Standing here, looking at the teenager laid out on the couch.” You say and smile when he scoffs a small laugh. “You couldn't sleep?” 

“Ah,” he tuts. He shifts around and finally pushes himself up. He sits into the corner of the sofa and bends his left knee up, foot planted into the seat. “Just a bit wired I think, thinking about how to talk to the lads.*

“We just have to tell them, love. Like you said, and you were right, we're going to have a baby regardless.” You reassure him, though you're still so nervous about all of it. “We can't control how they'll think or feel, but at least it'll come from us and not some wank-page report they get sent or find themselves.” 

“Wank-page,” he mutters, smiling a little. He removes his glasses and folds the arms in, then tosses them down onto the sofa beside the TV controls. You watch as he fidgets, filled with an anxious energy. His tongue swipes around his mouth and his fingers flick and tap against his raised leg. 

“Go,” you say, wondering if you'll regret it. 

He frowns at you and his tongue stills. “Where?” 

“In the garden - I admire that you're trying to do what I wanted, but I can see you're struggling. Go and have a bloody cigarette.” You push your hands into the pocket of his hoodie you're wrapped in. 

“I'd the last one at the airport, waiting on the taxi.” He says, then purses his lips. You're almost happy to hear that, but you also know that after weeks back on high doses of nicotine, he's going to be a little grumpy. “C'mere,” he says. He pushes his legs down and holds his arm out to welcome you in for a hug. You smile as you walk over and curl in against his side. His arm immediately wraps around you. “I was thinking,” he says and you want to make a joke about smelling smoke, but you hold off. “Will we give the baby an Irish name?” 

“We don't even know what it is yet,” you smile, but it occurs to you that you've been so wrapped in your anxiety that the thoughts of cute things like that had been pushed far away. 

“I know but, like, I'd want an Irish name.” He says quietly. “A wee Oisín or Ciarán, or a Caoimhe or Róisín.” 

“We could have twins, Róisín and Oisín.” You laugh a little. 

He tuts, but he's smiling. “When I read the article I wanted to ring the boys there and then and just tell them. Say, look lads we're having a baby and that's what's happening. You know? And then I didn't want to hurt them, and I still don't. Like, I know what they're going to think. They're going to think we lied about it. And that's what's fucking eating me, you know? I love ‘em, they're my best friends, and-and I don't want to hurt them or push them away further. Malachy's in such a good place with us now, and after talking with Aran I know he feels better. I don't want to fuck that. But Y/N, having this baby with you feels good. I know what I said before and I know we went through the shit over, but I'm happy it's happening. I am. I promise you. But all the shit - the kids, the press, Yvonne, the reactions from every fucker around us… I'm scared of all that.” 

It scares you a little that he's echoing your fears, but it's good to know you're not alone in them. But you know you're on your own in the fear that somewhere in the midst of this pregnancy, he's going to flip his ideas again. “We should tell the boys before Christmas.” You say. “Let's have a couple of days, you and me here at home, and then we can have them over - the boys and Yvonne. Tell them all together.” 

Cillian turns his head a little and you look up. “You want to do that?” He sounds surprised, happy maybe, and you nod your head. 

“We have to.” You say quietly. “Sooner rather than later, it has to be said and it has to be before any more shit like that article is produced.” You sigh heavily, “And then after the scan, after we know everything is okay… then we tell everyone else that needs to know. Your family first.” 

You can feel the vibrations as he laughs, “Ah, fuck, Páidi's going to have an opinion or two.” 

“He's your little brother, he's supposed to!” You smile. You wrap your arm around his slight waist and snuggle closer. “I am so fucking glad you're home.” 

“Me too,” he hums, pulling you closer. 

“It's been no fun fucking myself.” You laugh, breaking the heaviness in the air. 

“Ah stop,” he throws his head back against the sofa, chuckling lightly. Then he laughs a little more, “I'd the earphones in on the plane, and that song came on, you know the one Afternoon Delight?” He pauses as he giggles again. “Just made me think of you recently.” 

“I googled it,” you say, “Pregnancy and wanting to fuck all the time. Apparently it only happens when your partner is Cillian Murphy.” You tease, and he laughs again. “It's just a good job I'm already pregnant because it's that fucking feeling I like… feeling you just spilling inside me.” You shake your head and know you need to stop, you're only egging yourself on here. “We'd be in serious trouble otherwise.” 

“Stop talking,” he sighs and shifts. “... Jesus.” 

“You're alright,” you laugh, “I'm too tired to ride you like I want to. But I swear, Cill, we're destroying the sofa in the next two days. I need that out of my system before I stand in front of the family I destroyed and tell them we are having a baby.” 

He laughs awkwardly, his whole body shaking as he does, and he tightens his arm around you more. “Y/N, you didn't destroy anything. I've told you this so many times, I know you know. I wanted that marriage over.” 

“Would you have left if we hadn't spent that year sneaking around?” you ask. You've asked before and you know what he'll say, but it never clears your fears for long enough. 

“Yes. We were falling apart, Y/N. The only thing you did was show me it would be okay to do it. You didn't ruin anything.” He reassures you, but you know that he knows that will always be how you feel. “And I'll tell you once more, but I won't remind you again - whatever happens, I love you.” 

[emotionalhottiee]

Made For Each Other!

Chapter 3: No Second Chances!

Aleah

After listening to that voicemail, i immediately blocked that number. Still processing that voicemail i couldn’t help but wonder why he was calling me.

I mean i know why, but did he really think that he could talk his way back into my life? After such a HUGE mistake. An unforgivable fuck up. Like all i can do is shake my head, trying to hold back the tears. I was not trying to break down crying in front of all my new co workers, but as hard as i was fighting back the tears were winning.

Making my way out of catering i tried to find the nearest restroom, through blurred vision. I found a bathroom which was thankfully a single and trudged inside. Letting the tears flow down my cheek. My mind wondered back to a time when things were good. When we were happy.

*Flashback*

“Do you know what today is?

It's our anniversary

Made for you and me.”

I was singing along to Tony Toni Tone’s Anniversary in the passenger seat, as Dominic drove us to our reservation. Celebrating us dating for 2 years, this moment was so special to me. Dominic was so special to me. Of course he wouldn’t tell me where we were going. So i just sat back & watched as we passed by the buildings and the backdrop of downtown Atlanta passed us by. It was only another 20 minutes had gone by. When we arrived at a fancy five star restaurant.

Walking inside the place was vibrantly lit. Soft jazz music played in the background, while a nice older woman directed us to our table. “My name is Helen, i will be your waitress for the night. Here are your menus, while you guys are deciding on your food, what can i get you for your drinks?” She asked ever so sweet with her southern accent thick. “I’ll just have a water, with lemons” i replied. “I’ll have a jack & coke” Dominic said, never looking up from his menu. Sometimes i hated his lack of manners, but i decided to bite my tongue tonight and not make a fuss. It is our anniversary. “Sure thing, i’ll be right out with those drinks” She stated seemingly unbothered by Dominic not looking at her. “Thank you so much” i replied making eye contact with her so i could apologize without words. She smiled genuinely letting me know it was fine, before she proceeded back into the kitchen.

As the night went on we got our food, the atmosphere shifted. Which i was grateful for. Instead of focusing on his lack of manners, we talked about our relationship. Just laughing at the memories we’ve made in two years. Talking about where our future will take us. Even talking about our boundaries. Which usually tends to tick me off, because i have simply stated mine from the very beginning. And they have not changed. But that doesn’t stop Dom from being Mr. Forgetful and constantly bringing them up. He knows having the same conversation over and over and over is a pet peeve of mine.

The night continued on, as i buried my frustrations in the back of my mind. I didn’t want to let one little annoyance ruin our anniversary. We continued to enjoy our food, exchanging funny stories & loving moments between the two of us.

*Flashback Over*

Wiping away the rest of my tears i swore to myself that i was done crying over Dominic… So why was i still such an emotional wreck? But the truth is i was forcing myself to get over it, instead of tunneling through the barrage of emotions i felt. I just didn’t wanna deal with this. I mean what was the point when the relationship was over. Why keep being sad over the past, when it’s the past. Questions that kept replaying in my mind, because i just wanted to move on from him. But it’s not as cut and dry as i thought it would be.

I made a mental note to myself, to call my therapist about my little emotional dilemma.

As i finished rinsing my face with cold water, trying to conceal my red puffy eyes. I grabbed my bags heading out of the bathroom. My head was completely in my purse and not paying attention to what’s in front of me, which caused me to collide into them. Or more specifically him.

“Whoa sweetie, are you okay”. He asked holding his arms out, to prevent me from falling. Even tho i was totally not gonna fall. “You gotta watch where you going babygirl, i wouldn’t wanna knock you over.” He said flashing a pearly white smile at me. “My bad” i simply retorted giving him a faint smile while turning to walk away. I heard him mumble a “DAMN”, but i just let out a little chuckle as i kept walking away.

Don’t get me wrong he was cute, But he wasn’t completely my type not to mention Jey was the one holding my attention right now. And i am not trying to jump from man to man around here, especially because this is my job.

Gotta keep it somewhat professional.

Catch Up!

Disclaimer

tag list:

@prettypink-princesss @isabella-2025

@sheaabuttaababyy @uceyliyahh @mindairy @yana3sworld @christinabae

[rik0shii]

Kang daesung x fem!reader who's just as chaotic as he is!! both of them always prank the older members in YG and teasing the younger ones(aka CL and minzy lol) until they're annoyed <3

I'm literally so grateful that you and the other writers decided to write for bigbang bcs if not we wouldn't have SO MANY finger lickin good fics of them especially MY KING DAESUNG‼️we need more ppl appreciating these cuties fr🔥

Double Trouble Couple

You and Daesung, the Double Trouble Couple, are always up to playful mischief. In this moment, you prank Taeyang by changing his phone’s lock screen to a funny meme, all while teasing CL and Minzy. Amidst the chaos, sweet couple moments shine through, showing how perfectly you and Daesung balance fun and affection.

(Kang Daesung x Chaotic!Fem!Reader)

hii tysm for requesting!! YESS WE DO NEED MORE BB FANFICS!! as a vip since 2018 i have to do them justice!!also, daesung is my bias😖😖! reposts and comments are appreciated!!

Another day at YG, and the Double Trouble Couple was ready to spread their usual brand of fun and chaos. You and Daesung were masters at balancing sweet couple moments with just the right amount of harmless mischief.

You were lying on the couch in the practice room, scrolling through your phone, while Daesung sat next to you, absentmindedly flipping through a magazine. It was one of those rare moments when things were calm — but you knew it wouldn’t last long.

You glanced up at Daesung, a mischievous grin forming on your lips. “Hey, babe, I have an idea. Let’s mess with Taeyang for a minute.”

Daesung’s face lights up with that same glint of mischief. “What do you have in mind?”

You giggled. “What if we rearranged his phone background to something really ridiculous? Like… one of those puppy memes that say ‘When you’re too cute for this world’ or something equally cringe-worthy.”

Daesung laughs, shaking his head. “That’s perfect. He’s gonna be so confused when he sees it.”

You both sneak over to Taeyang’s bag, where his phone was lying. With the stealth of two professional pranksters, you quickly change his lock screen to the cringiest meme you could find — a baby panda trying to look tough, paired with the text: ‘Me: 1% scary, 99% adorable.’ You high-five each other in excitement.

Daesung chuckles. “He’s not going to know what hit him.”

As you return to your spot, trying to act completely innocent, you notice CL and Minzy talking nearby. You can already tell by their facial expressions that they’re waiting for the moment to see what kind of chaos you and Daesung have planned.

CL crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow at you. “What did you two do this time? I’m getting that ‘we’re about to get pranked’ vibe.”

You smile sweetly. “What? Us? We’re just being cute.”

Daesung leans in, acting all innocent. “Yeah, we’re perfectly innocent. We wouldn’t do anything… mischievous.”

Minzy shakes her head. “You two are trouble.”

“Are we?” you reply, looking at Daesung with a grin. “We’re just adorable trouble, aren’t we?”

Just then, Taeyang walks back into the room, holding his phone and looking at it with furrowed brows. “What the heck is this?”

You try and fail to hold back your laughter. Daesung pats you on the back, trying to act like he’s unaffected.

“Taeyang, are you okay?” you ask, feigning concern. “It’s just a meme, right? I mean, who could resist the cuteness of a baby panda?”

Daesung laughs, nudging you playfully. “The real question is, why isn’t he taking the compliment? I mean, 1% scary and 99% adorable? Who wouldn’t want that on their phone?”

Taeyang looks at the two of you, an eyebrow raised. “You guys are so childish.”

You grin, a little too sweetly. “Maybe, but we’re just spreading some love around here.”

Daesung throws his arm around you and laughs. “Yeah, love and glitter. We’re basically the best at it.”

CL is trying to hold in her giggles, but Minzy can’t stop laughing. “Honestly, it’s cute. You two are just evil sometimes.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply with a sweet smile.

Later on, after the laughs have died down and Taeyang finally changes his lock screen back, the four of you fall into a comfortable silence. But, you know it won’t last long. Not with you and Daesung around.

As you and Daesung sit next to each other, your legs touching, there’s a softness in the air. You glance at him, and he turns to look at you. Without a word, he leans in and kisses the side of your head, his hand gently resting on yours.

“You know,” Daesung says softly, his voice filled with warmth, “I love this. Just being with you, messing around, making everyone laugh. It feels… right.”

You smile up at him, your heart swelling. “Me too. We make the perfect team.”

His thumb strokes the back of your hand. “Yeah, we do. I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

You can’t help but laugh, squeezing his hand. “Lucky? You’ve definitely earned it. I’m basically chaos in human form.”

He laughs with you, then pulls you closer, his arm draped around your shoulder. “You’re my chaos, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Minzy, who had been watching the two of you, sighs dramatically. “It’s so cute, but honestly, it’s annoying how you two just work together.”

You grin at her, teasing. “What can we say? It’s called couple goals.”

Daesung laughs, his arm tight around you as he responds, “Honestly, we make being cute look too easy.”

CL rolls her eyes but can’t stop herself from smiling. “You two should really calm down with the couple energy. I’m literally single here, and it’s giving me a toothache.”

“I can’t help it,” you say with a grin. “Daesung is just too adorable.”

Daesung playfully bumps you with his shoulder. “Don’t go too hard, babe. I’m already a heartbreaker.”

As the evening goes on, the playful teasing continues — but so do the quiet, affectionate moments between you and Daesung. Whether it’s the way he gently brushes your hair out of your face or the way you both share secret smiles across the room, there’s an undeniable connection between the two of you.

And even though you’re both little troublemakers, in this moment, it feels like the calmest chaos — just the way you like it.

[wlwsoccerfics]

Lifeline (BethMeadXVivMiedemaXMeadReader)

AN: this Is Just my Personal experience. It can be very different for someone else.

Warnings: Teen Character is autistic, this includes some personal experiences with autism. Short OS.

You knew you could always count on Beth & Viv. These two were your Safe space. Beth was your older sister so that's why you could always count on her & Viv came into both of your lives making both of you feel really loved.

Viv & Beth both were really protective of you. If people didn't knew better they would probably think they were your parents. Which was (kind of) true in a sense.

Your autism was diagnosed by the age of 10. So 5 years ago. You often get told that people don't notice you have autism when they see you. Which always resulted in you thinking that it was an odd thing to say. But then you remember you became quite good at masking.

People close to you, like your Viv and your Bethy, knew your routines and things you needed to do or needed to have to be comfortable. Other people that were close to you were Jill(Viv's fellow dutch teammate), Leah, Lessi, Kerstin(also one of Viv's fellow dutch teammate) & last but not least Wally.

You sat in your room doing your homework before you would leave for practice with Beth. You practiced with the Arsenal Senior Team alot. But also with the youth Team. Getting in as much practice as possible.

"Y/n, we have to leave soon! Are you ready?" your older sister asked you. You turned around in your Chair, nodding your head.

"Give me a few more minutes to finish this! I want this to be done now! Before practice starts! I always finish homework before practice!" You Tell Beth.

"I know you do, Love Bug!" Your sister replied. It's a Nickname she has given you when you were really little. And you very much liked it when Beffy or Viv called you that.

"I will be done soon!" You told her and you finished the rest of your within five minutes. So you grabbed your things and sat down in the passenger seat of Beths Car. You called Viv right away because you always did that on your way to practice and it was your ritual. It wouldn't be a good practice If didn't call her.

"Hallo liefje love!" You hear Viv say on the other side of the Phone. Her voice was always so welcoming and warm. She always managed to make you feel loved and welcomed.

"hey Viv. I finished all my homework before we left cause you know how important it is to me!" You informed her.

"I do know that! You always are quite fast though! I could never do that!" She told you. Beth was smiling, she loved the bond you had with Viv.

"oh Viv you are so smart and you could do it too! Everyone is different. I may be faster then you when it comes to this but that's okay. My brain is just wired differently!" You tried to explain.

"thank you for calling me smart, liefje love!" She answered and giggled softly. So did you. You knew by now that when people giggled at something you said that they weren't making fun of you. The people you knew and loved you could read by now.

"you are welcome. Did you sleep well? How are you feeling?" You wanted to know.

"i did sleep well. And i am great! Better now that my favorite Mead sister has been calling me!" She said, knowing Beth could hear her.

"hey! Excuse me?!" Beth replied, laughing though. You smile at that.

"i am fine with being the second favorite mead sister, as long as i am your favorite liefje love!" You let her know. Being serious about it. Cause you really loved the nickname.

"of course you are my favorite liefje Love! You are the one and only!" She explained. Sounding just as serious. She asked you how you were and you told her that you were good and excited for practice. You really missed having her at Arsenal though. It was a big change for you but both Viv and Beth made sure you didn't feel like something was missing. You talked on the Phone or Facetimed multiple times a day. So things were easier for you now.

When you arrived at practice you went to greet all the Girls individually, some of them you invented Handshakes with.

"how are you, little Meado?" Alessia asked. You smiled at her.

"i am good! Finished all my homework before we came here!" You proudly tell her.

"of course you did, you are the smartest on the Team!" Leah answered. You nodded your head in agreement.

"possibly. In a lot of things. But not all of them! Mostly just good at things that interest me!" You explained. Smiling gently.

Wally was smiling at that. She thought your rambling about certain topics was cute and she always said If she ever has Kids she hopes they are just like you.

Practice started and you were very focused on the drills. Enjoying them. Glad to have found a safespace with your sister and Viv and with the Team. They were your Lifeline.

[doueverwonder]

Hi and welcome back to dumb ideas I had at 2 am and had to write immediately: the largest argument among Spanish speaking states is actually what an avocado is called in Spanish. Gov's getting ready to ban avocados from the statehouse all together just to end the argument.

~~~~~

Why California had decided to bring Florida to the grocery store with her she would never remember, but here he was. It was Saturday afternoon and the store was packed. The fact that they even found a parking spot seemed a miracle, but there were people everywhere, the lights were buzzing adding to the sound and Cal had forgotten their damn list so it just had to try to remember everything off the top of her head. 

“Can you stop that?” California turned huffing, as Florida accidentally bumped the cart into her again because he wasn’t paying attention. 

“I’m not doing it on purpose” the smile he had however told them everything they needed to know about the truthfulness of that statement. 

It shook her head, looking at the cart trying to remember the last thing. There were too many sounds, the aisles felt narrower than usual, she could picture what she needed but couldn’t remember the word for the life of her; “We need um… the green things, they have seeds?” 

“Grapes?” Florida offered, seemingly interested by the new guessing game. 

“No, no, not seeds…” dammit why was this so hard, “pits” 

“Pagua?” 

“What?”  

“Pagua” 

California only looked more confused, “Saying it again doesn’t tell me what it is,” 

“It's um…” Florida contracted a similar look to California, trying to remember the word in English, multitasking was not his strong suit and it spread to every part of his life. He repeated the word in Spanish to himself a few times as if doing that would suddenly make him remember. 

“You forgot the word” 

“So did you, at least I remember it in one language” Florida didn’t explain where he was going taking off with the cart, California quickly following behind. 

Even though they had already been there earlier Florida headed right back to the produce section, finally spotting what he was looking for, so did California, both at the same time reading the sign and exclaiming “avocado!” 

California began what was more or less a ritual when it came to picking out ones that were close enough to being ripe she wouldn’t forget about them and let them get overripe on the counter, but also ones that weren’t so ripe it would have five minutes once it had left the store to eat it. Florida mimicked California picking one up and carefully inspecting it, he however picked up one of the aforementioned too ripe ones and accidentally squeezed too hard. He looked around quickly before putting it back and wiping the greenish-brown sludge on his pants, trying to pretend like nothing had happened. 

Cali was halfway through finding the perfect avocados when she looked up suddenly, “Wait, what did you call them?” 

“Pagua, what else would you call them?” 

“Aguacate, the right name for them.” California was usually pretty accepting of others views and opinions, what avocados were called in Spanish was however not something they would compromise on. 

“That’s subjective,” Florida was hanging off the shopping cart, California rushing just a bit more to pick them out because she knew Florida wouldn’t stop if asked and was more likely to knock over the cart then anything. 

“It's not subjective, they call them aguacate in Spain.” 

“Since when is mom the authority on the Spanish language?” California actually couldn’t argue with that, Spain had lost the rights to her own language years ago. 

For the sake of being right though… “Since she invented it?” 

“Bullshit!” Florida half yelled, Cal was somewhere between embarrassed, mostly because there were small children not far from them, and relieved because at least with that he had gotten off the side of the cart. 

“It's not bullshit, they’re called aguacate” for emphasis she waved one in the air… moments before committing the same mistake as Florida and squeezing it a little too hard. Florida laughed as she also just carefully checked for employees before returning the mangled fruit back to its spot and deciding maybe it was time to go. 

~~~~~

California was on their way up to the West floor with its groceries when it ran into someone she never would have expected to be happy to see, “Texas!” 

He stopped turning to look at her confused by the excitement, “California?” 

Florida showed up another bag in his arms, “Look Flo, you’ll see,” she set one of the bags down and dug around for a moment before pulling out an avocado, “Tex what do you call this?” 

“An avocado?” 

“In Spanish dumbass,” Florida commented, “I call it pagua, she calls it aguacate, we need you to break the tie” 

Texas looked between the two for a moment, clearly he knew it was aguacate, anyone with half a brain cell knew that. Which is why Florida didn’t know that. Of course he didn’t want California to win, but he didn’t want to look like he had less than half a brain cell either… he was stuck between a rock and a hard place, when he realized there was a way out. 

He adjusted his hat, waiting for all hell to break lose, “palta, obviously”

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Can I have max of 🗻 please? Excited to see where this is going!

hell yeah! Here's 1k:

---

Eddie texts, telling him to let him know if he needs Eddie to bring him anything. 

He won’t hear back for a while. 

Before Chim drives Eddie and Chris home later, Maddie approaches Eddie. 

“Are you worried about this?” She asks quietly, so Chris can’t hear. 

“About the baby?” Eddie asks, equally as hushed. 

She nods. 

“Not the baby,” Eddie says. “Everything else about this situation? Yeah.”

Maddie nods. She squeezes Eddie’s shoulder. 

“I’m really glad he has you.”

🗻

The call comes five or six minutes after Eddie and Chris walk through the front door. 

“Buck?” Eddie answers. “How’s it going over there?”

“He’s… He’s born. He’s been born.” 

Buk sounds like he’s crying. And not exactly in the proud new father way. 

“Did you make it in time?” Eddie asks. 

“No,” Buck sniffs. “Because he was born two days ago.” 

Eddie goes cold.

“What?” He asks.

“He was born two days ago. She only thought to tell me today.” 

It sort of feels like time stops. Eddie feels sick. He feels completely sick. Why would she do that? That’s horrible. There has to be a reason why she did it. 

“My son has been alive for two days, and I…” Buck sounds like he’s on the ledge. Like he’s about to completely lose it. “I didn’t… I’m his father.” 

“Were there complications?” Eddie asks. “Like, was she capable of-”

“Completely normal,” Buck says. “She’s going to be discharged tomorrow morning.” 

“Oh my god,” Eddie exhales. “Did she say why she-”

“She said she forgot. Got mad at me for…” 

“For what?” Eddie demands. “What could she possibly be mad at you for?”

“I said she should have texted me sooner, a-and s-she said she just had a-a baby, and I wouldn’t know what that’s like, and I was being selfish, so…”

“No,” Eddie snaps. “No, Buck. No way.” 

“Is… I don’t… I mean I’ve never, so how do I know?” 

“Buck, that’s bullshit. She’s had forty-eight hours and who knows how long she was laboring before then?”

“Right. R-right.”

“Baby, this isn't your fault,” Eddie says. “None of this is your fucking fault.”

“What if he… What if he thinks I don’t care or-or I don’t love him enough?” Buck asks. 

They both know he’s not just talking about right now. He’s talking about all of it. His whole life. Because this is just the beginning.

“He’ll know,” Eddie promises. “We’ll make sure he knows.”

He can hear Buck crying now.

Eddie thinks of the lawyer’s contact information. He thinks about it really hard.

“Did you see him?” Eddie asks. “You’ve met him now?”

“Yeah,” Buck says. “I have. I-I held him.” 

“And?” Eddie asks. “How is he?”

Buck lets out a little anguished sound. 

“He’s perfect, Eddie. He’s so perfect. His eyes, my god. You wouldn’t believe his eyes.”

Eddie grins. “I can’t wait to meet him. Do you… Do you want me to come?”

“No, um… I’m leaving. She wanted to rest… To be alone.” 

Fuck. Told him to come. Told him to leave. Made sure he had, what? Less than two hours? Fuck this whole situation.

“I’m sorry, Buck.”

“You want to hear the craziest part?” Buck asks.

No. He wants there not to be a craziest part. 

“Tell me.”

“She gave him my last name.”

“What?”

“I-I don’t know what to think, Eddie,” Buck says. “She does all this. She keeps me away from him, but then she gives him my name.” 

“What is his name?” Eddie asks. “You didn’t mention.”

“Arthur,” Buck answers, tone flat.

“Uh… You don’t like it?” Eddie asks. 

“Arthur Buckley sounds like my grandfather, not my son,” he cries. 

Well, okay. Yeah. That’s sort of true. 

“Hey, speaking as someone born to a grandpa name myself, it’ll be okay. We’ll find him a nickname,” Eddie promises. 

The name is the least of anyone’s problems right now. 

“What do I do, Eddie?” Buck asks. He sounds so small and helpless. Eddie wants to stomp on buildings like a large monster to get vengeance for him.

“Come home,” Eddie says. “And we’ll come up with a plan, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

Buck inhales. “Okay. Thank you.” 

“Just come home. It’ll all work out.”

And Eddie means that. He is not going to let this be Buck’s story. 

v.  

They disagree about how to handle it. Or maybe they don’t. Maybe they agree, but Buck is scared. Scared of making things worse than they already are. 

“Do we really want to bring lawyers into it?” Buck asks. “Now? He’s three days old. He can’t even spend time away from her yet.”

“Right, but maybe the two of you could come to a mediated agreement for when he can,” Eddie says. “One that’s legally enforceable.”

“Eddie, I don’t know.” 

“When are you seeing him again?” Eddie challenges.

Buck grimaces.

It’s a low blow. Eddie knows that. But he doesn’t know how else to get this through to him.

“Because if the answer to that is, I don’t know,” Eddie continues. “Then something needs to change.”

Buck rubs his eyes. He’s tearing up again. He’s been nothing but tears today. Eddie wants to be gentle with him. To be soft. To be the encouraging steady presence he’s been this whole time. But he can’t. Not today. Not after what happened yesterday. 

“Think about it,” Eddie pleads. “For Arthur. He’s going to need you.”

Another sort of low blow, honestly. Eddie knows that. 

“Okay,” Buck promises. “I’ll think about it.”

vi.  

He doesn’t end up needing to think about it. Or so he says. Eddie still thinks he does. But Buck thinks the issue is fixed. Because the next day - Arthur’s fourth day on this planet - Jaylin texts him. She texts him and she asks if he’d like to come see Arthur. To which Buck, of course, agrees. 

“She just asked if I could stop for diapers on the way over,” Buck explains. “Uh, diapers and wipes. Least I could do, I guess.”