#funny enough i learned how to make it when i was in the hospital from a filipino girl 🥰 we did not speak anymore after that interaction.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Magneto would love lumpia meanwhile Charles would have his Bibingka and Puto Bungbong hehe

Happy Holidays!

asks that remind me my bitchass friend kayla promised to make me *puto two years ago and she still hasnt

*puto is a filipino rice cake i do know it also means 'bitch' in spanish we do not have to address that thank you

[steddieas-shegoes]

At ten years old, Eddie’s mama gets a raise at work just in time for Christmas. This is the same year Wayne works enough to set aside almost $200 for Eddie’s Christmas presents.

Eddie doesn’t know this, and he’s a kid who knows better than to expect more than a few things in his stocking and one or two “bigger gifts” -usually books or tapes- so it’s a surprise when his stocking is overflowing and there’s a huge box under the tree Christmas morning.

Even more surprising is that it’s labeled from Santa, and Eddie hasn’t believed in Santa for nearly three years despite everyone in his classes still believing. He bounces on his feet while he waits for Wayne to get his coffee, for his mama to finish making their special hot chocolate.

The year he gets his first guitar is also the year he finds out his mama can sing like a rock star.

It’s the year he finds out Wayne used to play bluegrass at a bar back home and probably could’ve made it big if he was willing to leave his sister.

It’s the year Eddie finds out he can play by ear and uses it to his advantage to learn all his favorite songs as soon as he figures out the chords.

And for years, he is quick to pull out his acoustic to learn something new, even when he manages to buy his electric with money from helping fix cars at the shop where his uncle’s friend works.

After he saves Hawkins, and his hands stop shaking enough for him to play, he asks Steve to bring his acoustic to the hospital so he can entertain himself. Steve shares a look with Wayne, then his mama.

“It, uh, didn’t survive…everything.”

Nothing broke his heart quite like hearing that.

He pretends it’s okay though, doesn’t want his mama and Wayne to feel worse than they already did about everything.

He tables his emotions until he’s alone that night, shortly after dinner when everyone goes home to get some rest before the next day of volunteering, and cleaning, and visiting.

He’s woken up in the middle of the night by the door opening, and even though the person coming in is trying to be quiet, the door creaks from the building settling funny during the “earthquake.”

“Steve?”

Steve turns and even in the dark, Eddie can see his blush.

He’s holding something.

Something big and guitar shaped.

“What have you done?”

Steve walks over to him and gently sets the guitar case in his lap.

Eddie opens it and sees a gently used acoustic with Eddie’s name now engraved on the side.

“Steve.”

“You can have nice things. You should have nice things. We don’t have many options right now, but at least you won’t get rusty.”

Eddie cried.

Steve held him.

And after Steve wiped his tears away and kissed his forehead—which was something they’d be talking about as soon as Eddie could focus on something other than the guitar in his lap— he played slower songs, songs that even Steve could recognize, until a nurse realized Steve was here past visiting hours and kicked him out.

When his mama saw it the next morning propped by his bed, she smiled knowingly.

“I see the boy followed through.”

“What?”

“He asked me all kinds of questions about guitars and what your old one looked like and if a used one would be okay. Don’t know how he found one so quick.”

“He’s pretty determined when he sets his mind to something.”

“I think he’s set his mind on you, baby.”

Eddie thought maybe she was right.

[louisferrignojr]

for @jackmichaela ♥ also on ao3

Buck stirs awake just as Eddie is wrapping up the phone call, speaking in a hushed tone for the duration of it. “Oh, he’s awake,” he says into his phone.

“Okay, good, I’m like two streets away but still stuck in traffic. Tell him I’ll be there in like 5 mins.”

“Will do. See you, Tommy.” Eddie says before hanging up and walking towards the chair he’d been occupying before he got up to answer the call. The room is small enough that he might have woken up Buck no matter how quiet he’d tried to be, but he thought it was best to stay with Buck. Eddie knows how disorienting it can be waking up in a hospital room after being knocked out cold. 

“Hey, Buck. How’re you feeling?”

Buck smacks his lips together and tries to clear his throat. Eddie moves to give him a cup of water before he takes his seat at the armchair next to his bed. 

“You were talking to my Tommy?” Buck asks, voice still a little hoarse, but doesn’t wait for an answer before he speaks again. “Can I tell you a secret? But you have to keep it a secret.”

Eddie tries to keep his expression neutral, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Cross my heart.” He says, making the sign over his chest. 

Buck’s head lolls to the side, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as a big, dopey grin grows on his face; the effects of the sedative drugs still clearly lingering. “I have a huge crush on Tommy.” Buck says. 

Eddie snorts a laugh, then tries to disguise it as a cough. 

He’s well fucking aware how Buck feels about Tommy. In fact, he’s sure there hasn’t been a single day since Maddie and Chimney’s wedding that Buck hasn’t mentioned Tommy’s name in conversation at least once. 

Buck frowns at him. “Don’t laugh. It’s not funny.” He looks so offended. 

“No, you’re right, I’m sorry.” Eddie decides to play along. “So, you like Tommy, huh?”

There’s that dopey smile again. “I like him so much. He’s so cool. And strong. And sexy.” Buck pauses for a second, staring at the ceiling seemingly lost in thought. “I like him so much.” Then he turns to look at Eddie again. “Do you know Tommy?”

“Yeah, I’ve actually met him. A couple of times.” 

“Oh. So, do you like him?”

Eddie presses his lips together. “Yeah, bud, I like him — just not in the same way as you do, obviously.”

“Good.” Buck closes his eyes as his smile softens. “You’re not allowed to like him that way.” He mumbles.

Eddie has to clamp his hand over his mouth to stop himself from bursting out laughing. He almost wants to tell Buck that he’s learned his lesson, but he thinks Buck is so lost in the haze of the painkillers he was given, he’s probably forgotten all about the time he went ballistic on the basketball court. He seems to have forgotten about the fact that he and Tommy have been dating for a while now. 

Buck falls asleep, his breathing slowly evening out, and Eddie shakes his head and returns his attention to the magazine he’d picked up from the waiting room. Moments later, Tommy appears at the door, poking his head in and exhaling with relief when he confirms he’s at the right place. 

“Hey,” Tommy says, addressing Eddie. “Thought you said he woke up.”

Eddie opens his mouth to reply but promptly shuts it when he notices Buck has woken up again. 

“Hey, you,” Tommy approaches the bed, putting a hand on Buck’s knee. “How’s the shoulder?”

Buck is frowning again. It almost looks like he’s glaring at Tommy. “My husband will be here soon.” 

Eddie snickers, and thankfully Buck is too preoccupied pointedly staring at Tommy’s hand where it’s resting on his knee to take notice of him. He’s never going to let Buck live this down. 

Tommy tilts his head. “Your husband, huh?”

“Yes, he’s on his way over, and I don’t think he will appreciate you touching my knee like that.” Buck somehow manages to sound bitchy even when speaking in that gruff voice. He must have a knack for it. 

Tommy holds his arms up in surrender. “My apologies, handsome, I didn’t realise you were married.”

“Oh,” Buck is smiling now, a light dusting of pink on his cheeks. “You’re very good looking, too.”

“Oh, thank you.” Tommy grins. “More than your husband?” 

Buck shakes his head and closes his eyes, leaning back on his pillow. “No way. He’s the most gorgeous man in LA. And he’s a firefighter pilot.” His words are slurring together as he starts dozing off again. “No offence, but you don’t stand a chance.”

Eddie looks up from his magazine to confirm that Buck has indeed fallen asleep again, and catches Tommy looking at him with the fondest smile on his face, a terribly soft look in his eyes. He quickly looks down at his magazine, feeling like he’s seen something he wasn’t supposed to. 

“I promised him I would keep it a secret, but I think you should know, the first time he woke up, he was  telling me about this guy Tommy he has a crush on.”

Tommy’s grin widens. He shakes his head and pulls up a chair to sit next to Buck, and Eddie takes that as his cue to leave; he’s not sure he’ll want to hear what Buck has to say next time he wakes up. He gets up and gathers his things, moving as quietly as he can manage. 

“Thanks for staying with him.”

“He’s your problem now.” Eddie shoots him a cheeky grin. “See you at basketball tomorrow?”

“Yeah, probably.” Tommy jerks his head towards Buck. “Depends if it’s safe to leave him alone.”

Eddie waves a hand. “Just hide the scissors, he’ll be fine.” 

Tommy laughs silently and Eddie pats him on the shoulder before he walks out, leaving him to stand guard by Buck’s bedside as he sleeps. As he’s making his way out of the hospital, he idly wonders how long it’ll be before Tommy calls him up to go ring shopping. 

[babyleostuff]

SUPER DRIVE

・❥・ for the 2k followers event

summary: the one where your boyfriend tries teaching you one of their choreographies, but you end up in the hospital

pairing: idol!hoshi x fem!reader

genre: fluff, established relationship | word count: 2k

warnings | a couple of swear words, and one suggestive joke

“Are you trying to get me killed?” 

Having a boyfriend who was a dancer was a dream and a nightmare at once. You loved watching him on stage and in practice, how he changed into a whole different person when he worked on a new choreography, working his ass off until dusk - you felt so proud whenever he ran straight to you at the backstage after they won an award.

But right now you wanted to curse him more than ever. This wasn’t the first time Hoshi tried to teach you one of their choreographies, but it had to be the first time that he wanted you to fall face flat into the ground. 

“How am I even supposed to move my foot like that?” You looked at his reflection in the mirror, horrified. “Oh come on, it’s not that hard, you just have to,” and then proceeded to make the most confusing moves known to humankind.

Your boyfriend was an excellent teacher, that was not up for debate, but it seemed that he forgot you weren’t a dancer - you struggled with learning the choreo for Darling, and now he wanted you to dance to Super like it was Macarena. 

“Baby, slow down, please,” you whined, pulling at his arms to stop him from moving. “I know you’re this cool super star dancer and shit, but I don’t know if you’ve noticed, I’m not,” you pointed to yourself, looking at him with a serious expression.

He laughed, pulling you to a sweaty embrace, his arms tightly wrapped around your shoulders. “I’m sorry, I’ll go a bit slower ‘kay?” He looked down at you with a smile and you rolled your eyes, because you knew it wouldn’t help much. “What are you smirking at Kwon Soonyoung?” 

“Nothing,” he murmured, running his knuckle across your cheek. “Very funny,” you snorted, pushing him away, though he didn’t move much. Damn you muscles. “Keep joking like that, and you won’t get dinner for the next month.” 

“I could live without that,” he smiled, turning back to the mirror. 

“Okay then, I won’t suck yo-,” 

“Okay, okay, I get it. Let’s get back to dancing.” 

You smirked watching how his ears turned slightly red, as he tried to concentrate on the choreo. 

The sun had long set when you finally got the first steps and could easily dance the chorus of the song, which earned you a total of fifteen kisses from Soonyoung messily placed all across your face. “I told you you could do it,” he couldn’t stop smiling as he watched you dance more comfortably now.

Soonyoung loved dancing as much as he loved you - he breathed and lived for performing, and he never thought he’d find someone who’d be as supportive as you were. Even if you had to come to the studio in the middle of the night because he was having a mental breakdown - you never complained, you were there for him through thick and thin, and he’d never be able to thank you enough for that. 

You were his comfort place, his safe haven, and Sooyoung would do anything to make you happy in return. 

But almost killing you - that wasn't on his list.  

“Okay, babe, let’s teach you the next part.” 

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. You weren't sure if it was because you had been dancing for the past couple of hours, or if it was just because you were hungry, but you felt your vision blur a bit. But that didn’t matter - your boyfriend looked over the moon as he showed you the next steps, trying to take it as slow as he could so you could match his pace. 

Besides, you were sure you'd get better in a second.

“Did you get it?” Soonyoung turned around, his sweaty black bangs sticking to his forehead. If you weren’t feeling so bad you’d run your hand through his hair, pushing them back from his eyes. He always scrunched his eyes adorably whenever you did that. “Baby, you okay?” your boyfriend asked, this time more concerned.  

“Of course, don’t worry,” you tried to sound as convincing as possible. You didn’t want to cut your date short just because you were feeling a bit off. With their tight schedule and overseas trips you weren’t sure when would be the next time you’d get so much time for yourselves, and if you told him you weren’t feeling good, he’d immediately make you go home. “I just had to take a short break,” you smiled. 

Although Hoshi didn’t seem that convinced, looking a bit sceptical back at you, he resumed his explanation on the choreo as you tried to follow along. A couple of minutes passed and you actually started to feel a bit better, you even went back to bickering with him, as he laughed at you failing miserably at a certain step. 

“Next time,” you said, gasping for air. “We’re going to have a cooking date, and then we’ll see who’ll be the one laughing, you moron.” 

“Hey! You didn’t have to agree to this,” your boyfriend whined, looking at you with the biggest boba ball eyes. “I’m just kidding, baby, you know I love dancing with you. I just didn’t realise how extreme this choreo is.” 

“Let’s just finish up this part, and go home, yeah?” 

You nodded, as Soonyoung placed a kiss on your forehead, caressing the back of your head. “You’re doing such a good job, baby. No matter how much I laugh at you, you’re fucking amazing,” you scrunched your nose at his corniness, as he pecked your forehead again. 

And that’s when the blurriness came back. With nausea this time. 

Now you were sure you needed to eat something or else you’d collapse, but that would mean you’d have to leave the studio because neither of you thought about bringing any snack with you. You just decided to push through it, a couple of minutes wouldn’t make a big difference anyway. 

“And then you do the jump, but watch your feet because you have to kind of twist them like this when you land,” Hoshi showed you the footwork and how you were supposed to finish the step, looking at you carefully through the mirror. “Got it, babe?” 

You nodded your head, though you weren’t sure how much of what he had just shown you you got. Soonyoung pulled out his phone, turning on the music, totally oblivious to how much you were struggling next to him. 

For a while you were doing great - you followed Hoshi’s every step as best as you could, paying attention to your footwork and arms. You could do this, it was almost over. 

But the moment your foot touched the floor after the jump, you felt a sudden ache in your ankle radiating up your entire leg and before you knew what was happening, you fell unconscious to the floor. A panicked “baby” was the last thing you heard before everything turned black. 

Soonyoung knew something was wrong, he was your boyfriend - of course he knew when you were unwell, he was too in love with you not to notice it. If he only knew how badly you were feeling he’d carry your stubborn ass home himself, because he knew that there was no way you’d leave the studio, you’d just keep on repeating that you were fine. 

The plan was to finish the last part of the dance, hug the shit out of you as a reward, and drive you home, so you could eat and rest, but everything went to shit as he saw how your foot twisted in a weird angle, as it met the ground after the jump. Hoshi had never been so grateful for his quick reflexes, because the moment he saw your body unconsciously fall to the floor, he rushed towards you, catching you in his arms. 

"Baby? Baby, please open your eyes," Hoshi felt his arms shaking as he gently lifted your head off the floor to place it on his lap. "Baby," his voice cracked with helplessness. What was he supposed to do now? Wait until you wake up, take you to the hospital, or call an ambulance? 

The only thing that kept him from going completely crazy was the slight rise and fall of your chest - you were breathing. 

"Why didn't you tell me you felt so bad, you idiot?" he sighed, brushing your hair away from your forehead. 

The cold December air was blowing through the open window and Soonyoung could feel the goosebumps on your skin, but he didn't want to close it, you had to have some access to fresh air - it was the least he could do - but he also didn't want you to freeze. He quickly took off his flannel shirt and covered your body with it. Maybe it wasn't the warmest, but at least because it was a few sizes too big for you, it covered your whole body.

"Hey, baby? Please wake up," he whispered, his lips against your forehead. He kissed it tenderly, and in that moment, Soonyoung promised himself that when you woke up, he wouldn't leave your side for the next week. He would follow you everywhere, he would be as clingy as a puppy, but there is no chance that you would get rid of him. 

He had no idea how long it was before your eyes finally slowly opened. "W-what happened?" You croaked, trying to get up. “Hey hey, not so fast,” Soonyoung scolded you in, holding you down so you were still lying on his lap. "You overworked yourself and fainted. Why didn't you tell me right away how bad you felt?"

You sighed and looked at his worried face. It was obvious how concerned he was. "I didn't want to worry you, and besides, I knew that if I said something, you would tell me to go home. And... I thought nothing that terrible would happen," you admitted.

"Of course I'd tell you to go home, you little genius,” he snickered, rubbing soothing circles onto your hip. “I can't believe you're the one who's always mad at me for working too much and when you're the one who's worse!"

You would have agreed with him if it weren't for the pain in your ankle that wouldn't go away.

“Could you check my ankle, honey? It hurts,” you said, and quickly noticed how your boyfriend’s brows furrowed even more. “I’m sure it’s okay, it just stings a bit,” you tried reassuring him. 

You heard him curse silently, and you were about to ask him what was wrong, when you felt pain shoot through your ankle, making you whine because of the ache. “Shit, we have to get you to the hospital,” he said, gently laying your foot down, so he wouldn’t cause any more pain. 

“What do you mean?” You asked concerned, and tried lifting yourself up to look at your foot. “Lay down or I’m going to tie you down,” he said, and you decided to do as he said because you felt sorry for how shaken he seemed. “Soonyoung, baby, look at me,” you said, running your hand over his cheek. "No, no, we have to call an ambulance a-and they will take you and it won't hurt anymore, I p-promise."

“Soonyoung, calm down!" You had to raise your voice slightly because it looked like your boyfriend was about to cry. "Everything's fine, it’s just a sprained ankle."

“Excuse me for freaking out, I only thought you were dead!” He yelled, tugging at his hair, making a mess on his head. His chest was rising and falling rapidly and you seriously had to do something to calm him down.

"But Soonyoung, you can take me to the hospital, we don't have to call an ambulance," he looked at you, surprised for some reason. "You want me to drive you?"

“Yes,” now you were the one who was confused. Why was he so surprised that you wanted him to drive you to the hospital?

"So you trust me behind the wheel?"

"Baby, what do you mean? Of course I do," you said immediately, grabbing his hand.

"And you're not afraid to come with me?"

“Soonyoung, what are you talking about?”

"I just feel like not everyone feels safe with me driving, and I thought you'd feel better taking the ambulance," he said quietly, looking down. As if the pain from your ankle moved to your heart, you grabbed his hand tighter and brought your joined hands to your chest.

"There is no other person in the world with whom I feel as safe as with you."

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @eightlightstar @itza-meee @immabecreepin @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @dkswife @marisblogg @whatsgyud @aaniag @jeonghansshitester @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @soul-is-a-strange-kid @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @f4iryjjosh @isabellah29 @hafsah-ali @mrswonwooo @lllucere @athanasiasakura @onlyyjeonghan @chillseo @bangantokchy

[mini-minish]

nathaniel wesninski & andrew doe au i picked up from a 2021 sketch 🪓🖤🔪

notes under the read more!

• andrew doe gets adopted into the wesninski family when he's just a little older than nathaniel, who hasnt been sent to edgar allen tryouts yet, and andrew doe is trained to be his bodyguard since childhood

• mary doesn't like it, he becomes a weakness for her son and when she leaves she refuses to take andrew with them, so nathaniel stays, and in that mary never really gets to leave

• on the same day she fails at running away and nathan finds them, nathaniel loses his eye lolastyle

• one time when he's a little older, andrew receives a letter, from a boy who claims to be his twin. andrew minyard doe throws it to the fire, and nathaniel picks it up while he's turned, before it burns completelly

• from the day nathaniel gets injured because he refused to leave andrew behind, they go from annoyed acquaintances to inseparable friends

• he calls andrew "drew" and andrew pretends to hate it. later when theyre older the name "nathaniel" starts to weight, starts to sound weird, so he asks andrew to call him something else, and andrew calls him alex, stefan, adam, until they get to neil

• but he only calls him neil when theyre alone, when its a secret, when nathan cant hear them

• "nathaniel" takes up the axe. he's as good a hitman as the little devil of baltimore has to be. he hates it, hates the color red, the color of his hair

• one of andrew's first memories at the house is of nathan cutting a man to pieces and making him watch, making him learn not to flinch, but red is the color of neil's hair, soft, safe, soothing

• before that, though, theres little league. theres learning andrew is talented at exy, theres kevin day, and riko moriyama, and theres jean moreau

• i want jean and andrew to be funny about each other just for some levity here ok

• the reynolds are a renowed fashion brand, far from them to refuse big mafia money, so they work on suits, on silk shirts, on tailored pants, and allison reynolds is always joined by her friend renee when she goes with her parents for fittings

• renee walker meets andrew doe, and andrew thinks shes silly enough to keep in touch.

• kevin day leaves them, and neil realises he doesnt have to be kept either. kevin day gets to get out and nathaniel wesninski gets quieter.

• neil finds his uncle's contact among some of the things his mother left behind. from stuart he gets to ichirou. from ichirou he starts to make a plan

• riko moriyama is going to make a big announcement soon, something about the perfect court, something that will finally brand the rest of them as his, and well, andrew has always told neil how much he hates that the pen's ink makes the skin of his face break out

• and neil still has the address of a boy who claims to be his andrew's twin

• for whatever reason the moriyamas and the wesninskis have one of those rich people dinners planned. neil gets kevin to show up, nathaniel gets andrew to leave, kicking and punching and a promise broken

• later in the night, a little after the first course is served and they begin the socializations, neil gets kevin to leave, leave, run as far as possible, *now*.

• he sees jean, grabs his wrist, and takes him outside. theyre walking fast before neil starts running, and then the explosion comes from inside the house, from the basement, and knocks both of them out before they turn the corner. the hathford's men long gone from the scene.

• all renee walker and andrew doe see from where he's been waiting for the little voice at the back of his mind to make sense, is the house bursting on fire, believing that it does so with what he's supposed to protect still inside

• but since i can't bring myself to do this to them, andrew finds him, finds jean, and at the hospital finds stuart, who takes his nephew in

• he gets contacted by a man called david wymack, who was convinced by kevin day to offer them a place among his foxes :)

[lovelytsunoda]

the sixth sense | jake "hangman" seresin

summary: after a car accident totals her car and leaves her with the ability to see ghosts, an anxious police desk sergeant learns to live with the ghosts haunting her home, and the crush she has on the hot pilot who lives next door

pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x reader

warnings: car accidents, ghosts (but they're very funny ghosts!), sexual innuendos/advances made by a ghost, if you can recognize the names of the detectives/station staff and can correctly tell me what tv show they are from, you get a metaphorical cookie. jake is a very involved neighbour.

author's note: my f1 fics for this collection have been on the struggle bus lately, so here's hoping my top gun one does better

sargeant y/l/n wouldn't say she hated her job, exactly, but there were many days where she wasn't always thrilled with it. take today for example, her desk piled high with requisition forms for fingerprint checks, traffic camera footage, autopsy reports and more.

it wasn't that she didn't like the work. no, she found catching murderers to be most rewarding. it was the people she worked with. detectives who didn't see her as an equal, but as a machine, dropping files on her desk with a demand and an impossible deadline.

"yn, how busy are you for the next few days?"

she raised her eyebrows at the detective across from her. "for you, detective disher? i won't be free until at least the end of the week."

detective disher raised an eyebrow. "how much work are they piling on you? you aren't their servants, you can speak up and tell them you're too busy."

she rolled her eyes, chewing the end of her bic pen. "usually they hightail it out of here before i even have a chance to open my mouth. some of them don't even speak to me or give instructions, they just drop a file on my desk and assume that i know what to do with it."

detective disher frowned. "we really need another desk sargeant."

"you think?"

it was long after sundown when she left the office that night, overtime she probably wasn't going to get paid for. she hoped that leaving at 6:30 was worth it to have a clean desk in the morning, one almost free of files long enough that she could breathe. of course, by the morning, all of the late shift detectives would have dropped all of their files off for her review.

she was about halfway home when traffic started to pick up again, the glow of the led headlights making it difficult to see out of her side mirrors. her glasses claimed to be glare resistant, but what did someone without astigmatism know about glare?

she turned right at the next set of lights, descending down the hill that would lead to her small, cosy neighbourhood. she was still a fair distance away as she watched the light change from yellow to red, taking her foo toff the gas. the car ahead of her seemed to be slowing, but not by much, and the car behind her was uncomfortably close. she sped up slightly, ready to put her foot on the brakes whenever neccesary.

wait a minute, are his break lights out? he's stopping!

she slammed her foot on the brakes, watching helplessly as her car continued to slide forward, her front bumper colliding with the rusted tail hitch.

her head jerked forward from the impact, banging against the steering wheel before it all went black.

she came to in the hospital, where audio was blurry and vision even worse as the doctor explained the symptoms of a concussion to her.

“it was a bad scene all around. you’re lucky you weren’t injured further.” the doctor insisted. “legally, I can’t allow you to drive for the next few days. is there someone we can call?”

realistically, the only name that came to mind was detective dishers. her parents were two cities away, and she didn’t want to disturb them. her sister was on vacation, and she didn’t want to bother any of her friends.

disher picked her up by the main doors, a matchbox twenty song playing on his stereo as she groggily slipped into the passenger seat, a plastic baggie full of prescription drugs in her hands.

“just take me home, randy. I don’t want to talk about it.”

the detective sighed. “okay. But you know you don’t have to come into work tomorrrow, right?”

great. no work meant no leaving the house. no leaving the house meant that her thoughts drove her to the brink of madness.

she simply couldn’t win.

as she slipped into her bed, she must have been slowly losing her mind as she swore that she could hear voices in her room as she was drifting off. she didn't think much of it, chalking it up to exhaustion as she let sleep claim her.

the following morning, she groggily puttered around the kitchen, assembling a light breakfast as she called her captain to explain why she couldn't come to wrok.

"hey captain, i was in an accident last night-"

"i know. randy called me. are you doing okay?"

"no concussion, but the doctor wants me to monitor for signs, so i'm not super hopeful. disher drove me home, and i'm supposed to hear from the mechanics about the state of my car later today."

"well, take care of yourself, yn. if you need anything at all, you have my number, and you have randy's. but don't call adrian, he's probably just going to make things worse."

she sighed, rubbing the skin on her forehead, fingertips teasing the edge of the bandages from where she'd hit her head on the steering wheel. "thanks leland."

"my my, you look a little worse for wear, don't you?" the voice came from nowhere, very thickly british and definitely not familiar.

she spun around, spying a figure in the kitchen doorway. his long hair dusted the shoulders of his leather jacket, and his skinny jeans were ripped to oblivion. she screamed, reaching for the metal ladle in her utensils jar.

"how the fuck did you get into my house?"

"your house?" the man looked confused. "sweetheart, i've always been here. i wouldn't throw that at me, if i was you. you'll just damage the wall behind me."

"who the fuck are you?" she stammered. "you're not real, this is just concussion brain, i should call the doctor back and go another scan-"

"you're seeing ghosts, honey." this voice was older, deeper. kinder. and significantly less british. another body materialized in her kitchen, sitting at her breakfast counter. she was round and plump, with a rosy face and sweet, kind eyes. she wore a nun's habit over a white blouse and a long navy skirt. "rick over there died in 1984. i'm sister katherine, and i died in 1961. lovely to meet you properly."

"the fuck do you mean i'm seeing ghosts?!" yn screamed, the sound reverberating through her skull. "you're not real!"

"i understand that this is a lot to take in." sister katherine insisted "but it must have something to do with the accident you were in last night."

"how do you know about my accident?" she pushed, brandishing her metal spoon as a weapon.

rick rolled his eyes. "because we watched that detective bring you home last night. tell me, are you two sordid lovers? if i wasn't dead i would love to get a piece of your-"

"enough, richard!"

"what the hell is happening right now? has he been watching me in the shower?" yn hissed under her breath, starting to pace back and forth in front of her stovetop.

"if you've got a head injury, you should really sit down." the nun kept trying to reason with yn, but nothing in this situation made one iota of sense.

she shakily sat down in one of the ikea chairs in her kitchen, and noted how badly her hands were shaking. she dropped the ladle on the table, clasping her hands together. she refused to look at rick and sister katherine, instead focusing on where her shellac manicure had begun to chip.

she really should book herself in for a fresh one.

"we have visitors!" rick's voice carried, his ghostly body reappearing next to yn. she startled in the chair, refusing to meet his eyes. "he looks annoyed, and he's wearing mechanics coveralls. i wore a pair of those on stage once. ladies love 'em."

"he was in a very unsuccessful hair band." sister katherine clarified.

"i need both of you to stay quiet for a second." she sighed. "he must be from the body shop."

she closed the front door behind her, although that was unlikely to do much against two beings who could walk through walls, but a girl could try.

"are you y/n y/l/n?"

"sergeant y/n y/l/n." she corrected. "san francisco pd. can i help you?"

"i'm from clint's garage, detective disher brought your car in last night."

that didn't sound good. behind her, she could hear a car door slam in her neighbour's driveway. oh good, jake was home. she tried not to let her eyes wander, waiting with bated breath for what the mechanic was going to say next.

"the front bumper was totally smashed, caved in where you hit the trailer hitch. the hood is also bent back a bit from impact. the good news is that the airbags didn't go off, which means your car can be fixed. the bad news is that it's going to cost more than your car is worth."

she could feel her headache coming back, her legs beginning to feel weak. she knew her car wasn't worth much due to it's age. but the city didn't pay her enough for her to be able to take on the payment for a new car outright, even if she was buying used.

she felt unsteady, and her body was starting to list to one side as two strong arms picked her up.

"i've got you, just keep breathing." the smell of cologne was overwhelming. there was no way in fuck that was rick, and it wasn't the mechanic.

she'd know that texan drawl anywhere. and that meant that right now, she was in navy pilot jake seresin's arms.

and that idea made her feel a little more faint that normal.

jake seresin had lived in that neighbourhood longer than her. she'd moved into her rental house just over four years ago, and he'd bene there on viewing day in a tight white tank top and jeans, getting all sudsy as he washed his silverado in the driveway. she couldn't resist watching from the window as he got into his truck in full navy fatigues before he went to work, or when he worked out shirtless on his front lawn since the porch took up most of the back.

she cleared her throat. "can i get an estimate for the repairs? will it cost less than buying a whole new car?"

the mechanic sighed. "look, even at randy's mates rate, it would still be more advisable to buy something new. go to a dealership and look at the preowned lot, anything less than 20k will serve you a lot better than getting this car fixed up would."

she couldn't form words, mind going fuzzy from the feeling of jakes hand on her lower back, and the thought of going back inside and facing the ghosts again.

"thanks, man. she can't drive for a few days anyway," jake started "but i'll bring her to the car lot when she's better and help her find something nicer."

jake helped her back inside, where the ghosts were watching giddily with their heads through the kitchen wall.

"you didn't have to do that." she insisted, avoiding eye contact with sister katherine while she spoke to jake. "i really can't afford a new car."

she could hear sister katherine in the background, whispering to rick. he's a hot one, and a real gentleman too!

"but you can't drive that one either. it's almost twenty years old, yn." jack frowned. "treat yourself. finance if you have to. take the scrap money and run, that's what i would do. you think the navy pays me well either?"

she fought the urge to bury her head in her hands and slump down on the table. "can you drive me to my follow up at the end of the week? he just wants to make sure there's no brain damage. i was going to get detective disher to do it, but if you have the morning off its less hassle."

jake looked puzzled. "why would you want me to do it instead of your boyfriend? shouldn't that be his job?"

"why the fuck does everybody think i'm hooking up with randy?" she shouted. "jesus, jake. he's my fucking boss."

the pilot's face was red as he carded his fingers through his hair. "he just seems to be over here a lot. he drove you home from the hospital last night and i just assumed."

"he's over here a lot because his girlfriend threw him out so sometimes i let him sleep on the daybed in my spare room while he finds a new place. we've been friends for years, we were at the academy together. i could be where he is if i wasn't too chickenshit to go into the field."

jake paused for effect. "well, this is awkward. are you sure you never thought about it."

despite herself, yn laughed. "we hooked up once back at the academy. we were sooo not compatible."

"i fucking knew it!" she heard rick shout in the background. "men and women can't just be friends!"

"richard!" sister katherine cut him off. "let the girl speak and mind your own business."

"lucky for you," jake grinned, totally unaware of the ghosts arguing behind him, every syllable of their argument making yn cringe inside "i happen to have the day off on friday. i'll take you to the doctors, and if everything is good, we can go to the car lot where i bought my truck. the guy will give you a good deal."

"i want a volkswagen. that's non-negotiable." she warned.

"that's fine. we can even stop by the garage and pick up your scrap money to put towards a deposit."

her chest felt tight with everything jake was offering to do for her. it was a slight anxiety, but a positive one. nerves that sprung to mind when she thought that maybe jake was offering to do all of these things for her because he wanted to be more than just her neighbour.

and as incredible as she knew it would feel to have a special place in jake seresin's heart, she'd been out of a relationship for so long that being in one again scared the ever-loving shit out of her.

true to his word, jake picked her up promptly at ten am the following morning. she had stressed about what to wear all morning, dodging criticisms about her outfit choice from sister katherine ('seriously, what on earth are they selling in the clothing shops these days? tops are supposed to go to the top of your jeans! what happened to dressing respectably?) and outdated sex tips from rick (which came with a knowledge of the ghost's kinks that she wished she could erase from her memory).

"just to be clear, you guys are bound to this house, right? you died here and now you can't leave?"

sister katherine nodded. "that is how being dead works, my love. we have to stay here while you go out gallivanting with your fancy man."

she stifled a laugh. "jake is not my fancy man. and neither is randy."

"whatever you say, cutie." rick winked. "and if you ever find yourself being undead in the walls of this house, give me a call and let me rock your world."

shaking her head with a laugh, she closed the front door behind her and headed over the grass to jake's house. he was waiting with two thermoses of hot chocolate and looked like he had just finished vacuuming the inside of his truck.

"good morning sunshine, let's go get you a clean bill of health!"

the wait to see the specialist was longer than the appointment. it lasted no longer than half an hour while the doctor took another brain scan and declared that there was absolutely nothing wrong with y/n aside from some superficial bruising to the skin on her forehead where she hit the steering wheel. jake insisted that her clean bill of health was worth celebrating, ushering her back into the truck and refusing to tell her where they were going.

"you know i'm a serving police officer, right? one call to captain stottlemeyer and there's a all points bulletin out on your truck."

jake laughed heartily. "i'm not kidnapping you, sweets. damn, you really don't like surprises."

"can't say i'm a fan."

minutes later, jake pulled off a secluded country road and into a parking lot lined in mulch. for a place that was so out of the way, the parking lot was packed to the brim and jake had to park the silverado what felt like miles away from the building itself. like a true gentleman, he helped her down from the truck's cab, one hand on the small of her back as they walked towards the large country store.

"a farmers market?" she giggled. "big bad hangman frequents farmer's markets?"

"how do you know my call sign?"

"you have it written on a metal sign in your garage."

jake winked at her, opening the heavy glass door. the country store was in a large refurbished barn, with the hayloft having been fully converted into a small cafe. his hand was warm through her cinnamon colored t-shirt as jake guided her towards the stairs to the cafe.

"do you like cinnamon buns?"

"of course i like cinnamon buns. who do you take me for?"

laughing to himself, jake had a large smile on his tanned face as he guided her towards a window seat. "make yourself comfy, sugar. i'll be right back."

she hated to see jake seresin leave, but she loved to watch him go, shamelessly watching the rippling muscles underneath his tight levis jeans.

he came back a few minutes later, two white china plates in hand, each one with a steaming warm cinnamon bun on top. as he passed her a plate, the cowboy made the bold claim that these were the best cinnamon buns in san francisco.

"i'll be the judge of that." yn said with a laugh, trying to pick up the sticky pastry in her hands in the most dainty way possible. the buns were large, mostly taking up the small plate.

"need a knife for that, sarge?"

"shut up, hangman."

"you know i outrank you, right?" jake joked, a sly look in his eyes.

she stuck her tongue out at the pilot, wishing she had a third hand so she could give him the finger. "bite me."

"all in due time, sugar."

she tried to hide the blush taking over her face, busying herself with taking the first bite of her pastry while she tried to ignore the images that jake's comment had conjured in her mind.

of course, the moan that she let out upon tasting the pastry did nothing to ease the sinful thoughts creeping into her mind. she could tell jake noticed, his breath momentarily catching in his throat despite the smile never breaking on his face.

"am i right or am i right?"

"fine." she playfully rolled her eyes. "you were beyond right. these are incredible!"

she beamed over at jake, wiping up some of the warm glaze on her chin that hadn't fully dried before she'd taken a bite. he was sitting across from her at the small table, and had yet to touch his cinnamon roll.

"you've got a little something..." he started, reaching a warm hand over the table to brush against her lips, wiping up some cinnamon that had been left behind.

her breath caught at the action, her eyes catching jake's blue ones. he truly was a beautiful man. time seemed to slow, jake's eyes slowly moving from her own to her lips and then back up again, her cheeks heating under his gaze.

"yn, can i kiss you?"

"yes."

he leaned over the table, gently rising from his wooden chair as he pressed his lips against hers. he was soft at first, almost apprehensive until she gripped his wrist where he was caressing her face, tilting her head back to give him a better angle and kiss him harder.

kissing jake seresin was everything she'd wanted it to be and more. if this was a movie, there would be fireworks going off behind them, and a sappy pop rock ballad playing as background music. perhaps something by lifehouse or matchbox twenty.

her lips felt sticky as jake pulled away, a goofy smile on both of their faces.

"you haven't touched your pastry." she said shyly.

jake grinned. "that's because you taste a lot nicer."

they stopped at the dealership on the way back, after having picked up the scrap money. yn test drove a volkswagen, fairly new with few miles on it. she decided to make it a point to come back within the end of the weekend, having already fallen in love with the little car. she felt like was, for lack of better words, walking on sunshine as jake pulled into his driveway, one of his large hands resting comfortably on her thigh.

he helped her down, looking forlornly over to her house, almost as if he'd enjoyed himself and didn't want the night to end.

"i have to go into work early tomorrow, and you've probabaly got heaps of work to do as well, so i'll let you get back to it." jake sighed, scratching at the back of his neck. "but, if you're up for it, i can stop by tomorrow and make you something for dinner?"

she smiled up at him, reaching to take his free hand in hers. "i'd love that." remembering her ghostly guests, she hesitated. "but maybe we could do it at your house instead?"

"i would like nothing more, sarge."

"good." she pressed up onto her tiptoes, kissing jake softly.

his hand snaked around her waist, slipping into the back pocket of her jeans as he deepened the kiss. she hummed contentedly, gently stroking his face with her thumb, hand resting on his cheek.

"i can't wait." she winked at him before she cut across her front lawn, backing towards her property. her southern gentlemen saluted her as she unlocked her front door, slipping inside the foyer.

"soooooooo." rick's familiar english drawl began. "how did things go with john wayne over there?"

and despite herself, yn was very much looking forward to sharing details of her budding romance with rick and sister katherine.

things were coming up roses for sargeant yn yln, and she was so excited to see what the future had in store.

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Entry 23: You Needed The Bear

GIF by: @hotch-girl

Bearblr Promptober Day 23: Dacryphilia

Summary: Carmy's has learned he likes seeing his girlfriend (who he calls Darling) cry when he makes her feel good enough. Smut.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of trauma, fem reader who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns, finger sucking, oral sex (m receiving), Darling wants to choke on him, sir kink, Dom!Carmy, hair pulling (2203 words)

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Thank you for reading. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list. Sideblog for commentary and yapping: @m-z-shoroi

Also, if random letters or words are black/white instead of the colors they should be, that's Tumblr being dumb, I've been fighting it for days.

23 Oct 2024

She tears up when she gets worked up enough.

It’s not even that hard to do. It’s funny how I didn’t even notice how easily I fucked her up; I was so wrapped up in my own head that the smallest amount of relief from that tangle of shorted cords meant that the world shifted abruptly. I liked finding the little things that were different. The things I didn’t notice before. Felt like I was in a new world.

Anyway, she’s not that hard to fuck up.

She’s not that hard to fuck up to tears.

And I’d say it’s a little unfortunate that I’m addicted to watching her get so wound up that she bursts into tears, but it’s a power trip knowing I’ve made her feel so good that the only way her body can respond is by making her cry.

She’s also a slightly different person now. Relaxed. Less careful. Fuck me, she was so fucking careful with me for so long, it must’ve been exhausting. I was determined to make her patience worthwhile in every way possible. And if that meant being the rock while she melted from having to hold it together at the hospital all day on her bad evenings, then I’d do everything in my power to be just that.

So, she sat in my lap, straddling my waist, hunting for kisses along my throat and jaw until finally planting a small one at the corner of my mouth.

“Carmy?” she whispered.

“Yes, baby?”

“Can you make me feel good? Work was awful, I just… I just wanna feel good.”

We are supposed to talk about these kinds of things. It’s an unspoken rule between us, that we talk when either of us are neck-deep; she wears her stress more gracefully than I do, but it doesn’t mean she’s bulletproof. She is just as prone to burying shit under keeping herself busy—crochet, sewing with her friends, busying herself in deciphering me. Caring for me. If I am going to talk to her, then she is going to talk to me.

She drummed her fingers on my chest to get my attention. “Please? Please, sweetheart?”

I squeezed her thighs, also to get her attention. “You don’t wanna talk about it?”

She shook her head, whined her next sentence. “Later? Can we talk later?” She slid a hand up and tugged on my hair, a gesture more out of impatience than anything else. “Please?”

It takes a few seconds for the switch to flip. For me to go from the usual wreck of a person that I am to the one who destroys her in minutes, tops. Being mentally prepared for it ahead of time helps a lot, but I can manage a quick switch every once in a while, as the situation demands. So, I was my usual self when I finger-combed through her hair, swept it out of her face. But when I tensioned a fistful of it and traced her lips with my fingertip, I was the other one.

“Open,” I murmured.

She obeyed immediately. Her eyes fluttered closed and a moan escaped her throat when I pressed two fingers to her tongue.

“Suck.”

She enclosed her lips around my fingers and hollowed her cheeks, tracing her tongue over the digits. She held my wrist and forearm while she bobbed her head up and down their length, traced her thumb along the tendons, the scars, the tattoos that she memorized. She made a discontented noise when I adjusted for my back, holding my arm tighter so I couldn’t pull away. It was cute.

“I’m not taking ‘em away, cutie,” I reassured her. “Look at me, hm?”

She squeezed her eyes closed tighter.

I tightened my grip in her hair and repeated, firmer, “Look at me.”

She met my gaze for a few seconds, then looked away.

Oh? “You wanna keep feeling good, princess?”

She held tighter and sucked my fingers deeper into her mouth. That’d be a yes.

“Then you better listen. Look at me.”

She did, and within seconds, her face started flooding fuchsia. Her cheeks, the tip of her nose, the tips of her ears, her neck—all started going pink. Her movements lost their fluidity. Her thumb trembled as it traced the pulse in my wrist.

“Good girl. Keep looking at me. I wanna see your pretty eyes.” Her blush deepened further. Breathing quickened. “Want more?”

She whimpered a pathetic sort of sound in the back of her throat.

“That’s not an answer.”

She gave me a jerky nod. I added my ring finger, and her eyes threatened to flutter closed again.

“Keep looking at me, baby girl.” She did. And now her face and neck were red and hot to the touch. “Good girl.”

Her eyes went glassy, and tears pooled at her eyelashes. Her grip on my arm was bruising, trembling, causing these shooting pains up into my elbow, but fuck if I wasn’t enthralled by those gorgeous eyes, by her being so ruined by just looking at me that she’d begun to cry. I gently pressed down on her tongue, and her eyes snapped shut, sending black-tinted tears down her cheeks. She immediately blinked them back open, hooked her hand in my shirt neckline in a wordless effort to both apologize and beg me to continue.

“Aw, that’s okay sweetheart. It’s just too much for you, huh?”

She hesitated, but then gave me the tiniest nod.

“What do you say to something a bit bigger, hm?”

She grabbed my shirt now and pulled. Yes, Carmen, please.

I slowly removed my fingers from her mouth. “Go ahead. Good girl.”

She slid off my lap onto the floor and fumbled with my jeans. I had to help her get my dick free, but the instant I did, she took the head into her mouth, and I fucking swear to God, she almost fucking ruined me. Her mouth was so hot, so wet, she was so eager to flick her tongue over the slit and hum and dig her nails into my thighs.

“Fucking hell, baby girl… you really need me, huh?”

She nodded, pulled off just enough to whisper, “I wanna choke on you,” and then took me back into her mouth.

A searing wave of arousal washed over me.

Excuse the fuck outta me?

“You wanna what?”

She hummed. The fuck did that mean?

I gripped a fistful of her hair to get her to look up at me. “I asked you a question.”

Her cheeks flushed red again. Eyes went glassy. She was still just mouthing at the head, running her tongue maddeningly over and around it. She seemed reluctant to pull off or repeat what she’d said, but the heat in my core burned hotter. If she wasn’t about to clarify, I was going to make her choke on me anyway.

She let my dick fall from her mouth when I tightened my grip even further.

“I-I wanna ch-choke on your dick, sir,” she whimpered. “Please? Please fuck my throat? I’ll-I’ll tap three times if I need you to stop.” She did the motion on my thigh.

Something otherworldly possessed me then. I’m not a rough lover—at least, I wasn’t, not until I met Darling. It’s not that I didn’t want to be—I wanted, pretty much from the jump for what I can remember of being a hormonal teenager, to be rough with someone. I wanted to pull hair, bite, scratch, choke, I wanted to feel powerful and in control of something, be allowed to act on the barely contained insanity, that beast that festered just under the terrified, stuttering kid. Half of the reason I was called Bear was because of the last name—Berzatto. The other half?

The other half is why I ended up in wrestling to begin with. Just somewhere to put violent energy that was structured and safe enough not to land me a prison sentence. Or at least, that was my experience. I was very much two sides of the same coin, but the only time I saw that other side represented was in horrible circumstances—so I learned to associate the need to be rough with something bad, vile, despicable, wrong. Darling was safe. She showed me ways to remain safe while still being able to act on those deep-seated impulses tattooed on my bones. She didn’t quite flip a switch in me so much as give me access to a switch I could flip myself. She was safe. She is safe.

Darling took me back into her mouth, but this time all the way to the back of her throat. Her eyes watered, but she kept at it, going slowly, giving me time to think. She wanted to choke on my dick, huh? You wanna choke on me? Need to feel so powerless and used like a fucktoy, do you? Need that cute little brain to take a backseat to raw, unadulterated pleasure for a little while the only way I know how to give you? Okay. Okay, baby girl.

I wove both hands in her hair and started fucking deeper into her throat. Her eyes rolled back. Tears spilled down her cheeks when she squeezed them shut.

“Like that, pretty girl?”

Pretty girl.

Didn’t plan it. Came out of nowhere. But both of us clearly liked it based on how it imprinted on my gray matter and the unrestrained, half-muffled, half-strangled, high-pitched whine she let out. She squeezed a fistful of my jeans with one hand, held my wrist loosely with the other.

Pretty girl. This is just what you needed huh? Me fucking your throat relentlessly while your eyes roll back, and you forget everything else that exists on this planet.

You needed The Bear tonight.

She snuck her hands under my shirt, traced the lines of my abdomen. It was as if she couldn’t gather enough coherence to do anything meaningful, but she wanted to get her hands on me. I moved her further off, almost all the way off, to give her jaw a bit of a break, but she quickly gripped at my hips, dug her fingernails into me, and whined loud enough that the corner neighbor definitely would’ve heard.

“Shhh, easy pretty girl.” I pet her face, brought her back down on my dick.

She hummed. Went right back to hollowing her cheeks and made another whiny sound until I started fucking her throat again. Then she settled down, eyes closed, bliss on her face despite the streaks of gray.

I couldn’t resist chuckling. “Oh, is it that good, pretty girl?”

She nodded.

“Just need to be fucked like a toy, do you?” What was I saying? Did I really just say that? “Used up like the pretty thing you are, huh?”

“Mmhm.” She nodded more emphatically this time, planted a hand on my sternum, turned those gorgeous, glassy eyes up to me. The sight seared into my memory. Fuck me, pretty girl. A look like that oughtta be illegal. Don’t you worry, I’ll take care of you. I’ll make you forget all your worries, all the bad things that happened today.

I’ll fucking destroy you, and you will just come crawling back for more. You’re going to work with some fucking marks tomorrow; I’ll trade you a lipstick print, how about that, hm? How about Monique learn that you’re getting taken care of, and I’ll tell Richie to fuck off when he learns the same about me? Fuck this world, Darling, baby girl, pretty girl, I got shit to say to it about how it treated me, and I’ll start with showing it that you’re mine and I’m yours.

“Now be a good girl and choke on me.”

She obeyed, taking me further into her throat. Her throat spasmed around my dick—this fucking delirious tightness that pushed me abruptly over the edge of the orgasm I was teetering on. Heat exploded through my chest and up into my face, I couldn’t get air in fast enough, my head spun and swam and buzzed, my abdomen stung with the force of my core contracting. She gripped fistfuls of my jeans, then pushed against my hip, then pulled back just enough to let her swallow. Then the wave of cold set in. The merciful, blissful, benevolent wave of cold that started at my shoulders and washed down me like a Fall rain, taking with it all the tension I didn’t realize I’d been carrying up until then. My head dropped against the back of the couch. Hands went limp in her hair. Eyes refused to stay open.

Darling pulled off me slowly. Nuzzled my hand, kissed my palm.

“Come’ere,” I mumbled.

She climbed back into my lap and hunted for kisses again. I gave them willingly, now boneless, powerless to resist her in any capacity. The Bear’s been sated, princess, do what you want to me. I’m yours. I belong to you.

“What does my pretty girl want, hm?”

She kissed my neck just under the hinge of my jaw. Her voice was hoarse, more a crackly whisper than her normal speaking tone. “Eat me out? Three fingers?”

Anything, my love.

[sunlightmurdock]

My Future in You | 2.6 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, references to abortion in a few chapters, angst, will be fluff eventually, will be smut so 18+, enemies to lovers kinda thing, babies and fluff and more babies, bradley being a nervous first time daddy, wc: 3.8k

…

“This… doesn’t look right.” Bradley pulls back and rests his hands against his hips, staring at the car seat with an unimpressed gaze frown.

“Sure it does.” You answer, peering around him to examine the situation in front of you. The straps are secure at the top of his chest, his plush cheek resting against the padded restraints.

“I don’t think so. He doesn’t look comfortable.” Bradley answers you with a shake of his head. This is his second practice of the day. He doesn’t want Tom to be in the car seat too long, but he knows that his most significant job in all of this is getting the two of you home safe.

He leans forwards and begins to fiddle with the straps again. Your newborn doesn’t seem fussed by his neurotic, worried dad anyways. Bradley hums. “Don’t worry, buddy, we’ll figure it out.”

“The Bradshaws! — How are we this morning?”

This, Thomas is fussed by. Over the last six days, the first six of his life, you’ve figured that your son has some pretty sharp reflexes. Even just blowing on his cheek makes him flinch. He jumps, arms and legs tensing at once, his still unfocused eyes blowing wide open as the doctor strolls into the room.

His lip begins to wobble and his nose scrunches up tight, his hands trembling under the confines of his mittens. You nudge Bradley out of the way and unclasp the straps right as Thomas begins to cry.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to spook this little sweetheart.” The doctor is smiling and reaching out to tickle the infant’s back and on your end, everything is forgiven. Bradley, however, glares at her as he reaches his son.

You hadn’t been expecting the same guy who once jumped off of the roof of a neighbouring frat house and into their pool to be such a nervous nelly when it came to parenthood. Especially not the same guy who told you he wanted no part in any of this.

You roll your eyes, rocking softly, shushing the baby. These past six days have taught you a lot of things. That the birthmark on the bottom of Thomas’ back is kind of the shape of Italy. That even though he can’t see much yet, he likes to look around while he’s being fed. That Bradley is not fast enough at changing diapers yet to avoid getting peed on.

That somehow, you and Bradley might have just created the most perfect little boy in the entire world. With his thatches of brown hair and his tiny fingers and toes, his sloped nose and poured lips. Those funny, jumpy reflexes.

“I’m just here to do some tests, see if we can get you guys home today.” She tells you with a bright smile. From the way that your face changes, she can tell that this is the news that you’ve been waiting for. Six days of barely walking, hearing other people’s babies screaming — you’ve been ready to go home for a while.

“Today? — Nobody said today. They said tomorrow.” Bradley interjects loudly. You scowl across at him and he shuts up, but the nervous way he fidgets on his feet tells you everything you need to know.

“I know, I know. But he’s doing just fine so far, and I’m sure you two are eager to sleep in your own beds again.” The doctor coos softly, learning from her initial mistake as she takes the baby from your arms. She follows your pattern of soothing and rocking and Thomas seems to consider quietening down.

Bradley pushes his hands into the pockets of his sweat shorts and just leans back against the end of the hospital bed. He’s so focused on watching this stranger with your baby that he doesn’t even hear you move until you’re pressing in against his side.

“You’re doing fine.” You promise him, stretching your open palm against the fabric of his black t-shirt, stretching your neck to look at him. “Stop stressing.”

He doesn’t say anything, and that worried frown on his face doesn’t soften either. Bradley swallows, brushes a hand over his upper lip and reaches out for you. You close

Your eyes as he secures an arm around your waist and tugs you closer, leaning down and resting his mouth against the top of your head.

He inhales deeply, breathing in the scent of unfamiliar shampoo and hospital borrowed soap.

“She called you a Bradshaw, you know.” He whispers finally, just before he straightens back up. You scoff, jabbing the tip of your index finger into his side.

“Don’t get any ideas, Pops. It’s bad enough you talked me into letting Tommy take your name.” You’re joking, of course. The amusement in your voice makes his chest feel that little bit less tight. You’ll say yes, one day. He’ll make sure it’s special and you’re not giving birth next time, and you’ll say yes.

He pinches your side playfully and tugs you closer again. “Pops? — I thought we agreed on you calling me—“

He grunts as you jerk your elbow back into his stomach, just enough to make him jolt but not enough to actually hurt the idiot you’ve come to be so fond of. There it is, he grins behind you, his chest rumbling with a soft chuckle.

Minutes later, the doctor turns around to you and gives you the go-ahead. Suddenly, the little boy in the roomy onesie is all yours, and yours alone. Well, not that suddenly, there’s paperwork first. But sudden feels the only appropriate word when you’re walking out of the hospital, with no one to guide you.

Bradley’s knuckles are white around the handle of the car seat in his right hand, a slightly softer approach to the way that he’s holding your hand in his left.

“You’re sure you can walk? — They said you could have a chair, if you want a chair.” He checks, for the second time since you stepped out of the elevator.

“I’m fine.” You give his hand a soft squeeze and groan softly as you step out into the mid-summer suffocation of the Florida heat. “Now walk with purpose. It’s too hot for this.”

Settled into the backseat beside Thomas, sleeping in his car seat, you catch Bradley frowning worriedly back at the both of you before he turns the key in the ignition.

The drive home is slow, and uneventful. The baby is asleep. Bradley’s eyes are trained seriously on the road, his hands holding a steady ten and two position on the wheel. You don’t dare suggest that he turns on the radio.

There were plenty of things that you had prepared yourself for when you had decided to have your baby. Your body changing, fine. Your career plans changing, okay. The hormones and the responsibilities and the tiny human who would depend on you for probably the rest of your life, sure.

Some things about such a drastic lifestyle change simply cannot be planned for.

Nine hours ago, you brought your son home from the hospital. This is something that you would never admit out loud, but in those last few days of your pregnancy, the concern had flooded your mind that maybe your feelings for Bradley were purely hormonal. You were carrying his child, it makes sense that your body would want him around. It was the after that had concerned you.

But, you had watched today as Bradley had carried the car seat in one hand and secured you by his side with the other. He had buckled your son into the car, and he had driven home under the speed limit the entire way.

You exhale softly as you step out of the shower. That’s growing easier now, six days later, but your body is far from healed. Your legs still tremble when you try to stand too long, and your back aches in a way you’re starting to worry might be permanent.

It’s quiet in your apartment now. You listen out as you towel dry your body, trying to find the pitch of a sports narrator or some soft music — anything. It’s almost dead silent.

You wriggle into your pyjamas and wrap your wet hair, walking slow out of the bathroom and down the hall. You’re barely dry, your warm feet padding along the carpet, wrinkled fingers pushing open the door to the bedroom.

One of the things that none of the articles you had read seemed to mention, is what to do the first time that you see the father of your child at home with your baby.

Bradley’s sitting up against the pillows with Thomas nestled against his chest. His hand eclipses the infant’s torso as he pats his back softly. Thomas’ cheek is resting against Bradley’s pectoral, you can’t see from where you are but instinct and your son’s uncharacteristic stillness tells you that he’s sleeping.

Bradley’s singing. He’s patting the baby’s back gently and he’s singing softly, trying hard to push the usually deep rumble of his voice into lullaby territory.

Your mouth falls slack, cold feet becoming still against the soft floor. This tiny first apartment and its discernible wooden doors that creak at every opportunity give you away and he stops just as quickly as he is perceived.

His gaze flickers up and his lips twist softly into a small smile. You watch him take account of your matching maternity pyjamas which threaten to be too big without the stretch of your bump. Amusement floods the hint of the smile on his lips — he loves to laugh at these pyjamas.

His hand stills against Thomas’ back, those glittery brown eyes flicker up to study the look on your face.

“Hey, babe,” He hums, keeping his voice low so that he doesn’t startle the baby. “How was your shower?”

“I didn’t think I would miss our shitty water pressure, but I’m just so glad we’re not at the hospital anymore.” You pad across the carpet towards him and crawl into bed, pulling back the sheets and draping yourself across Bradley’s brawny thighs.

He looks down at you and secures the infant close to his chest, freeing one hand to brush tenderly across your cheek.

“What was that song were you singing him?” You ask. The ceiling fan whirs above you like a thrumming, excessively loud lullaby. The warmth of his thigh props up your cheek.

There’s something about it all that feels too much like a dream. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. The NICU isn’t exactly a luxury retreat, despite its price point. Tonight is your first night home from the hospital. Your son is six days old and yesterday, he officially crossed the threshold into five pound territory. Tonight, he’s huddled against Bradley’s bare chest, wearing a diaper that had seemed too tiny for an actual human to wear and zipped into a onesie printed with little ducks on it. Geese, maybe, actually.

You lift your hand and reach out, watching your fingertip follow the soft cotton covering those wrinkled lines on the sole of Thomas’ foot that you’ve come to be so familiar with already.

The infant curls his toes and unclenches them again, scrunching his knees. Bradley watches, lips twisted into a smile that he couldn’t fight back if he tried.

There’s something about the steady, heavy thrum of Bradley’s heartbeat that puts the kid right to sleep. The warm bath and the ounce of milk that came before he was set on his dad’s stomach may have helped too. Bradley’s hand cups the back of Thomas’ neck, keeping the sleeping baby steady.

“Wildflowers by, uh— Tom Petty, I think?” Bradley shrugs. In truth, he knows the song inside and out — it was the first song he learned to play on piano. He’s used to playing that down. Girls find guitars hot, not his years of classical piano lessons.

You smile, lifting your head and pressing a gentle kiss to the sole of the baby’s foot, soft blue cottons

against your lips. Then, you lower your mouth and press it softly to Bradley’s stomach. Just once, before you drop your head back down and set it against his thigh.

“He’s so good, and I’m still exhausted.” You murmur, exhaling deeply. Behind heavy lids, you make a mental note to look into which ingredient in the smell of baby soap acts as such a good sleeping agent.

“You should sleep. He’ll be up again in a couple of hours.” Bradley reminds you, stroking damp hair back off of your forehead. Closing your eyes, you nod with him, but make no effort to move. He smiles. “Come on, I don’t need to sing the both of you to sleep, do I?”

You huff a soft sound of amusement, giving a small shake of your head. “Not tonight, Pops. Put him to bed, let’s get some sleep.”

Bradley chuckles, carefully shifting your son off of his stomach and instead laying him across his thighs as you sit up.

“Mom and Dad… isn’t that crazy?” He muses, stroking his thumb across the soft hair on the infant’s head. Thomas is still so small that Bradley’s palm makes him look even tinier. You lean into your boyfriend’s shoulder and stroke the baby’s cheek.

“I know.” You agree quietly.

Big, round cheeks and pursed lips, dark eyelashes and a soft little nose. His tiny hands balled into fists, his knees curled up to his middle. Blue clouds adorning his onesie. Half you, and half Bradley.

“Alright, we’ll see you in a couple hours, little man. Yell if you need something.” Bradley half jokes as he pushes himself up from the bed and turns to set the baby into the bassinet. With the lung capacity he has already impressed you with, you know that he’ll have no issues letting you know if he wants something.

He crawls back into bed beside you and flicks the beside lamp off, pulling the covers up around the two of you. Readily, you press yourself close to him and close your eyes. He smells like baby soap.

“Are you still hurting anywhere?” Bradley’s voice lowers to a whisper now, his breath fanning across the nape of your neck as he leans his head into the crook of your shoulder and cautiously rests a hand against your hip. Into the dark, your mouth twitches at a smile.

Your hips feel both squished and torn apart at the same time. Your back feels like it might never feel quite right ever again. But even with him a cautious distance from you, you can feel the perpetual warmth from his body.

“Everywhere. But I still want you to hold me.”

Slowly, he slides an arm under you and another over you. Draping his body around yours, he pulls you close and suddenly you get whatever it is that sends Thomas off to sleep so easily. The faint musky smell of his fading cologne. The steady, heavy thrum of his heartbeat. The long, deep pattern of his breathing.

Just when you think he has beat you to it, he reminds you that he’s still awake. A soft, chaste kiss presses to your throat, his voice low as he mumbles, “I love you.”

As much as Thomas is a good baby; he’s still a baby. A small one at that, with plenty of growing to do. Even now, he just about finishes an ounce of milk at a time — half of the time. That means a lot of wake ups. A lot of diaper changes with your eyes half open.

The first four days of parenthood pass you by before you’ve really come to terms with the reality of it all. Constant feeds through the night, surviving off of instant noodles and pizza — all of this doesn’t feel too far of a stretch from your recent college days.

But it’s harder now. The responsibilities are never ending. It’s hard to remain rational about any of it.

“If you could breastfeed, would you do it?”

From the other end of the couch, Bradley seems to startle awake. Brows drawing together in confusion, he stares across your dimly lit living room at you, then takes a second to look around him.

You’re at the end of the movie now, so he doesn’t have a clue how long he has been sleeping. Stretching his legs out, he sighs softly, “Yeah. I guess so.”

Your mouth twitches at the fact that he doesn’t even ask you why. He blinks softly and brings both hands up to rub at his eyes tiredly.

“What time is it?”

“Two, maybe.” You shrug, watching Thomas’ eyelids grow heavy. His hands remain balled and tucked in against his chest. He has spent these past four days stretching out occasionally, scrunching himself back into a tight ball frequently.

“No fucking way did I just sleep for four hours. The movie’s still playing.” Bradley protests, awkwardly fumbling to push himself upright and puckering his mouth into a deep frown. You just shrug across at him once more.

“I put the sequel on after you fell asleep.”

He hadn’t ever thought he would be able to have a regular conversation with a woman who had her breast out in front of him, but here he is. It doesn’t even cross his mind to check you out. The only thing he’s thinking about is the fact you’re running on maybe an hour of uninterrupted sleep and all you had wanted was to watch your movie with him. And he had fallen asleep.

He fumbles around, checking his pockets for his phone, finding it instead resting between his jaw and shoulder. You close your eyes for a moment as he checks the time. In the split second that your eyes are shut, Thomas makes a spluttering sound.

As quickly as you can lift and turn him, the has already spit the last mouthful of milk back against your skin and all down his chin.

“Oh, Tommy…” You groan, adjusting the strap of your nursing bra with one hand as you support him with the other.

“Here, I’ll take him.” Bradley offers, pushing himself up and starting to scoot towards you.

“We’re fine.” Maybe it comes out a little bit harsh, maybe your tone is a little colder than normal. Bradley frowns at you, sitting still at the opposite end of the sectional. “Just go back to sleep.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean to—“

“I know you didn’t.” You’re just doubling down at this point as you wipe at Thomas’ mouth with a muslin cloth. Bradley’s brows draw together a bit.

“So why are you mad at me? — Just let me help you.” He pushes forwards again and reaches for your son.

“I said we’re fine!” You bite back. The baby flinches and quickly starts to scream. You slam your eyes shut, darkness behind your lids and a dull ache drilling from your temples to the core of your brain.

Opposite you, Bradley sighs, dropping his head forward into his hands. You’re both silent. The sequel plays on. The baby keeps on screaming. Neither one of you look at each other.

This is what all new parents go through, you know that. It doesn’t make it any less sore in the moment.

“What should I do?” Bradley asks finally, pushing up from the sofa and squeezing against your side, wrapping an arm around your aching shoulders. It’s not worth dragging your eyes open for.

“Never get me pregnant again, for starters.” You mutter half-jokingly. Bradley chuckles at your side and turns his head to kiss at those sore temples, like he can feel where it hurts. Maybe those dad-senses are sharper than you give him credit for.

“Not even once more? — But look how cute the first one wa—“ He’s only joking of course, but he still has the good sense to shut up when you turn your head and glare at him. He grins, and he looks just like he did the first time you were stupid enough to melt for that pretty look.

“You hungry?” Bradley asks. He read somewhere that breastfeeding can cause stronger appetites.

“Yeah.”

“Dad’s got it. We’ll be right back.” Bradley promises you, dipping forwards and kissing your temple once more, stealing the baby in one fell swoop. “Come on, buddy.”

Bradley pads into the kitchen barefoot, bouncing the baby in his arms and you let your eyes fall shut once more. You’re only two weeks in. They don’t start sleeping through the night for another couple months at least — sometimes years. You don’t know how you could do another couple years of being this delirious.

Closing your eyes, it’s easy enough to imagine that you’re not here. That you’re still in school, or still in your parents’ house. Somewhere safer, where you could hide from the limited responsibilities that you had back then. It would be so easy to drift off into a dream about life being that easy again.

Instead, the sofa dips at your side and your boys are back. Bradley announces himself by kissing your cheek softly and pressing a spoon into your hand.

“All we have is Ice-Cream.” He tells you, settling Thomas into the crook of his elbow and passing the tub of ice cream off to you. You blink at the vanilla flavoured frozen treat in front of you, then look up to stare at him. “I’ll go to the store tomorrow. We’ll both go. You can stay here and sleep in.”

You look away for just a second, digging the tip of your spoon into the ice cream, and hear him continue.

“We can get whatever we want, Mommy won’t be there to tell us no.”

Despite your best efforts, a smile itches its way across your face. You turn your head and attempt to force at a scowl. All five of Thomas’ right-hand fingers are wrapped around Bradley’s little finger, they both seem to be looking at you.

“I don’t care what you come home with as long as there’s more of this stuff in there somewhere.” You decide, slipping a spoonful into your mouth and savouring the flavour on your tongue. Bradley shifts, leaning his head against yours.

“Share.” He demands, leaving his mouth open. You snuff your nose at him as you dig another spoonful from the tub and shovel it into his mouth. “That’s so good.”

“Probably not what we should be eating. We aren’t setting a very good example.” You hum, ignoring your own advice and gulping down another spoonful, kicking your feet up onto the coffee table.

If only your mother could see you now. She would lose her marbles if she saw your approach to motherhood.

“Eh, this kid pees himself all day long. We’ll start being good examples for him later on.” Bradley shrugs, leaning his weight into you, turning his attention back to the tv. “So can you explain to me what I missed?”

…

Taglist: @chaoticweirdogeek @alanadetigy @itsmytimetoodream @oldnatgwenaccount @khaylin27 @bioodforbiood @luckyladycreator2 @mizzzpink @cherrycola27 @unordinare @heli991113 @ghxst-heart @momc95 @asteria33 @lilyevanswhore @diamond-3 @galaxy-moon @jostyriggslover96 @forgiveliv @shawnsblue @little-wiseone @lovemesomevesey @alm33 @averyhotchner @diorrfairy @thedroneranger @batdanceq @wkndwlff @himbos-on-ice @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @slutford @kmc1989 @swiftsgirlfriend

[snvffsoda]

some silly/random headcanons i have for Strade, Ren, and Lawrence!!

i know a lot of people like to think he kidnaps people from the same bar, using the kind of pick up lines, but that wouldn’t be an efficient way to keep the bodies coming, and he knows that, how long until someone catches him dragging an unconscious/unsuspecting person in his car? And makes a call to the police? Strade doesn't take chances, not with the cops, he may be insane, but he's still extremely smart at what he does, he would go out to clubs, late-night parties, concerts, crowded busy areas, anywhere he could slip in and find someone and leave toghther with less caring eyes on him.

has cut his finger while using his power tools and made Ren suck the blood from his finger before, not because he wanted comfort or anything he just wanted to see Ren's sheepish look while he did (Ren enjoyed it too for the blood, albeit nervously)

Strade is a confident, charismatic man, but i still think no matter how hard he tries to hide his sadistic psychotic tendencies, they bleed through him with the way he talks to people, you always get this underlying feeling of unease when he speaks which is why he prefers alcohol to be involved to get his victims, it'd be harder to notice Strade’s eyes staring just a little too long for comfort when you're 4 shots in

always keeps eye contact, almost to an uncomfortable amount, it feels like he doesn't even blink half the time his stare feels like his eyes are always threatening to pierce your skull open and see what's inside from his gaze alone.

Strade is strong, but he's no amazing fighter, if you're fast enough, and have the intent to win, or to kill him i dont think his brute force and heavy swings will do much plus i think he uses a lot of street fighting tactics ie; slamming, grabbing you and pinning you, using weapons instead of just his fist to his own detriment (and that’s what i think got him killed)

really good at texting, he's very descriptive when he texts almost like you're really speaking to him on the phone or in person, he doesn't use a lot of slang or emoticons, Doesn't abbreviate his words like ‘idk’ ‘wyd’ so on, and lots of Periods. Commas, exclamation points! might reply to something funny he sees with a ‘LOL’ in all caps or ‘😂’ but that's it.

really really wants to learn guitar efficiently, but his claws always cut and get caught on the strings when he tries to play so whenever he does try to play he plays with a pick, he doesn't play the best because of it, it was one of the first things he bought with Strade’s money after he died since Strade didn’t want him to get one because it was ‘too noisy’

avid gamer and discord user to an unhealthy amount, and will spam you with messages when you dont hop on the game he's spam inviting you to play with him

sleeps on Strade’s old shirts and pants and coats, anything to where he can get his scent again in his room will sometimes cry himself to sleep thinking about him when laying on them, muttering to himself how sorry he is for letting him die

he remembers and still can understand basic Japanese formalities and such, he's since tried to relearn his native language online, and he did horribly because he forgot almost everything

sassy, when he's stressed, or angry, he can and will be sarcastic and make sly remarks regarding the situation to you, roll his eyes, cross his arms, mutter to himself, just more on the pouty side when it comes to handling his stress

has a collection of old chew toys, he's torn and bitten through with his fangs when his more animalistic tendencies kick in when he's in heat or just needs to keep his mouth busy

has been sent to psychiatric mental hospitals many times before when he was an adolescent by his family he never made friends or spoke much when he was, he did well, and never caused trouble

he’s fallen asleep while in the bath and somehow hasn't drowned himself hundreds of times he can't help it, it reminds him of the river,,

smoking weed helps him sleep through the day, it keeps him in a deep sleep since he's a light sleeper, so he isn't startled awake by his neighbors stomping about during the day

enjoys horror movies like ‘Jacobs Ladder’ and ‘The Jacket’ movies where the protagonist feels as though they are already dead or trapped in their mind, he relates to that feeling when he watches those films

would definitely be the type to go nonverbal when he is high, resorting to nods and shaking his head to get his point across if he's with you and comfortable around you

hates sweet tea and store-bought tea in general, he hates the way they taste and the texture they leave on his tongue, he prefers making tea himself with his plants and the ingredients he grows

[keilanana]

𝑻𝒐 𝑫𝒆𝒇𝒚 𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒆

ɪɪɪ. sɪʙʟɪɴɢ ᴀᴄǫᴜɪʀᴇᴅ

You get a new addition to your family, and all is right with the world.

(Hopefully nothing from the next chapter ruins this for you haha.)

Watching Mum trip over herself to follow Mother around and tend to her every, little need was pretty funny at first.

But now you (unfortunately) have no right to laugh anymore, because as it turns out, learning that you're going to be an older sibling in just a few months really puts certain things into perspective, and now you're basically doing the same thing (although you at least had the dignity to be a lot more subtle about it, Mum.)

You don't know why, as you can't recall ever acting like this when your siblings from your first life came along, but everything just suddenly seems like a threat. For every sharp corner Mother passes by, you're quick to reach your hand over to cover it in case she gets close enough for contact. When you catch her going up or down the stairs, you're already rushing to her side to offer out a hand in support.

Yes, Mother of course laughs at all of this, and makes sure to tease you for doing the very things you laughed at your Mum for, but you can tell from the fondness in her smile and the bright twinkle in her eyes that she genuinely does appreciate all of the effort you and Mum were putting in to ensure her and the baby's comfort and safety—even if the measures Mum took could be pretty ... excessive.

("I can understand sanding down the corners of our dining table, but there is absolutely no way I'm letting you put carpets over the walls. I think Mother would actually kill me if I let you."

"You weren't there when it happened, [Y/n]! What if the next time she bumps into a wall, she pushes her baby bump back in?!"

"Mum of mine, I do not believe that is physically possible."

"HOW WOULD YOU KNOW?!"

"MAYBE BECAUSE ONE OF US WAS LUCKY ENOUGH TO INHERIT THE INTELLIGENCE I CLEARLY DIDN'T GET FROM YOU!")

Yeah, just thinking of all the times you've had to be the voice of reason between you and your Mum despite being the actual child between the two of you was enough to give you a headache. And the more Mother's stomach grows, the worse it gets.

At this point, I'm starting to believe that someone's gonna have to hold Mum's hand when the baby comes.

The thought makes you pause, ponder for a bit, and then cringe.

Poor nurse.

Other than Mum's (and admittedly, yours) overprotective tendencies, though, you're happy to report that Mother's pregnancy is going fairly well. From the visits your little family makes to the hospital every now and then, your younger sibling seems to be developing fine, and has been repeatedly reported as quite healthy, to your family's relief, pride, and joy.

What gets you all feeling really joyful, however, is the doctor revealing that the baby's gender can finally be determined.

"Wait!" Mother stops him before he can say anything else. "Don't tell us just yet! I want it to be a surprise!" she insists.

"Wha—a surprise?" Mum repeats, clearly confused. "You didn't want it to be a surprise last time!" she complains.

Penelope rolls her eyes at the childish tone in her wife's voice and takes her hand. "I know, which is why I want it to be a surprise this time," she explains. "Besides, you wouldn't want to turn down a cake, would you?"

When Mum only answers with silence, it's pretty easy for you and the doctor to guess who won.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Three weeks of anticipation later, the gender reveal cake is delivered on your doorstep in a white box by a teenage girl with short, curly brown locks.

"Hope you folks like it," she says with a wink once the package is placed into your arms. "It took a whole lotta effort keeping it in tact, driving it all the way out here."

Her words cause a semi-guilty smile to grace your features. "Right. Sorry about that," you say, and you really do mean it; you couldn't imagine having to deliver a cake somewhere so far out in the country, especially with only a rusty old vespa as your noble steed.

The girl only laughs good-naturedly and ruffles your hair. "No need to apologize, kiddo. Hope ya'll enjoy the cake!" she says.

With that, she turns around to leave, but not before throwing back a quick, "Congratulations!" over her shoulder in reference of who exactly the cake was made for.

Thus, with the cake now in your possession, you bring it into the dining room, where Mother and Mum are already waiting in their designated seats at the table.

"She seemed nice," Mother comments, obviously referring to the delivery girl you'd just spoken to.

You hum, telling her, "She was," before setting the box down and opening it.

The cake is, as the delivery girl said, indeed in tact, and covered in frosting and all sorts of fruits to keep whatever flavor the cake itself was hidden.

"Oh, this is so exciting!" Mother says, clapping her hands with a giddy smile on her face. "Anyone already have any guesses?" she asks, looking over to her wife.

Mum hums and holds her chin in thought for a moment before eventually settling on: "Strawberry."

Nodding, Mother then turns to you and lifts her brows expectantly.

With an amused huff, you sit down in your own chair just as Mum rises out of her own to grab three plates and a knife. "You know what? I'm thinking strawberry, too," you decide.

Tilting her head curiously, Mother leans back in her seat and begins to caress her stomach. "May I ask why?" she inquires.

You shrug. "Just a feeling, I guess," you answer.

The conversation ends after that, as Mum is finally prepared to cut the cake.

"Alrighty, then," she begins once yours and Mother's attention is fully on her. "Here we go."

Setting the knife down for only a moment, Mum pulls the box's walls all the way down—not just to make cutting the cake easier, but to also give you and Mother a clear view of it from your positions, as well.

With that said and done, Mum picks the knife back up and inhales deeply, obviously hyping herself up for what's about to come. It feels a little silly, getting this anxious over a cake, but there's still this sort of tightness in your chest that makes it only a little hard to breathe. Is it anticipation? Dread of the inevitable? A mix of both?

In the end, it doesn't matter, because then a knife is slicing right through frosting and—

"Strawberry," Mum breathes, a triumphant grin slowly beginning to overtake her face. "Looks like we're gonna be welcoming a little girl into our family next."

You and Mother throw your hands into the air and cheer.

(Later that night, the bakery your cake had come from gets a call from you to let your delivery girl know that you folks did, indeed, enjoy the cake.)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It is midnight when Mother's water breaks and Mum practically throws you into the car to drive you all off to the hospital.

It is about three in the morning when you get to leave the waiting room at last and see the labor (pun intended) of your Mother's work.

The baby is small—probably the smallest person you've ever seen—and, unlike you, takes a lot after Mum with her dark skin and soft tufts of platinum blonde hair.

"Oh," you say out loud without meaning to, eyes wide as you take in the infant held in Mother's arms. I'm an older sibling.

You knew you would be one for a while now, of course, and actually were one in your previous life, too. But ... there was just something about this moment: about seeing the little person that's been growing in Mother's stomach finally out and about in the real world, her eyes closed and her face all scrunched up, that had your chest exploding with an overwhelming warmth and your eyes threatening to flood with tears that you were desperately trying to keep in.

(Spoiler alert: you fail. Badly.)

"Hello, little love," Mother says, sounding so exhausted but still so happy at the same time. "Would you like to hold your baby sister?" she asks.

Still in shock at the sight of her, you can only manage a nod and then stare dumbly as the baby's handed over to rest in your arms.

"Um." You blink, mouth slightly agape. "Oh, wow."

(Across from you, Willow snorts.)

You watch, absolutely captivated, as the infant's chest rises and falls with each breath she takes. But then her face twitches, and your eyes automatically lift to watch as it scrunches up. It awes you, almost, the way she seems to struggle simply opening her eyes, but then her stare meets yours and it's like a puzzle clicks into place.

"Hey there, little sister," you greet, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so happy to meet you."

Your sister babbles, unable to properly respond, obviously, and reaches up. Almost instinctually, you lift her higher, allowing her to reach your face and pat her small palms wherever she can, still babbling like you can understand every noise and gurgle.

You laugh and nod along anyway and pretend not to notice the tears you'd failed to hide.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You're gonna rule the world someday."

Your newly acquired sister, Odette (named after one of Mother's favorite stories, Swan Lake) looks up at the sound of your voice and tilts her head. It's been two months since her birth, and in those short months, you've learned that although Ody (the nickname you proudly bestowed her with the moment you thought of it) takes a lot after Mum, she is most definitely every bit of Penelope's daughter just as you are without a doubt Willow's child.

While you had inherited most of Mum's, er ... impulsiveness, Odette had the good fortune of inheriting Mother's patented Stare of Judgement™, which you had the honor of seeing it in action yourself ... because Odette had focused it on you and Mum when you both attempted to do something stupid that was very safe, creative, and fun.

(That's what you tried telling Mother, at least.

She didn't fall for it for even a second and the two of you got sent to timeout in the living room again.)

Odette babbles, snapping you out of your train of thought, and you smile down at her as you start running your hand through the platinum cloud that's been growing atop her head.

"Man, look at all this," you say, curling a strand of Odette's already curly hair around your finger. "At this point, your hair's gonna end up bigger than your head," you joke.

Odette babbles again in response and takes your free hand in between her smaller ones to play with your fingers, making your smile grow into a grin.

"Oh yeah; definitely queen of the world material." You nod. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to be there with you every step of the way. Who else's hands are you supposed to play with?" you ask.

"Ababa?" Odette blinks up at you.

You nod once again. "Exactly!"

She stares at you for a moment, as if processing your words, and then looks away to return her full attention to your hand. You chuckle, amused by just how much personality Odette could convey despite not knowing how to properly speak yet.

"Man ..." Turning your head to gaze out the window, you smile as you watch the trees dance to the wind outside. "I didn't think it'd be possible, Ody, but I ... think I'm more than a little used to this life now, y'know?"

The infant blows a raspberry.

You laugh. "A wise queen, too!"

(Outside, the wind howls, and as it does, a single orange leaf falls to the forest floor.

So it appears, the seasons have finally begun to change.)

<- Previous Chapter || Next Chapter ->

Tag List: @randomgurl2326 @jassy-teaa @thatbird-fromrio @tsukishiro-yue2402 @littlesliceofcheese @smartiepants217 @smuuchies @valiantparadisezombie @rairakkikoseao @lovelorngirl @fictionalwhor3 @birdenthusiastez @wafflehousecowboy @waggoth @reynaqueen123

[m0nsterqzzz]

★ Happy Endings in the Avengers Compound ★

paring: wanda maximoff x female reader

summary: Wanda is to afraid to make a move with you but what about when you get a date that isn't her?

warnings: literally nothing, it's just pure fluff, jealousy if that needs a warning? really shitty ending cuz i didn't know how to end it lol, a tiny bit ofcussing, terrible writing

a/n: I wrote this while I should've been taking notes in English cuz I was so boreddddd got this idea from a video my friend sent me that was all like, "girl whos obsessed with you does your makeup or something" cuz there's this girl in class who likes to do people's makeup and it was so fucking funny cuz she kept making comments I swear so yeah I just wanted to say that. enjoy :)

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

With a big grin, you harshly push open Wanda's bedroom door and squeal. “I got a date with this really pretty girl at the coffee shop!” Wanda's head snaps up from the book she's ready, and no amount of enthusiasm takes over her face. “A girl? what's her name, last name, date of birth, addresses, place of work, and hometown?” you chuckle, sitting criss cross on her bed and taking her cold hands in your warm ones. “Her name is Vanessa but I call her V, her last name is Tanner, birthday is March 23rd…I don't know what year, I don't know her address, she works at the hospital a few streets away, and I don't know where her hometown is.”

She takes a moment to think before questioning, “So you're going out with a woman you barely know? That doesn't sound safe honey.” You chuckle and nod. “I do know her! We spent like two hours talking in the café!” She looked back to her book and muttered, “Yet you still don't know how old she is.”

You giggle, and a sudden thought appears that makes you smile even brighter. “You should do my makeup! She's taking me out to dinner at a really fancy restaurant at seven.” Wanda frowns. You hate fancy restaurants. The last time Tony tried to take the team out to one, you stared at the menu with a disgusted look on your face the entire time. Wanda ended up taking you to a diner later that night, and the burger you had was much better than the snail food Tony made you try. Why are you going out with this girl if she didn’t even care enough to learn that?

Wanda rolls her eyes a bit. “Why would I do that?” She asks, and you smile. “Because you love me.” you say. and she mumbles something incoherent before looking at your face and sighing in defeat. 

You cheer, launching yourself into her arms and letting your head rest against her chest. The corners of her lips tug up at your happiness, but they go back down when she remembers why. 

“Come on butterfly.” She helps you up off the bed, leading you to her vanity and forcing you to sit on the chair. She grabs a bronzer stick, gently applying it to the middle of your cheeks, kind of on your cheekbone. She grabs a beauty blender and blends that in before grabbing a blush palette. Bucky walks into the room, laying down on Wanda's bed and beginning to talk about some guy he met at the park today. “And he’s such an attention seeker!” He ends with, and it’s silent until Wanda speaks quietly- clearly to you, “Just like that girl you’re seeing.” You scoff, and Bucky bursts out laughing as he looks between the two of you. “What's that supposed to mean? You haven’t even met them yet!” You say, and Wanda shots back, “And I don’t want to.” Bucky holds his stomach in laughter, and both you and Wanda turn to glare at him. The frown on your face is clear as you look at Wanda, and she sighs as she tells you, “I’m sorry okay Butterfly? I just…..I don’t know.” You miss the way Bucky smirks at the witch as he leaves the room quietly. 

“I guess…..I just don’t like that she has you and I don’t.” This brings a small giggle out of you. “Of course you have me Wands! You’re my best friend!” You say, oblivious to the way she grimaces at the word “friend”. She sighs, and doesn’t say anything as you apply some eyeshadow and highlighter to your face. “There you go Butterfly.” You look at yourself in the mirror, grinning at the sight and then at her. You kiss her forehead in thanks. “Thank you Wands!” You say, beginning to run out of her bedroom to go search for an outfit to wear. 

“Anytime darling.” She mumbles, releasing a heavy sigh and holding her head in her hands. Someone gently knocks on the door, and she wipes her tears away and says without turning around, “What’s up Butterfly?” A slightly deep and raspy voice speaks teasingly from her doorway, “I thought that nickname was reserved for your girlfriend?” 

Wanda turns around, facing the redhead woman in the doorway and lets the tears fall. Natasha’s smile falls, and she instantly walks to Wanda and wraps her up in a hug. “She-she’s going out with someone else Nat! I’m too late!” Natasha knows about Wanda’s crush on you, as it was revealed after Wanda finally snapped at her after months of the ex-assassin teasing her about the way she looks at you. Natasha’s always been a very, go for it type person, so that’s the advice she had given Wanda the first time the younger girl asked for help asking you out. The witch practically laughed in her face.

“It’s okay kid……it’s okay.” Natasha tries her best to soothe her, but nothing seems to help as the tears continue to fall so she hesitantly pulls away and asks, “Do you love that girl Wanda?” The answer is obvious. “Yes….more than I love anything.” Wanda says. Natasha gently smiles. “Then you’re going to do what you should have done a long time ago. You’re going to buy her her favorite flowers,” Wanda nods along, sniffling a bit as she tries to build up her courage. “,you’ll put on some nice clothes instead of sweatpants and a hoodie,” she giggles and looks down at her comfortable clothes before nodding. “,and most importantly, you’re gonna do it today. Before she goes out on that date. I’m like 84.62 percent sure she likes you back so it’ll all be all right.” Wanda’s eyes go wide. She was expecting this to be more of a in a few weeks plan, but clearly Natasha had other thoughts. The redhead doesn’t give room for complaint though, as she simply gets up and walks out of the bedroom.

Wanda takes a deep breath, wiping her tears and glancing up at the clock on the wall. It’s currently 4pm, so that means there is 3 hours until your date with that bimbo.

Three hours for her to get a bouquet.

Three hours for her to figure out what she's even going to say.

Three hours for her to get her shit together.

Those three hours are spent with Bucky and Natasha, spending the first hour going to multiple stores in search of the perfect bouquet. It’s stupid really, the need to find the perfect bouquet but the older two just roll their eyes and stay silent. 

The next hour is spent trying to figure out what to say, and both Natasha and Bucky could not stay serious as Wanda rehearsed on a pillow. That pillow was thrown at Natasha's head.

The last hour was an hour of panic, especially when you came in to say your date was 10 minutes away. This was her time. She walks through the hallway, finding you sitting on a couch in the living room. You changed clothes, and you look absolutely stunning. She stops walking for a second to admire you, but a giggle from behind her causes her to abruptly turn around. She sees Tony, Natasha, Bucky, Steve, and Thor all standing there with smiles.

Tony's is more of a smirk, but everyone else's is supportive as they give her silent thumbs up. She rolls her eyes at them being nosy and continues to walk closer to you.

Your focus is on your phone, but you look up with a bright smile when you notice Wanda's platform docs. “Hey Wands! What's up?” She swallows thickly, sweaty hands gripping the bouquet a bit tighter behind her back. “Wands? Why do you look so nervous?” You giggle, and she can't help but smile at the sound. 

The group is still watching from the doorway, and Natasha rolls her eyes when Tony pulls out his phone and presses record.

Wanda reveals what she was hiding, and you immediately gasp at the sight of the beautiful flowers. “Well aren't you just a gentle woman my dear? These are beautiful Wands. Thank you.” She smiles as you bring them a bit closer to your nose and sniff them. “Not as beautiful as you.” She cringes, and you immediately burst out laughing. “That was sweet but it was definitely the cheesiest thing I've ever heard you say.” She nods.

Tony agrees quietly and Bucky hits the back of his head.

“So um….Butterfly.” You nod to acknowledge her. “I was- I was thinking recently and um…” Your phone begins to buzz, and you simply place it in your purse as you give her your full attention. “Well…” She takes a glance at the group who's still in the doorway, and they all send her encouraging smiles. It's then that you notice them, sending them all confused smiles before looking at Wanda again.

She's taking one last deep breath when Jarvis suddenly alerts the house. “There is a woman named Vanessa Tanner at the front gate, saying she's here to pick up her date.” Natasha and Bucky instantly panic, looking at each other before going back to Wanda.

As if those are the magic words, Wanda's eyes widen and she begins to ramble, “I really, really, really like you Butterfly and I know you may not feel the same way but Natasha and Bucky said you did and I figured that if there was a little bit of hope, I should try it.” A shocked look takes over your face. “It's totally fine if you don't feel the same way but I just couldn't let you go out with that bimbo named Vanessa if there was even a small chance you liked me….half as much as I do you.” She doesn't take her gaze off the floor, and she takes your silence as an answer as tears fill her eyes.

“Wanda. Look at me.” You demand, but she shakes her head no and continues to study the carpeted floor. “Wanda. Look…at…me.” She slowly looks at you, and the happiness in your eyes is enough to make her let out a small sigh of relief- not complete relief though. 

“I wish you had told me this before I practically threw myself at a woman I barely know. Because I'd much rather you be the one picking me up for dinner than Vanessa.” You both giggle, and she hesitantly asks, “So...what does that mean for us?” 

Natasha rolls her eyes and Tony shouts, “Ask her out you dumbass!” It's clear he's talking to the witch in front of you and she blushes red as she glares at him before turning back to you. “He's right. So, would you like to go out with me Butterfly?” 

You take a moment to pretend you're thinking about it before asking playfully, “And what would we do on this date Miss Maximoff?” She hadn't really thought about it, so she takes a minute to do that before declaring, “I'd take you out to dinner, not a fancy restaurant with food you hate, but your favorite dinner a few streets away. And then I'd take you dancing to that place we went to for your birthday because you had a lot of fun there, and then I'd bring you back here and make you a homemade dessert. Your favorite.” You smile. “Then yes, I’d love to go out with you Wanda Maximoff.” You lean in a bit to kiss her cheek, and she blushes a bit.

Suddenly, cheering erupts and the sound of a confetti popper going off can be heard. “What the hell Tony?” Wanda asks, but both of you can’t help but chuckle. He grins. “This long lasting nightmare of having to be around you two’s sexual tension is finally over!” Natasha smacks his arms and questions, but it’s more like telling him what to say, “Don’t you mean, “I popped that confetti popper because I’m so happy two of my teammates have finally found happiness”?” He’s silent for a minute before he laughs loudly as says, “No. Not at all. I meant to say, this long lasting nightmare of having to be around you two’s sexual tension is finally over! Let’s party baby!” You giggle, but Wanda narrows her eyes, letting them glow red. Suddenly, the second unused confetti popper in Tony's hand flies up to be level with his face, and he mumbles, “Well shit” right before it goes off. 

While he’s spitting out small pieces of paper from his mouth and trying to blow them out of his nose, the doorbell rings. “It is Vanessa Tanner.” Jarvis notifies, and you start to walk to the door with Wanda hot on your heels. “Where are you going?” She questions with a hint of sadness in her voice as she’s sure you're going to go on that date with Vanessa even after everything just happened. 

“I’m going to go tell her it won’t work out.” You say casually, and the smile is right back on Wanda's face as she uses her powers to freeze you in place and run ahead of you. You simply laugh, calling out, “Wanda! Wanda!” She turns around for a second to look at you. “Be nice please?” She giggles. “It’s nice of you to think I can do that Butterfly.” She runs off to go probably harass Vanessa, and you're left frozen in the hallway with a small chuckle. 

What Wanda doesn’t know is that you’d been waiting for that day even longer than she had. She’d always been it for you, ever since the first day she came to the compound. But over time, you slowly lost hope she felt the same way, and decided to just move on. If Wanda hadn’t done that sudden declaration of love, the future you two eventually have together would have never happened, and that's something you now think about daily.

[poetry-protest-pornography]

Oof.

Lots of feelings about this episode. Rambly-y highlights/bullet points while I think obsessively about it to further hurt myself expand on them:

Rosé continues to be a villain, and it keeps getting worse?

She was fine with playing the game, even with her hunch that Lompran was playing the "real version" with real people's lives on the line -- which isn't a stretch, because she was fine when it was her father's livelihood, and her own future on the line, and didn't much up too much fuss about Jack being part of the stakes, either.

She had just witnessed Jack have to beg to spare the life of Auntie Jaeb, and she suggests they go "celebrate", then doubles down on the idea after learning that Jack's grandma is in the hospital. Sprinkle in a bunch of "it's just money she lost, and you can just get more of that!" tone-deaf and insanely insensitive and out of touch nonsense, and it is very clear that none of these "poor people" are real people to her. Jack kind of gets treated like he is a person, but only so far as he indulges her whims, because forcing a person who is clearly barely keeping it together to take you for drinks and dancing is straight up villain shit.

She traipses through Jack's house and is completely unaffected at having seen Jaeb and Joke threatened at gun point, only cares if Jack is ready to "celebrate" with her. (Watching Jack turn on that fake smile was painful. Watching Joke watch it happen was worse).

AND THEN she's like "oh, sorry, we didn't see a way to make money off your friend's idea, but I can try to get him hired as a servant in my house, so it's basically the same thing, right?!" And Jack is forced to agree that it is good and not insane and fucked up that she's trying to get in Jack's pants while suggesting that his friends might be good enough to clean her bathrooms.

And then there's Top.

(and have we talked about how shitty it is to name one kid "Joke" and the other "Top" and pretend like you have no influence on how those kids move through the world? Because jfc I hate their parents)

Top swoops in and saves Joke from being caught in disguise, and seems to make some genuine overtures of brotherly affection, but it's all wrapped up in his toxic view on what parental love looks like.

He's trying, and Joke is clearly surprised but cautiously happy about it. But his whole speech about how his dad "shows love" was insane. Straight up abuse apologia. Because while yes, sometimes when two people love each other, they hurt each other on purpose because that's easier than being vulnerable, but that is not how parents are supposed to be with their children.

It is not acceptable "it's so funny how you can't just talk to each other" behavior for a parent to continuously reject their kid, and then expect love and obedience in return.

That's not how it's supposed to be, and I am so grateful that Joke has had a taste of what a healthy(ish) family dynamic is, because it allowed him to call his dad out and to (kind of) tell his brother that he's wrong, and then both Ama and Jack establish that Joke is part of their family, so he gets immediate payoff for his assertion that family is supposed to talk to each other and comfort for his subsequent rejection (again).

But yeah, Top's whole speech made me so. mad.

Hoy, Tattoo, and Arun were delightful, and I loved that they were all there with Jack and Joke while Amma was in surgery. Offering support and also relationship scrutiny. It was also so cute how invested in Tattoo's project Arun was; he believes in him so wholeheartedly, it's adorable.

Anyways, let's just stare at this for a while:

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Regaining ourselves

Hii, this is part 2 of regaining myself, I hope you enjoy my take on it. Btw this is based on the race in Austria about seven months approx after the first part

As Lando stands on his side of McLaren's hospitality, he can't help but watch you standing there with Oscar's arms around your body. "Oscar is not that funny," he thinks bitterly as he watches you laugh at what Oscar whispers in your ear. Jealousy creeps in, fueled by anger and a sense of betrayal. "Really, my teammate? How dare you, and him," Lando curses under his breath.

On the other side of the hospitality...

Even as Oscar's arm brings warmth and calmness to your body, you can't help but feel a pang of guilt for Lando. Neither you nor Oscar expected this to happen, but you’re glad it did. It all began when you went back to McLaren's factory to return Lando's belongings, avoiding his apartment and any confrontation. Oscar was there, caring and comforting, and you couldn't help but confide in him about your situation with Lando. From his genuine concern blossomed a strong friendship, which eventually turned into a loving relationship.

As you gaze into Oscar's brown eyes, you feel a surge of happiness. He’s everything you need and deserve. "Good luck with your race. I'll be waiting for you right here," you say, kissing him goodbye as he heads off to get ready. You're getting used to this—being able to show affection to your partner without feeling like a dirty secret.

The race is exhilarating. Lando battles alongside Max until both crash, resulting in a DNF for him but paving the way for Oscar to secure second place. Despite feeling sorry for Lando, you can't help but cheer for Oscar's achievement. Standing at the podium ceremony feels like floating on cloud nine. When your eyes meet Oscar's, you blush and smile as he lifts his trophy and points at you.

But it seems your happiness is always short-lived. As you wait for Oscar to shower off the champagne, loud knocking startles you. It's Lando.

"Lando, what are you doing here?" you ask, trying to keep the situation calm.

Lando laughs bitterly. "I should be the one asking you that. You didn’t have enough ruining our relationship; now you need to ruin my life here in the paddock?" he spits with venom.

"I'm not your problem anymore. How am I offending you now? Is my being happy and in a stable relationship such a problem for you?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Y/N. You expect me to believe this isn't a ruse to make me jealous?"

You sigh, feeling a sad sense of déjà vu. "I see you haven't learned to hear me out after all these months," you say, sadness lacing your words, which only fuels his anger further.

"Just admit you're using Oscar to get back at me. It’s making you look desperate."

This is the last straw. "I'm sorry, Lando, that we didn't work out and that we've lost our bond. I admit I miss you, as a friend. But I'm even more sorry that you can't recognize what Oscar and I share: love—something that seems to be lacking in your life. And I'm tired of feeling sorry for moving on."

Lando stares at you, speechless, as if seeing you for the first time. The silence is broken by Oscar emerging from his driver's room. "Is everything alright?" he asks, moving in front of you protectively, maintaining eye contact with Lando.

As if seeing life through new eyes, Lando feels a pang of regret. Regret for risking his race out of anger, for exploding at everyone who tried to help him, for blaming Oscar for "stealing" you, and most of all, for how he treated you. "I'm sorry for everything," Lando says, his voice breaking. "For ignoring you when we were together, for never hearing you out, for blaming you for leaving as if you were a possession. I'm sorry for how stupid I've been and how angry I've been at you."

Tears threaten to fall from your eyes as hope fills your heart. "I know I have work to do, but I hope you can forgive me and maybe we can regain our friendship. It's been killing me, losing you."

You can't help but hug him. "I would love to go back to being friends."

As you leave the paddock hand in hand with Oscar, Lando watches you kiss him. This time, it’s not jealousy he feels but happiness for his two friends and the love they share.

[niallerspayno]

With You Always (Zayn Malik x reader) - Fic Request

Anonymous request: My idea is Zayn Malik x reader (female/gender neutral) , where the reader is an equestrian (aka horse back rider) and she ends up taking a bad fall off her horse and need to go to hospital. Like how would Zayn react to that whole situation, and then maybe reader makes him lay down to hold her on the hospital bed after getting fixed up?

Masterlist

You’ve always known that horses were more than just animals. They were your escape, your partners in a world where the connection between rider and horse could feel almost magical. From the moment you were old enough to ride, you knew this would be your life. Raised by two trainers, you learned early on that success in equestrian sports came from a balance of hard work, trust, and, above all, a deep respect for the animals you worked with. As a professional horseback rider now, you’ve made a name for yourself in the industry, but the path hasn’t always been easy. Every day, you push yourself and your horses to new limits, striving for perfection, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your world has always revolved around horses. But on one fateful evening, everything shifts.

The invitation arrives for a charity gala in support of animal welfare. At first, you’re hesitant to attend—another night away from the barn, another night of dressing up and mingling. You’d much rather be spending the evening in the stables, practicing with your horses. But a close friend convinces you that it’s for a good cause, and you eventually agree to go.

You expect the usual gala—polished people in suits, forced conversation, and a general sense of formality. But as you walk into the venue, something feels different. The music is soothing, a live band playing soft, acoustic tunes in the corner. You find yourself drawn to the melodies, allowing the rhythm to wash over you as you scan the room, taking in the familiar faces.

That’s when you see him.

Zayn.

He’s standing by a small group of people, but you can’t help but notice him. He doesn’t seem like the typical gala guest, the starched collar and stiff demeanor you’ve seen too often. Instead, Zayn is relaxed, his eyes thoughtful, his demeanor calm. He’s wearing a simple black shirt and jeans, effortlessly blending into the crowd while still managing to exude an undeniable presence. His attention is on the animals—there’s a small group of rescue dogs roaming the space, and Zayn is gently petting one, his focus completely on the animal, as if nothing else matters.

You’re not sure why, but something pulls you toward him. You approach hesitantly, struck by the soft smile he gives you when your eyes meet.

“Hey,” you say, almost shyly. “You’re into animals too, huh?”

Zayn’s smile widens, a warmth in his eyes that makes you feel instantly at ease. “Always have been,” he replies, his voice calm and inviting. “Animals are… well, they just get it, you know?”

You laugh softly, nodding. “I do. Horses are like that for me. They’ve always been the one constant in my life.”

The conversation flows easily from there, the two of you sharing stories about the animals you’ve loved and cared for over the years. You quickly discover that, like you, Zayn’s love for animals runs deep. While he’s not involved in the equestrian world, his passion for rescue work and animal welfare is unmistakable. He’s been involved in various animal rights initiatives and has an undeniable love for all creatures, big and small.

But there’s something else that catches your attention. It’s the music.

Zayn mentions offhand that he’s always found solace in music, too. You learn that he’s a musician—one of the most successful in the world, actually. He’s used music as a way to connect with people, to express emotions and experiences. You mention your love for music as well, your appreciation for the way it can evoke emotion, the way it can tie together moments in life.

“It’s funny,” he says, his voice growing more animated. “I’ve always thought animals and music share something. There’s this connection, like they both have their own rhythm.”

The spark between you is immediate. It’s a mix of shared passions—animals and music—that forms a bridge between your worlds. The way Zayn talks about his career and his art, his ability to see the deeper meaning in the things around him, resonates with you in a way you didn’t expect. The more you talk, the more you realize how much you have in common, how much you both understand the need for connection, whether through animals or through the universal language of music.

By the end of the night, there’s no doubt in your mind that something has shifted. You didn’t expect to meet anyone who would make you feel so seen, so understood. But with Zayn, there’s a quiet confidence in the way he listens, the way he speaks. There’s no pretension, no barriers, just a shared love for the things that matter most.

When the evening wraps up, Zayn asks for your number, and you give it to him without hesitation. As he walks away, you can’t help but smile to yourself, knowing that tonight was only the beginning of something unexpected—and possibly extraordinary.

...

The arena is alive with excitement. The rhythmic pounding of hooves against packed dirt, the hum of the crowd, and the crisp tang of morning air fill your senses. This competition is one of the most prestigious of the season, and you’ve worked tirelessly to be here. Every jump, every stride, every moment has been meticulously prepared for.

Zayn is in the stands, a quiet yet unwavering source of support. He’s come to several of your competitions now, but it still makes your heart flutter to see him there, even if he tries to blend in with his baseball cap and sunglasses. Earlier, he had kissed your forehead, his hand lingering on your cheek as he murmured, “You’re going to crush it out there. Just don’t forget to breathe.”

As you mount Thunder, your trusted partner and cherished horse, you feel that familiar rush of adrenaline. You pat his neck gently, whispering, “Just you and me, boy. We’ve got this.” The crowd fades away, the world narrowing to just you, Thunder, and the course ahead.

The first jumps are seamless. Thunder glides over each hurdle with precision, his power and grace unmatched. The crowd is electric, cheering louder with every successful leap. You catch a glimpse of Zayn in the stands as you round a corner—his body is tense, his hands clasped tightly in front of him, his eyes never leaving you. His belief in you is palpable, and it fuels your determination.

But as you approach the final, most challenging jump, disaster strikes.

Thunder’s stride falters at the last second, a miscalculation that sends both of you tumbling. The world spins as you’re thrown from the saddle, hitting the ground hard. The pain is immediate and excruciating, radiating from your side and leg, leaving you breathless. Your head slams against the dirt, and the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth.

A sharp cry escapes your lips as agony surges through your body. The crowd gasps in horror, the cheers turning into murmurs of alarm. Everything feels distant, muffled, as if you’re underwater. Thunder scrambles to his feet nearby, unharmed but clearly distressed.

Zayn is on his feet instantly, his heart dropping into his stomach as he watches you fall. He doesn’t think—he just moves, pushing through the crowd and vaulting over the barrier with an urgency he’s never felt before.

“(Y/N)!” he shouts, his voice breaking.

He’s at your side in seconds, dropping to his knees, his hands hovering as he takes in the sight of you—your face pale, your body trembling, and your leg twisted at an unnatural angle. His chest tightens at the sight of blood on your temple.

“Baby, I’m here,” he says, his voice steady despite the sheer panic flooding his system. “Don’t move, okay? Just stay with me.”

Your eyes flutter open, the pain almost too much to bear. “Zayn…” you whisper, tears streaming down your cheeks. “It hurts so much.”

“I know, love,” he says, his hand finding yours and gripping it tightly. “I know. You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

The medics rush onto the field, their voices urgent as they assess your injuries. A fractured femur, possible rib fractures, and a concussion—they’re rattling off words that make Zayn’s stomach churn. He refuses to let go of your hand, his presence an anchor in the storm of pain and fear.

“Sir, we need to move her,” one of the medics says firmly.

“I’m coming with her,” Zayn replies immediately, his voice brooking no argument.

As they lift you onto the stretcher, you cry out in pain, your grip on Zayn’s hand tightening. He leans down, his forehead brushing against yours. “I’m not leaving you,” he whispers fiercely. “Not for a second.”

...

The sterile white walls and fluorescent lights of the hospital blur as you’re rushed through the hallways. Every jolt of the gurney sends another wave of pain rippling through your body, and though the medics are speaking in calm, measured tones, their urgency is impossible to miss. You’re slipping in and out of consciousness, the world fading in flashes of light and muffled sound.

But Zayn never leaves your side.

He’s there, running alongside the gurney, his hand still clasped tightly in yours. His face is pale, his dark eyes wide with fear, but he keeps whispering reassurances, his voice steady and unwavering.

“You’re strong,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’re going to get through this. Just hold on, love.”

When they wheel you into the trauma bay, a nurse gently tells him he has to wait outside. Zayn hesitates, his hand tightening around yours, as if letting go will mean losing you.

“Please,” he says, his voice cracking. “Take care of her.”

The nurse nods, her tone gentle but firm. “We will. I promise.”

He lets go, his fingers slipping from yours, and it feels like the ground is falling out from under him. Left alone in the hallway, he paces back and forth, running a hand through his hair as he tries to steady his racing thoughts. Every second feels like an eternity, the worst-case scenarios playing on an endless loop in his mind.

Finally, after what feels like hours, a doctor steps out. Zayn is at her side in an instant.

“She’s stable,” the doctor says, her expression calm but serious. “She’s suffered a fractured femur, two broken ribs, and a concussion. She’ll need surgery to repair the leg, but the prognosis is good. It’s going to be a long recovery, but she’s strong.”

The weight on Zayn’s chest lifts just enough for him to breathe. “Can I see her?”

The doctor nods. “She’s being prepped for surgery, but you can see her briefly.”

When he steps into the room, his heart twists at the sight of you. You’re lying on the hospital bed, pale and fragile, your leg immobilized in a temporary brace. The beeping of monitors fills the room, and an IV drips steadily beside you. But your eyes flutter open when he walks in, and the faintest smile touches your lips.

“Hey,” you whisper, your voice weak but filled with relief.

Zayn moves to your side, his hand finding yours again as he sits in the chair next to your bed. “Hey, love,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, tears welling in your eyes. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh,” he interrupts, brushing your hair back gently. “Don’t apologize. None of this is your fault.”

You squeeze his hand weakly, your eyes searching his. “Thunder… Is he okay?”

Zayn smiles faintly, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “He’s fine. A little shaken, but unharmed. He’s being looked after.”

Relief washes over your face, and your eyes close for a moment. “I was so scared…”

“So was I,” he admits, his voice breaking. “But you’re here, and you’re going to be okay. That’s all that matters.”

Before long, the nurses come to wheel you to surgery. Zayn presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as if he’s willing his strength into you. “I’ll be here when you wake up,” he promises. “I’m not going anywhere.”

...

The fog of anesthesia clings to you as you slowly drift back to consciousness. The world feels heavy and blurred, a haze of distant sounds and faint sensations. Gradually, the sterile light of the hospital room comes into focus, along with the rhythmic beeping of monitors and the faint hum of voices outside the door.

And then there’s him.

Zayn’s voice reaches you first, soft and full of quiet strength. “Hey, love… It’s me. I’m right here.”

You blink slowly, your eyes adjusting to the light. When you finally focus, Zayn is sitting at your bedside, his fingers wrapped tightly around yours. His face is etched with exhaustion, his dark eyes shadowed but filled with relief.

“Zayn,” you whisper, your voice hoarse and trembling.

He leans closer, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’m here,” he murmurs, his voice raw with emotion. “You’re awake. Thank God.”

Pain tugs at your body when you try to shift, and you let out a soft whimper. His free hand immediately moves to your shoulder, steadying you. “Don’t move, love. Just take it easy. You’re fresh out of surgery.”

Tears blur your vision as the memory of the fall rushes back. “I thought I wouldn’t make it,” you admit, your voice breaking.

Zayn’s jaw tightens, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. “Don’t say that,” he whispers. “You’re here now. You’re safe. That’s what matters.”

Tears spill down your cheeks, and he leans in, wiping them away with tender fingers. “It hurt so much,” you choke out, your body trembling. “I couldn’t stop it… I couldn’t—”

“Shh,” he soothes, his forehead pressing softly against yours. “I know, baby. I know. But you’re so strong. You fought through it. And I’ll be here to help you fight through the rest.”

You squeeze his hand weakly, grounding yourself in the warmth of his touch. “I’m so scared, Zayn.”

His voice softens, and his eyes meet yours, steady and unwavering. “You don’t have to be. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll face this together.”

For a moment, the room is quiet except for the beeping monitors and your ragged breaths. Then, through the haze of pain and exhaustion, you whisper, “Will you… hold me? Please?”

Zayn’s eyes widen briefly, but his expression softens almost immediately. “Of course,” he says without hesitation.

He glances at the narrow hospital bed, his brow furrowing. “We’ll figure it out,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

Carefully, Zayn slips off his shoes and climbs onto the small bed beside you. He maneuvers himself with the utmost care, mindful of your injuries. When he finally settles in, he wraps an arm gently around your shoulders, pulling you against his chest. His other hand cradles yours, his thumb tracing soothing circles over your knuckles.

You let out a shaky breath, the warmth of his body immediately easing the tension in yours. “This… this helps,” you murmur, your head resting against his chest. The steady beat of his heart is more comforting than any drug.

Zayn presses a soft kiss to your temple. “Good,” he whispers. “Then I’ll stay like this as long as you need.”

His presence is a balm, the weight of his arm around you grounding you in a way nothing else could. For the first time since the fall, you feel safe—truly safe. Despite the pain, despite the uncertainty of what’s ahead, you let yourself relax in his embrace, your breathing evening out as sleep starts to pull you under.

“I love you,�� you whisper, the words soft but full of truth.

Zayn tightens his hold just slightly, his lips brushing against your hair. “I love you more,” he murmurs. “Rest, love. I’ve got you.”

And with that, you drift into a peaceful sleep, his arms your shelter from the storm.

[alovelyfrenchworld]

Zayne: Glittering Lights

SoftDom!Zayne Headcanons:

TW: swearing, dom/sub mention

He definitely walked into the cafe on purpose, knowing you were alone

Yes, he poked fun at you for it, but it wasn't out of pity that he sat with you

He hates the thought of you being lonely and wanted to join you to remedy that (it was also an excuse to check in on you without seeming too invested)

THIS MAN knows your eyes narrow when you're pretending to be happy...THIS MAN pays attention to every detail of you

not in a weird, creepy way, but in a "he cares" way - he knows when you put up a facade for the sake of others and he wants you to be honest and open with him always, even if he doesn't like what you have to say

I don't necessarily think you guys are dating just yet at this point, but Zayne is definitely putting his foot out there

Calling you out for lying? This man's dom foot is halfway into your door - he wants you to be honest, as I've said, and he wants to offer you comfort

Whether friends or dating. Zayne will always want you walk you home

He's seen you fight, he knows you can handle your own but he knows how scummy the world is and would rather not let a young, maritally single female (who just so happens to be his friend) out alone at night. Don't argue with him on it either, he's gonna walk you home anyway

He appreciates any odd conversation starters you bring up

Many people give up on trying to break past his cold demeanor, so in a way, he appreciates that you always try with him. It makes him feel like he matters

He shares that he has overworked himself in the past as a way to open up to you. He wants you to learn from his mistakes so he doesn't see you run yourself ragged. He's definitely the type of doctor that would start prescribing sleeping pills to regulate your schedule if he realized you've fucked it up with overworking. He would probably write a note saying you needed to be on work restrictions (probably designated to office work only) until further notice. He knows how valuable work can be, but he also knows what the body needs is more important

You weren't "too noisy" at the hospital...yes, you talk significantly more than him, but he hates seeing you come in. As your physician, he knows that when he sees your name on his list of appointments, it's bad. Seeing you hurt makes him hurt. He's already worried about your heart on a daily basis, he doesn't want to have to worry about anything else (he will anyway)

He doesn't pull you by the collar hard, but just enough to keep you in place

His more "dom" side, I suppose I would say, comes out when he wants to keep you close. Especially, at a time like this when you're cold and unprepared for the weather. Truthfully, he would've just given you the umbrella and let himself freeze, but he knew you would've just given it back. He just wants you to be comfortable

The minute or so you were gone getting the latte scared the shit out of him

He loves your random gestures, they make him feel wanted, but for half a second he thought you'd been kidnapped or you'd fallen somewhere and he hadn't seen. He doesn't blame you for going off and doing things, he just puts it on himself to stay on guard and feels guilty when he doesn't pay attention

CAT AND MOUSE was invented by this man

He likes the chase, he like the teasing

He's not overtly emotional, but when he's feeling playful, you know

He likes using his height ot his advantage "to see you frustrated"...

he would never do anything that actually pisses you off, he respects your boundaries, but he does like games

Kitty Cards are fun, but seeing you trying to get something raised a foot above you or trying to get out of his grasp when he has a hold of your coat sleeve is honestly funny to him

He likes the chase and he likes to keep you on your toes

Zayne's favorite thing about it is seeing the smile it brings to your face

[coff-in]

You know that last post about Andy being a reluctant sex maniac? It occurs to me if he really could just bust that hard on a daily basis, he'd probably like to experiment a little with it (maybe in a way that won't put someone in a hospital though). Say maybe you're stuck without food so he makes a, say, special bowl of clam chowder- extra thick and salty, just for you. (No you can't ask how he made it. It's a secret. Shut up. No don't share it with Ashley she can get something on her own.)

Then, by some miracle, you actually like it enough that you might try it again later, and he feels like just hearing that feedback gave his body the express command to refill right the fuck back up with enough for another few batches. Then, if he gets the food needed (probably from a more resourceful [reader] scrounging up some more ingredients) he starts putting it in other things he makes when nobody else is looking- the mayonnaise in your sandwich, the glazing of some rolls, the batter for some pancakes, a special protein shake- you think he's really on a roll with learning new recipes and getting some passion for the culinary arts during these rough days, but at the heart of it he's really just gotten addicted to the thought of filling you up with his jizz.

Somehow I think Ashley would do something similar- though she probably wouldn't be as good at hiding it or being too subtle. If it wouldn't be putting her cum into random things you and Andy had to eat, it'd be her bargaining a random neighbor off to a devil so she can lactate at will, then insisting on pouring you all a nice glass of milk for breakfast each day. And if she ever actually gets to know about Andrew and sees he's also doing funny shit with what you've been serving, she'd egg him on to go further and combine their "resources" to see what they can get away with, and ask for discreet lessons in cooking so she can feed you her own tainted dishes. And you'd be so, so incapable of just turning the two down, because as far as you know, hey, they made it for you! Poor, immature Ashley learned to make something nice from her sweet big brother just to make you happy! You wouldn't turn down a helping of special-made, sugar-glazed, extra-protein pancakes just because they taste a little off sometimes, would you?

notes from coff-in: reluctant sex maniac andrew my beloved <3 you guys don't understand the emotion i felt waking up at 6 o'clock in the morning and seeing that in my inbox. went through several stages of disgusted, amused, and horny. andrew must be tired slinging that huge log between his legs, having everyone tease him about that thick outline in his pants or the round bulge... he could hide it in me if he wants to

[gender neutral] reader-insert, NSFW

if [reader] was like me they'd eat anything edible without question. andrew hands them fucking extra creamy clam chowder and [reader]'s like "aw hell yeah, thanks :)" like NOO??? where tf did he get EXTRA CREAMY CLAM CHOWDER??? and why can't ashley eat any??? wouldn't question anything, just thankful to be eating something while stick in quarantine

the "mayo" sandwich is so funny for that fan service/horny potential because maybe andrew adds too much and when [reader] takes a bite, the mayo just squirts out the sandwich from the other end. they scoop it up with their fingers and then suck it, running their tongue over their fingers going "mmmh! it's kinda salty but it's tastes good!" andrew's watching [reader] eat with wide eyes and feels another batch weighing heavy in his balls, waiting to enter [reader]

i like to think that in this scenario that [reader] is good friends with andrew and ashley. yeah sometimes [reader]'s eyes wander towards andrew's uncomfortably, unreasonably big and needy endowments (never letting that go) but they still like andrew for the cynical english nerd that he is and ashley for the annoying and teasing girl that she is. i think that's how ashley came to think "yeah... i wanna feed them my fluids"

she'd be so teasing about it, hinting that it's "made with love" and it's a "family recipe" while they drink coffer made with her breast milk (maybe it's a breast milk tea for [reader] if they don't like coffee). it's a crazy thought seeing ashley standing over a dead body in the middle of a pentagram talking to a demonic entity "i want to be able to lactate" crazy...

andrew and ashley sneak around the kitchen so they could have their "cooking lessons" while [reader] is sleeping. i think [reader] would try to make them something in return, an honest and genuine attempt at a meal to say thank you to them "i know it's not as good as your food but i really appreciate you guys and the food you've been making me" it touches andrew and ashley's hearts

they get off to the idea of [reader] taking the "special ingredients" straight from the source :3

----

coff-in