#i just need to get into word vomiting mode

[hyhkai]

camboy! | c.yj.

[ 🎥 ] — after yeonjun's rise in the porn industry, an interview was something he agreed to for fun. however, after he saw you, the interviewer, he wished it was a fake interview where he gets to fuck you.

cw : pornstar!yeonjun. unedited word vomit fictional magazine company that apparently also exists in real life.

a/n ; i apologize for my sins i swear I'll change 🙏🏼 and this is a drabble, not a fic! i might turn it into one over time ♡

after you reached out to him a few weeks ago with greetings and compliments, and asking can I interview you some time? I'd like to know what it's like to be a person who earns through the adult industry, and with your fame, I know that you're just the right person., his first, honest reaction was to laugh. i mean, seriously?

he was laughing at the irony of the fact that he was being interviewed. i mean, who was willing enough to take out time of their busy, hectic schedule to interview a man who earns bread by having a dildo inside of him? he had to know. he wanted to know what this person was like.

he did think that this could be completely false and you could be a potential threat, trying to lure him into your little cage with cheese like he's a fucking rat, capture him and do bad things to him like he'd heard with various nefarious acts of people against people with 'easy' fame.

"can I get proof that you're actually an interviewer?"

to which he immediately got a response with a photo of a xerox copy of your identification document, namely at a popular company called mode de vie. he could see the black and white ink that framed the photo stuck on the top right corner, and he knew that he had to see that fucking face in real life. if that's how you look in a awfully captured picture, so captivating, bold, and confidence outlining your eyes in the form of sharp eyeliner, he had to see that face in front of him, asking him questions about his body count or something else he doesn't give two shits about.

he'd said sure to your offer almost immediately now that he saw that it was a real interviewer after him. and now that it was time, he drove to the place where you both agreed to be at — a café which was relatively close to his house and your office.

"I'm glad you came!" you said as you shook his hand that would eventually get sweaty from just sitting opposite to you. what the fuck? he seriously considered telling you to quit this stupid, serious job and just join him in his public sex life. you were stunning.

now that he saw your hair open, framing your face, and that fucking sharp-ass eyeliner, he was mad that he didn't dress up nicely and instead came in a hoodie. who wants to miss a chance of getting a baddie?

he thanked the lords he'd long forgotten when you told him this is just an audio based interview which will later be turned into a text format.

while you continued asking him questions about everything, from "fuck-a-fan" to "how did your mother find out?", he'd needed to ask you to repeat your questions several times. his eyes kept drifting down, down to your chest.

'why the fuck are you wearing a top so low-cut? is it to provoke me or something?' he'd think. he legitimately wants to put his hand on the table, pushing himself towards you and grabbing one of your tits. it's pissing him off he can't.

okay, so maybe he was a pervert like one of his friends liked to say. but it wasn't his fault when you were asking him questions about his sex life while looking at him with those eyes that were possibly tearing his clothes off.

in his world, that is.

'do you want to fuck me too, or am I trippin'?'

he knew he had to keep his filthy hands, his filthy thoughts, to himself. c'mon, it's a fucking interview, yeonjun. grow up. you've had plenty of girls and guys to fuck in your life. from small and petite, to taller than you. from fucking someone to getting fucked. you've done it all. why are you so captivated by this woman?

maybe it was the way you had your makeup done that had him wishing he could see it smeared all over with a new makeup product; his cum, or maybe it was your tits that were practically begging to be the thing he shoves his face in tonight. but no, it was the way you carried yourself.

there was this... this aura, this radiation of confidence that was magnetic enough for him to be pulled to you.

under the table, he was practically going to rub one out. he kept adjusting his pants, kept palming his dick that was straining against his pants and standing up against his thoughts of not fucking you ever.

ugh, just how fucking good you'd look on his bed, and he swears he could go above his rounds per fucking streak of 4 with you; from classic missionary to the amazon position, from sixty-nine to his foot on your face while he fucked your ass from the back. fuck, he'd even let you peg him, something he's always refused to do.

just how good you'd look while sliding your strap-on inside of him, his eyes going wide, as well as your smile at the sight of his pretty face. he thinks you'd like some crazy songs playing in the background, similar to the vibe of playboi carti.

fuck, he'd hold onto your tits for support, comfort, for just the fucks of it no matter who is topping.

"um, excuse me?" you asked when he spaced out in the middle.

"yeah?" he said, looking up from the table where both of your milkshakes resided.

"thank you for the interview. i appreciate it a lot!" you said, smiling at him, completely unaware of the junk he had in his brain about you. you put out your hand for a friendly yet professional handshake.

"oh, yeah, of course." he muttered out, responding to your hand with his that was definitely sweaty.

as you closed your notepad and stopped the recording, he looked up at your face finally.

"can I ask you a question too?"

"oh, yes, of course." you said, looking up at him with a face of genuine curiosity. maybe it would be something like —

"when will this be posted?"

"where can I read it?"

"will there be a hardcopy?"

"would you ever fuck me if you could?"

and suddenly, this was the first time you regretted not recording the aftermath of an interview.

[bouquetface]

PAC: Your Next 2 Weeks (& a lil bit abt your August 2024)

KEEP IN MIND: Not every reading you come across is for you. I am very specific because I personally hate vague readings.

1-2. film & quote have nothing to do w reading. I just like those movies.

If you’d rather choose based on sign:

One: Leo & Cap in the big 3

Two: Virgo, Cancer & Scorpio in the big 3

I didn’t pick up on any other signs.

ONE.

You likely have a cap or leo rising. This following 2 weeks:

You can expect important conversations with friends and/or coworkers. Be cautious of word vomit. Stay focused and communicate your point effectively.

You may have to take a step back from a friend or coworker. The best resolution may be that everyone gets their space. Keep things professional. Don’t have a dramatic fall out because somewhere later in life, you may need their help.

You can expect a new start end of July to start of August. This may come in the form of an ending.

For ex: You may be leaving a job. You may have graduated highschool or university. You may have ended a relationship (platonic or romantic). The next 2 weeks and through August, you might want to change up your hair or style.

You may want to present as a different person for the Fall. You could feel pressure for something that is coming this Fall.

For ex: Starting Uni or Starting a new job. You will be able to tell if this reading is for you because this thing coming in the Fall is planned. In fact, you could have been working toward this for a long time.

Good luck with everything!

TWO.

You likely have a Virgo or Cancer or Scorpio rising.

You can expect conflict with the family. You may be involved or a bystander to it. By this I mean, it could be your siblings fighting with your parents or siblings fighting with each other. This is more likely for Cancer and Scorpio risings.

Specifically Virgo rising, you or a parent could have spent recent years in a toxic relationship. Lots of fighting and deception. This will continue within the next two weeks and even in August. I don’t see you or the parent leaving this person anytime soon. This may or may not be good.

Recently, money and career may be on your mind. You may feel pressure at work. You could feel pressure to find a job (from yourself or outsider opinions). Start of August, you could receive a call back from a job if you have been applying. For those who have a job, you could feel a fresh start in your job. Something feels new in the workplace. New coworker? New duties? New rules? You will know by August.

For Virgo & Scorpio, you may have spent a lot of money 2023- this year. It could be joyful spending or you have legitimate expenses. This could have affected your mental or physical health.

You could be in hermit mode due to these health concerns. You could be feeling lethargic these next two weeks. Take some time to rest. Do sowmthing relaxing. I suggest yoga, journaling, taking walks outside. Pinterest could work too. Organizing photos into specific boards could really mesh well with your virgo placements.

Best of luck to you guys!

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Entry 28: Blatant Thuggery

Screenshot by: @neverscreens

Bearblr Promptober Day 28: Sick Day

Summary: Carmy's girlfriend (who he calls Darling) is sick and he is in worried caretaker mode.

Warnings: Swearing, comfort, illness, mentions of vomit, mention of Donna Berzatto, anger at God, fem reader/lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns, feat. Syd (1142 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 weeks.

28 Oct 2024

Darling never calls me close to or during service hours, so when my phone went off halfway through dinner, my immediate thought was that she was in a car accident or something.

Call it residual fear from a lifetime of being conditioned to suspect my alcoholic mother was going to evade lady luck next time and careen into an innocent person, annihilate an unsuspecting future because she couldn’t see hers beyond the bottom of a bottle, that God, if he fucking existed, was finally going to do the thing that I was told he’d do and punish her for all her fucking shortcomings because he gave her enough rope to hang her entire family. Just about every call out of nowhere, I could almost hear metal and plastic crunching, glass shattering, tires screeching. It was always a car accident in my head.

Turns out she’d come down with something—stomach flu, actual flu, she didn’t know yet, but she had a fever and spent 10 minutes puking her guts out. She needed to get back home because she couldn’t operate, and driving wasn’t an option right now, either. We were in the middle of a brutal dinner rush because diners were turning over tables fast, about 10 minutes faster than usual—which doesn’t seem like much until it compounds across 15 tables in the whole house, and now you’re up to your eyeballs in tickets and your internal clock is off the giant numbers on the wall by 25 fucking minutes and you can’t figure out how you’re only halfway through the night, it feels like it’s been a thousand years.

“If it’s busy, don’t leave in the middle of it; I’ll just wait in the bathroom until things calm down, Carm. I already got meds.”

The fuck do you mean, you’ll just wait in the bathroom, on some cold, hard, disgusting floor like some fucking animal?

Syd glanced at me from expo with wide eyes for a fraction of a second, all she could spare as her hand flew across the tickets and she kept calling orders. She was drowning. And sure, she’s the one who wanted the bullshit star, and she didn’t know at the time what it would take, and at this point, she probably should’ve figured out that this fucking job will fucking kill her, but could I leave her to drown out there?

Darling’s coughing rattling my phone’s earpiece yanked my attention back to her. I peeled myself off the door of the walk-in. Pinched the bridge of my nose. “I-I can come get you.”

“Is it busy right now?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s—I’ll head over right n—”

“Carmy, if it’s busy, please, stay there until it’s no—”

It got too hot. It was boiling. She called me, and now she wouldn’t let me help. “You’re sick!”

“I’m a doctor at a hospital, Carmen.”

It’s funny how she never raises her voice, even if mine gets away from me.

Syd. “Chef! Help on expo, please!”

“Stay there, sweetheart. Pick me up later. I will be fine, promise.”

I’ll be honest, I was pissed at Darling for the rest of service, which remained at that break-neck pace until the last dish left. I didn’t even stick around to hear Syd thank me for stepping back into expo; I was tearing off my chef whites like they were burning my skin the instant the kitchen door swung closed behind the last plate that walked. I couldn’t stop picturing what kind of miserable state Darling must’ve been in, curled up on a bathroom floor, horrid fluorescent lighting giving her a headache, knees to her chest, hair a mess, pale. Halfway to a ghost. Devoid of her brightness, her airiness, her life. I needed to fix it. I needed to resolve the problem. I needed her to feel better, and right now, or that tightening, sinking feeling in my stomach was going to turn into a fucking panic attack.

My anger had dissipated by the time I got to the hospital. The exhaustion from service had set in. I was just relieved to see her walk out of her own volition.

She was doing okay for the most part when I managed to get her home. A bit pale, sure, maybe also looked tired, but not more than she did after a long day at work. Her headache was pretty bad; couldn’t even tolerate the far living room lamp being on and wanted to be horizontal and in the dark. I wanted nothing more than to wrap her up in my arms and pepper her forehead with kisses, but she insisted that she could be contagious, so she was going to sleep on the couch and stay out of the bedroom.

I tried arguing against it, trust me.

I thought I was the most stubborn person I know.

Anyway, she was doing okay. I couldn’t really sleep; I kept waking up every hour to check on her, and thank fuck I did because at about 2 am, she spiked a sky-high fever. She was still asleep, I didn’t want to disturb her, and she’d taken Tylenol when I checked on her at 1 am, so the best I could do was perch on the coffee table with a bowl of water and washcloths to try cooling her down.

“Hey, baby girl,” I mumbled, rubbing her arm to alert her of my presence. “You’re burning up. I’m going to put a damp washcloth on your forehead, okay?”

It agonized me when all she could do was make a little noise. She didn’t even have the energy to talk. I swallowed down the knot that cinched my throat, threatened to cut off my air. Placed the cloth across her forehead, smoothed her hair back. I’m not really much of a praying person. God and I don’t talk, we’ve agreed to disagree. And Darling being sick felt like another slight by the big man, a power play, blatant fucking thuggery, something akin to a shitty boss overloading you with even more useless fucking work so they can turn around and go “see, you didn’t have it quite so bad after all, did you?” So they can demand your adoration when they remove the shackles they put on you to begin with. I was fucking mad about Darling being sick, yeah, because why did it have to be her? Why did she have to feel too terrible to speak? This is not how this is supposed to work, you fuck, she did nothing to anyone. I’m the animal. I’m the monster. I’m the one who earned the hurt I feel.

Have mercy on her.

There. You finally fucking got one from me.

[weebsinstash]

As much as I want to have children by this man, let's take a moment to sip our platonic yandere Miguel juice

-i can't decide which sex he'd be more partial to in a 'child'/you since in the movie there was Gabriella but in the comics he eventually has a son who becomes the next Spiderman but--

-as a girl i just naturally think of a lot of those sorts of gender specific ideas 👉👈 he's this big scary hulking intimidating threat and his "daughter" is the one melting his cold exterior

-doesnt matter if you're a grown ass woman, Miguel sees you struggling to braid your hair and suddenly here he is, full dad mode, doing it for you,and depending on how close you two are, maybe he disguises it with "ugh, stop spending so much time messing around with that. If I do it for you will you get back to work? 🙄", but really it's just your new self proclaimed dad/tio wanting to help braid your hair and help you feel pretty and, oh, how he can fondly remember the last time he helped braid "his daughter's" hair...

-of course this evolves to him just loving to do things with your hair. Braid it, wear it natural, style it, use products on it, hes got you. you were just trying to put your hair in a lazy updo like a ponytail or bun and this man doesn't let you leave until he's got you completely combed out, hair braided with ribbons, and of course this entire time youre awkwardly sitting there in a chair in his absolute cave of a workstation with this gargantuan 6'9 man there, "so how was your day? Staying out of trouble?"

-really I mean. Is stealing other people's kids NOT technically in character for him. You're unfortunate enough to trauma bond with this man and you're never getting rid of him

-you hear Miles Morales call him tio (as in the tio meaning dude) and you jokingly teasingly start calling him tio, which Miguel secretly pretends is the version that means uncle. You're just constantly joking around or looking up at him with these big pouty eyes, "but tio 🥺 can't I PLEASE--" and its like. Lmao people know that if they need to ask Miguel for a favor, that it increases their chances to have you ask in their stead

- I mean, as a female adult abused as a child by my own father, raised by a single mom myself, like...

Reader flinches away when Peter B goes to give you a supportive pat on the back or comes in for a high five after a mission and you force yourself to laugh because you're feeling more than just a little awkward and in the spotlight. "Oh, sorry, that was dumb!" And they eventually get you to kind of anxiously word vomit "my dad used to just kind of, rough me up sometimes when I did something wrong! It-it could've been a lot worse honestly, but, it-it just makes me kinda jumpy around guys sometimes! It's not a big deal, or personal or anything. I'm sorry if I made you feel bad 🥺"

Peter B, Jessica, and Miguel all there as older parental figures and also literal parents, immediately exchange looks and agree like "oh hell naw, don't like that" and you get silently adopted by all three of em right then and there

-if it's a physically abusive father and you're still the victim of abuse, I imagine your dad had some suspicious figures suddenly show up in the middle of the night to terrify and threaten the shit out of him and suddenly you aren't getting as manhandled anymore

-can you imagine, like, you show up to Spider Society one day with a black eye "oh, this? It's, it's nothing. My dad is just, he's about to make police captain and he's really stressed about it is all" cue all your friends mentally high fiving around the table because your abusive piece of shit dad is going to die and you don't even know. When it happens they'll all be "oh no, sweetie, I'm SOOOO sorry :(" meanwhile they're thrilled bc now you don't have any parents and they can weasel in there as your new family, schedule your birthday parties, monopolizing more of your time, things like that

-goddd I just imagine it could become some kind of weird fucked up enmeshed scenario where the structure it's providing for your life is actually good for you meanwhile Miguel is like, retroactively kind of soothing some of his trauma both from his own childhood and what happened with the second universe he broke that it's just like. You're a grown ass adult and this man is tucking you in goodnight and saying "te amo, mija" at the doorway and you bet his ass is going to stand there and not let you sleep until you say it back. He knows you're just absolutely seething at him and he'll still refuse to leave without a grumbling "te amo, papá 🙄"

-He eventually just has you doing so much shit and depending on him so much that it starts to become second nature to you. one day you're in the Society doing one of the odd jobs you're allowed to help with and suddenly you're thinking, "Ugh I actually don't know what to do next, I wish Papá was here to-- WAIT SHIT NO I MEAN MIGUEL--"

-lmaooooo as a non Spanish speaker I keep thinking of how awwwwwful it would be if he actually forces you to learn Spanish. Not inherently because there's anything wrong with Spanish, but, I'm not always smart, and I can just SEE him quizzing your ass, forcing you to have entire conversations in Spanish, always clicking his tongue or chuckling at you when you make a mistake and he just thinks you're so cute struggling to learn 🥰 man hears you're trying to take extra lessons from Miles and he instantly drops everything he's doing to go track the little scamp down. Insert meme "I can forgive being an anomaly but I draw the line at teaching Reader bad Spanish"

-siiiiiiigh eventually the day comes when you're in big danger and you need his help, maybe you disobeyed him and was hanging out with some other Spiders in another dimension when there was a sudden villain attack, and he comes to your rescue as a villain does something dramatic like has a gun to your head or a knife to your neck and the second you see him you're just overwhelmed wirh a sense of relief, calling out for him, calling him dad/tio/papá whatever, and he's just like 😭❤️ pumping his fist internally, like YES you are so grounded when you get back home but also 🥰 you finally called him dad without him having to twist your arm 🥰 nevermind if the "villain" who kidnapped you was actually a Spider who owed him a favor, and this whole thing was to teach you a lesson about listening to your Papá, that's not important ❤️

-Miguel who forces you to learn Spanish vs Miguel who forces you to be Catholic. I can excuse kidnapping and forced adoption but I draw the line at making me practice religion 💀 no but seriously, he probably does have certain morals and values he instills/forces upon you if he thinks you need them, and he'll probably be one of those fathers, "are you leaving the house dressed like that? Go change" and orders you not to hang out with certain people he doesn't approve of or thinks have bad character (like hobie lmao)

-bruh you two will be on a super serious important mission and this man will be like "it's dark, hold my hand so we dont get separated"

Eventually it comes to a point where you're, not perfectly behaved but, just about. If someone finds Miguel, it means you're not very far away, or vice versa. Members of the Society quickly learn not to make any advances on you or make any "adult" comments unless they want to get suspiciously hurt during a personal training session by the big boss himself. You think you're safe just cause Miguel isn't around? Nah, cause then you have Peter B and Jess keeping an eye on you, and, not that YOU'RE aware of the extent, but, if Miguel ever gets worried, he can just ask Lyla what you've been getting up to, since your modified little daypass has her installed into it and she can track your every move ❤️ helicopter parent? Oh honey, you have NO idea...

[dancingtotuyo]

8. a cry of my heart to see

Woman | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Tragedy strikes Jackson

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: blood, medical care (probably bad I'm not a doctor tried to keep it brief and vague), Character Death, loss, grief, funeral, smut, P I V, cream pie, Oral sex (F receiving)

Notes: Shout out to my girl @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for the beta read!

If you have checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader!

Words: 3273

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT AND IS INTENDED FOR READERS 18 YEARS AND OLDER. MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT OR READ.

One Year Later 

He’s been out on patrol for days. They’re widening the perimeter and he’s on the initial team to do so. It’s nerve-wracking. You’re losing sleep. 

Maria tries to assure you they’re fine. No news is good news, but it falls on deaf ears. Her husband isn’t out there in unexplored areas. Joel is. Tommy tries to hide his worry. Despite both their assurances, you know they’re concerned. It’s risky.

For the most part, life goes on. Ellie has been staying in your guest room since Joel left. You thought she would look forward to having the house to herself, not that Joel doesn’t already spend the majority of nights at your house. You wonder if she fears the same thing you do. 

They’re supposed to be back in a week, but day 8 passes without sign of them. 

On the ninth day, one of the gate watchmen barrels into the clinic, causing you to knock over an entire bin of instruments you had just boiled. His eyes are wide, skin pale causing your stomach to drop. 

“What is it?”

“We just spotted them about a mile out. They’re down a rider. Another looks pretty banged up, can barely sit up in the saddle.” 

"Who?” You fight the urge to vomit. 

“We don’t know.”

“Go get Pooley.” The panic is setting in. You can’t do this. You can’t go into concerned girlfriend mode. Is that what you are? It doesn’t sound quite right. No, you need to be the medical professional you were taught to be. Calm, cool, collected like the professional you were on the UT Trauma team.

The man nods, rushing out of the clinic. You look around, pulling out everything you might need for easy access. You don’t know if he was mulled or shot or something else. This is hardly the first time something like this happened, but it’s the first time you haven’t been able to focus. 

It’s silly in hindsight, but you never worried quite like this over Gabe. He always promised to come back. He seemed so confident that he would that you’d bought into his confidence, and he always did until he didn’t. 

Once you’re convinced you’re set up enough to take care of the incoming injured, your feet carry you out toward the gate. It’s beautiful out today. The sun shines. Birds chirp and bees buzz. The kids play tag in the apple orchard, but it all feels like a bad dream like the world is moving in slow motion. There’s a ringing in your ears. 

The gate is just opening as the group draws closer. A small crowd has already formed, mostly the families of those sent out. You’re too far away to see out of the gate so you have to wait for them to file in. 

The first rider comes in. It’s not Joel. You can feel your grip on reality fading. You’re trying to stay. You have a job to do. Maria appears next to you as the second rider crosses in. She tugs you closer to the chaos, through the families waiting with bated breath. Two more. Not Joel. She brings you next to Dr. Pooley who waits ready to spring into action. People make room around you so you can tend to the injured as soon as they come in. 

Another pair cross into safety. John Lacy holds the reins of Adam Perkin’s horse as Adam hunches over in the saddle looking closer to death than life. John has them next to you within seconds, spewing the story of his injury to you and the doctor. You can’t pay attention, going on your tiptoes to catch sight of the last rider, but the horses block your view. The gate is closing now.

“Maria?” You look at her in desperation, pulled between the need to help and get status on Joel. 

She gives you a nod and dashes off to investigate further. 

Adam half rolls out of the saddle, in and out of consciousness before several strong sets of arms aid him to the ground. 

“Someone get the gurney!” A voice calls out as you fall to your knees beside the man. It’s your voice. Your body is taking over, but your brain is still elsewhere. The ringing in your ears grows louder. “Someone tell me what we’re looking at!” Your shaking hands rip the stained flannel and undershirt. They're already rags anyway. 

“Took a knife to the gut two days ago. Closed it up but it got infected and reopened on the way back,” John reports. 

“And you didn’t stop to close it back up?” You yell. 

“We had to drop the med bag.”

You groan in frustration. Dr. Pooley takes vital signs. Even in the haze you notice the signs that he’s over concentrating. His lips move to count Adams BPM and then he stops and starts over. 

“What do you have for me, Doc?” You’re desperate for help. Desperate for the old man to be able to do his job, but you see it in his face. He’s about to admit what you’ve assumed for months. 

“I don’t know,” he looks as lost as you feel right now, drowning in the panic of his own mortality. His own brain ceasing to work. You’ve seen the signs of dementia for months, and now the moment you need his help the most, he can’t think straight. You need his brain. You need to talk through this. 

“Gurney!” Someone yells, pushing toward you with the homemade gurney. It’s more of a litter you’d find in a medieval era movie, but it does the trick. 

They slam it to the ground, you don’t even have to let out the instructions before someone is counting and Adam is moved onto the stretcher. “Carefully!” You keep pressure on his wound, it’s definitely bleeding again. They must’ve missed something or it’s been bleeding internally all this time. Damnit! 

You’re almost to the clinic when you hear it, a life preserver in the raging ocean, Ellie’s voice. “JOEL!”

You turn to see her arms wrapped around his midsection, holding her as tight as she does to him. His eyes flicker to yours, and it’s like you snap back into your body with a thud, your mind crisp and clear. He smiles weakly your way and you can breathe again. 

You’re not sure how long it takes you. You’re pretty sure you’ve technically just performed a surgery you were in the room for once as a nurse 22 years ago. You probably missed most of the steps, but you know it was Adam’s only hope. Joyce Dobbins comes in with a poultice that’s supposed to help fight infection and “doctors him right up” as she likes to say. You don’t know enough to have an opinion. She’s the herbalist. 

You shower at the clinic, bones weary and eyelids drooping. Joyce knows enough to monitor him over night as does Rachel, Adam’s wife. 

You stumble home, the days events replaying on repeat in your head. The multiple times you thought you were going to lose Adam yet he somehow never faded. Lindsey’s never ending sobs from the backroom as she mourned Paul, you delivered their baby three years ago. Joel standing there giving you exactly what you needed so you could save a friend. 

Most of the time, it’s easy to ignore the dangers of the outside world while tucked within the walls of Jackson, your slice of normal in the world. Tonight is not one of them. 

You stumble up the porch stairs, anything but graceful as you cross the threshold. The house is quiet- no, peaceful. It’s an odd feeling compared to your raging mind. The house is clean, spotless. The orange glow of your living room lamp and the kitchen light warm you. Rumours spins in the corner, halfway through Songbird. You catch Joel in the kitchen wiping down the countertops. Your tea kettle whistles softly as he turns off the gas stove. 

“Joel…” your voice is hoarse. He spins around. He doesn’t smile, only walks toward you, pulling your limp frame into his as soon as he can. “I missed you,” you whisper. 

“I missed you too, Sweetheart.” His face burrows into the crook of your neck. 

“I thought…” you can’t finish the sentence without tears falling down your cheeks. He rocks you both softly. 

“Shhh, I know. I know.”

He kisses your head softly and then your lips. As much as you want to fall into bed, he forces you to eat something, drink the tea he’s brewed for you. You can barely sit upright, but you eat and drink and finally, he guides you upstairs, tucks you into bed, and curls up behind you. You fall asleep before he starts whispering sweet reassurances in your ear. 

You pull yourself out of bed earlier than you should. You have to go check in on Adam at the clinic. No news is good news. Anytime you’re not dragged out of bed after a day like yesterday, it’s a good thing. 

He’s not conscious but his fever is lower than it was when you left and that eases your worries some. Rachel doesn’t leave his bedside. 

Lindsey is in the backroom as they re- wrap Paul’s body. They’ll bury him today. He’s already been dead for three days. You take Lindsey’s hand without a word, standing solemn next to her. 

A hot tear marks your cheek as you watch Maria and Joyce diligently work. You were never awarded this luxury, could never gaze upon Gabe’s face one last time. Didn’t get to say goodbye. 

He has a tombstone in the cemetery. You don’t visit it often. He’s not there, his ashes spread to the wind now, rolling over the earth like invisible tumbleweeds. He probably likes that better anyway. 

The funeral is short, but all of Jackson crowds around for the service, to bury their fallen friend. Joel holds you close, arm wrapped around your waist. You lean heavy against him, gaining all your support from his frame. Carter and Ellie sit on the ground in front of you. 

When it’s time to lower Paul into the ground, Joel makes sure you’re steady on your feet before joining the rest of the patrol group. Adam is still unconscious in the clinic. They lower his body to the ground with precision that is too practiced. You wonder if he’s thinking of her, how he had to leave her body behind. He calls out her name at night sometimes. You know he’s reliving the night Sarah died. 

Lindsey’s cries start to pick up again. You slide onto the bench beside her, squeezing her hand tightly. Grace sits opposite you and Elaine stands behind. You don’t know Lindsey that well, but she’s joined your ranks now. Other women who have lost spouses close in around the grieving woman, a moment of solidarity. It’s a group that’s too large for your liking, too many lives taken. 

Joel holds your hand on the walk home. You keep walking, taking your path earlier than normal. You don’t speak, too many memories in your mind, too many emotions flooding your heart. 

You stop in at the clinic. Adam is in and out of consciousness. Joyce is giving him something for the pain. 

You cut your walk short, just one lap tonight. There’s a note on the door. Carter is at Maria and Tommy’s for a sleepover. You sigh in relief, thankful to not have to worry about another human being tonight.

Joel helps you out of your shoes. He helps you upstairs. His hands move slowly over you, half roaming, half massaging your weary muscles. He follows your collarbone and shucks the cardigan from your shoulders, frees you from your jeans leaving you in nothing but a tank top. It’s one of the few times his eyes don’t immediately land on your exposed crotch. He can’t help but chuckle at your commitment to not wearing underwear. 

Fingers delve into your tight calves. You let out a soft moan as you fall back into the mattress, sheets cool against your skin. 

Your eyes close, relishing in the feeling of him. This is the first real chance you’ve had to spend together since he got back. There’s nothing inherently sensual to his movements and the way he touches you, but your body heats in response, craving the connection, the assurance. 

The air shifts as your breath hitches. His fingers crawl up your legs leaving tiny trails of fire as he presses a kiss to each of your calves. Desire begins to burn in your body, slow and hot. “Joel…” You moan, legs falling open. 

“I know, Sweetheart,” He feels it too, voice low and thick as his eyes darken. “I know.”

Your hands tangle in his curls as he takes his time covering your thighs in kisses, swiping his tongue over your skin from time to time. “I’m here,” he says again. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

There’s no rush to the finish line, neither of you have the energy for that tonight. It’s slow, languid like a hike up a steep cliff as his mouth slowly greets your slick cunt, his tongue runs through your folds at a steady pace over and over and over and over. He’s pulling you closer to the edge, taking his time until finally, you cry out arching into his mouth, spilling more of yourself onto his tongue. 

He pulls away, chin glistening in your soft bedroom light, proud smile on his lips. “That’s my girl.” 

You whimper in response, hands traveling up his forearms. His calloused palms roam over your thighs and hip, fingers drawing soft patterns across your skin. 

Leading with his lips, he makes his way up your sternum. Not a drop of urgency in his body, he eases up your tank top. It’s like he has all the time in the world. You wish for all the time in the world as long as you get to spend it with him. 

Finally, his lips meet yours. You taste yourself on his lips as he pushes his tongue into your mouth. Your hands wander his shoulder and neck, your fingers glide through his hair again. Nails rake down his back. At some point he shed his shirt and pants, leaving him bare against you. 

“Lay on your back,” you say.

He pulls back slowly, eyebrows raised. “What are you thinking about?”

“Having you on your back.”

He chuckles, warm arms wrapping around your middle as he rolls over. You brace yourself on your knees. His hard cock presses against your thigh. You run it through your folds. Joel lets out a soft moan as his eyes glaze with lust. “Fuck, Sweetheart. Let me in there.”

“Patience,” you chide, but have no intention of keeping him waiting for long. 

You nudge his dick against your clit, sending sparks through your veins until you center your opening over him. He holds your hips as you slowly sink onto him. You stretch around him, filling you so completely. Once you’ve taken him to the hilt, you sit there, eyes focused on each other exchanging soft pants. 

Your cunt clenches around him, pulling moans from both of you, but you don’t move, hands finding purchase against his soft stomach, thumb running through his dark happy trail. The two of you bask in the feeling of your skin against the other’s, desperate for the certainty that you’re alive and breathing, that the blur you’re living in is reality and you still have each other. 

He cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. Your teeth scrape against it. Then you lift up just a little bit, keeping him mostly inside you before you sink back down. You keep the slow pace as you ease up and down, increasing the distance a little more each time.

 Joel’s eyes never move from you, sometimes meeting yours and other times appreciating your naked form above him. His hand trails down your torso, finding the wet heat of your core. He finds your clit with the precision only granted by his familiarity with your body. He has you memorized, every single inch of you. 

You let out a sharp gasp when he touches you. He holds his thumb steady against you, letting your movements drag his thumb across your clit. You clench around him and he groans. Up and down, your hands perched on his hairy chest, nails biting into his pecs.

 As you draw nearer to the peak, Joel starts to meet you, hitting a different angle inside of you. You let out a long moan, head tipping backward. Then you reach the crest, cunt milking his cock, coming undone on top of him. 

Sweat beads along Joel's forehead as your dripping pussy flutters around him. He’s not far behind you, filling you with his spend. The feel of him inside you, coating you, causes another breathy moan to leave your lips. 

“Fuck, Sweetheart.” He pants, pulling you down beside him, sweaty skin flush against his. 

You smile softly at him, brushing the curl in front of his forehead back. He kisses your palm. You should feel guilty for enjoying Joel’s comforts, his warm skin against yours when Lindsey lays in an empty bed across the way, but all you feel is relief. You’re grateful to be spared heartache for once. 

Eventually, Joel rolls out of bed, returning with a warm washcloth to clean up the mess he left behind. You’ve pulled on his white tshirt. You don’t say a word, just stare at him in the lamp light. He’s beautiful, a gentle giant, and he’s yours. 

When he crawls back beside you, he looks at you like he reads every thought in your mind, kisses your forehead, and turns out the lamp. You turn on your side. He spoons you, arm thrown over your waist. 

His soft snores start to play in your ears. The crease in his forehead is nonexistent with sleep as you look over your shoulder. Then, it hits you. You’re happy here with him despite the last 48 hours. It feels wrong, like you cheated death. You just hope it doesn’t come back to collect double, but you’re so damn happy. Joel Miller has permeated every single fiber of your being. 

You’ve known this, but now, you accept it. Your muscles tense with it. It’s not enough to send you spiraling by any means, but you fought it for so long, you’re not sure how to proceed. You could tell him now, wake him up and finally let the words slip off your tongue. More tension gathers between your shoulders. 

Joel mumbles, tightening his grip around you as he pulls you flush against him. He kisses your shoulder. 

“Don’t start with that.” Sleep coats his voice. You wonder how he’s so in tune with you even in sleep he can feel the tension. 

“Don’t think it works like that.”

He hums, squeezing you again. His lips press between your shoulder blades, beard brushing against your skin sweeping the tension away, pulling the thoughts from your head. 

He chuckles as you sink into him. “You sure about that.”

You reach behind you. Your nails rake over his thigh, just above his knee until you find your target. You pluck one of his leg hairs with a practiced precision. 

“Ow! Not nice!”

You laugh, burrowing into your pillow. “Go to sleep, old man.”

“Goodnight, Sweetheart.” He kisses your cheek, holding you so close your brain can’t think of anything but his solid frame at your back. 

[jreads]

Not sure if this is where we submit requests, but i’d kill for a fic where reader’s having debilitating anxiety attack in Jackson (like where your vision blacks at the edges and you can’t breathe) and suddenly a strong force is keeping you up and you look up and it’s Joel; and he’s concerned bc he relates (but you don’t know each other) and you take a fistful of his shirt and suddenly they feel the symptoms retreating - and that’s how you meet, and you’ve found comfort in each other since. :’)

Sorry if that made no sense it’s word vomit LOL

Also sidebar: unexpected constellations will stay w me forever thank you:’)

Of Memories and Mealtimes (Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Word count: 2.5K

Warnings: Mentions of blood, Mentions of anxiety and panic attacks, Mentions of death, Foul language

A/N: this prompt was so cute, I hope I did it justice!

It’s been getting colder recently. No snow, not yet, but the breeze has a certain nip to it, blowing burnt orange leaves to rest on the ground like a natural carpet. The days are grey, and the nights are long, and that creeping feeling has been looming ever closer recently. You’ve found solace in the comfort of the kitchen. The air here is warm and humid and smells of frying garlic and onion. You perform repetitive, menial tasks and it staves off—to some extent—the ever-present penetrating feeling of loneliness. 

Since arriving in Jackson, you’ve struggled to find a place, a sense of belonging. You’re coming to the conclusion that maybe you never will. You thought you had one… but that was a while ago. 

It’s selfish to think you’re the only one in this town with a painful past; it’s clear that everyone is trying just as hard to find reasons to get through each day. You’re not alone. But you do feel like it. Often.

Maria has taken pity on you, stationing you in the kitchens because she knows you like it there. Knows you like to watch the people sitting at tables and soak up sounds of laughter in an attempt to steal a moment of second-hand happiness.

It’s late now, pitch black outside, and your shift is almost over. You’re cutting fruits and veggies for omelettes in the morning: spinach, olives, tomatoes. There are maybe five people still sitting, a table of three, one woman at a booth, and a man sitting alone at the bar. Sometimes, you like to eavesdrop.

The trio are talking about their old lives. They seem to have found something in common, street racing. Moding their cars, evading the cops… back when you could just drive into a gas station for petrol.  One used to have an old Charger, stolen in the looting. He reminisces over how the purr of the engine felt, how the lights of the highway would turn to a blur as he accelerated. From the corner of your eye, you see the man from the bar get up to leave, dropping some coin on the counter. You used to like to drive fast too. When it was for leisure and not for survival.

“I’m scared.”

The familiar voice sears through you like a branding iron, bringing with it flashing images of memory. Fuck. No, no, no. Not now. 

The freeway is peppered with stationary cars, and you’re swerving, as fast as humanly possible, trying desperately to navigate the mess. The Jeep behind you is gaining, and the little boy in your passenger seat is rigid in fear. If you can just make it through the overpass, it clears out after that. Their car is good offroad, but yours is faster. You upshift.

There’s gunfire, and your rear window shatters. He screams. You use your right hand to push his head down. He needs to stay low. You’re almost there.

Another gunshot. You try to ignore the popping of the rear tire; try not to think about what it means. The vehicle swerves and you fight against it by correcting the wheel. It’s no use. You clip the side of an abandoned car, and your own flips. You’re thrown through the windscreen. It’s the last thing you remember before your vision goes dark.

There’s pain. But not from the onslaught of old memories. You’ve slipped with the knife in your distraction, cutting a deep line into the side of your thumb. It’s dripping down, coating your fingers in a slick red. Your heart is pounding out of your chest, lungs constricting so hard you can barely get a breath in.

“Could I take five?” you manage to gasp to the other lady. But you don’t even wait for her reply before dropping the knife with a clatter and banging gracelessly through the back service doors. Your vision is blurring, darkening at the edges and your head is spinning. It feels as if you might die. You’re going to die.

Your hand is now coated in blood and—with little thought—you try to brush it off with your right, only succeeding in spreading the scarlet until it’s all you can see.

You wake in a ravine. How long have you been out? There’s pain in your cheek and you reach up to pluck a piece of glass from it. The crash. The kid. Oh, no. Oh, god. You call his name, voice hoarse. No reply. Your legs are too weak to support the weight of your own body, so you scramble up from the ditch, back onto the freeway. The car lies a few meters away on its side. Scraped and destoyed. And beyond it, a small body. No.

You crawl to him, sobbing at the bones bent in unnatural angles. And the bullet wound through his chest. You scream. You wail. His lifeless form is so small in your arms, leaking blood over your palms. You were supposed to protect him. You were supposed to—

His body is going cold. Limp and lifeless. But you can’t let go. Maybe, if you just hold on tight enough, the force of your love can breathe life back into his lungs.

You’re covered in his bood, figuratively, literally, it’s everywhere. Stumbling as if you’re drunk, you cry so hard that the tears only blur your vision further. It’s been a while since you’ve had one this bad. If you could just get back to your house. God, why did it have to happen in public? You can’t see where you’re going, so it’s no surprise when you run into something.

No, someone. There are hands on your shoulders and a comforting voice, gravelly Texan accent. What is he saying? You can’t tell. You’re going to be sick.

Something blocks out the lights of the streetlamp. There’s a body beside you.

A fragile body, broken and empty. Leaking life onto cracked pavement.

No, but this body is warm. Strong and gentle. A calloused palm cradling your head into a broad chest, a steady heartbeat. Alive. This body is alive. You clutch onto the fabric of his shirt with desperate hands, forgetting for a moment that your own blood will stain the fabric. He’s speaking words, low whispers, but the sound of them vibrates through him and into you. He’s telling you to calm down.

But you can’t. How do you tell him you can’t? You’re choking on air, hiccupping in a way that hurts.

“Come on now, breathe with me.” He smells nice, like cedar and whiskey. You can feel him smoothing circles onto your back, the rise and fall of his chest as he inhales and exhales. You try to copy him, lungs spasming with the effort. “That’s it. Keep going.” You’re heaving loud, ugly, uneven breaths, but it’s all you can manage. Past and present are flashing before you, your own blood, someone else’s, unseeing eyes and dead silence, a thumping pulse and soothing voice. It’s getting easier; you’re synchronizing your breaths to his own. But as you lean into the comedown, that exhaustion starts to creep up behind you. You melt into him in relief, but he doesn’t shy away. “There you go. I got you.”

Pieces of your surroundings start to fade back into view. You’re under the awning by the barn, shrouded in shadow. He’s practically holding you up by himself, and you feel a sudden deep stab of embarrassment. You can’t look this stranger in the eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into his shirt.

He doesn’t loosen his hold. “You got nothing to apologize for.”

“Probably got… blood on your shirt.” It’s taking effort to even form the words.

He laughs lightly and the sound is like warm caramel. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

The nausea is ebbing, but you find you don’t want to leave. Caught in his arms, you feel the safest you’ve felt in a long while.

“You should probably get that finger bandaged.” He steps away, pulling your arm into the light to examine the cut and you almost sob once more at the loss of contact. “I got supplies back at my place, if that’s alright by you?”

“Okay,” you say because you feel too weak to walk back to your own house alone right now. And also because in the glow of the streetlamp, you can see the rugged handsomeness of his face, etched with sweet worry, dark curls interspersed with shots of grey. You’ve seen him before. The man at the bar, so often alone. 

You’re shaking now, visceral, wracking shudders. He sheds his coat and swings it over your shoulders before leading you down the laneway.

His house is not far, a five-minute walk at most. He ushers you up the front porch, opening the door to a dim-lit living area.

“Joel?” A shrill voice calls down from above. 

Joel Miller? This is Joel Miller?

“Yeah Ellie, it’s me.”

A little girl comes bounding down the stairs, dark hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She stops dead when she sees you, noting the jacket around your shoulders, the blood on your hand.

“What happened?” she says, with a kind of fascinated wonder that comes naturally to kids. Oh god, she reminds you of—

“Kitchen accident.” Joel replies smoothly. “You mind getting the med kit, kiddo?”

Her big eyes blink once, twice. “Oh, yeah.” Then she’s running right back up the staircase.

Joel sits you on the couch, grasping your wrist with a tender motion so at odds with all the things you’ve heard about him. Then again, you never knew he had a kid.

“Is she yours?”

He doesn’t look up from your palm. “In the ways that count.”

The girl, Ellie, is back down in record time with a worn first aid kit that she extends to Joel. When he takes it, she looks again at you with blatant curiosity. You feel guilty for barging into the warmth of their home like this.

“Ellie, why don’t you go boil some water for coffee.”

“Can I have hot chocolate?” she asks, and the hopeful joy in her voice is enough to finally make you smile.

Joel does too. “Sure.” And she’s off once more, rounding the corner to where you assume the kitchen lies. “But don’t go putting extra sugar in it,” he calls after her. The soft domesticity makes you ache with loss.

“Well, good news is you won’t be needing stiches.” He pulls an array of supplies from the box: disinfectant, gauze, a bandage. “But you should tell Maria to take you off kitchen schedule for a couple days.”

“How’d you know I was on kitchen schedule?” 

“Lucky guess,” he replies easily, but you swear there’s pink travelling across his cheeks. 

The disinfectant stings and you hiss. He falls into silent work, and you find yourself watching him, trying to understand how the man in front of you is the very same that garnered such a ruthless and cold reputation. 

He breaks the silence first. “I don’t mean to pry but…” Joel fastens the bandage securely around your finger. “…if you want to talk about what happened…”

You don’t. Not now, maybe not ever.

When you don’t reply, he nods his head. “I get it.” You watch him cast a glance toward the sound of a boiling kettle, to where Ellie is. “Trust me, I do.” 

You sit with him and Ellie—quiet with a warm cup of coffee—until late into the night. Ellie makes a face at the smell of it and quips back and forth with Joel about how he can ‘drink that piss.’ The girl has a mouth on her. She’s clever, sharp-witted, and the banter between her and him seems to dig a needle and thread into your gaping heart and sew one single stitch into it.

Past midnight, despite your repeated refusal, Joel insists he walk you home. Seeing your own house, cold and devoid of light makes your shoulders slump and heart race anew. Joel seems to note the behaviour.

“You’re always welcome at ours.” You know you’ll never take him up on the invitation. From the sadness in his eyes, you think he knows it too.

There are miles between you. “Thank you.” He only nods. You leave him standing on the lawn.

From behind the safety of the porch window, you can see that he waits for the light to turn on in your living room before walking back down the street.

Maria has insisted you take a few days off. Damn it. Joel must have said something. You try to busy yourself in the garden instead, but the gloves fit awkwardly over your bandage. You don’t last long anyway. The sound of school children heading home hits your ears around 3:00PM, and within minutes, a small shadow blocks where the sun hits your face.

“What’re you doing?”

Just seeing her face is enough to put a small smile on your own. “I’m planting basil.”

“What’s basil?”

You laugh. Actually laugh. “You want to try some?” You offer her a leaf and she chews it thoughtfully. Gives it an approving face. A thumbs up.

“You should bring some for Joel.” The forwardness of her suggestion is almost shocking, but she seems like the type of kid who says whatever comes to mind. You like that about her. “His cooking is pretty bland.”

Two laughs in one day. This kid is like medicine. “You think so?”

“Mhm. You could come over now. I think he’s on patrol, but he’ll be back soon.”

You think about turning her down, just on reflex. But you like how it feels to laugh, just the way you liked how you had felt in Joel’s arms the other night. So you agree. Her smile is brilliant. 

Minutes later, when she loops her arm through your own, she says, “Hey but don’t tell Joel what I said about his cooking, okay?”

You promise.

Around 7:00PM, he comes through the door, a weary sigh giving him away. “Ellie,” he calls.

“In here!” She’s excited. You’ve prepared a meal: pasta, sundried tomatoes, and the basil plucked from the garden. She’s been picking at the penne with her fingers, unable to wait until he arrives.

Seeing the surprised look on his face when he rounds the corner makes you feel suddenly shy. “I wanted to do something to thank you for last night and, well… Ellie found me in the—”

“Joel, it’s so fucking good.” At this point the muscles in your face are starting to hurt from smiling. 

Over dinner, you actually start to engage in the conversation, and somehow you seem to get along like you’ve known each other for years. In tandem, they work to bring you out of your shell. Your voice is hoarse and face warm by the time you go to leave, but Joel stops you at the door.

“Let me walk you back again.” Your selfish streak is only getting worse. You say yes. You think you see Ellie’s face in the top window as the two of you leave, a devious grin on her face.

Conversation flows on the way, about food, wine, Ellie. It’s comfortable, familiar, but there’s something… 

A yearning, buried under layers of friendly formality. He walks you up your porch and you think, for just a moment, about inviting him inside.

But you’re not quite ready for that just yet. So, you rise up to kiss him on the cheek instead, relishing the stunned look on his face.

Shy again, you back away across the threshold. “Good night, Joel.”

He says it back, and the way your name rolls of his tongue ignites something long dormant within you. You think he might be looking at your lips.

When the door closes, you let out a shuddering breath. And for what seems like the thousandth time that night, you smile.

[garbinge]

Motion Sick

Angel Reyes x F!Reader From these August Prompts:  “I don’t usually get motion sick but— oh, I think I’m gonna puke.” A/N: Hope you’re enjoying the fic a day challenge with me! Word Count: 1.6k Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy. Fluffy but light angst.

Mayans MC Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @narcolini @danzer8705

It was the middle of the day and you were traveling back home from a club errand with Angel. You might’ve had the day off but Angel didn’t and you figured if you were gonna snag anytime with him alone this was going to be it. Things had been busy between the club and the scrapyard. There wasn’t even a point in asking Angel if the errand he was running was for either because it likely had to do with both. All you knew is Angel had mentioned needing to take a ride to Santa Ana in the morning before he left your house and you met him at the clubhouse and hopped in the passenger seat of the van without any argument on his side. 

Angel didn’t mind the company, if anything he enjoyed it. These days it was rare you two got to do anything together besides roll over and shake the other to shut off the alarm so taking a ride together was like a date on the town for you. 

The ride up was smooth and quick, both of you wanted to get the errand done as soon as possible so that the rest of the day was your own without any responsibilities lingering over your head. The way back was more enjoyable. Angel took the long way back down the Pacific Coast Highway to give some romance to the trip, opting to stop at a whale watching point because he really wanted to spend as much time as he could with you. It was nice, it was something that had been missing between you two lately and this was his way of acknowledging it. 

As you got back on the road you started to fidget in the passenger seat. Finding a comfortable position was making itself hard as you moved around. 

“You alright? You can’t sit still.” Angel looked over at you as you switched to your 4th position in the last minute. 

“Yea, just feel uncomfortable. I don’t know what it is.” You frowned and leaned forward to grab the handle that would easily adjust the seat back in hopes that would help. 

“You think it was the lookout dock? The waves and shit making you sick?” The worry grew in his voice as he slowed down on the highway, taking the opportunity to look at you longer verse the road to get a better understanding about what was going on. 

��I don’t know, I don’t think so. We were on solid foundation not like a dock or anything that was moving. Maybe I’m just getting antsy from the ride.” You brushed off his concern.

“Look, maybe you just need a break, we can stop and get some fuckin’ food or some shit.” Angel was starting to argue with you now, not out of spite, but from a genuine place. “You’re probably just motion sick. We’ve been in this van for a minute.” He had already begun to pull over at whatever food stop was coming up before you could put up a fight but it didn’t stop you from trying. 

“I don’t usually get motion sick,” your hand lifted to wave him off to continue driving until you almost immediately brought it to your mouth, “oh– I think I’m gonna puke.” 

Luckily the car was stationary as you opened the passenger door and vomited out of it. Angel thinking quickly to lean over and pull anything out of the way of your upchucking. 

“Damn querida. I thought you didn’t get motion sick.” He said when you finally stopped and used one of the napkins that was shoved in the side pocket of the car to wipe your mouth off. As he spoke you turned to him and lifted your middle finger which made him laugh. 

“I feel like shit.” You closed your eyes and leaned back in the seat. 

“You need anything? I’ll get the food to go, we can grab a spot in the grass or something, I’m sure we got a blanket somewhere back here.” Angel went into full solution mode. 

“If I sit on any blanket that’s in this van I’ll end up sicker than I am right now.” You let out a chuckle and let your head fall to the left to stare at Angel. He was on edge, you could tell. His arm was on the steering wheel and his body was twisted to look back at you. “Why don’t we find a convenient store, like a CVS or Rite Aid or some shit, I think I’ll get better if I get my hands on a gatorade and some saltines.” 

Angel was moving in seconds, he had put the car in drive and you were about to argue it but he spoke up. “I’m just moving it up a couple feet so you don’t step in your own vomit.” His smiled openly. 

“Angel the angel.” You teased him as you stepped out the van. 

The convenient store was close, it was a matter of minutes before you both entered the air conditioned building that was playing some top 40’s radio station through the speakers. The cold breeze already had you feeling better, the club van didn’t exactly have the best AC for an old overused vehicle. 

“Grab what you want, I’m gonna see if I can get you some of that motion sickness shit from the pharmacy, half the shit on the PCH is behind lock and key.” Angel placed a quick kiss on your head before walking towards the medicine aisle. “Oh and maybe pick up some Listerine or toothpaste!” His whole body turned around as he kept walking backwards with his nose scrunched up. 

That earned him another middle finger and a headshake, although, you knew he was right. Toothpaste and a toothbrush was the first thing you were grabbing on your way to grab the essentials but he didn’t need to be annoying about it. 

As you entered the toiletry aisle your eyes scanned the shelves. Mouthwash was first, and while it was a viable option, you knew brushing your teeth would be a greater benefit for both of you. As your eyes moved to the toothpaste, you saw the travel brush and paste kit and grabbed the first one you saw before walking down the rest of the aisle. You browsed the rest of the aisle, taking your time not wanting to leave the cooled store anytime soon. As you looked around your eyes stopped on a box of tampons. That’s when it hit you like a tons of bricks. The speed at which you took your phone out your backpocket was unmatched, all just for your thoughts to be confirmed by the date displaying on your phone. You were late. 

Without a second thought you grabbed the pink box that was to the right of the pads and tampons and flew to the bathroom. Luckily it was on the opposite side of where the pharmacy was so there was no chance you were going to run into Angel. 

3 minutes was beginning to feel like 3 days with how long it was taking. You had grabbed the digital test, which was likely the more expensive one but at this point you didn’t care. You stood over the sink staring at the flashing lines waiting for words to pop up on it. You could’ve taken the time to brush your teeth but you felt like if you took your eyes off the test, you’d miss something. 

You heard the digital beeping and the words appeared across the screen. 

Pregnant. 

“Holy shit.” 

You weren’t exactly sure how to feel but before you could really even process it, you were stepping out of the bathroom and looking down the aisles for Angel. 

He was in the toy section, gatorade and saltines in one hand and a squishmallow in the other. 

“Hey look! It kinda looks like Sally right? I know it’s a seal but they got the same fuckin’ eyes.” Angel held up the gray stuffed animal and compared it to his little brother’s dog. 

As you walked over to him and said nothing his smile started to fade. 

“You get sick again?” He asked a follow up question. 

Without saying anything you held up the pregnancy test for him to see. It took him a couple seconds to process what you were showing him before he was picking you up in the air in celebration. The squeal that left your mouth was full of shock but the laugh that came after was genuine. Angel was clearly excited about this and that sent a wave of relief through you that let you enjoy this. 

“Alright, alright, put me down you’re gonna make me sick again!” You spoke through another laugh. 

“What happened, I thought you don’t get motion sick.” His voice got deeper as he mocked you and put you down. 

“Yea I don’t, but apparently your kid does.” 

Angel’s smile grew even bigger at that sentence. You leaned over and grabbed the squishmallow from him and made your way to the front of the store to pay for everything you two had gathered up. 

“We gettin’ that?!” Angel lightly jogged to catch up to you. 

“Baby’s first toy?” You squished it against your front in a hug. 

Angel brought you into his side, throwing his arm around you as he left a soft his on the crown of your head. 

“Yea, baby’s first toy.” 

[dustykneed]

for context: star trek into darkness (specifically, my take on the implications of bones doing what he had to do and the emotional fallout of those missing scenes) (not that ive seen it!! but ive read enough fic to know the gist of it LMAO) (can you believe this started as an impulse draw to see if i could use pastels to convey heavy emotions and now im writing a very very long headcanon in my notes app.)

...

Leonard goes and he plays god, and injects Jim with that godforsaken blood, and then there is nothing left to do but wait.

He sinks into the chair at his desk, and steeples his fingers together. It occurs to him that these circumstances are the sort that would drive any religious man to bow his head and clasp his hands together, like so, and pray.

--but he is a doctor, and he has never been religious, and he has a duty to do, and he has broken his oath, and there is blood on his hands and flecking his shirt.

Leonard sits very still at his desk and weeps, and he does not pray.

...

sorry to all of y'all who had to find out i was an angst goblin this way <///3 but basically the hc/rough fic is an extension of the angst potential of that one scene where jim wakes up and fixates on spock (and his lack of response towards bones is never addressed afterwards i think? not sure but it's an interesting premise imo)

brief summary: bones never gets closure from jim after he wakes up because jim and spock get together immediately after and it just slips their minds, so bones is stuck in "oh god jim's dying" mode and feels absolutely terrible, but the bridge crew helps a bit by being there for him to hang out with, but still bones does overwork while trying to work through the sense of wrongness of not being able to have his emotional needs met after the whole jim dying fiasco and feeling like his best friend has forgotten him. he admittedly makes good progress (by which i mean he's able to take really big overwhelming feelings and put them away well enough in his daily life to function relatively normally) but the crushing grief is always in the background. about a month or so after spirk gets together, spock accidentally brushes bones' arm and is absolutely slammed by a wave of unexpected exhaustion and emotional pain and is like ??????!!!????????? long story short he drags bones to jim and bones cries for the first time since jim "died" and it is immensely cathartic and then jim blurts out a confession because he has horrible timing and asks bones to join him and spock and obviously bones cries harder and spock is about to smack jim upside the head lmao (bones says its way too much to process and he needs time but hes not exactly opposed, and they all start spending more time together, and then eventually bones is like fuck it and asks for a kiss and they finally get together !!!!!!)

as a treat for reading all of my mildly insane word vomit y'all get a soft bittersweet aos mcspirk scribble<33

gotta love aos jim's majestic eyebrows and aos spock's general sort of >:[ expression!! really growin on me tbh

[sh0tanzz]

hii can u do sohee as bf?

SOHEE AS YOUR BF based on astrology ~

reminder: this is for fun and astrology is smth I study for a hobby, these are all inferences based off of observations and not exact fact unless I knew him myself !!

Scorpio Sun: The stereotype that scorpios suns are secretive is so played out they're just technically shy imo im sorry LMFAOOO. Once a scorpio fully trusts you or has something they genuinely want to tell you they just keep GOING. And the same probably applies to him especially since his Mercury is in Sag. In the beginning he might seem hard to crack or not one to spare many details but once he's sure of you and you two are officially together and solidified oh he's a plain open book. Ofc he's not gonna pour every aspect of his heart out but being secretive really won't be an issue. He has an aspect of sun and uranus so he won't really act in ways that aren't true to him, his freedom, or expression so he'd practice authenticity even within the relationship so you better be in it for the real him !!

Libra Moon: Similar to Wonbin he'd be pretty considerate and would weigh pros and cons before doing anything to ensure fairness. His chart makes up of placements centered around truth, fairness and morals so ngl being equal+in balance is something he'd want for the relationship. Sometimes there's a tendency for Libra moons to end up complacent or non argumentative to keep the peace but I think it wouldn't be as severe considering his sag placements. Rather than being complacent he'd be pretty passive, he'd be willing to engage in trivial debates and significant convos but wouldn't break his neck to prove his point or show that he's right unless it was absolutely necessary. His moon is sextile his venus so emotional balance is crucial so he'd avoid constant disturbances in the relationship so you two remain in harmony; downside he might become TOO passive and too invested in harmony to where needed conflicts are dismissed or he doesn't express himself fully.

Sagittarius Mercury: So...blunt LMFAOO. Honestly Sohee probably says crazy stuff or is more sassy behind closed doors he has sm mercury aspects even some with pluto and mars. He might be conflicted sometimes, has moments of being super blunt and even saying stuff without thinking and then his libra moon brings him back into peaceful mode and he's like "uuuhm my bad". Probably likes fake arguing or small debates. Makes fun of you most definitely but compared to Eunseok it'd be easy for him to apologize if he realized it was too far or hurt you. Instead of yelling he might talk pretty fast and "word vomit" whenever he's dealing with big emotions or anger (especially with his mercury square mars) and due to this he might go quiet during arguments (if they ever even happen) because he knows when dealing with his outbursts he could say the wrong thing or be hurtful when not meaning to. Likes to be playful and even a bit nonserious and childish in convos and tries to make things lighthearted.

Sagittarius Venus: Sigh omg a bestfriend and boyfriend in one quite LITERALLY. Sag Venus has a hard time settling down because they value their freedom and life path so much and they don't really get into -serious- relationships unless they're genuinely enamored with you and can see you fitting into their expanding life. So once he's with you and realizes he's actually in love with you and it's beyond just flirting and pining he's essentially all in. Freedom will be evident in the relationship and there may not be a super specific power dynamic laid out outside of the cheesy "look at how my gf takes care of me.”. He wouldn't abandon his career for the relationship but wouldn't completely abandon the relationship as a whole either but just know there'd be an attempt to split both. He'd be loving and wouldn't be too restricting, flirts via jokes quite literally he would end up being the funniest man you know especially with that sag mercury on top. He values optimism and change and would implement that into the relationship as well.

Pisces Mars: His Sag Venus paired with his mars could show that he'd be ok with someone being the initiator or taking the lead but would still be ok with wanting your attention and doing things to get it (not in a toxic way ofc) . Like he'd want to impress you with unconventionally/casual romantic things or "best friend dates" that soon lead to more. Aw man he's probably a friends to lovers trope type of man like anton :((. Tbh him having a Sag Venus + Pisces Mars such a chill relationship like I said earlier it'd be just like dating your friend.

[ladylooch]

Summary: Kailey and Miles have their off day plans ruined when her water breaks.

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: blood, hospitals, pregnancy, birth, surgery, birth trauma, vomit. Basically if medical things freak you out, don’t continue on 😅

[Kailey]

“Remember when I was excited to lay on the couch all day?” Miles asks me as he walks into the Rose Medical Center. He has both of our bags slung over his shoulder and the carrier for the baby in his right hand. I tried to tell him we probably didn’t need that quite yet, but his nervous energy had him grabbing it anyway.

“You did this to me.” I snicker, tossing an amused grin over my shoulder at him.

“Yeah, I remember doing it to you too.” He hits my butt with the car seat gently.

“It was from behind.” I murmur as I walk up to the front desk. “ Hi, I’m Kailey Wood. I called Dr. Schmidt and he asked me to come in.”

“Great! I’m going to have you fill out some quick paperwork and we will get you checked in.”

I begin writing out the necessary items. Miles slides his health insurance card on the counter then settles a hand on my lower back. He rubs his thumbs into my tightened muscles there. I huff out a little noise of pain at the contraction tightening my belly up.

“Becoming parents is better than a couch day though.” Miles murmurs as he helps me get into the hospital gown once we are in the birthing suite. I smile, leaning my head back into his shoulder when he is done closing it up.

Miles isn’t wrong. We had a full day of vegging on the couch planned for his off day today, but our son decided to break my water and now we are here. Who knew curb walking this morning would be so productive?

Big hands stretch along my belly as Miles drops his lips to kiss along my clothed shoulder. He breathes me in, then releases me as I head towards the bed, wanting to lay down.

“I’m so glad you’re in town.”

“Me too.” He nods.

That fear of him being gone has now dissipated. He is here, ready to jump into full supportive partner and dad mode with me.

A lot has changed since that 20 week appointment. It is like Miles has transformed into a completely different person. He has worked hard to do better, show up fully, and walked with me hand in hand the rest of this journey. He was early to every post practice appointment. He made sure I felt pampered when I went home to Masschusettes for my baby shower. Then I had the most amazing gender reveal for me in our home back in Colorado. I’ll never forget opening the nursery door and seeing Connor’s name on that navy blue wall. The look on Miles’ face and the way he whispered: “I haven’t handled any of this well. I know you felt alone before. But you’re not. I’m here. Forever. I promise you.”

I knew he meant it then. His firm squeeze of my hand tells me again now.

“Ooooo f-fuck.” I stutter out. I shake my head. “You’re never coming in me again.” Miles chokes. “Just kidding.” I grin at his distraught face. “But I want the epidural as soon as I can get it.”

“Roger, baby.” He murmurs.

The nurse comes in to check on where I am measuring now that they have been able to get some data about the contractions. I am happy to hear that I am narrowing in on 5 cm dilated. All things considered, things are moving forward quickly. However once I start to move more into active labor, nothing is funny. Miles tries to joke with me about the look on my face and I pierce him to the chair with a glare.

“Sorry.” He squeaks, wincing at the grip I have on his hand.

“Where are my drugs?” I snap.

“Uh, let me go check!” Miles launches up. He tries to wiggle out his fingers discreetly but I see it. This man punches hockey helmets for a living but my grip is too much? I snort and shake my head at that. Men ain’t shit.

When he comes back into the room, he has the anesthesiologist with him. We get through the next anxiety inducing piece of labor and then I am settled back into the bed. The nurse is in the corner of the room, typing in notes to my chart. She closes the computer up, then smiles at us.

“Dr. Schmidt just got here. He will be by within the hour.” Then she disappears. I slide my gaze over to my husband.

“We are alone so much more than I expected. What are we paying these people for?”

“I don’t know.” He chuckles. “But I kinda like it just us.” He leans down to kiss me. “You’re doing great. Have I told you how beautiful you look?”

“No.”

“Fucking stunning.”

“Liar.” I smirk.

It quickly falls off my face as another contraction bares down on me. Miles gives me his hand and rubs between my shoulder blades. The pain sears through my bones, making me writhe on the bed uncomfortably.

“Breathe, babe.” Miles encourages. I puff out a breath, then inhale sharply, holding it again. “Breath-”

“You fucking breathe.” I snap.

“Okay.” He nods, watching my face. He matches my snarls with a wince that scrunches his crooked nose. “Oof, good job. Should be evening out soon.” I feel a lump growing in my throat at that. He read those baby books cover to cover and every pamphlet he could get his hands on.

This is my Miles. There is no one else on this Earth I would want holding my hand right now.

“I love you, baby. I’m sorry. It just hurts so bad.”

“Yell at me all you want. I’m tough.” He assures me, blue eyes sparkling with adoration as he watches me relax back into the bed.

A knock sounds at the door, then Doctor Schmidt greets Miles and I enthusiastically.

“Hey! It’s baby day!” He exclaims as he washes his hands in the sink. “How are we doing, Kailey?”

“Ugh.” Is all I respond with. I shift my hips on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position. It’s no use. There is none at this stage.

When is that damn epidural going to kick in?

Another contraction hits me and I hunch forward in pain. Miles raises to his feet, rubbing my back in concern.

“Should she be in this much pain after her epidural?” He asks the question I can’t form words for at the moment. I grit my teeth harder, moaning as it feels like my body is resisting every contraction now. I’m dreading the next one as this one ends.

“Well, it depends. People react to epidurals in different ways. But let’s take a look at what is going on.” He steps between my legs with a nurse behind him. His eyebrows pull together as he examines me. He glances over at the contraction monitor then frowns deeper. “I’m not liking what I’m seeing.” He says directly to me.

“Okay.” I whimper.

“It’s going to be okay. No need to panic.” He holds his hand up as he stands to his feet. “But we know you’ve got a big boy in there for your small frame. With how many contractions you are having, he should have progressed further into the birth canal. With that not happening, its telling us that the contractions are not strong enough to move him forward. This raises concerns for potential shoulder dystocia, which would be an emergency situation for us. Knowing that risk is there, I don’t think it is safe for you or the baby to continue forward like this.”

“Oh. Wow. Um, yeah. Whatever you think is best. I just want him safe.” I say, stretching my fingers over my bare belly. Miles puts a big hand there too, fingers absently playing with the strap of the fetal monitor.

Since our 20 week appointment, we have been closely monitoring the baby’s measurements.This is not a surprise to us and I’ve long ago accepted that I may not be able to push him out of me. While I can empathize with mothers who desire to do that, all I care about is our baby being okay.

Miles kisses my forehead. I tilt my lips up to him, asking for a smooch.

“I love you.” He murmurs, squeezing my hand. “You got this, baby. Tough as hell.”

“I love you too.” I assure him, making sure to keep my face neutral so Miles doesn’t start to panic.

There is no need to panic. We are in great hands. This is all about safety and prevention.

Surgery prep begins quickly after Dr. Schmidt gives the word to the staff. Miles disappears to scrub in and I get more drugs loaded into my IV. I close my eyes as they place a hair net over my hair.

I am ready for this. I can do this. I’m so excited to meet our son I can barely sit still in the bed as they wheel me to the operating room. Plus, no longer being pregnant with this big baby will be instant, sweet relief for my hips and lower back.

Time to make this c-section my bitch, I think to myself as they stop the bed in the center of the operating room. Miles is there, smiling at me with his phone raised.

“This is your best look.” He teases, snapping a few pictures. I smile nicely for one after making funny faces at him previously. He giggles in his signature way, showing off the gap in his front teeth. “So gorgeous, babe. Mom material for sure.”

“Just call me MILF.” I chuckle.

A sheet is lifted up, cutting off the view for Miles and I to my lower body. His smile slides off his face and he takes a deep inhale. His blue eyes grow a little wet looking. Tears fill my eyes at his obvious worry.

“It’s okay.” I whisper to him. He nods.

“Stop worrying about me.”

“It’s like I’m a mom or something.” I grin at him. “You did that to me.”

“Thank god.” He presses his nose to mine.

“Kailey?” Dr. Schmidt asks.

“Yes?”

“How are we doing?”

“Good. Ready!” I insist.

“Miles?”

“Ditto, Doc.”

“Great. Parenting test one is already passed.” Miles and I laugh. “Kailey we got you strapped down because we don’t want any involuntary moments. We’re going to give you some more drugs to just take some of the rawness of surgery out of your mind. You’ll still be awake. You’re going to feel some pulling and tugging- general pressure too. You shouldn’t feel any sharp pains. If you do, let us know.”

“Okay.”

“Miles, you have the hardest part of all… sitting there and looking pretty.”

“Yeah, think my days of looking pretty ended when I lost my teeth that second time.” My husband jokes.

“I know a guy if you need ‘em.”

“Yes!” I say before Miles can fill in.

The room settles into a more medical air after that. Tools are opened, medical jargon is discussed, and a nurse stands on the other side of me from where Miles is. Another nurse hovers by the clear bassinet ready to hold our baby. I purse my lips at the thought. Our baby. He’s coming.

The specifics of what begins to happen next blur with whatever drugs the anesthesiologist has started in my IV. I feel cool and relaxed, vision blurring slightly around the edges. Miles fingers come to my cheek, rubbing there in a comforting, soothing rhythm.

“Ready?” He asks me. I nod in response, eyes blinking slowly, then opening again.

Time passes in a similar blink. Miles’ blue eyes never move from my face. I keep alternating between looking at the ceiling and him. He chuckles at the far off look my eyes must be glazing over him.

“Drunk AF.” He jokes.

“Mhm. Maybe drugs aren’t so bad.”

“Shhh the baby might hear.” Miles teases me.

“We live in Colorado. He’s gonna know about drugs.”

“Can’t wait to yell at him when I find him smoking weed in his bedroom.”

“And here I am, waiting for his first word and steps.” I mumble. My tongue feels swollen and clunky in my mouth. “ ‘M drunk.”

“Too much tequila before we came huh?”

I’m about to tell him to shut up when Dr. Schmidt calls my name.

“Hm?”

“I’ve got my hands around him. I’m going to pull him out. You’ll feel some of this. It’s normal.”

It feels foreign and alien like to know hands are inside my body. If I was more clear minded, I might care but right no-

A shrill cry shoots through the room. Miles exhales a breath, then shoots his eyes towards the curtain in awe. My head turns towards the noise, desperate to see a peak of the baby I’ve been growing for all these months. Tears fill my eyes and fall down without restraint. Miles rubs his thumb along my jaw, fingers extending along my throat to hold me as much as he can right now.

“What’s he look like?” I croak out to my husband.

“He has a ton of hair. It’s curly!” He beams proudly over at our son being cleaned with towels. Then he grins down at me, pressing his mouth to mine. His lips devour me as he rubs my hair over the hair net. “You doing okay?” He asks. I nod weakly, feeling disoriented. Miles straightens back up to look at our son.

“We’ll get him cleaned up and over to mom in a second.” One nurse assures us.

The room begins to feel extremely cold. A large shiver rolls through the parts of my body that I can still feel. My vision blurs together until all I can see is dots of color. I blink, wondering if there is something in my eyes I need to clear away. It doesn’t get better. It gets worse. Vertigo attacks me; I feel like my body is going to roll off the operating table. My lips are glued together, tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth even as I want to form words to Miles.

“Baby, are you okay?” Miles asks, leaning closer to my face. His thick eyebrows are lowered in concern.

“Something isn’t right.” I say to him… at least I think I do, but then I realize I can’t move my mouth and everything is so cold and then……

Nothing.

- - -

[Miles]

I watch in horror as Kailey’s eyes suddenly shut. Her head goes limp and falls slightly to the side. A nurse puts an arm on my bicep. I try to move away from the touch, then another nurse is there.

“Dad, we need you to step out of the room.”

“I’m not leaving her.” I insist. I reach out for her shoulder, desperate to touch her body.

“Miles.” Dr. Schmidt’s calm voice comes over the sheet. “Kailey needs you to go.”

Something about how he phrases that has the hair on the back of my neck standing up. I want to go back to joking about my teeth. Right fucking now. Alarms start going off on the machines she is connected to. Hospital codes are shouted between the staff members. I stumble back, awkward on my footing as I attempt to remember where the door was. A nurse guides me to the right. I follow blindly.

My ears are ringing so loud that whatever the nurse is saying to me isn’t registering. My eyes blink slowly as I seek to orient myself. My legs lead me out of the OR, but nothing is making sense.

“How about we sit?” I hear her say through my vibrating heartbeat. Her hands come to my shoulder and side and she pushes until I’m seated on the floor in my scrubs. “Take a deep breath, dad.” She says that name again. Dad. And it jolts me. My baby. Our baby. But then, Kails. Where is she, I want to ask but I know she’s in there. In that room cut open without me.

“Is my wife going to die?” I blurt out to the nurse. Her face is purposefully neutral, just like my mom talked about with her nursing career. I doubt she will answer me and she doesn’t. Just encourages me to breathe. I don’t want to see Dr. Schmidt come out of that room. I don’t want them to tell me that she’s…. I jolt forward and the nurse flies back. I puke in her vacated place. She holds my hand, running her gloved thumb over my skin. Another nurse is walking by and they speak while I continue retching between my legs. I wipe the back of my hand over my mouth.

“Kailey.” I moan, trying to stand up. “No. Please. Fuck…. No!” I begin to sob, tears blur my vision into a watery vortex. I shake like a small child on the cold tile of the hospital outside the room where they do who knows what to my wife. “Please.” I cry again, the nurse finishes cleaning up my vomit. Another nurse leaves the OR with our baby in his clear container. I can hear his wails. My throat closes. I try to ask her to wait, to let me see him again, but I can’t form the words.

Nurses and doctors run by me. Some go into the room, others dash to different places of the hospital. I hear a page go over the intercom followed by the OR number of Kailey’s room. Then a different nurse encourages me up. She takes me back to the birthing suite we had walked out of less than 30 minutes ago. All of our stuff is still there waiting for us, but Kailey isn’t here. I look at her flowery, silk robe discarded on the couch from when she got too hot during her contractions. I gag again, thinking of where she is. The nurse disappears, off to do her job elsewhere as I struggle to maintain living.

Live without Kailey? I can’t.

The thought is sobering, widening my eyes as I struggle for my next breath. I vowed 5 months ago to protect her. To be her safe place through the good and the bad. I’m already failing at my vows. Yet I have no control over the situation we are in. I have no choice but to keep sitting here in the hospital bed she should be recovering in while they do whatever they need to save her.

The idea of living without her passes through my mind again. Stabbing pain follows causing me to rock slightly backwards on my feet. I bring a hand up to my chest, balling my scrubs into a fist over my heart. I see it all clearly: being a single father while trying to play in the NHL. Raising our baby alone, without the love of my life. The one who saves me from myself and made us a family of three. The one this will all be utter hell without. I squeeze my eyes shut, bringing my thumb and middle finger up to my eyes to collect my tears before they roll down my cheeks.

“I can’t do this alone. Kails, baby, please.” I sob out. My shoulders shake as I break down. Fat teardrops collapse into the stark bed sheet next to my thigh. I start to hyperventilate, struggling for oxygen as sharp gasps fill the room. I lay back onto the bed, staring at the white porous ceiling tile above. Tears continue to leak out while a numbness extends through my body.

“Miles?” Someone calls from the doorway. I sit up, wiping my cheeks, hopeful for an update on Kailey. Instead, I see a new nurse, with her hand on the corner of a rolling bassinet. “Would you like to meet your son?”

This is not the moment I saw for us. I saw Kailey here. I saw him on her chest doing skin to skin as we celebrated the moment he joined us. Not this. Not us meeting in this dark, hospital room that she is missing from while I ponder if I’m going to have to raise him by myself. What would Kailey do? She would be brave. She would hold our baby and tell him it will be okay because we have each other.

So, I nod, standing up, suddenly nauseatingly nervous. The nurse wheels him in. He is swaddled in a ‘back is best’ blanket with a pink and blue striped hat. He looks exactly like me. His eyes and face are swollen from the trauma of his birth. Red marks dot along his forehead and one of his cheeks. He has been cleaned up, no goop or anything, just soft pink skin.

To sum him up in one word, he is perfect.

“Hi buddy.” I hear my voice whisper.

“How about you sit back down and I’ll hand him to you?” The nurse suggests. That is when I realize I am shaking. Trembles of adrenaline roll through my whole body. I lower myself gently, then weave my arms together in anticipation of him being placed there. When I feel the soft cloth of his blanket hit my skin, I sigh. I make sure to support his head, awestruck at how small and fragile he is.

“You are perfect.” I whisper to him. “Just like your mama.” He jerks, feeling my body heat and turning his head towards me. “I love you.” I breathe out. “I’m going to take care of you. We are going to be okay.” I suck my bottom lip into my mouth. It presses up against my gums where my teeth are missing.

My sexy toothless. I can hear Kailey’s voice now, teasing me as she gets ready for date night in the bathroom of our old Hoboken apartment. I swallow hard, looking up at the nurse.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have news on mom to share. I’ll come back in a little bit to check on you.” She says, then leaves the clear bassinet in the corner, shutting the door behind her.

I am unsure how long we sit there like that. The baby lays contently in his swaddle, tight and warm, while I try to wrap my brain around my new reality. At some point, I move from the bed to the chair, hopeful that Kailey will be coming in soon. I hear no news. Nobody comes to check in on us for at least 90 minutes.

Then, there is a soft knock at the door.

“Come in.” I call after clearing my throat. I bounce my son as I sit up straighter to keep him asleep.

Doctor Schmidt appears. My heart floats into my throat. I try to read his face. He looks tired as he pulls off his surgical hat. The knuckle of his thumb flicks his nose up as he wipes at it.

“Hi Miles.”

“Hi.” My voice gives out on me midway through the word. I clear my throat before continuing. “What is going on? Is she okay?”

“Kailey is stable, yes.” He nods decidedly. I exhale heavily, my body falls back into the chair while clutching the baby in my arms tighter. “She experienced severe hemorrhaging due to a lack of contracting of her uterus. Her blood vessels were not clamped tight enough and began to release a significant amount of blood. We were not able to get the bleeding under control fast enough and it began to pool into her abdomen.” I suck in a heavy breath, holding our son even closer to me. “It took some time, but we were able to successfully stop the bleeding. She is currently receiving a full blood transfusion. She’s taking it well, so we are expecting her to be ready for recovery shortly.”

“When can we see her?”

“We are going to monitor her through the full transfusion, then move her here. Another hour or so.” I nod, then look back down at our son. He wiggles in his sleep, trying to adapt to the world out here where it’s so loud and bright and cold.

“Does he have a name?” Dr. Schmidt asks.

“Connor.” I respond. Kailey and I have said his name hundreds of times during her pregnancy. But saying it to his face, knowing what he looks like, having him in my arms, introducing him to someone else, it hits differently. Tears fill my eyes, falling down my cheeks silently.

“Welcome to the world, Connor.” The doctor pats my shoulder encouragingly. “Hang in there, Miles. You’re doing great. She will be in soon.”

After he leaves the room, I melt. The exhaustion drapes over my body, going into every joint and muscle group. I feel a dull, tension headache pounding in my temples.

But Kailey is okay. She is alive in another room. Her heart is still beating. And in my arms is our baby boy.

Everything else is grossly insignificant.

[Kailey]

My eyelids feel heavier than bags of concrete mix. I want to open them but can’t. Soft beeping reaches my ears assuringly. My brain tries to tell my hands to touch my belly, but they don’t want to move. They’re weighted down too.

Mindlessly, I drift in and out of consciousness for a long time. So long, I’m convinced days have passed. In time, my brain does get my hand to lift. I try to bring it to my belly to check on the baby, but it’s still weighted down. It takes a few more moments to realize a hand is on top of mine, brushing comfortingly along each knuckle. I turn my focus to opening my eyes. They lift begrudgingly.

I take in the hospital room, noticing Miles is next to me. He’s leaning back in a chair, eyes closed, brown curls wild. Last time I saw him, he was in teal scrubs. Now he is back in his clothes- a white Adidas sweatshirt and black sweatpants. My body becomes alert when I remember why he was wearing those scrubs. My eyes flick down at my tummy. It looks big and bloated, but feels empty. I try to talk but my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth. No moisture can be felt and I cough at the awareness. Miles startles. When he sees my eyes open, he smiles.

“There she is. Hi baby.” He reaches for my face, cupping my cheeks gently. He sits up completely, leaning forward to kiss my forehead. “Do you need water?” I nod as frantically as I can. It comes out as a shrug. He reaches across my body, moving the bed tray over me. He picks up the tumbler filled with fresh water and ice. He maneuvers the straw up to my mouth so I can suck up a few sips.

“Where is he?” I ask immediately when I can.

“Connor is here.” He says, putting the tumbler back. “He’s amazing.” Miles grins, tears evident in his eyes. “He has been patiently waiting for you… me, not so much.”

“You’ve never been patient a day in your life.”

“Hey.” He chuckles at the truth. “They said you should do skin to skin right when you wake up.” He stands up to unswaddle our son, who startles at the intrusion. His soft wail fills the room. I bite my lip and undo my hospital gown with lethargic, fumbling fingers. “That should be good. I’ll tuck him in.” Miles murmurs, holding our boy up. My lip crumbles into a sob when I see his little body in my husband’s big hands.

“Oh my god.” I cry as Miles slides him into my hospital gown. I weep openly, clutching our newborn to my chest with greedy fingers. I tilt my head down to see his face. “Oh wow, he is a carbon copy of you.” I sob harder. “I’m screwed. I’m going to give him anything he wants.” Miles laughs, leaning down to kiss Connor’s head. His lips then find mine. Our kiss tastes like tears as we make out. I realize they’re mine and his.

“I almost died on the floor of this hospital when they made me leave you.”

“What happened?”

“You were hemorrhaging. They couldn’t get it under control so blood was going internally to other areas. It was bad. I didn’t know what was happening or if you were okay. It was just me and him in here alone.”

“Are you okay?” I ask him, reaching out for his face. My thumb strokes his left cheek, smearing his tear tracks together.

“No.” I nod in understanding, then pull him closer to me. I wince at the pain I feel in my abdomen. Miles puts his hands on me in alarm.

“My incision.” I assure him. “You come closer this time.” He leans down further.

“I love you so much, Kails. So fucking much. I will never let another day pass without telling you 5,000 times.” I chuckle against his mouth.

“Oh good. I’m finally going to get the treatment I deserve. 2,000 a day wasn’t nearly enough.” He puts his forehead next to me on my pillow. One hand comes up to my head, palming my hair, while the other rests on Connor’s back.

“I’m so glad you’re still around to give me shit.” He mumbles into the stuffed fabric.

“That won’t ever go away. When you die first of old age, you’ll feel my sass then too.” I stroke Connor’s bare back under my gown, tilting my chin forward to kiss the hat on top of his head. “Can’t wait until you’re old enough to sass your dad too.”

“Come on, our kid too?”

“Yes. It’s becoming a Wood family tradition to give you shit.” He pulls back, painting strokes across my forehead with his thumb. His eyes work all over my face, drinking me in like if he blinks I might not be there. “I’m okay, baby.” I whisper. His blue eyes close in anguish.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get the calm birth experience you wanted. I wish I could change that.” I shrug, looking down at our baby. Definitely not an ideal situation, but looking at this adorable baby- half me and half him- I would do it all over again. Every part of it.

“No, but look at what we did get. Connor Wood, you are what our world spins around.”

[faramirsonofgondor]

Reasons why I think Buck might have OCPD (Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder) as someone with OCPD and ADHD

He seems very preoccupied with his work, lists, systems, and order. Especially when he’s in “clipboard Buck” mode

OCPD usually starts in your teens to early 20s, and can be caused by trauma and feeling like you need to be “perfect”

Perfectionism and extreme focus on working (the way he was incredibly determined to get back to work during the Lawsuit Era)

Inability to let things go even when they lose their worth

Inability to share or delegate work to others for fear it won’t be done right (while Buck very often chooses to be the one to take risks on the job because he doesn’t want others to get hurt, this could be a part of a moral/methodical obsession. To him, Buck wouldn’t be doing his job correctly if he let one of his coworkers get injured when he could be the one injured instead)

Being obsessive, judgemental, and inflexible in matters of morals and judgement (this literally reminds me of S1 ep1 when Buck didn’t want that teen mom to ride in the ambulance)

Difficulty forming and maintaining close relationships with others (again S1 Buck and lawsuit era)

Excessive doubt and conscientiousness

Rigidity and stubbornness

Compelled to do things a certain way

Low threshold for humiliation, criticism, and emotional hurt

Bye why did I find a med journal that says “loved ones on the receiving end of the relationship will experience exhaustion, unhappiness, and frustration” like Lawsuit era who???? (ok but this journal is lowkey so critical of people with OCPD wtf 😭)

Obviously not all of these things are stuff that Buck does throughout the entire show but I think S1 and a bit of early S2 era Buck was more obsessed and preoccupied with his own morals and as he matured he bent his behavior more towards following the rules at the 118 and he became obsessed with his work and doing his job as best as he can. I think part of this duality stems from the fact that in his teens he would’ve felt pressured to adhere to the standards his parents set, with the only times he really went against them being when he would injure himself for their attention because in his mind the right method to get someone’s attention is through injury (which we see come up multiple times throughout the show). However, as he entered his early 20s he got stuck into a routine of traveling from place to place and learning new skills, which probably would’ve impacted his ability to be preoccupied over his works rules/systems and would’ve probably caused him to obsess more over morals, as we see when he quits the marines because they don’t align with his approach to morals and emotion.

**Also I know some people might be confused when I say early S1 Buck had an obsession with morals considering he slept around, stole the fire truck, etc. but I want to point out that with OCPD your own rules surrounding morals and judgment might not be completely logical, and more “Black and white” so Buck might not have seen casual sex as morally wrong (which it’s not, but I digress) and he probably didn’t see an issue with stealing the fire truck at the moment. People with OCPD can still mature and have changing moral values over time and that’s part of Buck’s development. He probably took Bobby firing him as a very harsh judgment on his own behavior and we see that even in S2 he was obsessing over that when Eddie was hired.

Sorry this is kind of a messy post where I just word vomited all over the place I hope this makes sense even though I probably ended up contradicting myself at some point.

[deathlooksgoodonyou-if]

AAAAAAAHHH!!! Just found your If and I can already say that I can feel myself bitting at the bars of my cell, this is SO GOOD!

I'm already obsessed about so many different parts of this story and the demo hasn't even come out yet!! So I'm going to do what my little heart and messed up brain can and word vomit about my little fucked up MC!

So, you said they had a rough upbringing and that their situationship with Jules was also not healthy, so I did the sane thing and started projecting on them!

My little guy, my baby boy Kyrin, is absolutely not coping well and he mostly decides that any mean thoughts or emotions that surface are nothing important and immediately bottles them up for another day, month, year. They will never let anyone see under their mask because, well, why would anyone need to know? They like this version of him, so no matter how many things he has to say or thinks, they won't ever see the light of day.

And he does his best to seem like a well adjusted member of society, he even makes some friends (which to him is an epic win!!), and then he meets Jules.

And sadly, for everyone involved, it seems they match each other's freak.

Kyrin and Jules share something in common. Love is strange and scary for them, never having felt this strongly about anyone before, they have no idea how to handle it.

Kyrin, completely fumbling this whole new human experience, loves too hard and too bright. He wants Jules to like them, to spend time with them, to get any shred of attention from them as he can. And he doesn't even understand why.

Jules, of course also doesn't understand this love thing, and is in result scared by it.

The obvious happens.

It's when Jules begins dating another person that Kyrin's mask breaks. Years of anger, grief and a thousand other things finally breaking the camel's back.

Things get messy. Kyrin is angry. Jules is angry. They can't find a middle ground. Bridges are burnt.

And then Jules is murdered.

Kyrin is left alone, mask broken and a whole lot of emotions to sort through for the first time in a long time.

At this point, in the present, Kyrin is less of a wet cat and more of a feral stray kitten. Scared, angry and functioning entirely on his fight or flight mode.

With everything going on, he will absolutely choose to close himself off from others, feeling terrified of being so vulnerable and with so much in his plate that putting on his mask is near impossible at this point.

I have ideas of what I want his story to be, no pressure to add anything of this of course.

His main arc would be obviously getting his shit together and finally figuring himself out as a person but that's going to be pushed far back on the line of things to care about with the whole murderer on the lose and the incarnation of his grief, loss and self hate coming to haunt him.

For romance, it'll be a real hit or miss as the only one I can see him even willingly getting close is Mia and that is mostly because of the whole 'She will hurt you' part. After Jules passing, Kyrin absolutely doesn't believe they can or should be loved and that train of thought will only be reinforced by the new mean Jules in his head.

Of course, this is a big maybe because if that sanity stat does what is says, and by god I hope it does (little guy so fucked up that he is taking control of the narrative!!), then Kyrin will either kill someone or himself before the story ends. I want that stat as low as it can go!

Either way, this is going to be a really messy ride with an even messier ending and I can't wait for it!

kyrin is such a gorgeous, gorgeous name! He gives off major "I confuse instinct for desire. Isn't bite also touch?" vibes. 😭😭

I love it when people talk about their MCs in my asks. It helps me understand what y'all want and write them better. 🫶

[sebbypowell]

Life With A Super Soldier Roommate Pt. 8

Summary: Bucky gets injured and you were the one who took care of him. You both discussed the future as well.

Words: 2.7k

Warnings: injuries, swearing

Part 9

The shift at work was going as usual, hectic and tiring. You were tending to patients as best you could, but your mind kept wandering back to Bucky, wondering how his mission was going and if he was safe.

You were in the middle of making your rounds when a patient called out to you. "Excuse me," a weary-looking young man called from one of the beds. "Can you come here for a moment?"

You gave him a reassuring smile and walked over to his bed. "How can I help you?" you asked, noting the worried look on his face.

You gave him a reassuring smile and walked over to his bed. "How can I help you?" you asked, noting the worried look on his face.

"I'm having some pain in my stomach," the young man explained. "It's been bothering me for a few days now, and it's getting worse. I'm worried it might be something serious."

You nodded, understanding his concern. "Okay," you responded soothingly. "Let me take a look. Can you describe the pain for me? Is it sharp, dull, localized, or spreading?"

"It's mostly a dull ache," the young man explained. "It's not too bad, but it's constant. It feels like pressure, like something's pushing against my stomach from the inside."

You looked at his chart and you saw that he was trans and you fully supported that. "Any idea how the stomach pain happened?" you asked.

The young man shook his head. "I'm not sure. I thought it might have something to do with my hormone medication, but my doctor said it shouldn't be affecting my stomach like this."

"I see," you said, taking note of that information. "Have you had any other symptoms? Nausea, vomiting, loss of appetite, or anything like that?"

He nodded. "Yes, I've been feeling nauseous off and on, and my appetite hasn't been great. I've been throwing up occasionally too. My boyfriend has been staying with me and taking care of me."

"Just get me Dr. Y/N!" someone yelled at one of the doctors.

You heard someone calling your name, interrupting your conversation with the patient. "I'm sorry," you said to the young man. "I have to attend to that for a moment. I'll be right back."

You turned to see who was calling your name and your eyes widened when you saw Bucky and he was injured.

Bucky was standing there, leaning heavily on another agent's shoulder. His face was covered in dirt and blood, and his clothes were torn and ragged. His breathing was labored, and it was clear that he was in pain.

"Bucky?" you gasped, rushing over to him. "What happened? Are you okay?"

Bucky looked up at you, his eyes unfocused. "I'm fine," he managed to say through gritted teeth, even though it was abundantly clear that he wasn't. "Just got a few scrapes and bruises."

"Bullshit," you exclaimed under your breath, immediately going into your medical mode. "Your eyes are glassy and you can barely stand. Someone get him to a room now!"

The other agent nodded and helped Bucky into one of the empty rooms, laying him down on the bed. The other agents waited outside as you assessed Bucky's injuries.

"Fuck, you're really injured," you said as you looked at the injuries.

Bucky tried to shrug it off, but a grimace of pain contorted his face. "It looks worse than it is," he tried to downplay it. "I just need a few stitches and maybe some pain meds."

"A few stitches my ass," you retorted, already beginning to examine his injuries. "You've got multiple lacerations, your arm looks dislocated, and I wouldn't be surprised if you've got a couple cracked ribs. You're gonna need surgery."

"I don't have time for surgery," Bucky protested, trying to push himself up from the bed. "I have to debrief with Steve and the team-"

You put your hand on his chest, preventing him from getting up. "No, you're not going anywhere," you said firmly. "You're staying right here until I say otherwise. Your team can wait," you started to hook up the machines.

"But…" Bucky started to protest, but you gave him a stern look that silenced him. He knew that arguing with you when you were in medical mode was a futile endeavor.

You got all the monitors hooked up, taking note of his vitals. His blood pressure was low, his pulse was rapid, and his breathing was labored. It was clear that he was in pain, his face betraying his discomfort despite his attempts to hide it. "I'm taking even more extra shifts until you're healed."

"You don't need to do that," Bucky protested, but there was a note of relief in his voice. "You already work too much as it is."

"And you put yourself in danger too much as is," you replied, your voice sharp. "But that's who you are. You can't help but sacrifice yourself for others. Well, this time, I'm sacrificing my time for your sake. You're gonna be in this hospital for a while."

Bucky opened his mouth to argue further, but the stubborn look on your face told him it would be a losing battle. He slumped back onto the bed, a mixture of frustration and resignation on his face. "Fine," he grumbled. "I still think you're overreacting, though."

You rolled your eyes at his stubbornness but didn't comment further. "You're just as reckless with your own health as all the other superheroes," you muttered under your breath. "You're all idiots. You're gonna give me a heart attack one day, I swear."

"Us idiots keep the world safe," Bucky quipped weakly, a hint of a smile on his face. "You wouldn't want us doing anything differently, otherwise you'd be out of a job."

"Don't remind me," you shot back, unable to suppress a small smile despite your annoyance. "I love my job, but sometimes I hate dealing with your stubborn asses. I'm surprised that Bruce wasn't the one to take care of you in the med bay in the compound."

"I don't think the Hulk would be much of a nurse," Bucky managed to chuckle before wincing in pain. "Besides, I'd rather have you take care of me than him."

"I thought you said I was overreacting," you reminded him as you began to clean one of his cuts. "You'd rather be in the hands of the doctor you believe is exaggerating your injuries?"

Bucky flinched as the antiseptic stung his wound, but he managed a weak grin. "Hey, I never said I was smart. I know I'm a dumbass when it comes to my own health."

"At least you're self-aware," you said dryly, moving on to the next cut. "But that doesn't make it any less annoying when you show up here, covered in blood and half-dead."

Bucky shrugged, wincing again as you continued to clean his wounds. "It comes with the territory, I guess. Can't be a superhero without getting a little beat up." He paused, studying your face as you worked on him. "You worry too much."

You rolled your eyes again. "Well, you are my boy-" but you cut yourself off.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at your sudden pause. "What?" he asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

You shook your head, mentally cursing yourself for almost slipping up. "Nothing," you replied, busying yourself with bandaging his wounds.

Bucky studied you, noticing the way you averted your gaze and the slight blush that crept up your cheeks. "You sure about that?" he asked, his voice lowering. "It sounded like you were about to say something."

"I'm sure," you said firmly, focusing on the task of bandaging his wounds. You couldn't let him know what you'd been about to say. "I gotta go to my other patient."

Bucky's gaze followed you as you moved away from the bed, a mix of confusion and hurt in his expression. He knew you were hiding something from him, and it frustrated him that you wouldn't open up. "Is that all you're gonna say?" he called after you, his voice tinged with irritation. "Look, we've had sex twice and the second one was last night. Doesn't that say something?"

You stopped mid-step, your heart skipping a beat at his words. You hadn't expected him to bring that up suddenly, especially here, in the hospital. You turned back to look at him, your eyes meeting his. "Bucky…" you began hesitantly.

Bucky shifted, wincing as he moved slightly on the bed. "Don't 'Bucky' me," he said, his voice betraying his frustration. "You were about to say something just now, I know it. And I want to know what it was. We might be just friends, but… but I thought we were honest with each other."

"I can't do this right now," you said and left the room to go to your other patient.

Bucky watched you leave, a pang of rejection and hurt coursing through him. He slumped back against the pillows. "Great job, Barnes," he muttered to himself, annoyance and disappointment warring within him. "You really screwed that one up, didn't you?"

You walked into the patient's room. "I am so sorry for taking forever."

The young man gave you a tired smile. "It's okay," he reassured you. "It sounded like you were dealing with something important."

You sighed, a mix of exhaustion and frustration in your expression. "Yeah, something like that," you replied, beginning to check his vitals. "Anyway, have you and your boyfriend been sexually active?"

The young man's cheeks turned red, and he shifted awkwardly on the bed. "Um, yeah, we have been," he confessed, his voice shy. "Is that a problem?"

"No, it's not a problem," you reassured him, noting his vitals on his chart. "Just wanted to make sure. Sometimes sexual activity can trigger pain or discomfort, so it's important to be honest about it. Or it could trigger pregnancy after."

The young man's eyes widened. "Oh, we're definitely not trying to get pregnant," he said, a hint of embarrassment in his voice. "We're both guys, you know? Well, I'm the one who's trans."

"Oh, I understand," you said, giving him a reassuring smile. "That's totally fine. I just needed to make sure I knew all the relevant information." You continued to check his vitals and made some notes on his chart. "So, how long has the pain been happening, and how severe is it?"

The young man thought for a moment, attempting to describe the pain. "It started a few days ago," he said, a frown on his face. "It feels like pressure in my stomach, like something's pushing against the inside. It's not too bad, but it's pretty uncomfortable."

. . .

Bucky was still propped up on the bed, looking bored and restless. He perked up when you entered the room, his eyes immediately locking onto yours. "You're back," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

You moved over to his side, your eyes automatically checking his vitals displayed on the monitors. "How are you feeling?" you asked, your voice professional and detached.

"Bored out of my mind," Bucky grumbled, shifting restlessly on the bed. "I've been stuck in this room forever, and the only thing I have to entertain myself is the shitty hospital TV that only places children's cartoons so I've been watching this stupid penguin show called Pingu."

Despite your professional demeanor, you couldn't help but let out a small chuckle at his description of the show. "Pingu, huh? Sounds like a real treat," you said, a hint of amusement sneaking into your voice.

Bucky rolled his eyes, his lips twitching upward in a slight smile. "Shut up," he retorted, his tone playful. "It's not like there's anything better on. Unless you wanna watch Peppa Pig with me."

You smirked, pretending to consider his offer for a moment. "As tempting as that sounds, I think I'll pass," you teased, making a show of checking the monitors. "Bluey's better anyways."

"True," Bucky said.

There was a brief moment of silence as you continued to check his vitals, the only sound the gentle hum of the machines in the room. There was a slight tension in the air, and both of you were keenly aware of the unfinished conversation from earlier. "I'd rather have my future kids watch Bluey and not Peppa Pig," you said.

"Future kids, huh?" Bucky repeated, a hint of hope in his voice. He couldn't help but feel a flutter in his chest at the mention of the word "kids." "You've thought about that?"

"Yeah," you replied, your voice soft. It was true, you had thought about it before. Imagined a future with a family of your own, a life beyond your job. But you'd never discussed this with Bucky before. "Haven't found the right partner."

Bucky's expression darkened at your words. The thought of you with someone else, building a life without him, sent a pang of jealousy through him. He clenched his jaw, trying to control his emotions. "Right," he said, his voice a little rougher than before, "the right partner. Fuck it… I should be the one to do it."

You paused, surprised by the sudden intensity in his voice. You glanced up at him, your eyes widening slightly as you saw the hint of possessiveness in his gaze. "Do what, Bucky?" you asked, your voice quieter now.

"I should be the one to give you a family," Bucky replied, his voice firm. "The kids, the house in the suburbs, the whole package. I should be the one to give that to you." He paused, his eyes locking onto yours. "Me, not some other guy."

Your mind was reeling, trying to process the implications of his words. You hadn't expected this conversation, hadn't expected Bucky to express such possessiveness. "I told you that I didn't want to have this kind of conversation right now."

Bucky didn't back down. "I don't fucking care," he shot back, frustration and determination etched into his features. "I want to have this conversation, right now. I'm tired of us avoiding this. We can't keep pushing this aside forever."

"Bucky, this isn't the right time," you protested, struggling to keep your voice level. "You're injured, and we're in a hospital. Can't this wait?"

"No," Bucky said emphatically, his eyes burning into yours. "I've been patient, I've tried to give you space. But I can't wait anymore. I want you, and I want a future with you. And I don't want anyone else giving you a family but me."

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, conflicted emotions swirling within you. Part of you wanted to give in to the passion in Bucky's voice, to believe in the future he was presenting. But another part, the rational part, warned against it. "And if I don't want that future?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky's expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of hurt in his eyes. But he quickly composed himself, his determination only growing stronger. "Then you'd be wrong," he said simply, his voice laced with conviction. "You and I… we belong together. I've always known it. And deep down, you know it too."

"You can't just decide that for me," you protested, frustration creeping into your voice. "And if I do want a family, what makes you think you're the best person to give it to me? You're a superhero, Bucky. You're always in danger, sacrificing yourself for others. How can you promise me a future when your life is dedicated to saving people?"

Bucky's expression hardened at your words, stung by the truth behind them. "I know my life isn't easy," he said, his voice rougher now. "I know it's dangerous, and it always will be. But that doesn't mean I can't give you a future. I can be both a hero and a partner, a father. I'll protect you, always…" He paused, his eyes filled with sincerity. "Please, just give me a chance."

Your heart ached at the pleading in his voice, but the fear and uncertainty in you held you back. "It's not that simple, Bucky," you said softly. "I have to think about what's best for me. I can't base my entire future on a what-if. What if something happens to you? What if you're never able to come home again?"

Part 7

[naavispider]

Hello🥹

“Bullets sped past Spider’s face and shoulders, and he hunched down desperately to avoid being shot.”

So I just read your story and it’s something I didn’t know I needed. I really like how you write angst so how about switching place between Neteyam and Spider. What if Spider got shot by Lyle? How do you think Quaritch would react?

He barely had time to let out his gasp of surprise when something struck his shoulder. It was fast, powerful, and the force of it threw Spider to the floor. He didn't know what had happened, even as his left side upper arm suddenly burst in an explosion of pain.

He tried to catch his breath as he struggled to pull himself forwards on the cold, metal floor, but the sight of something red dripping down in large splotches sent him into panic mode. He looked down at his shoulder, seeing the injury for he first time.

Shit.

Blood was flowing freely from an open bullet hole, tearing open his skin in a red, sticky, sinewy mess. His head went dizzy and he was vaguely aware of Lo'ak's voice calling his name. He tried to focus on the sound of his brother's words to distract him from the pain blossoming there with every second.

"Bro, come on, we got you," Lo'ak was calling, his arms around Spider's waist and other shoulder. When had the gunfire stopped?

"Put him down!" Someone shouted. The voice was angry, threatening - Quaritch.

Lo'ak ignored him as he pulled Spider to his feet. Spider allowed his brother to bear most of his weight - it was all he could do to keep from vomiting with the pain. His breaths came in hisses, which only intensified when the sound of gunfire resumed. Spider tried to see through the fog that was obscuring his vision, and thought he could see Neteyam with a raised AR, firing back in the direction of the recoms. Spider tried to pull himself together. This was life or death.

"Ahh!" he groaned as Lo'ak pulled him onwards, away from Quaritch and Wainfleet, towards the moon pool.

"Come on bro, you're good, you're good," Lo'ak was shouted over the gunfire from beside him. Spider grasped hold of his shot up arm with his right hand, trying to do anything to stem the pain.

"Fuck!" he stuttered.. "Who... who shot me?"

"Bro!" Lo'ak shouted, amazed that was the first question Spider had. "I think the one with sunglasses!"

Spider snorted to himself even through his moan of agony when Lo'ak pulled him forwards and the jerk rippled right through Spider's left shoulder. The gunshots stopped, and Neteyam caught up to them, breathless and urging the pair on.

"Going as fast as I can bro," Spider groaned.

"I know, I know, let's get to the moon pool!" Neteyam encouraged fearfully. Spider could tell the danger wasn't over yet.

As if on cue, shouts caught up to them from behind.

"Let him go boys!"

That was Quaritch. Fuck.

"He needs a medic, you can't give that to him!"

Neteyam pulled them into an alcove that sheltered them from the approaching recoms. They were still far from the moon pool. The voices were getting closer. Wait. Just one voice. Spider fought to keep his eyes open.

Lo'ak looked at Neteyam, fear reflected perfectly behind the older boy's eyes, although he masked it under a guise of calm. Always the leader.

"Give him back to me, and no one gets hurt!" Quaritch was getting steadily closer.

"Don't," Spider groaned, silently begging his brothers not to listen.

"I can save him. There's no escape with you. He won't make it to shore."

Lo'ak and Neteyam exchanged a look. Both wandered what the other was thinking. A few more steps and Quaritch would round the corner and find them.

"Throw your gun!" Neteyam yelled around the wall.

Lo'ak stared at his brother. What was Neteyam thinking? Was he really going to give Spider back?

They waited a moment, then heard an angry growl, and the sound of a rifle hitting the floor and being kicked across the deck. The brothers stared wide-eyed at each other, and Spider slumped lower in Lo'ak's grasp.

"Spider!" Lo'ak prompted, shaking him slightly and pulling him back up. But it was no good - Spider's eyes weren't opening.

"I'm unarmed - just give the boy back. You two can get off the ship, no harm, no foul."

Lo'ak gulped. They couldn't leave Spider - could they?

He could see it in Neteyam's face. The realisation, the resolution. "Neteyam?" he whispered. "We're not leaving him!"

"We don't have a choice Lo'ak!" Neteyam hissed back. "Quaritch is right! Spider won't make it to shore!"

"Shoot me and Spider won't get help!" Suddenly Quaritch had rounded the corner, was facing them, staring at the three boys backed into a corner, with his hands raised.

Lo'ak hissed. Neteyam grunted, raising his AR to point directly at Quaritch's heart. Quaritch's eyes widened at the sight of the blood that now covered Lo'ak's side, drenching Spider's exopack strap, but it was quickly hidden by a strategic, determined reassurance. He needed to get Spider back.

Quicky.

"Kids, he's bleeding out. We can delay this as long as you like, but it won't save Spider."

Lo'ak and Neteyam didn't want to take their eyes off Quaritch, both fixed on him like he was a viper about to strike. Neteyam raised his hand to Lo'ak's arm. "Lo'ak," he whispered.

At this, Lo'ak broke his stare down of the recom to glare at his brother. "No!"

"Lo'ak," Neteyam said again, voice harder, more resolute. He slung his AR over his back and slowly moved to take support of Spider from his brother. Lo'ak watched with anger, confusion and desperation behind his eyes.

Quaritch raised his hands higher in defeat as he took a tentative step forwards, towards Neteyam and Spider. When neither of the boys reacted, Quaritch closed the gap and grabbed Spider in his arms, throwing the kid over his shoulder and backing away, slowly at first, then quicker, once he was sure Neteyam wasn't going to shoot him. He turned tail and had to stop himself from sprinting to the med bay, uncaring what became of the Na'vi boys, panic for Spider overcoming all of his senses, blinding him to the soldiers rushing past him on the way to join the fight, and deafening him to the communications in his earpiece.

Sully be damned.

[hischierswhore]

you really have a gift when it comes to writing!

exestolovers! with mason, set after england comes back home after getting eliminated. mason is on the reader’s doorstep in the rain waiting for her to come back home.

she comes home but she’s with another guy (her co worker or something) and mason is all like i’m sorry i’ll leave you two. she stops him is like hey no come in and thanks her her co worker for walking her home. then in her house his word vomiting his disappointment and sadness to her because she’s truly the only person he can be vulnerable with. then mason asks if they can give them another try ❤️❤️❤️🥹🥹🥰🥰

another shot

pairing: Mason Mount x Reader

TW: none

A/N: thank you so much anon! i genuinely enjoy writing so much. i’m 90% sure the layout of this fic is messed up, but i am working on fixing the issue

He sat on the couch on your porch, waiting for you to arrive home so he could speak to you. His hair was disheveled, dark bags forming under his eyes as the rain poured down heavily, exhaustion written all over his face.

A few more minutes pass and he finally sees you walking into your yard, but you were wrapped up in conversation with your coworker who'd offered to walk you home since it was raining. You were laughing and smiling, two of the many things Mason loved about you, but you were doing those things because of someone else. Someone who wasn't Mason.

Mason stood up, the sight of you and another man immediately making him rethink his decision to come here.

"I'm sorry, I'll leave you two-" Mason shows a small smile before grabbing his umbrella and walking towards his car. A hand on his arm stopped him.

"No no, you're fine. Come in" You smiled before thanking your coworker and unlocking your front door.

From the moment Mason stepped inside, he felt like he was back at home. The smell of your favorite candle (that you always repurchased because you couldn't get enough of it) filled the air upon entry, causing a smile to form on his face.

“Would you like some tea?” You offered kindly as you walked around the kitchen. Mason shook his head before sitting on one of the bar stools you had set up at the island.

“So, you & him…” Mason started before you interjected.

“Just friends, Mase. He was walking me home because my car has been at the shop all week and he wanted to make sure I got home safely. That’s all. No need to go into ‘jealous ex boyfriend’ mode” You jokes as you put your kettle on the stove, leaving Mason silent as he kept his gaze focused on the countertop in-front of him.

“Sorry about the elimination, by the way” Mason lifted his head to look at you, clearly in shock that you watched the game.

“You watched it?” He asked as you nodded.

“Never stopped. You know I was a fan of the sport before you & I even got together” You smiled at your ex. Even after months of grief, you could never bring yourself to hate the man in-front of you, despite how badly he’d broken your heart a few months ago.

“Why are you here, Mason?” You inquired as Mason sighed.

“I miss you” He blurted out. Before you could respond, he spoke again.

“I was such a dick to you, Y/n. I thought that I needed to be alone and focus on football for a bit, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. You don’t know how much I’ve cried over my stupid decision to leave you, and I know you must’ve cried much more than I did, and I’m truly sorry for what I put you through”

“Wow uhm- that was certainly unexpected” You let out a laugh, but immediately frowned upon seeing Mason’s look. He was being serious.

“I accept your apology, Mase. I hope you know I couldn’t never find it within myself to hate you for what you did to me”

“Why’d you let me in?” He asked.

“Like I said, I can’t hate you, so there’s no bad blood on my end, so us talking wasn’t an issue for me. Plus it was pouring outside and you looked cold” Mason laughed as you said the last sentence.

"If you want, maybe we could this another shot?" He said as he gestured between the two of you, to which you nodded.

"I'd really like that, Mase" You smiled as Mason got up from his seat and made his way towards you, bringing you into his warm embrace.

You really missed this. This is what you'd been waiting for the second you broke up, and you finally had him back.

[toracainz]

You are Steven's coworker. He is always sweet, respectful and you know for a fact that he couldn't hurt a fly. What is your reaction when he comes in one day, having a black eye, several band aids covering his face, trying to hide the small cuts, and his knuckles are also bruised?

(Marc or Jake took the body the night before and they were in a fight)

I debated so long about making this a fic for the response lol but I can’t get my thoughts straight right now so I’m just going to word vomit how I would probably react 😅

I might turn it into a fic later lol

If I was just standing there at work fiddling with the museum trinkets and Steven walked up looking absolutely wrecked I would immediately go into detective mode asking him a million questions…probably starting with “Oh my God, Steven! Are you okay? What happened?”

He’s absolutely deflect and come up with some entirely u believable excuse. Probably something “I had a fight with the ground and the ground won.” Or something like that, incredibly vague and not at all explaining how this absolutely sweet angle of a man could get in the condition he’s now in. Steven, understanbly, wouldn’t be going around telling people about his “condition”, but I would hope we would get close enough that he might consider sharing that.

Anyway, I would absolutely dote on him the rest of our shift. Checking up on him, offering to get him things (a drink, pain meds, lunch), offer to help with anything, asking if he needed help with his bandages. But I would absolutely want to know who hurt him. Not that all 5’3” of me who’s never been in a fight (and doesn’t want to) could do anything if I did know who did it. I would just want to let him know he had someone on his side. That whatever was going on he had a friend and support if he needed it.

Idk if this is what you were wanting for an answer, if it’s not I’m sorry 😅 I’ll get a fic together of this little scenario eventually. I’m not used to getting asks like this 😅

Thank you for sending me one 🥰 I feel like a real fanfic writer when I get asks about characters and scenarios 🥰