#i might get another one that we have there too

[checkeredflagggs]

Credit Cards

Pairing: max verstappen x girlfriend!reader

summary: max needs Ollie and Kimi out of his house — so he gives them his credit cards and a vague list

a/n: another fun one to write 😂 also I laughed so hard at this picture of him…

a/n2: ok so this was kinda requested? Imma be honest — I veered wildly of course from the actual request but I hope you like it anyway

a/n3: also a little something for @sinofwriting who saw nothing!

Masterlist | Taglist | Rookie Masterlist

Private Messages, Max and y/n

Private Messages, Max and Ollie/Kimi

Private Messages, Max and y/n

Private Messages, Kimi and Ollie

Bluesky

user1: oh my god this was Ollie???

↳user2: if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes…

↳user1: you’d guess it was Charles’ parking??

↳user2: yeah

user3: omg that’s Ollie?

↳user2: and Kimi!

↳user3: awwww that’s so cute — they’re together in Monaco?

↳user2: yup!

user4: i wonder what brought them out??

↳user5: right? Last I knew they were still holed up with max and y/n

↳user4: for my own peace of mind — I’m saying cravings

↳user5: I love that so much

user6: no blood test needed here…

↳user7: not at all

↳user8: god I hope that’s not actually genetic 😂😂

Private Messages, Ollie and Kimi

Bluesky

user9: no way 🤣🤣

user10: did someone actually buy that many diapers???

user11: this is gonna be my new Roman Empire!

user12: omg I saw this too and I swear to god it was Ollie and Kimi!

↳user13: the drivers??

↳user12: yes!

↳user13: seriously???

user14: if these ARE Ollie and Kimi — that’s hilarious. Do they understand how kids work?

↳user15: I’m guessing not 😂

user16: that’s so many — do you think y/n might be having multiples??

↳user17: we don’t actually know when her due date is…I thought, based on size, it might be soon but it’s possible she’s still early and is just having 2 or 3?

↳user18: this is so horribly invasive?

↳user19: absolutely true! It’s (more) likely that Kimi and Ollie just didn’t know how many diapers to buy

user20: god I wanna know how they’re gonna get them back to their house…

↳user21: OMG that’s such a good point — it’s not fit in their car…

Private Messages, Kimi and Ollie

Bluesky

user22: big same!

↳user23: oh to be so spoiled…

↳user22: I’d love nothing more

user24: that was Ollie!! I saw him coming out of the Chanel store!

↳user25: literally start talking rn

↳user24: nothing much to say honestly — he was following Kimi I guess, who like booked it out of the store, and i managed to get a selfie with Ollie!

↳user24: he said something like they were doing some shopping for baby lion!

↳user25: Stop. That’s so adorable!

user26: are max’s adopted kids shopping for his unborn kid right now??

↳user27: that’s absolutely what it looks like

↳user26: I love that more than i can say

Private Messages, Kimi and Ollie

Bluesky

user28: they’re just little kids really

user29: oh that’s so adorable

user30: I swear I saw them stop for ice cream before they went in the toy store

↳user31: well they’ve apparently been out all day — they need a pick me up 😂

user32: ok but I need to know where max and y/n are? Cause you know our chronically online queen has like alerts to her kids names?

↳user33: that’s a good point!

↳user32: she’s been suspiciously absent so far today…

user34: update! They made a bee-line to the LEGO section of the store and are now sitting on the ground comparing different racing sets

↳user35: hopefully not for the baby! That’s bad

↳user34: I’m gonna go out on a limb and say they’re buying it for themselves — Kimi keeps trying to sneak more and more Mercedes sets into their cart and Ollie is just replaced them with the Ferrari and Haas ones

↳user35: omg 😂😂

user36: ok but how do I die rn and reincarnate as a specific baby??

↳user37: same but im like asking for a friend!

↳user38: im not. I need to know for myself

Private Messages, the Pride

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @nichmeddar @mxm47max @justaf1girl @a-beaverhausen @tallrock35 @elizamoe133 @jessica3478 @il0vereadingstuff @taylorrrrrrrrrrswiftttt @widow-cevans @1-of-my-many-obsessions @charlesgirl16 @anunstablefangirl @evie-119 @sugarfreerbr @princessesgarden @tukes @mayax2o07 @teti-menchon0604 @galaxygurlll @star73807-blog @shelbyteller @ihaveitprinteddout @lilymaleshka @kuolonsyoja @allthings-fandom @mountainshuman @hannahmotors10 @moonypixel @nikfigueiredo @daisydaze111 @deephideoutmilkshake @loveyahachoo @raizelchrysanderoctavius @dying-inside-but-its-classy @mimisweetz @books-fangirl-books @bookishprophecy

[moonstruckme]

Different person— but is it overdoing it if I request a bad car accident but with an established relationship EMT marauders 👀

Yes definitely absolutely but I'll allow it (I did have to try and make it a little different though) <3

cw: scary car wreck aftermath, blood, concussion, angst

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

By the time the ambulance arrives, you’re already in hysterics. They only get worse when you see who steps out. 

“I’m sorry.” The words come out on a guttural sob, snot and tears and blood all mixed together on your face. “He was—I distracted him, and—” 

“Shh, shh.” Remus comes to you while Sirius rounds the car. He puts his hands on your jaw. “You’re alright. Don’t move.” 

“I made him look away—” 

“Stop moving, love.” His hands are still, grip firm, eyes moving quickly to scan you over. “I need you to focus.” 

“Is he okay?” 

“What hurts?” 

“But James—” 

“Sweetheart, please. Please.” Remus’ voice scrapes a little, and through your panic you register the wetness of his eyes. He’s terrified. “Sirius is with him, okay? We’re doing all we can, but I need to be sure you’re okay. Please let me do this.” 

Another sob collapses through your ribcage, but you choke out, “Okay.” 

“Okay.” Remus takes a breath. His fingers shift slightly on your cheek; perhaps only adjusting his grip, but it feels like a caress. To your right, you can hear Sirius’ voice but not James’. “Focus on me. What hurts?” 

“Um…my shoulder.” You haven’t given it much notice, honestly, all your worry since the crash only for your boyfriend unconscious at the wheel, but when you take a moment to think it’s obvious. Your arm is screaming. “And my head, but less.” 

Remus nods, all business as he uses one set of fingers to feel the back of your neck, moving down your spine. “Any pain here?” 

“No?” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah.” You sniffle. “Sorry, I’m sure.” 

“Good. That’s good, sweetheart.” He spares you a brief kiss. The stiff upper lip you’d been attempting to form quivers underneath his gentle touch. “Do you feel sick at all?” 

“Yeah,” you admit, though you think that’s more from anxiety than anything else. 

Remus seems to understand. He pulls a pen light from his pocket, clicking it on. “Look here for me.” 

You have every intention of doing as he says, truly, but it’s at that moment that you hear Sirius say thickly, “There he is. Hi, baby.” 

Later, you might think it’s sort of funny—baby. It’s unlike Sirius to call James that, and unlike James to be called it. But perhaps Sirius is only feeling very overwhelmed by tenderness and relief; that, you could certainly understand. 

You turn in your seat, the pain in your left side temporarily vanishing. You only want to see James with his eyes open, but if you have your choice he’ll be awake and talking, normal, totally unhurt, a miracle. “James?” 

“Y/n,” Remus chides, but there’s relief in his voice, too, his gaze looking past you. 

“Sorry, I—Jamie.” Your voice breaks. You’re sobbing again all at once, reaching for your boyfriend as he blinks slowly, his lovely face all pinched in discomfort. “James.” 

You’re arrested from both ends, Remus catching your wrist and Sirius halting you with a stern look. It softens after a moment, that instinctive protectiveness giving way to something gentler. He almost looks sorry.

“Don’t touch him,” he tells you, firm though not unkind. “We can’t move him until we rule out spinal injury. Listen to Remus, angel, let us do our job.” 

You lower your hand, chastened, but are unable to tear your gaze away from James. He looks confused. There’s the smallest bit of blood collected under his nostrils. 

He seems to find words slowly. “Pads?” 

“Hello, gorgeous boy.” Sirius smiles at him, holding his neck and jaw as Remus had done for you. “Funny seeing you here.” 

Remus says your name again. Only when he cups your cheek, manually turning you towards him, do you finally look away. Your boyfriend is watching you with a tender expression. 

“He’s okay.” He thumbs underneath your eye, collecting blood and tears on the latex of his glove. “We’re okay, yeah?” 

“I distracted him,” you whisper, throat tight. “He swerved too late because he was looking at me.” 

“Well,” Sirius, who has evidently overheard, chimes in with a suave tone, “who among us could be faulted for that, eh?” 

A laugh, soft and half broken, stutters out of Remus. “Very true,” he says. “Can you look here for me now, please?” 

You let him go through his tests, which eventually find you well enough to be moved from the car. Your boyfriends work as a pair to get first James and then you onto stretchers. By then another ambulance has arrived and, neither Sirius nor Remus wanting to leave you or James and each seemingly having grown slightly jealous of the other, they swap off; Remus hops into the ambulance with James and another paramedic, and Sirius goes with you. 

You see this as your chance to get some real, unfiltered intel. Sirius can always be relied upon to tell things as they are. 

“Is Remus—are we going to the same place?” you ask as he locks your gurney into place inside the ambulance, knocking on the window to let the paramedic driving know once it’s secure. 

“Oh, yeah. Of course, you thought we’d let you end up in different hospitals?” Sirius turns your head gently with his hand, wiping with something cool above your eyebrow. It stings. “We want you both where we can keep an eye on you.” 

Your fear worsens. “Why?”

Sirius glances at your eyes, his expression softening. He brushes a gloved forefinger over your forehead consolingly. “Not because we think anything bad is going to happen to either of you, sweetness. Just for the same reasons as always; because we like to.”  

“How bad is it, though?” 

“Could certainly be worse,” he says. “You have a relatively mild concussion, and your shoulder—”

“With James,” you clarify quickly. 

“Oh.” Sirius blinks. His brows draw together, not condemning but sympathetic. “His concussion is a bit worse than yours,” he says, as frank as you’d been counting on from him. “He’s in and out, rather confused, but mostly unhurt besides that. Honestly, that first blow to his head might have saved him a lot of damage. Sometimes, when people go limp during a crash, they…hey. Hey, baby.” 

You shut your eyes, powerless to stop the silent sobs that shake your middle. Sirius wipes gently underneath your eyes. 

“That’s enough of that,” he murmurs. “We’re fine. We’re all fine.” 

“He’s hurt because I—because he turned—” 

“I heard you before,” Sirius quiets you. “You couldn’t control that, lovely.” 

You can feel your hairline growing damp with tears. Your voice is a scratchy, shamed thing. “I’m just so sorry.” 

“I know.” Your boyfriend presses a piece of gauze to the cut on your forehead, his gaze unflinching. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about, though. You really don’t. Anyone can blame themselves, but the truth is you might’ve gotten hit no matter what. There’s no sense in thinking like that.” 

Sirius pauses, looking for understanding in your face. You press your lips together in attempt to stop crying. 

“I need you to focus on getting better,” he says. “Can you do that for me? I can’t hug you properly so long as your shoulder’s dislocated, and I think we could both use a hug right now, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you whimper. 

Sirius offers you a small smile, taping the gauze over your cut. “Good. So you’ve got your job, then, yeah?”

“I’ll try.” 

“You’re going to be so great at it, sweetness. I have absolute faith in you.” 

[grison-in-space]

yep. cannot overstate how bad this is, y'all.

so who's going with me to protest again in force this weekend with your local 50501/Indivisible/Women's March chapters? and/or start practicing for a general strike?

let's go, chop chop, democracy sure as hell ain't going to save itself without help from every one of y'all. those of you who refused to vote, you get to protest extra in remedial harm reduction studies, but you can ultimately catch up with the class as we move forward. here's where that gets us! go on, anarchist crust punks, start organizing for a general strike and line up food sources, water sources, etc in case of a strike, this is like the thing y'all are best at. now's your chance to shine.

that reminds me. it's too much to be doing everything and knowing everything at once. that's the point. so how do we make sure nothing gets lost in the shuffle?

we trust one another to be different and have different priorities, and everyone picks something and sticks with it. I am currently sitting here typing to you as someone who is a direct target of like, four or five things at once, but even if you are totally unaffected by constant attacks on everyone who isn't a straight white male anti-intellectual I am sure you have particular causes and topics that you think are most important and that you care about most. Good. I trust that you can call me in if I'm preoccupied by one or another and that I can otherwise let you watch over that thing while I handle mine.

artists, it's a great time to think about getting into street art as a form of eyecatching resistance; viral moments spread across social media, and our visual artists and our textile artists have probably the collectively best chance to create that organic, all-present social buzz. we cannot sit down and let anything blow over from everyone right now, and y'all are our best defense against that. pick a topic that you care a lot about, get up and watch it and act for it when it needs you, and don't worry too much if you come in on it a day late and a dollar short: that topic's own people will be standing up for it first.

storytellers, comics, we could use you to help draw attention to the political fight for our rights and to shape the narratives that we use to hurl our fury at this bullshit. what images give people courage? what jokes hit the hardest, afflict the comfortable and comfort the afflicted? how can you best humanize the many people under attack from this occupation? what are the best things to shout? (singers and poets, we could really use some better things to shout. I was out at the stand up for science march and the slogans were dog shit, we can definitely do better than that.)

scientists, librarians, teachers, museum partisans and scholars, we need so much defense of our higher institutions of learning and of the value of honestly describing the natural world. truth has never been so devalued in American politics, and that is saying something. Make sure we are grounded in the natural world and reality itself. Teach people why we use citation trails to trace the history and the paths taken by ideas over time; not to protect ourselves from accusation of plagiarism, but in order to understand how ideas develop and exactly how a thing we know became known. Sometimes it should not have been. Defend the truth; there can be no justice without truth.

disabled and unemployed folks, stay at home moms, you might not have a lot of resources at your disposal, but many of you have time to spare. this therefore makes you often invaluable to local organizing efforts, because time can be a resource that many other people find difficult to apply.

fellow internet yappers, now is a good time to talk to people and listen during the pauses we aren't talking, because we as chronic yappers are bad at doing that but it is vastly necessary if you're going to put weight on your organizing. if people have concerns when they talk to you, listen and think about them. you will do the best work with people who know, like, and trust you. think about how to foster more connection in your community. also, please get yourself yapping in meatspace at a protest near you soon. protests are invaluable ways to connect to other people in your geographic region who are also spitting mad about this bullshit. make friends and resolve your alienation a little bit by yelling furiously in a group.

our shattering is not fore-ordained. we live in interesting times. who knows what the outcome of this battle will be?

Oh.

We're at "traffic tickets are justification for disappearing people off the street and sending them to death camps with no due process" levels of fascism now.

Okay yeah we're like fucked, fucked.

[frombookstoretobookstore]

You Say That Like You Care

Abbot x Injured!Reader Summary: After reader takes a punch to the face, Abbot's emotions flare as he realizes he might care a little too much.

TW: Blood, injuries, angsty Abbot, Abbot admitting his feelings.

A/N: I don't love this piece but I needed to get an angsty Abbot piece out of my head. This might be purely self indulgent. Masterlist

Y/n groans as she digs the ice pack deeper into her eye socket to ground herself. Her shift was already in tatters, and she didn’t need to look at the clock to know her official shift hadn’t even begun.

She’d been called in early to help in the ER, a resident had gone home sick. She’d swung in early, happy to help where she could. Now she wished Dana had called someone else. She felt guilt rise in her chest, if she hadn’t come in, it could have been one of the med students who’d drawn the short straw.

She’d stepped in to help with a combative patient, nothing unusual. Hell, she worked with women in labor who usually threatened her the pain was so bad, she was used to never taking anything personally. 

The patient had presented with a partially degloved leg but the meth in his system had sent him ballistic. Y/n had caught a punch to the face. She’d been dragged out by McKay as she’d tried to continue helping despite the blood draining down her face.

So, Y/n finds herself sitting behind the nurses’ station, Princess swearing as she presses gauze to her nose while Y/n ices her swollen eye. Still another hour left to wait before her L&D shift is set to begin.

“Christ sweetie, the hell happened?” Dana asks, quickly donning a pair of gloves, removing the icepack from Y/n’s face as Princess continues cursing under her breath.

Y/n groans and bats her friend’s hands away. “Just dealing with it all tonight. Apparently. I’m fine.” She grounds out as Dana pulls her glasses on to study her bloodied face.

“Did you go to CT?” Dana asks, quickly grabbing some tissues to wipe away the blood encrusting Y/n’s face and neck.

“I’m not wasting CT’s time, I’m fine.” Y/n said, tears springing to her eyes as Dana prods her nose.

“Please tell me you fell. Or lost a fight with a newborn.” Robby says, Dana moving so he could assess their friend.

“She took a hit from curtain three.” Princess says, Y/n hissing when Robby started putting pressure on around her eye.

“Princess, call down to CT and get her in line. Let L&D know they’re down a doctor.” Robby starts testing her pupil reactivity.

“No, I’m not going home. I’ll be fine. I came here to collect myself, not to distract the best workers of the ED.” Y/n says, waving Princess off the phone. She rolls her eyes as she lets Y/n usher her back to work. Robby only sighs as he crosses his arms and takes in her appearance.

“You probably have a concussion if not a fracture. Let’s get some morphine so I can pop this nose back into place. Also, I doubt your patient satisfaction scores will go up with the way you look right now kid.” Robby says, chuckling softly as Y/n tries to scoff through the wads of gauze shoved up her nose.

Y/n bats his hands away again. She stands and Robby tries to push her down onto a stool again. The four newest med students’ eyes grow big as they took in the L&D doctors banged up in front of them as they wait to check in with Robby before leaving.

Y/n groans as she notices the newest pairs of eyes on her. “Alright gremlins time for a teaching moment gather around.” Robby only rolls his eyes.

“If you’re going to be stubborn, at least let Dana come back with morphine. For my sake.” Robby says, pinching the bridge of his nose as he already knows what Y/n is going to do.

“Quickly, how do we do a nasal fraction reduction?” Y/n asks doctors King and Javadi’s hands fly up first. Santos huffs with her arms crossed and opens her mouth to speak.

“Santos you’re out of the running. Raise your hand and maybe I’ll call on you next time.” Dr. Santos’s mouth hands open slightly, clearly not used to the sharp attitude of the usually sunshiny L&D doctor they’ve all gotten used to.

“A doctor manually realigns the displaced bone and cartilage; my guess is we’re looking at a type III nasal trauma. Biggest take away is never do a realignment on your…” Abbot’s gruff words and disapproving scowl are cut off as a sharp crack is heard as Y/n manually realigns her own nasal cavity.

The med student’s faces drop and a few pale even as they watch Y/n reset her own nose, the sound sickening. Y/n bends forward, the pain blinding for a few moments. She rights herself and presses gauze to her nose as it starts leaking blood again.

“That was both the grossest and most impressive thing I’ve ever seen.” Dr. Javadi whispers, her mouth still open.

“As I was going to say before Dr. Y/l/n did one of the stupidest things, is never reset your own nose.” Abbot’s tone is gruff and sharp, and judging by the med students’ faces, he’s using that icy stare that makes everyone uncomfortable.

“Check on your patients. Go.” Y/n only catches Robby’s smirk from across the nurse’s station as the med students scatter. Abbot has her by the elbow and is dragging her into a trauma room, snapping the curtain shut.

He’s slamming drawers closed as he starts grabbing materials to pack her nose. The room is icy, and Y/n can hear her heart pummeling in her ears, feels it in her nose.

Usually, she’d steer clear of pissing Abbot off, knowing his temper is short and how cold he can get. But today? She doesn’t care, she’s exhausted and angry.

“Quit hulking out. I’m fine.” She says, hissing as her breath burns her nose.

He doesn’t answer. His shoulders are tight, his jaw set, and his hands are tense as he drops everything onto a small metal table, yanking it closer as he looks at her nose and bruising around her eye. He adjusts a light to get a better look at the bruising.

“What happened?” He growls, tilting her head back as he checks the alignment on her nose.

“Got slugged.” She shrugs.

“Last I checked you worked with babies.”

“Not all of them are happy to leave the womb.”

“Stop I might actually laugh at one of your deflections.” He deadpans as his fingers skim her skin, checking for more fractures.

“Unless you have some superpowered hands there hulk, you aren’t going to be able to feel any fractures.” She speaks.

“I know.” His eyes are still icy, his brow furrowed as he keeps giving her a once over.

“Still injured. That isn’t going to change the more you stare at me.” She huffs out.

He tips an eyebrow up before throwing away the discarded, bloodied gauze, snapping his gloves off and heaving them into the trash. He leans against the counter behind him, his arms crossed against his chest as he stares at her again. He sighs deeply and lets his head drop.

“Jack Rabbit, talk to me.” She says as she shifts on the bed. “Your silent treatment is even creepier through one eye.” He smirks as he glances up at her trying to open her partially swollen eyelid.

“What are we going to do with you tonight? Any being you deliver is crawling right back in as soon as it sees that face.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He breathes out and runs a hand through his curls and he lets it rest on the back of the neck. His gaze finally meets hers.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I might disappear.” 

He groans as his head falls back. “Every time something like this happens. I worry it’ll be the thing that drives you away from here.” His confession tumbles past his lips.

“You say that like you care.” Her heart swells as he looks at her, his stare full of emotion instead of ice.

“Maybe I do.” He mutters, his arms bracing on either side of him on the counter, his gaze back on his feet.

Y/n swears she can hear the heart monitor from three doors down as Abbot sits with the emotions he just showed her. She’s also sure her mouth is hanging open a bit.

“I.. I’m sorry?” She says, tilting her head towards him as if to hear him better.

“Because maybe I do care. Maybe I care if you get hurt. Maybe I care that I wasn’t called in early. Maybe I care, because I don’t want to see you hurt, ever.” He’s crossed the room in a few strides before she even realizes, close to her again.

“It was just a punch Abbot.” Her brows are furrowing as she grabs his hand as she notes that they’re shaking slightly.

“What if it wasn’t? What if it had been worse and I wasn’t there?” His eyes aren’t on her anymore, their distant.

“Abbot, it was one punch, and I wasn’t alone. Princess nearly bit his arm off, and security was in the room right after.” She laughs slightly, swinging their clasped hands between them.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Abbot’s voice is low, almost a whisper. “It’s not about the punch or the guy who threw it. It’s about you. I care about you, Y/n. I care more than I should. Seeing you hurt, even a little, makes me feel like I’m failing you.”

Y/n’s expression softens, her grip on his hand tightening. “You’re not failing me, Abbot. You never have. I don’t need you to protect me from the world.”

He looks down at their joined hands, “That’s what I want too. More than anything. But it’s hard to turn off the part of me that wants to shield you from everything.”

She smiles gently, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Then don’t turn it off. Just... let me in.”

He nods, letting their clasped hands dangle between them. He steps forward, dropping her hand, before carefully tucking her into his chest. She breathes him in, smelling laundry soap and something that reminds her of leather.

They pull apart and he looks at her with an eyebrow raised. “Seriously though, I wouldn’t trust you to deliver anyone’s child.” She swats at his chest as a laugh rumbles his chest, his eyes clearer.

“Shut up and buy me dinner Army Boy, I’ve got a lot to talk to you about. You aren’t the only one caring more than you should.” His heart flutters in his chest as she stands. Before he can pull the curtain back, she’s pulling him in by his scrub top and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. She pulls back with a smile.

She pulls open the curtain to Dana and Robby swapping cash, their eyes wide as they’re caught by the two.

“If either of you breathes a word of this to anyone.” Y/n hisses with her hand up to stop them from running. “I’ll make sure you leave your shifts with similar bandages.” She points to her own face as she walks off, Abbot only smirking as he watches her go.

-------- This one took me FOREVER to write and I'm not sure how I feel about it. I've been watching Animal Kingdom and I needed to write angsty Abbot after. Hope y'all enjoyed it!

[hearts4hughes]

hiii could you do a rafechella where she drags him around to see all the artists, makes him wear glitter, and he pretends to hate it but is obviously so down bad for her? thank u angelll

RAFECHELLA 2025

“no way you’re putting that shit on me.”

rafe sits shirtless on the bed of your airbnb, watching you apply glitter onto your rosy cheekbones.

your bottom lip juts out. “all the hot coachella boyfriends will have it on,” you mumble. “guess you’re not one of them.”

he straightens his spine, cursing under his breath before caving. “whatever, just make sure it’s blue and not some pink girly color.”

you squeal, pressing a wet kiss to his cheek. your lipstick stains his tanned skin, but he does not attempt to wipe it off.

you straddle his lap, a compact of glitter in one hand while the other swipes it onto his face. he furrows his brows, muttering complaints about how you’re using too much, but his eyes sparkle with pure admiration and affection.

“perfect,” you stand back to admire your work. “now every bitch in california will want you.”

“well, the only one i want is right here.”

~

coachella hits the second you step through the gates. bass thumping, bodies glittering, sun blazing overhead. you’re practically vibrating with excitement, hand interlocked in rafe’s as you drag him through the crowd.

he’s already brooding in his white tank, aviators on, looking way too serious for someone surrounded by fairy wings and shirtless dudes in mesh.

“okay,” you start, breathless, “we’re hitting mojave first. tyla goes on in fifteen, then we swing by dolab, and then—”

“you said there’d be beer,” he grumbles, cutting you off. “you promised beer.”

you glance over your shoulder, grinning.

“there is beer,” you say like it’s obvious. “but first? vibes.”

he groans dramatically but doesn’t stop walking. you know he won’t.

you’re halfway to the stage when your favorite song starts. you don’t hesitate, just start dancing, right there in the middle of the crowd, your boots kicking up dust, your hands in the air. rafe just watches, arms crossed, trying (and failing) to look unimpressed.

“you’re not even pretending to have fun,” you call over your shoulder, laughing.

“i’m trying to pretend you don’t look hot as fuck,” he mutters, and your stomach flips.

he lets you pull him in, your back pressed to his chest, his hands resting low on your waist. he smells like sunscreen and sweat and a little bit like the lemon vape he swore he wasn’t bringing.

later, in the middle of the set change, you pull your glitter pot out of your bag and swipe another streak across his cheekbone before he can dodge you.

“seriously?” he deadpans. “again?”

you just blow him a kiss.

he doesn’t wipe it off.

~

when the sun sets, the real festival begins. you encounter more cleavage, joints, and glitter than you ever have.

your arms are looped around his neck, bouncing to the beat of the music while he stands behind you, big hands holding your hips as an anchor.

you tip your head back to look at him.

“you’re having fun, huh?”

he lifts a brow. “i’m drunk, deaf, covered in glitter, and my girlfriend’s been screaming in my ear for six hours. what’s not to love?”

you laugh, eyes crinkling, and he leans in closer, lips brushing your ear.

“plus,” he adds, “i get to watch you dance in that tiny little skirt. honestly? best night of my life.”

you gasp, shoving his chest.

“you’re so gross.”

“you made me wear body glitter. i’ve lost all dignity.”

“you never had any.”

“fair.”

the crowd screams just then, and rafe doesn’t even flinch. he just grabs your face and kisses you like he’s been waiting all day to do it.

your hands fist in his shirt. his lips are warm and soft and everything inbetween.

when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and his voice is quiet, almost shy.

“you look like a walking disco ball and i think i might be in love with you.”

your heart stumbles so hard it nearly faceplants.

“you think?” you say, breathless.

“i know,” he says quickly. “shut up.”

“mmhmm. sure.”

he rolls his eyes and kisses you again anyway.

~

the night ends how everyone should: aching feet, smudged makeup, drunken giggles.

your body’s practically limp against him, forehead resting against the back of his neck, words slurred and sleepy.

“you’re gonna drop me,” you mumble, not even lifting your head.

“never,” he says like it’s a promise. “unless you throw up on me. then all bets are off.”

you let out the tiniest laugh, which fades into a sigh as you close your eyes again. your glitter, makeup, and who-knows-what-else have smeared all over the back of his white tank, but he couldn’t care less. his arms are firm around your thighs, holding you like you weigh nothing. like you’re his favorite thing to carry.

“you’re heavier than you look,” he mutters.

“rude.”

“truthful.”

“i hate you.”

“you love me.”

you hum something that sounds suspiciously like agreement.

your head lols and your breathing softens. he leans his cheek against your arm and lets the quiet settle around you both. he knows you won’t remember half of what he says right now. that’s kind of why he says it.

“you were the prettiest girl there,” he whispers. “and i’d wear glitter every day if it meant ending up with you like this.”

no response. just the slow rise and fall of your chest against his back, the sound of your soft breathing, the occasional clink of bracelets as your arms sway gently around his shoulders.

“you’re my favorite part of all this,” he adds, voice low, almost a secret.

you don’t stir, and he smiles to himself, carrying you the rest of the way home.

[favefandomimagines]

Baby On Board (f.l)

Summary: Y/N is seven months pregnant and Frank is a nightmare

AN: I’m on a role with these Frank fics lol a request similar to this came through anonymously where there were multiple kiddos but I was thinking of maybe making each pregnancy its own story??? What do we think?

The ER didn’t stop—not for holidays, not for sleep, and definitely not for pregnancies.

Dr. Y/N Y/L/N knew that better than anyone.

At seven months pregnant, she still had her badge clipped to her scrub top, and stethoscope around her neck like she was still on month one.

The only real sign of slowing down came in the form of a tiny foot kicking her ribs every few hours, and the way her husband, Dr. Frank Langdon, treated her like she was wrapped in glass.

“Okay, tell me you’ve eaten something,” Frank said, appearing beside her at the nurse’s station. He had a sixth sense when it came to her whereabouts. He’d sniff her out like a bloodhound when he thought she’d gone too long without food or a break.

She gave him a tired smile, holding up half a granola bar like it was a gourmet meal. “I’m pacing myself.”

Frank squinted at it like it offended him. “That’s bird food. You need protein.”

“Frank, I’m fine.”

“You’re growing an entire person. ‘Fine’ is not good enough.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and handed her a container of sliced apples and peanut butter. “From the cafeteria. It’s not garbage, I checked.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you married me anyway,” he grinned.

Y/N took a bite despite herself. “Only because you told me I had the best laparoscopic technique you’d ever seen.”

Frank leaned closer, voice dipping. “It was a sexy suture job. Changed my life.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. Frank Langdon was a walking contradiction—brilliant and serious when it came to medicine, but a complete puddle around her.

Ever since they’d found out about the baby, he’d been obsessed. With ultrasounds. With vitamins. With keeping her off anything remotely resembling a stressful case.

“You promised you’d only take consults today,” he reminded her, brushing a hand over the swell of her stomach. “No trauma. No GSWs. No knifed bar brawlers. Baby Langdon doesn’t need to hear screams yet.”

“Frank,” she said with a warning look.

“Y/N,” he said back, smiling but not backing down. “Let me be annoying. It’s my love language.”

By midafternoon, the ER was humming like it always did—a steady, chaotic rhythm of stretchers rolling, pages beeping, and voices shouting. Y/N had been reviewing a consult for a gallbladder patient when the overhead pager crackled to life.

“GSW incoming, ETA four minutes.”

The attending was in surgery. Frank was in another trauma bay. The only other senior resident was handling an incoming stroke in CT.

Which meant Y/N was the only one left.

She stood up instinctively, even as a nurse gave her a hesitant look. “Dr. Y/L/N, should I page someone else?”

“There’s no one else,” she said, already reaching for a gown and gloves. “Page the OR. Let them know we might need a room fast.”

“Are you sure—?”

“I’ve got it.”

The trauma bay exploded into motion the second the paramedics wheeled him in.

“Thirty-five-year-old male, GSW to the left abdomen, hypotensive in the field, unresponsive to fluids. GCS 9.”

Y/N was already in position. “Let’s go. Two large-bore IVs, type and cross, hang O-neg now. Get the FAST scan ready.”

The team scrambled. She barked orders while the tech applied the ultrasound probe to the man’s abdomen. Blood everywhere. Vitals crashing.

“He’s bleeding out,” someone said.

“Get me a thoracotomy tray,” Y/N called, pushing harder on the man’s belly. “We’re opening him up here if we have to.”

Her belly pressed into the stretcher as she leaned closer, hands slick with blood, the baby inside her shifting as if aware of the chaos around them.

“Pressure’s bottoming out—”

“He’s tamponading,” Y/N said. “OR now. We need to move.”

They barely stabilized him with a rapid transfusion before wheeling him up. Her gown was soaked in blood. She stripped it off as they rolled the patient away, rubbing at a red streak on her gown as she stepped out of Trauma 3.

And ran straight into Frank.

“Y/N!”

His voice was like a whip crack. She looked up just in time to see him sprinting down the hallway, his eyes wide with panic.

“What the hell happened? Why are you covered in blood? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, holding up her hands, even as he reached out and started patting her down like he was checking for wounds. “Frank, I’m fine. It’s not mine.”

“You weren’t supposed to take any trauma calls!”

“There was no one else, Frank.”

He stared at her, face pale, then looked down at the stain on her trauma gown, the crimson gloves in her hand, and the sheen of sweat on her forehead.

“You’re seven months pregnant. You can’t be in there opening chests—”

“I didn’t open his chest. I stabilized him. Got him to the OR. The patient’s alive, Frank.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. For a second, he just looked at her—at the way she was standing tall, composed, despite the blood and exhaustion.

“You scared the hell out of me.”

She softened as she took the gown and gloves off. “I know.”

“I thought—” he stopped, swallowing hard. “I thought something happened. That someone didn’t notice you were pregnant and shoved you into a wall or—”

She stepped forward and touched his arm. “I’m still capable. Pregnancy didn’t erase my training.”

Frank pulled her into his arms anyway, holding her like he needed to convince himself she was real.

“You’re not a porcelain doll,” he mumbled into her hair. “I know that. But I—God, I just want you both safe.”

“I am safe,” she murmured. “Because I’m trained. Because I trust my judgment. And because I have a husband who follows me around with apples and prenatal vitamins.”

He let out a weak laugh, still holding her.

Later that night, after the trauma bay was clean and the adrenaline had drained from both of them, Frank found her in the break room. She was sitting on the couch, one hand on her stomach, eyes closed.

“You’re not gonna get away with that again, you know,” he said gently.

Y/N opened one eye. “With what?”

“Being the only senior resident and taking a GSW while seven months pregnant. I’m putting it in your permanent record.”

She smiled, too tired to argue. “How’s the patient?”

“Out of surgery. Stable. You saved his life.”

She nodded, a satisfied smile on her face, rubbing at her lower back.

“Come on,” Frank said, kneeling in front of her. “Turn.”

She did, and he began to rub slow, practiced circles into her back. “I’ve been reading up on prenatal massage,” he said casually. “This spot here? Supposed to relieve pressure.”

“You’re a nerd.”

“A nerd who loves you,” he murmured. “And this baby.”

The room was quiet except for the hum of the vending machine. Then she said softly, “I know I scared you. But I need you to believe that I know what I’m doing.”

“I do,” he said. “I really do. But believing in you and worrying about you don’t cancel each other out.”

She leaned back into his hands. “Deal.”

Frank reached up and kissed her cheek, lips lingering slightly.

Two weeks later, she officially went on leave. But every now and then, Frank would find her standing in the ER doorway, arms crossed over her stomach, watching.

And he’d walk over, press a kiss to her temple, and whisper, “Still capable.”

And she’d whisper back, “Still protective.”

And both were absolutely true.

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which paige is a nervous wreck

you’ve known paige bueckers for years.

known her game, her favorite gummy snacks, her pre-practice playlists, the way her eyes light up when she talks about basketball, and the way they soften when she looks at you. you’ve known her in every way a person can be known—on the court, off it, during tough losses and quiet victories.

and you’ve been dating her for nearly four years.

so when she starts acting weird—like, real weird—you’re confused. not “she misplaced her socks again” weird. not “she spent twenty minutes looking for her phone while it was in her hand” weird. no. this is a whole other level.

paige bueckers won’t look you in the eye.

not once during practice. not when you handed her the water bottle, not when you passed her a perfect bounce-pass in transition, not even when you hit a step-back three and turned to wink at her like always.

nothing. she flushed bright red and turned the other way.

you notice the way her voice stutters every time she speaks around you too.

“y-yeah, uh, good pass,” she mutters when you catch up to her in a fast break. "y-you look g-g—good, today,” she says like it physically hurts. and when you bump her hip and joke, “you alright, bueckers?” she just about implodes.

her teammates definitely notice.

“oh my god, she’s malfunctioning,” nika whispers dramatically during a water break, pointing a finger in your direction like you’re medusa and paige is slowly turning to stone.

“hey, coach, we might need to sub in a new point guard,” aubrey jokes. “this one’s lost all motor functions.”

even coach geno gets in on it. “you get hit in the head, paige?” he asks mid-practice when she completely misses a wide-open layup. “or are you just lovesick?”

laughter erupts in the gym.

you try to be gentle with her. she’s your girlfriend, after all. you’ve spent years memorizing every inch of her — every curve of her smile, every freckle she tries to pretend she doesn't have. you know she can be shy sometimes, but this? this is like first-crush-level nervousness.

and the worst part?

she’s not telling you anything.

that night, after another long, unusually awkward practice and enough teasing to last a lifetime, you corner her in your shared apartment.

she’s curled up on the couch, hoodie too big and pulled halfway over her face, like she’s hiding. her knees are tucked to her chest, and her phone is face down on the blanket beside her. she looks up when you walk in, then immediately looks back down.

“okay,” you say, arms crossed. “what’s going on with you?”

she gulps. “wh-what do you mean?”

you raise an eyebrow, stepping closer. “you’ve been acting like i’m gonna murder you every time i get within three feet of you.”

“no, i haven’t—”

“babe, you stuttered when i offered you a sip of gatorade today.”

“i-i just—maybe it was too cold—”

“paige.”

she freezes. you sit down next to her. she fidgets with the sleeves of her hoodie, fingers nervously twisting the fabric. you don’t say anything for a moment, waiting.

finally, she blurts:

“i wanted to ask you out on a date.”

you blink. “what?”

she finally meets your eyes, cheeks pink. “i wanted to ask you out. like, properly. like, a date. i was gonna do this cute thing with flowers and that coffee place you like and—yeah.”

you stare at her. then you start laughing.

paige looks like you just slapped her.

“i’m serious!” she insists, defensive and adorable. “i—i got nervous! i didn’t know how to bring it up! and then everyone was making fun of me, and you looked so—so good—and—”

“paige.”

“what?” she mumbles, looking away again.

“we’re already dating.”

she pauses. blinks.

“wait. what?”

you’re still laughing, hand on her thigh, thumb rubbing slow circles. “you asked me out four years ago, remember? after that summer league tournament. i wore that stupid neon headband, and you said i looked like a traffic cone.”

paige’s jaw drops. “oh my god.”

“i said yes, by the way. in case you forgot.”

she covers her face with both hands. “kill me. kill me now.”

you grin, pulling her hands away gently. “why the sudden nerves, bueckers?”

she groans. “i don’t know! i just… sometimes you walk into a room and i feel like i’m seventeen again and you don’t know i exist and i’m terrified you’ll say no.”

you melt.

“oh, baby.”

you crawl into her lap, straddling her, hands resting on her shoulders. her eyes flick up, just barely, and you can see how flustered she still is.

“you’ve got me,” you whisper. “you’ve had me. you don’t have to ask again.”

she exhales, head falling back against the couch. “okay, good. 'cause i was literally sweating all through practice.”

you giggle and lean forward, kissing her forehead. “you’re such a dork.”

“but i’m your dork.”

you kiss her properly then, soft and slow, until she relaxes into your touch.

the next day at practice, paige walks in looking smug and satisfied, hand held tightly in yours.

the teasing explodes.

“oh look!” nika calls out. “she remembered they’re dating!”

“was the amnesia temporary or…?”

“someone call the ncaa, paige finally made a shot without combusting.”

even geno claps sarcastically when she nails her first three-pointer.

“glad to see your motor functions returned, bueckers. maybe next practice you can remember your girlfriend lives with you.”

you lean in and whisper, “you’ll never live this down.”

paige groans, face buried in your shoulder.

but you both know the truth.

she might act like she’s still trying to win you over—but that’s the thing about paige bueckers. she falls for you every day like it’s the first time.

and you love her all the more for it.

[aleskie]

BAKING WITH BEDSY | Connor Bedard x Reader

SUMMARY: Connor's a disaster when cooking. Baking though? He might have a better chance.

WARNINGS: None. Pure happiness. Enjoy.

There are a couple of things in life that one would consider a fact. The sky is blue. Winters are cold. Summers are hot. And…Connor Bedard was a complete disaster in the kitchen. He might be a force to be reckoned with on the ice, all speed and precision and control, but when it came to cooking? Not even close.  

Take tonight, for example.

You’re having dinner at your place—your roommate, off on her own plans for the evening, left the apartment blissfully free for a cozy little date night with your boyfriend—when he casually drops a story about his morning.

“I’m telling you, nonstick pans are a scam,” he says, with a kind of stubborn finality that immediately makes you nervous about where this is going.

“Food always sticks to it, so why do they even call it that?” he goes on, stabbing his fork into his bowl like the memory still haunts him. “Babe, my eggs this morning? You could barely get them out. I had to stop by the shop downstairs to get an actual breakfast after I ate them.”

You blink at him. Part of you is horrified. Another part of you kind of wants to laugh.

“Connor,” you say slowly, “Did you add any oil or butter to the pan? Even just a tablespoon?”

“It’s a nonstick pan,” he says, face serious, tone flat.

“Right,” you say, carefully choosing your words, “But you still have to add a little bit of oil or butter. It helps the food release better. Makes it taste better too.”

His brow furrows, as if this piece of kitchen wisdom is causing him physical pain.

“It’s a nonstick pan,” he repeats, incredulous.

“You can keep saying it,” you say, smiling, “But I promise you still need something to grease it up. It’s just how it works.”

He glances upward, like he’s pleading with the culinary gods to help him make sense of this betrayal. And then, as if his brain can’t quite hold on to the mystery of culinary science for more than a minute—

“This pesto is really good, by the way.”

You laugh. You can’t help it. Disaster in the kitchen or not, he’s your disaster.

“Don’t try that!” he all but yells, holding a hand out like he’s protecting you from an oncoming fireball. “I messed up—it’s way too spicy.”

You’re over at his place for lunch on his day off. He’d insisted on cooking for the two of you, clearly excited about it, and while you admire the enthusiasm, the mystery chicken dish on the plate in front of you doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. Still, you appreciate the effort. He did try.

“I’m sure it can’t be that bad,” you say, already bracing yourself as you take a bite.

Immediately, you regret it.

The chicken is somehow both bone-dry and drowning in sauce. And the heat? It hits like a freight train. Your throat burns. Your eyes water. You cough—hard—but try to keep it cool. “It’s not…too bad,” you manage, voice hoarse, blinking through the spice-induced tears.

Connor is already shoving a glass of milk into your hands. “Don’t lie to me,” he says, clearly mortified. “It sucks. I know it sucks.”

He watches as you chug the milk like it’s the only thing keeping you alive. His pout deepens as he gently pats your back, equal parts concerned and embarrassed.

“I ruined lunch,” he mutters. “I’m sorry. I even had my mom on call and everything. I followed the instructions really well, I swear.”

You pull him into a hug, laughing softly despite the heat still lingering on your tongue. “I’m sure you did, hun,” you say, planting a kiss on his cheek. “And you didn’t ruin lunch—we can still save it. I promise.”

And you do.

You head back to the stove with the pan of culinary chaos and do a little damage control. Some yogurt from the fridge, a spoonful of honey, a squeeze or two of lemon—it’s a makeshift fix, but it works. The sauce mellows out, the spice simmers down, and once it’s all plated again with a side of salad, the dish is actually kind of…good. Hot, sure, but manageable. Even kind of tasty.

Later, as he loads the dishwasher, you lean against the counter and watch him, amused.

“I need to know though,” you say, arms crossed, “What on Earth made you think that much spice was a good idea? I thought your mom was coaching you?”

He closes the dishwasher and hits start before turning back to you with a sheepish shrug.

“Well…she said to add as much as I thought I needed. The original amount looked too small so…I just kind of went for it.”

You stare at him. He grins, guilty as charged.

You laugh again, shaking your head. “Remind me never to let you ‘just go for it’ with chilies and chili powder ever again.”

You figure it out soon enough.

Connor’s good at following instructions. Like, really good. He’ll follow them to the letter—no more, no less. If the recipe says stir for two minutes, he’s setting a timer. If it says one teaspoon, he will not be rounding up. He’s meticulous in his approach. It’s honestly kind of impressive.

But it’s also why cooking has never quite clicked—that requires instinct, improvisation, a little risk. And, hockey aside, risk isn’t really his thing when he’s got a manual on hand.

Baking though?

Baking might just be his sweet spot.

“We’re making cookies today,” you announce as he steps inside, kicking off his shoes by the door.

He raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “I think we’ve pretty thoroughly established that I shouldn’t be allowed within ten feet of a kitchen.”

“Yes, but that was cooking,” you say, grinning as you head for the kitchen. “Today, we’re baking. Entirely different thing.”

There’s a glint of curiosity in his eyes as he follows you in. On the counter, you’ve laid everything out with intention—bags of ingredients, measuring cups at the ready, a printed recipe sitting neatly in the center of the countertop.

He eyes it all like he’s preparing for battle. “You really set it all up.”

“It’s a foolproof recipe for chocolate chip cookies,” you say, trying to sound casual, even though you’re kind of excited to see how he’ll do. “Nothing fancy. Just follow the steps, measure everything right, and we’ll be in cookie heaven. You in?”

He picks up the recipe and scans it with a furrowed brow, nodding slightly as he reads. Then he looks back at you.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” he asks, that teasing edge in his voice.

You flash him a smile. “Nope.”

“Take a little flour out,” he says, eyes locked on the digital scale as he weighs the sugars. “The recipe says 210 grams. That’s 213.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” You salute with a grin, carefully spooning out the excess until the number hits exactly 210.

He nods approvingly, already moving on to the next step. He’s taking this very seriously—baking like it’s a high-stakes science experiment. He even pauses to look up what creamed butter and sugar are supposed to look like before starting, squinting at his phone like he’s uncovering some sort of ancient text.

Slowly but surely, he takes over the entire operation. You’ve been demoted to assistant—well, cheerleader, really—perched up on the counter with your legs swinging, snacking on the leftover chocolate chips from the bag.

(Not the ones in the bowl, though. He was very clear about that. “It’ll ruin the process,” he’d said, almost scandalized.)

He looks adorably panicked while creaming the butter and sugar, glancing between the bowl and his phone like he's not entirely convinced it's working. But when the texture finally starts to come together—light, fluffy, just like the video promised—you catch the smallest, proudest grin tug at the corners of his mouth.

He mixes everything with methodical care, dry ingredients into wet, slow and steady, exactly as written. When it comes time to roll the dough, he actually measures each scoop—a tablespoon and a half, not a speck more—and shapes each cookie until they’re all uniform and to his liking.

Then he slides the tray into the oven, sets a timer for exactly 11 minutes, and finally turns back to you, stepping into the space between your legs like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“How’d I do?” he asks, grinning, cheeks dusted with flour, a faint trace of cookie dough on the corner of his shirt. “Not too bad, eh?”

You reach up and brush the flour off his face, letting your fingers linger for a moment.

“Well, we’ve gotta see the final product first, don’t we?” you say, voice playful, eyes soft. “But I think you’ve done pretty well for yourself.”

He’s sprawled out on your chest as the two of you laze on the couch, the soft hum of the oven filling the otherwise quiet apartment. Your fingers are in his hair, moving slowly, rhythmically, as you hum some tune you’re not even conscious of anymore. His breathing evens out, deep and slow, and you can feel the weight of him starting to melt into you, warm and heavy with sleep.

He hums softly in return, eyes closed, clearly on the verge of dozing off when—

BEEP BEEP BEEP

The timer blares like a siren and he bolts upright, wide-eyed and alert, like someone had just initiated a puck drop in the middle of his nap.

“The cookies.”

His tone is grave.

He’s already on his feet and halfway to the oven before you can sit up. He grabs an oven mitt and pulls the tray out with the kind of care normally reserved for priceless artifacts. He stares at them, pokes one gently. They’re soft. Still kind of runny in the center.

He turns to you like he’s just discovered a fatal flaw in his master plan.

“Do I…do I put them back in?”

You make your way over, still smiling, still calm, and guide him to set the tray down on the counter.

“They’ll keep cooking as they cool,” you assure him, leaning in to get a closer look. “You did everything right. They’re perfect.”

He watches you, still unsure, still hovering like the cookies might detonate if left unsupervised.

You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. “Don’t worry,” you say softly, “You did wonderfully.”

Just a half hour later, the cookies are cooled, perfectly golden, and ready to eat. The scent alone is enough to make your mouth water—rich, buttery, warm with vanilla and melty pockets of chocolate. He handles them like precious cargo, gently lifting each one onto a plate. Then he grabs two glasses of milk and brings everything over to the couch.

“We need to do this properly,” he says, serious as ever.

You suppress a laugh, settling in beside him as he sets the plate down between you.

He nudges one toward you like an offering and waits, hands folded, gaze fixed.

He wants you to be the first to try it.

You pick one up and take a bite.

Oh.

Your eyes flutter closed as the crisp edges give way to a soft, chewy center that still holds just a little warmth. The chocolate is gooey and rich, the balance of sweet and salt just right. It’s everything a chocolate chip cookie should be.

You let out a low, contented groan, savoring the bite like it’s something much fancier than it is.

He watches you with the kind of wide-eyed anticipation that’s almost comical. “Is that a good sound? That’s a good sound, right?”

You nod, mouth full. “It’s so good,” you manage. “Seriously, Connor, this is incredible.”

He picks one up for himself, finally allowing a bite, and his eyes light up like he’s just performed a miracle. “Oh my god,” he says, looking at the cookie like it personally saved his life. “I did that.”

“You did,” you say proudly, leaning into his side.

“It’s a chocolate chip cookie,” he says after a moment, as if trying to play it cool. “It was never gonna go wrong.”

You nudge him with your shoulder, smirking. “You were panicking twenty minutes ago.”

“I was managing expectations.”

“You were making backup snack plans.”

He pretends to consider that. “Fair.”

You sit there together in the quiet that follows, munching on cookies and sipping milk, the kind of silence that’s full and easy. The oven’s cooled, the mess in the kitchen forgotten for now, and he’s leaning into you, his head resting against yours.

“I was a little right, wasn’t I?” You say cheekily. “You aren’t horrible in the kitchen. Just needed to find your specialty.”

He looks over at you, crumbs on his shirt and that same flour smudge still faint on his cheek. “Yeah,” he says, smile lazy and real. “Thank you for the faith in me.”

You grin, wide and proud. “Always.”

And in the glow of the kitchen lights, surrounded by empty plates and warm cookie crumbs, it feels like one of those tiny perfect moments. Nothing flashy, nothing dramatic. Just simple, good, and full of love.

The kind of moment you’d bake a hundred more cookies just to relive again.

[eddiazx]

wait for me to come home - evan buckley x reader

(why is he so pretty when he cries?)

You know you weren't going about this in the most healthy way.

You and Buck had a fight. It had to do with a call that was broadcasted on the news; one where Buck had recklessly ran in to save an older man even though Bobby had clearly told him to stand down. You had watched with bated breath for a solid 8 minutes before Buck had run out carrying the man, and you could've sworn that your heart had stopped for those 8 minutes.

So the argument happened about him being reckless. It had been loud and emotional, and in the end, you did what did best: run.

You had been staying with Hen and Karen for the past two nights, dodging all of Buck's texts and calls. You know that giving him the silent treatment wasn't the best coping mechanism, but it was the only thing that was keeping you sane.

"Hey." Karen says softly, coming to sit next to you on the bed. "Buck's here to see you."

You nod. You had heard his voice, twinging on desperation, talking to Hen. The voice had calmed down and was more of a murmur now, since Hen probably giving Buck one of her wise, patented talks.

"Karen, I don't know if I can do this." You tear up, resting your head on her shoulder.

"Do what, hon?"

"Wait for him everyday, not knowing if one of these days he might not make it home. How do you do it?"

"Some days I still lay awake worried for Hen. That might not ever go away, if I'm being honest. But I love that woman and our children, and sometimes that's enough to calm the fears."

You sniffle and nod, getting up and walking out of the room to talk to Buck.

Hen gives you a soft nod and excuses herself, leaving the two of you alone in the Wilsons' living room.

"I'm so sorry." Buck says, his pretty blue eyes tinged with red. "I know you're right about me being reckless, that I don't think before I run into danger. But I'm going to work on it. You're too important to me for me not to."

"I don't want you to change, Buck. I knew what you did before we got together and how self-sacrificing you are. I'm just asking you to think about your safety, and to think about the people who are waiting for you to get back home. Back to the two of us." At the last word, you put a hand on your stomach, and Buck's eyes go wide at the insinuation.

"You're pregnant?" He chokes out, walking closer to you, before enveloping you in a hug.

You nod against his neck, tears filling your eyes as you reach up to run your fingers through his curls. "We're having a baby. So there's another person that's gonna need you to get home in one piece."

"I'm not going anywhere, baby." Buck promises, hands pressed gently against your stomach.

[nerdygirlramblings]

is it finally happening? 🤷🏻‍♀️

previous

The day you are cleared to return to duty, Adam texts you to come to the admin building, that Price needs to see you. You make your way back, sluggish and insecure. You hate your heats; they are a tangible reminder of your secondary designation. Yes, alphas have their ruts. They too get lost to their designated. But theirs is a drive to take and claim. Yours is, unfortunately, a drive to be taken. Claimed. Owned. And nothing embarrasses you more than the war inside between your desire to be independent, recognized for your own work, and your omega's desire to be possessed.

You're sure this meeting is about the pack. Price himself said you needed to talk about being pack after your heat. It was something you've been thinking about since Ghost's rut and the conversation with your parents, but you desperately need it to be on your terms. You know you want a pack - you've stopped lying to yourself about that - and you know they're open to courting you, at least they were when you first joined. But maybe that's changed? Maybe Price wants to tell you all you'll ever be is their teammate. And the rational part of you embraces that idea, likes being without a pack, appreciates the idea that any pack you might join wouldn't possibly interfere with your work. But your omega is violently making her presence known, snarling in your head, snapping at you when you think it would be better if Price and the others don't want you anymore.

Because she desperately wants them.

You're a little worried that you might have even cried out for Price and Ghost during your heat. Medical would have heard, but they won't say. You were too afraid of what the answer would be, so you didn't even ask when you left this morning.

Adam looks up as you walk over, comfort and concern clear on his face. "How are you doing?" he asks gently. His gaze travels over you, and you know he's cataloging every inch of your haggard appearance. With a frown, he asks, "Are you sure you've been cleared?" Technically, yes, base medical said you could resume your duties but they didn't recommend that you should. At least not for another day or two. This heat was apparently harder on your system than the previous one and the two you'd had at your last post. You know it's because your omega found her pack, and you denied her access to them.

Instead, you paste a smile on your face and wave Adam's well-intentioned concern away. "Yeah, just a bit tired is all. A little kip this afternoon should fix it," you tell him.

His frown is more pronounced, but he doesn't push. "Okay." You hear the skepticism. "They're all in the conference room."

You draw in a quick breath, and you can't keep your voice steady when you say, "Conference room? All?!" You hate how you practically squeak out the last word. Adam nods, and you walk stiffly to the door. When you open it, you're shocked to see Laswell on the screen. How humiliating will this be? It's one thing for them to decide they don't want you and cut off that avenue before it starts. It's another to do it in front of the woman who tasks your missions. How much of a failure will she see you as now? Will she even want your help?

"Ren, thank goodness," Laswell says when she sees you on screen. "We were about to get started, but I needed you here first."

You look at Price, hoping for some guidance about why Laswell would start a conversation about you not becoming their omega without you. The look he gives you in return is one of pure confusion. For the first time since receiving Adam's text, you find yourself unsure of your footing. Adam never said why Price wanted to see you, only that he did. Maybe this isn't about being pack after all.

You slide into the seat next to Gaz, same as last time, and Laswell starts. "First, the plan you and Gaz had, Ren, to snatch bits of info from everyone in Spinner's orbit gave us so much information to sift through we had to bring on extra analysts." You hang your head, ready to be scolded for causing trouble with your hairbrained idea. "But we picked up a number of threads we probably would have otherwise missed," Laswell continues. "That was some great out-of-the-box thinking," she praises.

Next to you, Gaz sits a little straighter and says, "The idea was all Ren, Laswell."

"Then, my thanks, Ren," she says, addressing you directly. "Between the little crumbs we got, and the information about the previous function Spinner attended, we were able to connect several targets to potential illegal activity. Which is why I want you and Gaz to attend the dinner in Waterloo this week. I was able to not only get tickets but put you at a table near enough to Spinner he'll be bound to spot you. Captain Price said he seemed to take an interest in you. I need you to lean into that-"

Ghost lets out a low growl, loud enough to be heard in the room but too quiet for the mic to pick it up. Price clears his throat, and from the corner of your eye, you see Soap reach out and put a hand on the lieutenant's arm. All the while Laswell keeps talking.

"-and see if Spinner is interested enough to reveal anything else. I'll arrange for Adam to take you shopping again."

"An' I need another collar," you blurt. Laswell and the team look at you. "I know 'e's this well-meaning socialite on the surface, but 'e's dark. I can get close to 'im, but I'm not doin' it without a collar." You try to keep the fear from your scent, but you haven't started the blockers again, and you worry it bleeds through the patches you threw on in medical.

Thankfully, Price and Gaz support you. "You didn't see 'ow he was wi' her, Laswell," Gaz says as Price tells you, "We'd never send ya into a situation like that without havin' yer back." You hear the whisper of Ghost's voice add, "We protect wha's ours."

next

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[eden031]

First meetings

Part 1 , Part 2

Pairing: Jack Abbot x female!intern!reader

Warnings: age gap (reader is mid 20’s, Jack mid/late 40’s), cursing, medical inaccuracies, misogyny (by one of the patients), mentions of suicide attempt (of a patient), mentions of child injury (of a patient), Jack Abbot is emotionally constipated, jealous!Jack Abbot, night shift shenanigans

Summary: After agreeing to do Dr. Robby a favour and transfering to the night shift she has to face that working with Dr. Jack Abbot might not be the easiest.

A/N: Soooooo we are so back baby. I am already working on a part three for this and in all honesty I might make this a longer series. Also Robby might be a bit ooc, but I wanted him to be kind of the ED dad, so here we are. Writing this is actualy so fun, though this part is more there to set up the next parts and get the story moving. Another thing is I made a playlist for the vibes, so if you are interested just click HERE

For two weeks she had successfully avoided Dr. Jack Abbot, well avoiding him was the wrong term: she had practically fled the area every time she had spotted him and if she had to go near him it was only if Whitaker or Mel were with her. Talking to him alone would probably make her brain short circuit within the matter of half a minute. Still she had tried to be as subtle as possible about it, never going too fast or just turning on her heel without apparent reason and from her perspective she had done an outstanding job at pretending to everyone around her that she was not avoiding him.

She had promised herself to be angry at him if she ever saw him again, that promise had been made about two weeks after their first meeting, between drinks and pizza shared with her roommate. Yet once these hazel eyes found her she was just putty and it scared her. Hell she had not even reacted to her first real boyfriend like this, she had never reacted to anyone like this. The only reason why she had been able to be angry at him or at least snappy was that she had been incredibly hangry and would probably have snapped at a lot of people in that state when she had met him in the Pitt, and there was probably also some shock to it.

The shift was finally coming to an end, she had thought that her first shift had been grueling, but this shift, the first shift in her third week in the Pitt, had probably been worse, there had been a pile up on the interstate and all victims were brought to the PTMC. There were about ten people severely injured and twenty six more minorly injured, it had been all hands on deck and the interns and med students had been left to make sure that the people with minor injuries were treated quickly.

That had kept them busy the entire day while they still had to deal with the usual flow of patients. Glancing at the clock she saw that it was seven thirty, the shift was officially over, though she could not leave yet. Dr. Robby had asked to talk to her, something that was strange in and of itself, usually if an attending wanted something from an intern like herself they would talk to the senior residents first. Shaking her head she ran her hand over her face, hoping that it wouldn’t take too long and that it wasn‘t something too serious. Afterall she had a date with a hot bath and left over lasagna. Watching as most of the other day shift staff was leaving she let out a low grumble of discontent.

“Sorry that took so long,” the voice of Dr. Robby caught her attention, just waving her hand in the air she shook her head.

“No worries,” the issue had not been that she had to wait for him. The issue was that the waiting had induced some anxiety in her, wondering what the hell the man could possibly want from her.

“So,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his head, he stood hunched over, an almost guilty expression on his face, “I need to ask you something,“ he sounded so guilty and unsure that she was beginning to get really worried. It sounded like he was fighting with his inner moral compass. „Usually interns and med students stay on day shift, but due to the issue with Dr. Langdon not being with us anymore and there being four people we somehow need to make sure stay supervised most of the time it‘s a bit much,“ he looked at her with those big brown puppy eyes of his that made him look about ten years younger than he actually was. At least now she knew in which direction this was going. He was about to continue with his explanation of the situation as she decided that she would just address the elephant in the room.

„So one of us needs to change to the night shift?“ she asked, tilting her head slightly. Dr. Robby sighed, his hand going back to the back of his head, scratching awkwardly.

„You don‘t have to, but it would lighten the workload on everyone and make Gloria happy,“ well there it was, there was the reason Dr. Robby seemed to feel so bad about asking this. It was probably Gloria being a pain in the ass and bugging him about it.

She knew why he had asked her specifically. Bridgit had taken a liking towards her, some had started calling Bridgit her work mom. The older woman always checked in on her during shift change, always made sure she had eaten something before leaving the hospital. Dr. Ellis and Dr. Shen also seemed to like her, from what she knew she was one of the people from the day shift that chatted the most with them, she and Dr. Ellis had even had coffee together once. They had coincidentally met in the same coffee shop and decided that it would be a good idea to have their coffee together. Still there was one question that burned on her mind now.

„Did you talk to Dr. Abbot about this already?“ she asked carefully, trying to gauge how far this process had already gone.

„Yes, but not only you.“ Dr. Robby paused, „I talked to him about the four of you,“ the four of you probably being Santos, Whitaker, Javadi and herself. „He told me that he would be glad if you joined his team,“

That almost knocked the air out of her, butterflies in her stomach doing happy little flips. She had thought that Dr. Abbot would be unhappy about her coming to the night shift, hell she would have thought that he might even tell Dr. Robby that he did not want her around him at all.

„I just have to ask: what did you tell him? It‘s not like I performed a damn RABOA in the field like Santos did, or even worked through the MCE like the others,“ she glanced at the floor, it was a genuine question, the others had a lot more experience and confidence thanks to that. She heard him sigh, cringing internally, knowing that this was probably a bad idea. Before she was able to tell him to forget it he spoke in that kind and gentle voice he used when talking to patients when he knew they were feeling uncomfortable or scared.

„You know that it is not always about what a person has already done, right?“ he gave her a small but kind smile, „There is a lot of potential I see in the way you work,“ he paused, „Do you still remember the unresponsive kid that came in last week?“ There had been a few unresponsive kids last week, but she knew exactly which one he was referring to.

She nodded silently, it had been scary to see that kid, not older than four that had apparently taken a tumble while playing with his brother and was unresponsive afterwards. She had asked one of the nurses if someone had already checked his glucose levels because she had looked into the chart and not seen anything regarding them. Apparently everyone had forgotten to do that, the worry of a little boy having taken a tumble while playing with his brother was too great, everyone focused on the fall, though his blood glucose level had actually explained the tumble and the unresponsiveness.

„Or the veteran suicide attempt?“ Dr. Robby asked.

That one had hurt her so badly, the man had survived four tours, then just a week after he had come back from his fourth tour his wife and daughter had been hit by a drunk driver, both dying on sight. She had been one of the people that had initially treated him and also been the person to get him to calm down with what she was saying he had been alert and very aware of what was happening. Afterwards she had always checked in with him, in his attempt he had lost both of his legs above the knee, recommended him a support group for veterans in the most gentle way possible, one she had been told about by a friend of hers from med school. After he had been able to get a bed upstairs she started visiting him after her shifts, always having tea or coffee with him before she headed home completely.

„Yeah, of course,“ she nodded, she hadn‘t worked here long enough that cases would start blending together.

„That is why Abbot wants you on his team,“ he paused, „It‘s because you care, you pay attention and yet somehow work quickly,“ he shook his head, „To be honest I am not too happy with letting you go.“ a friendly smile on his face.

——————————

After that conversation she could never have refused Dr. Robby. So that was how she had ended up at the ED, at six fifty in the evening with two huge boxes of donuts balanced in her arm as she tried to put her backpack into one of the lockers. Pressing the door shut she looked around, the stethoscope resting against her neck, this time she had opted for a long sleeved thermos underneath her scrubs, from what Bridgit had told her the ED could sometimes get cold during the night, even if the AC was running. People from the day shift were already filtering out, apparently for once shift change had gone smoothly and people could pack up and leave the PTMC on time.

Suddenly Dr. Shen appeared from behind her, in one hand his coffee, the other one tangled in his badge.

“Precious cargo you have there,” he gave her a slight grin as they continued to walk towards the entrance to the Pitt. The donuts slowly got heavier in her arms as the door leading into the organised chaos of the Pitt came closer. She could feel her heart hammering in her ribcage as they walked together, she would have to face Dr. Abbot today and she knew that she needed to stay focused on the job.

“Thought that I could bring them as a bribe so that you go easy on me,” she joked as he held the door open for her so that she could slip into the hallway, luckily the next door was the staff break room. Dr. Shen laughed as he shook his head slightly.

“Abbot never goes easy on the newbies,” he continued to slurp on his coffee. A slight shiver ran down her back as she thought of his warm and steady hands guiding her through a procedure. Shaking her head she quickly deposited the two boxes holding 25 donuts each onto the table in the breakroom, the sticky note still attached to them, a little note she had written wishing everyone a good shift.

“Great,” the sarcasm was dripping from her mouth as they turned to head towards the nurses’ station. Dana was still there, talking to Bridgit, who seemed to be extremely focused on the info Dana was giving her. She looked around, seeing Dr. Robby and Dr. Abbot talking to each other, Dr. Ellis standing beside them, nodding along.

Dr. Shen was approaching the group of Doctors, his coffee still securely clasped in his hand, she trailed behind him, glancing around, trying to see if there were still people from the day shift there that she could say hi to.

“Shen, finally,” Ellis greeted the junior attending that now stopped his rapid approach, moving to stand in the circle of people.

“You have looked better before,” he commented in a teasing tone as he slurped his drink, she crossed her arms over her stomach, doing her best not to look at Dr. Abbot who seemed to have his attention on the board more than anything else. She could feel the crackle of tension between them spark up again, it was unnerving as she stood there, waiting to be told what she was going to be doing during this shift.

“Yeah, no shit,” Ellis gave Shen an annoyed glance, “Olsen called in sick half an hour ago, can’t get a replacement in at this time,” she muttered. A sigh escaped her lips, realising that this would mean they were probably going to be in a bit of trouble, she had asked around a bit before her transfer and she had learned that Dr. Olsen was an R2 on the night shift.

“Ah great, but we got our intern now,” Shen patted her on the back. “And she brought donuts,” he announced, with that statement the mood of Dr. Ellis seemed to shift slightly.

“Chocolate glaze?” she asked with hopeful eyes.

Nodding she smiled slightly at the senior resident of the night shift. It already felt more familiar in this setting, maybe it was also because Santos was not bugging her the entire time.

“Chocolate glaze with chocolate sprinkles, got them specifically for you” she nodded, along to the silent glee spreading on the face of the senior resident. Dr. Robby laughed softly, giving her a quick smile.

“Alright, I am heading out of here, have a good shift,” with which her old attending disappeared somewhere in the depths of the Pitt, Dr. Ellis followed close behind, probably going to grab a donut. Standing there with Shen, who was still slurping his coffee, which was slowly getting on her nerves, and Dr. Abbot, who still had to address her, was slightly unnerving. Suddenly her name cut through the silence like someone had dropped a glass, it had been her last name, but it still sent a shiver down her spine as she looked at Dr. Abbot who was now directly looking at her, those hazel eyes focused on her and only her.

“Yes?” She tried to sound professional, but her voice came out in a quiet squeak, tilting her head slightly and she cleared her throat. Secretly hoping that it was good enough of a cover up for her squeak. He uncrossed his arms, the muscles in his forearms flexing slightly as he moved, his biceps flexing.

“You think you can handle the wound care cases on your own?” he asked, his eye contact never wavering, not even a little bit. At first she had thought it to be incredibly attractive, the way he always made sure to have eye contact with the person he was talking to, but now it flustered her, especially since her mind went back to how intensely he had looked at her when he hovered above her. She nodded courtely, watching as he seemed to think about something, his eyes drifting away from hers, lower on her body, she knew that if she moved now Shen would definitely notice it, “Also check in on the waiting room, bring back the more serious cases you spot, someone will take a look at them then.”

“Understood,” she could feel the heat rising to her face as she saw his eyes drifting off again, it felt like something began to crackle between them, suddenly he snapped his head up as Bridgit called his name. As he began to head towards her he turned slightly while walking.

“Oh and Josie will be helping you!” he pointed at an older nurse who was currently busy talking to Myrna who was sitting by one of the charting stations.

“Got it!” she muttered under her breath and headed off towards the waiting room, deciding to check out the situation there, evaluating how long it would take to get rid of the backlog from the day.

Most of the shift until a certain point was spent stitching up cuts, getting glass out of wounds, then getting them stitched up as well, treating minor burns and all that belonged to wound care. Josie was extremely helpful and made for great company, meaning that every single conversation with a patient became somehow amusing or at least not a complete disaster. She had just finished up a small head wound that needed two stitches when Dr. Ellis had swung by, telling her that the waiting room was practically empty now, something that was a huge relief. The only person left to be treated, who was currently being brought to the back, was a man that was slightly agitated from the wait and had cut his hand open while cutting an avocado.

As she stepped out of the room from the man with the cut on his head, who would be discharged in about half an hour, the cut had been from nothing serious and keeping him for observation was simply going to block the room. She heard an angry voice coming from one of the rooms, waiting for a moment Josie came out of it, shaking her head.

“Was that the guy that cut his hand when trying to cut an avocado?” she asked as she fell into step with Josie, she wanted to get the discharge papers for the man with the head injury ready before going into patching up the man with the cut on his hand.

“Yes, and I am telling you sweetheart, take either Dr. Shen or Dr. Abbot with you when you go in there, or maybe Nico or Tommy, but for your sake and my conscience don’t go in there alone,” Josie gave her a pointed look, her gray hair pulled back with a claw clip.

“That bad?” she cringed internally as she continued to head towards the nurses’ station. Josie nodded softly.

“I think the only reason he didn’t insult me or try to punch me was because I gave him some pain meds,” she sighed, shaking her head softly, “People these days.”

After getting the discharge forms ready she started looking for someone to take into the room with the patient. Seeing Tommy, one of the nurses leaning against the other side of the nurses’ station, quickly getting up she moved over to him, not wanting to bother him, but knowing that she needed to get this cut out of the way before the late night falls started coming in, Josie had told her that that time was approaching rapidly and she wanted to take a breather before those came in.

“Of course,” he nodded after she had explained the situation, walking towards the room she felt her heart beginning to hammer in her chest. During the day shift she had already experienced various disgusting behaviour from patients, but never had she feared for her actual personal safety during these times.

“Fucking finally,” was the first thing the man said as she entered the room. Taking a deep breath she greeted the man and started to prep for the suture.

“Mind telling me why the nurse is going to stitch me up, Doc?” the man asked as she put on the nitrile gloves, he was looking over at Tommy, who had taken a seat on the other side of the patient, getting all her suture materials ready.

“Because she is the Doctor and I am the nurse,” Tommy responded dryly, his voice was low and gruff, though he was clean shaven and she could only describe him as smooth looking.

“Gotta be kidding me, letting women do all kinds of shit nowadays,” she glanced at Tommy, Tommy glanced at her, their conversation did not need words. She needed to figure out now if it was safe for her to patch him up or if she should just call Shen or Abbot and get them to do it. Well she knew that Abbot would probably be annoyed when he was called away from his case, if she had caught it correctly a few moments ago there was a big trauma heading their way, meaning that neither he nor Shen would be available anyway.

“You will have to live with it,” she said with humour lacing her voice. She explained the procedure to him and as she started to inject the lidocaine into the palm of his hand after checking for nerve or tendon damage she heard one word very clear and very loudly coming from him.

“BITCH! You fucking bitch!” he practically hollered as she continued to inject the lidocaine, not taking it to heart, even though she knew he was actively cursing her out, not just shouting in pain, she continued. Finally she was done and soon was able to start stitching the cut shut. The man continued to grumble about her and her stitching, but the look she and Tommy shared made the entire procedure a lot more bearable.

The end of the procedure couldn’t come soon enough for her, especially not after she had given him a few instructions on wound care and having to come back to get the stitches removed. He had given her one last harsh glare, muttered something about her sleeping with her boss to get where she was, then took the discharge papers Josie had thankfully gotten ready while she was working and left.

Now sitting at the nurses’ station she felt a little uncomfortable, she knew that no one knew about her very first encounter with Dr. Abbot, but the words of the man had hit a nerve, trying to shake it she took a sip from her tea. The trauma case was now upstairs and there was a lull in the buzz of the Pitt.

“So what do you think about getting coffee before tomorrow’s shift?” Tommy asked as he leaned back in the chair beside her, his eyes gleaming softly in the light. A small grin on his lips, she licked her lips nervously. There was a moment where she hesitated, but then she decided that it might be a good idea.

"Yeah, why not!” she smiled at him, leaning back in her chair as well, suddenly a crack sounded through the low hum of the Pitt. She felt the back of her chair fall and she tumbled to the ground, the laughing started before anything else. Tommy hoovering by her side also started laughing as she held up the broken back piece of the chair.

As her laughter died down she glanced over to the side of the station where she felt like a dark storm cloud was brewing. Abbot stood there, his thick arms crossed, watching the interaction with an expression she could only describe as disapproving, still laughing slightly she raised her eyebrow at him, he simply walked away. Even if she did not want to admit it, a stinging sensation of hurt settled in her chest as she watched him walk from her away again.

——————

Tags: @antisocialfiore

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Eleven

The beeping is driving him kind of crazy. It’s familiarity an uncomfortable reminder. He’s tried pulling the sticky thing off but that just made a bunch of people come running, and then he got a professional explanation as to why he’s a moron, and not to touch the equipment.

That just leaves him here, languishing. His head is pounding, his mouth feels like some rough assed creature rolled around in there and then took a dump on the way out. He keeps running his tongue along the back of his teeth, they’re furry, and there’s a new little chip off one of the bottom ones. Eddie investigated it with his fingers, so he knows it’s tiny. Feels massive when he finds it with his tongue though, physically unable to make himself leave it alone.

He doesn’t remember doing it. Might have happened when he was drunk.

Might have happened in the bathroom, when he was done shoving stuff up his nose, he's pretty sure he fell over.

Might have happened when they had to shove the tube in.

He doesn’t know, but it’s no ones fault but his own.

Chrissy comes in carrying a coffee. One coffee. Nothing for Eddie. She sits and sips at it, not saying a word.

Her eyes are still red rimmed, bags under them from being up all night.

Truly, Eddie is the greatest waste of space on the planet. Someone should just ditch him off a cliff and have done with it.

Chrissy sighs, giving up on whatever she was doing on her phone, she holds it between laced fingers instead, clasped hands dangling between her knees. She stares off into space.

She still hasn’t looked at him.

Eddie guesses he deserves that.

There’s nothing he can ever say to make this any better.

Eddie’s being discharged in the next hour or so. He’s pretty sure he’s done. His career was hanging by a thread; the label won’t tolerate such a massive screw up. Eddie doesn’t really care about that stuff; he cares about the guys. He cares he might not get to write for the band any more.

He finds himself suddenly desperate to write again. He figures he must suddenly have something to say. He was angry with himself, in the face of Chrissy’s tears, but anger is a hot emotion, it burns bright and takes a lot of energy to maintain.

Self loathing, apparently, is low maintenance and Eddie feels like he could keep that up indefinitely.

His throat hurts, and all Chrissy has allowed him is ice chips to suck on.

He doesn’t expect Steve to turn up. Doesn’t know what to do when, at the sound of a knock on the open door, he looks up and finds Steve standing there.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, but Steve comes in anyway. Sits himself in the seat next to Eddie’s bed. It feels like a small, dumb thing to worry about, but Eddie has never liked rocking the hospital gown of shame; he likes it even less right now.

“Why did you do it?”

Eddie shrugs. Looks at his own hands. He had a couple of rings on, before. They’re gone now. Eddie’s been too frightened of what Chris will say if he asks for them back. He picks at his thumbnail instead.

“Because I said no to coffee?”

Eddie does his best to make a dismissive noise, but his voice is croaky and fucked from the tube. It hurts to swallow, and Eddie feels like he has to force it.

“Don’t lie,” Steve says quietly, “this is exactly why I said no. Because of this.”

Eddie makes another ‘pffft’ noise, or at least, tries too. “Because I’m an unstable drug addicted alcoholic-”

“No. Because you’re not ready. Eddie, I said no to coffee, and you’re in the hospital, what if we got together, and then broke up. How well do you think that would go, exactly?”

Eddie curls his hands up, staring at them, shamefaced. It feels like he’s being eaten alive by it, feels like he’s dirty and used up inside and the darkness of guilt and shame and worthlessness is going to crawl out of him and eat him whole. Steve's words gnaw at him, painful. They could have had something, and now Eddie's fucked it up before it started.

“How did you know?” Eddie looks up, everything a little misty. He seems to cry at fucking everything. Wet and pathetic and not like he used to be. He never used to be like this, before. He can’t remember ever feeling like this in his life. “How do you always know?”

Steve and his magic mind powers.

Steve sits back in the chair. Rubs at his face for a second. Watches the silent TV.

“I had rich parents,” Steve starts, speaking quietly. He pauses, then continues, but it’s halting. It’s the first time Eddie’s thought Steve sounded uncertain about anything, “big empty house. They were away all the time, especially once I was kind of old enough to be left. My place was where the party was at. I was drinking every Saturday by the time I was seventeen. Then every Friday and Saturday. Then Sunday afternoons. Then Thursday too. It was every day before I realized, and I graduated by the skin of my teeth. It got worse at college. The partying. Started to realize if I was going to keep up I needed something to pick me up a little, get me going in the morning so I could make it to class. Pills first, when I was partying, then other stuff. I flunked out pretty fast. Parents put me through rehab once, but the second I was back at college I relapsed. Couldn’t seem to help myself. The second time they put me through, they disowned me right after, and that was the end of college too. It was...bleak. For a while. But that's how I always know; I know how you think, because I used to be the same.”

That hangs. It hangs for a long time, like Steve’s memories are lingering in the room with them. Eddie feels like he should apologize, but he doesn’t know how.

He’s pretty sure it wouldn’t be worth anything, anyway.

He desperately wants to write; feels even more that if he doesn’t get this bubbling overwhlem of emotions out of himself somehow he’s going to end up plastering the walls when he finally explodes.

Steve stands, finally, and Eddie’s eyes are automatically drawn up to him. Steve leans forward, his hand in Eddie’s nasty hair. His big hand gripping and cradling Eddie’s entire head. Steve leans down, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. It’s warm, soft, and Eddie’s eyes slide closed and his hands lie limp and useless on the hospital blanket covering his lap.

“Remember, it’s what you do now that matters,” Steve whispers into Eddie’s hair.

He doesn’t expect the tug, but he’s limp and washed out feeling, knowing now the weight of everything Steve went though. Everything unsaid. Absent parents and missing out on whatever it was he wanted to pursue at college. Bleak, Steve had said. The word carries a lot of weight, coming from Steve. Eddie has no doubt he’s severely understating.

Eddie’s head moves with Steve’s hand, his eyes are still closed when Steve’s lips move to Eddie’s mouth.

It’s not like anything he imagined. It’s devastating. Steve kisses like he’s pouring his everything into Eddie.

Like he’s angry.

Like he’s frustrated that Eddie fucked this up for both of them.

Steve’s kisses are bitey and it won’t be until later that Eddie will finally have the wherewithal to be surprised that nurses didn’t come running considering how fast the monitor is beeping.

Steve doesn’t ask permission, he sucks on Eddie’s lip so hard it hurts, and when Eddie’s mouth opens on a pained gasp, Steve’s tongue invades with no hesitation. His hand is tight in Eddie’s hair; Eddie can’t move an inch as Steve holds him where he wants him, Eddie’s scalp stinging.

Steve’s kisses are an argument that Steve’s already won.

By the time Eddie manages to blink his eyes open, Steve’s already gone.

The guys all have some sort of cocktail, Eddie doesn’t say anything. It means Eddie’s drink looks exactly the same, which doesn’t bother Eddie, hasn't for a long time, but if it makes everyone else feel better, then he’ll go along with it.

They’re all celebrating; drinks in the back of a limo on the way to the airport feels a little gauche celebrity to Eddie, but the guys are giddy with the excitement of success and it feels just a little contagious, even to Eddie, who always sidelines himself from that kind of celebrating. Feels like he's kind of allergic to it all now, knows instinctively that it might poison him again.

Chrissy squeezes his hand on the seat, hidden from where the guys can see, but he knows what it means. Well done. I’m proud of you. I’m unbelievably fucking relieved you’ve held your shit together for a whole tour.

That kind of thing.

Eddie kind of likes flying. Well, he doesn’t like the idea of flying commercial. Eddie likes the comfort of the private jet, of course he does. No, the reason Eddie kind of likes flying is because he can’t really do anything for the next seven hours.

He has a book with him. He has his note books. He has a pen.

The low rumble of the jet is his companion, and all he can see is bright white clouds beneath them so there’s nothing to distract him there. Eddie writes.

He scribbles things out. He changes the order. He...nudges things along until the tune presents itself. And it does. It almost always does.

He hands one off; it’s not complete, but it’s complete enough that the guys should look. He listens with his eyes closed as the music is hummed, Gareth pacing up and down the wide isle.

Eddie half sings the words under his breath to match.

It sounds pretty good. A little janky maybe, but still. A solid start.

“Nearly got enough for another album,” Jeff tells him.

Eddie blinks his eyes open again, “yeah? That one okay?”

They say no just as often as they say yes now. Eddie doesn’t mind. He understands why half his stuff ends up back in the notebook. He agrees with their judgement. Some of what he writes now is different than it used to be, before everything.

“Yeah man,” Gareth tells him, “it’s great.”

Gareth and Jeff share a look, sliding into the seats opposite Eddie’s table. Eddie shuffles his things, moving some of his scrappy paperwork out of their way. Something is coming, Eddie can read them.

They’re definitely about to say something.

“You know those tunes you’ve written,” Gareth nods at Eddie’s notebook.

“The rejects,” Eddie confirms lightly.

Jeff rolls his eyes, “you know it’s not because they’re bad.”

Eddie knows. Eddie privately thinks some of it is the best stuff he’s ever written. But the guys almost immediately picked the first one out as ‘not their kind of thing,’ and since then Eddie’s had a pretty much fifty fifty pass fail rate with his songs. “I know...they just don’t sound like Corroded Coffin.”

“No...they don’t. But we’ve been talking,” a little curl of apprehension forms, because those words never seem to precede anything good, “and we thought you might have enough of that stuff for a double album by now.” He probably does. He nods, not sure where this is going.

Chrissy had suggested to him, once, that he make the tunes available to other artists. Ones whose style is better suited to the music. At least get it out there, and then just get the royalties, like a proper, grown up song writer. The thought of it had been physically uncomfortable to Eddie. These are his tunes, his music, and they...mean something to him that they never ever could to anyone else. The thought of letting someone else perform them feels gross.

“Anyway, if you want, we thought we’d do something with them.”

“Do what with them?” Eddie frowns, not understanding.

“Well...kind of like a Corroded Coffin unplugged, kind of thing. Or maybe like...just under your name, and we could still play for the recording, kind of thing. Just release the record as is. Or you know, get some other people in on it, there’s plenty out there who have wanted to collaborate. You know some of them would fall over themselves for a chance at guest performance.”

Eddie shuffles his papers, appreciates what the guys are saying, “can I think about it a minute?”

“Sure,” Gareth smiles big, “you know Chris will support you.”

And considering everything they’ve been through, Eddie knows without a doubt that she will.

Eddie shuffles though the rejects. It’s an affectionate name that he mostly never says aloud. He checks them over, makes sure they’re complete. Thinks about if he’d really like to hear them being performed.

He must do, really, since he’s confidently handed every one of them to the guys at some point to see if they liked them or not. If they'd pass muster, then the next thing along would have been to try performing them. That’s the workshop stage. The part where the guys wade in on the final polish. The listen back.

These never made it, so other than tinkling out on his acoustic, Eddie’s never heard any of them for real.

He could. He could now.

Eddie’s no stranger to bearing his soul in the form of his music.

Without really thinking about it, Eddie realizes he’s organized them into the order he’d like to see them on the back of an album cover.

He wonders what Steve would think of this album, if he ever heard it.

“Okay, yeah, I’m in. For the,” Eddie gestures at his scrappy notes, “you know.”

“Eddie, that’s amazing!” Chrissy gushes a little, and suddenly Eddie realizes that, actually this idea might not have, entirely, come from the guys.

“I have a condition, kind of.”

“Okay?”

Eddie takes a deep breath. Steve’s words echoing, what would Dolly do? “I don’t want to make any money from this. I want to donate. All the profits. My part of the profits. I don’t know where to, but, yeah...somewhere that helps people who are,” Eddie shrugs, “you know. Struggling? With...stuff?”

Chrissy covers her mouth with her hand for a second, her eyes already looking suspiciously wet. She’s hugging him, hard and tight, sniffling, “of course we can do that,” right in Eddie’s ear.

“Me too,” Jeff says, “so, two thirds profit.”

“Obviously I’m in, all profits get donated.”

Eddie watches them over Chrissy’s shoulder, “you guys don’t have to.”

Jeff shrugs, “the fuck else we going to do with it? You seen the houses we already live in, right? Gareth’s got six cars.”

Eddie snorts a laugh.

[firestorm09890]

The problem with Meursault is I feel like you either have a sympathetic reading or you have him firmly in "terrible person" territory and it's hard to see him as what he really is, which is somewhere in the middle. I say this as someone who is overly sympathetic of him (I saw autistic traits in him from the very start and could not stop it). It's an interesting element of his character (that being the part about how people tend to either love or hate him rather than just thinking of him neutrally, not the autism part) I've kind of talked about before in regards to his Limbus Company counterpart but it also means discussions of him can be excruciating.

tl;dr of this post is that Meursault is very apathetic, does not understand his own feelings or care, and for the most part lets things happen around him that he reacts to, and that the replies pictured do some really nasty cherrypicking

This is one of the things that makes me read it as "unable to say no". Meursault doesn't say anything when Raymond wants advice (man-to-man and then we can be friends). It's either an overly literal reading on Meursault's part (Raymond didn't actually ask anything yet, he just stated something, why should Meursault answer) or it's because he doesn't actually want to. Meursault doesn't tell us. Really, it's not this one instance, but the fact that it constantly happens with Raymond makes me think Meursault isn't actually enjoying himself very much, except for rare instances.

He's not "quite literally just a bad person", he's amoral, which you might think is the same thing but it's not. His moral compass might as well not exist- he judges information on a case-by-case basis instead of having any consistent code, and why shouldn't the people he's talking to give him the story as objectively as possible? It's what he would do. This is what he says after Raymond infodumps his entire girlfriend situation

He doesn't think much of it at all. Based on Raymond's account, the girlfriend was probably cheating. "You can't ever be sure, but I get why you'd want to" is not "Yes I think your wife should be punished". It does still beget harm either way because Raymond takes it as an enthusiastic yes (and all Raymond needs is a single person to say "yes" for him to do what he wants) but he only gives his opinion ("opinion") when Raymond asks him to. He is a yes man. This is what I meant when I said

He'll give everything he has to people who aren't worth it- because he doesn't care? Or because he doesn't recognize they're not worth it?

He also happened to be drunk in this instance- probably, I assume a liter of wine and a headache means he's drunk but I don't know. There's probably something to be said about how he's drunk here and overwhelmed by the sun when he commits murder...

actually I want to talk about that too

Meursault doesn't tell us why he wants to go out with Raymond. You could say it's because he assumed Raymond was going back out for revenge and he wanted to be in on it. However, you could also say that he wanted to be there to make Raymond keep his cool.

I think he was. At the time he says this, I think his intention for taking the gun was to stop Raymond from shooting.

when he goes back out on the beach, he didn't expect anyone to be there at all. rereading, it truly was an instantaneous and senseless decision to pull the trigger.

astonishingly, rereading this chapter gave Meursault an extra point in favor of having some goodness inside of him- enough to know that killing is bad, or at least has consequences. anyway back to his forming "friendship" with Raymond

The scene continues

Meursault doesn't give Raymond the idea, Raymond tells him, and there's another case of "Raymond doesn't explicitly ask Meursault a question so Meursault ignores it until Raymond asks again".

Here's where "why should he?" comes in. He doesn't refuse because he sees no reason not to.

You can read whatever you want out of this and one of those ways to read it is as Meursault deciding it's a waste of his energy to disagree.

This is where his night with Raymond ends. In true Meursault fashion he leaves it up to us to interpret how he feels about it. Maybe what he feels is the warmth of a new bond. Maybe what he feels is disgusted and sick. Or maybe all he feels is a headache and nothing about Raymond at all.

Addressing the other mentioned scenes...

We don't know if Meursault wanted to stop Raymond or not, he said he didn't get the cops because he didn't like cops, and, in this day and age and on this website, I don't think "I don't like cops" can be used as a good judge of anyone's morals.

Here's what happens immediately after the police arrive when Raymond beats his wife: an indication that Meursault straight up does not care. He is hungry, he will make lunch and eat lunch and forget about it.

More Meursault having opinionless opinions. Why shouldn't he act as a witness for Raymond? He did see it. And Raymond told him that the girl cheated. That's all he needs to say.

Turns out Meursault does have a boundary. It's this.

haha meursault noooo

The part in the reply about the dog is pretty accurate, but still cherrypicking. Celeste calls Salamano and his dog's routine pitiful (dog pulls Salamano too far, Salamano beats dog, dog gets scared, Salamano doesn't give dog enough time to pee, dog pees on floor, Salamano beats dog) and Meursault's opinion on it is "who's to say?" but here's the whole page where Meursault tells him how to get his dog back because I think it really captures that there's something else wrong with Meursault than just being a bad person

Not that he has any idea what he's really feeling. He does care, in a way- he thinks of his late mother and loses his appetite- but he doesn't know how or why and we won't know either. Which adds the dimension that even though Meursault is very explicit and objective about what he is physically observing, emotionally he is such an incredibly unreliable narrator. Here's what the translator has to say about him though

So maybe Meursault sees the man and his dog as inseparable as a married couple. You don't separate even when bad things happen; that's how people used to see it. I don't know what he's really thinking, but sometimes the option humanizing him is equally as likely as the option seeing him as a terrible person.

There is nothing saying you can't both be a bad person and have traits that make you easier to abuse at the same time. You can do bad things without comprehending why it's bad. I never said any of this made him a good person, but he's not "quite literally just" a bad person either. It's kind of fascinating that so many people take that away from the book that has the court say Meursault is ontologically evil and wants you to think that was unreasonable.

That's the thing about humans, y'see, they have multiple dimensions and aaaaall this just makes me think LCB Meursault's going to have that discussion of what it means to be human even more.

I hoped it was obvious that him being unable to say no doesn't have to do with anxiety or anything, but a combination of apathy and a lack of understanding.

I think about Rosespanner Meursault a lot

He isn't overworked because this is a workshop that overworks its employees, he's overworked because other employees are pushing their own jobs onto him, and he doesn't know how to say no.

That's perhaps his biggest problem in The Stranger. He can't say no to anyone- why should he? It's why unsavory types are drawn to him. He sits and listens to the old man who abuses his dog and so the old man likes him, and then he lets Raymond (the wooooorst) draw him into his bullshit and that's the only reason he has a gun on the beach at all. Limbus Meursault might be better at it at this point in the story (or maybe he isn't, and it's just that the contract with LCB is keeping us from seeing it) but he'll give everything he has to people who aren't worth it- because he doesn't care? Or because he doesn't recognize they're not worth it?

And I also think about Electric Screaming in conjunction with this, specifically the Awakening line.

Is he only able to set a boundary when resonating with the sheep that screams and tries to gore you when you take its power? Did he metaphorically let them plug those wires in to siphon the electricity, and only changed his mind when he realized nothing would be left of him? Does he even know who he is outside of what he can offer to others?

[captain-huggy-bear]

Congrats on 1,000 followers! Could you do Michael Kesselring + “test came back negative” please?

Oh, he'd get his hopes up too. That man is built to have a hockey team of kids who are all giants who terrorise the league and constantly end up in the penalty box cause they're too tall. This is....how to describe: starts as angst, ends up mildly nsfw 18+ MDNI, rollercoaster. TW: Fertility issues/struggles getting pregnant 1000 Followers Celly Currently ongoing 🥳🎉 (please read the rules) Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed at the moment but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

You're already dreading breaking the news to Michael. It's no secret that the two of you have been trying for a baby, and each negative pregnancy test felt like a blow, a physical hit to you both. You hated it, but you could handle it, it wasn't either of your faults...it was just the way things worked out. Getting pregnant wasn't simple, it was a science of sorts to maximise your chances. It would happen, it just might take a while.

But Michael? Michael took it hard each time like it was somehow his fault that you weren't pregnant yet. He wanted so badly to be a dad and you knew he was worried, wondering if it would ever happen. You couldn't pretend that you didn't have some of those worries too.

So to see another negative result staring at you from the bathroom sink? That was the worst news of your day.

He's waiting where you left him outside the bathroom, sat on the edge of the bed, knee bouncing up and down nervously. The moment he spots you he's on his feet, rising to meet you, that glimmer of hope in his eyes that you know is about to get crushed again.

“The test came back negative...”

You watch Michael's face drop as he sits back down on the edge of the bed, face falling into his hands as he hunches over and you know it's more than just disappointment before he even says a single word.

"It's my fault..."

"Michael..." You move to sit next to him, tugging at his arms until he looks at you, eyes wet with tears, guilt swimming in them like he's done something unforgivable.

"No, they keep saying male fertility is like declining or whatever...we know you're ovulating, you still get your periods...it's me. It's got to be me...I'm the problem. It's my fault..."

"Most couples struggle to get pregnant, it's not as easy as one time and we're done...even if it is your fertility it's not your fault, it'll happen when it happens." You brush some dark curls away from his forehead, pushing them back and out of the way. Maybe it might seem backward to some that you're comforting him, but you know how much this matters to Michael, you know how much he worries about it, how desperately he wants this. He's not immune to those feelings just because he's the man in the relationship.

"Then why do I feel like I've fucked up?"

"Because you care, because we both want this so badly...look on the bright side?" You smile at him, fingers brushing the stubble starting to grown across his cheeks as he looks at you like you've gone insane.

"Oh yeah, and what's that?" You choose to ignore the eyeroll, to forgive it knowing how he's feeling right now.

Instead you throw a leg over his lap until you're straddling his hips, grinning down at him as you whisper, "You get to keep fucking me until it takes..."

You watch the way Michael's eyes widen before darkening, how his tongue comes out to wet his bottom lip. You feel his hands reach to grip your hips tight, tugging until you're sat flush on his lap, his cock hardening underneath you.

"Oh..."

"Oh." Your grin only widens when you rock against him, his eyelids fluttering shut, eyelashes long against his cheeks at the feeling of you against him. It doesn't take much for him to become hard and hot between your thighs, already thinking of how it'll feel to sink in you again, to cum in you again until it takes, until you're finally carrying his baby. He can keep doing this a million times over, not a chore at all, maybe you're right...maybe this is a bright side, a silver lining.

"Cool, cool...fuck, baby, you trying to kill me?" You're kissing his neck, teeth nipping at his Adam's apple as he swallows, sucking hickeys under his jaw until his eyes are rolling as much as his hips, until he's gripping you so tight that you're going to have bruises.

"Not before you give me a baby, no."

[yallmakemyassitch]

C’mon, ENA! Smile!

Summary: Froggy helps out ENA find her spark after losing the motivation to work. As a good coworker, she wants to do the same thing for him

Word count: 1704

Tobi Talks: Hey guys, I know I've been dead as hell due to school and commissions, but I'm proud to announce that I'm now free. I graduate in two months, isn't that just neat?! Anyways, I've been obsessing over this game ever since it came out and it's a crime no tickle content is out there about these two goobers. Enjoy the read!

WARNING: The following contains spoilers for the beginning of Chapter 1 for Dream BBQ! Proceed with caution!

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Froggy was crouching idly over the cliff face, observing the blood red sea’s inhabitants peacefully kick their legs in the crimson water. He breathed in the iron filled air, disturbances had already cleared out of his head and entered the tranquility and peace he needed so much. In spite of that, Froggy was forced to hear the bellowing cry of another complaint, it made his eyebrows furrow. Here he was thinking her fussing was all over.

“Damn job! Why can’t the boss find his own way here!” ENA shouted, Meanie had her lime green megaphone over her agape maw.

She was shaking her fist in the air and yelling toward the ocean like it would answer back. His coworker never failed to confuse, why couldn’t he just have one shift without her going to disturb him?

He stood up from his position and crossed his arms. “ENA, just what are you doing?” His Japanese tongue exasperated his frustration at the woman.

“Trying- to get- his attention!” ENA was gasping for air on beat with her words, still jumping up and down in place like a lunatic.

“He can’t hear you from here. The island is too far!”

”Like hell he can’t! Hey, asshole! Get your lazy butt over to this rock right now or I’m gonna-“

Froggy jumped in to grab her by the shoulders, ceasing her exercise. “Don’t yell those sorta things! Otherwise, you might get us fired!” He muttered to her through panic, having to keep his grasp firm so she wouldn’t go jumping somewhere else.

Meanie thrashed him off with an annoyed growl. “Don’t touch me! I could care less about this stupid job!” As if he didn’t know that already.

“Calm down, ENA! We had a deal that you would get rid of the smoke!” He was getting really angry at this point.

The woman wiped out her megaphone from her absent neck. “I’m not doing shit!” She hissed. He was already feeling a headache come on. Froggy groaned and swiped the palm of his hands over his face, stretching it over the contours of his skull before the skin went snapping back into place.

That was it, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He sighed, knowing his route of potentially pleading with her to just do her damn job wasn’t going to work. He would have to appeal to her ambitious side, but what could give her the motivation?

“Hm…I don’t think I told you everything about our “work target”. He hummed, crossing his arms and wearing a rare, optimistic smile.

ENA scoffed, mimicking his crossed arms. He had gotten her attention, her poor attitude always failed to show her appeal to work.

“What is it?” She still sounded oh so uninterested.

“Ehh. C’mere. Here here. Over here.” He motioned with his large hand to step forward. She obeyed without starting a fight, closing the distance between the two as she approached. With her at his side, it would be much easier.

“Look at that island over there again.”

She turned to face the island, utterly oblivious to what was about to happen. In an instant, he was behind ENA and already slipping under her arms to her sides. She flinched at the foreign touch, just as she was going to turn and yell out at him, she had beaten herself to it. Meanie’s voice distorted itself from a rude shout to a staticy squeal of all things.

Thick, black fingers were dancing about the smooth sides to her trapezoidal prism of a torso. ENA’s voice had become an uncomprehensible jumble of words and likely, slurs as well.

“Wh-wh-wh-wh-what are you- AHA- DOHOING FROGGY!?”

”Fixing that attitude of yours! Besides, you were killing my mood…” He attacked her near the empty space of her shoulders, guessing that they were the closest thing to “underarms” that she might have had.

ENA’s arms flew up and thrashed in place, switching positions, making no effort to protect her body. Froggy found the sight amusing and a rare, determined smirk creeped onto his usually stoic face.

”Get a smile back on your face. A smile makes customers feel welcome.” He scribbled a hand over her hip and did the same to the smooth underside of her disembodied torso. Meanie began to giggle, it was gruff sounding like her voice, but oddly cute.

“Stahahap ithihit!” She cried, squirming and thrashing in place.

Froggy simply pulled her back to her position in front of him, he didn’t mind giving his coworker friend an attitude adjustment. “Plehehease!” He cocked an eyebrow, he never thought Meanie would ever say please, let alone beg. It was a polite enough request.

”You were polite this time, so I’ll stop for now. Are you going to continue having a bad attitude?” He asked.

ENA was hunched over, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. After some moments, her gasps of air couldn’t be heard anymore. Froggy watched intently as the geometric woman slowly turned her head to glare at him.

Meanie was still there and the cheeks of her cream white skin had been dusted with a gentle pink. The sight of the blush surprised him, but not so much her response to his attack.

“S-screw you.”

Froggy silently stared at her for a few seconds and brought his arms out in front of him to crack his knuckles.

Her eyes went wide, “Oh no.” ENA whispered.

The area was filled with her giggling and laughter once more, Froggy noted that if it ever came to this again, he wouldn’t let up until she was back to normal completely.

”Ahahahaa Froggy, plehehease please stohohop!” Fingers were scribbling from her “underarms” to her hips all over again. Meanie reacted terribly when her ribs were targeted, he made it a mission to keep her mirthful until her happier persona came to be.

ENA cackled and cursed. The sensation of fingertips digging into the side of her floating torso made her smile wide and hysterical. A sigh escaped Froggy lips, already exhausted by the monotony of chasing ENA’s body where she danced in place.

“Stohohop plehehease! I’m gonna dihihie!” The switch from Meanie to Salesperson was apparent, the once gruff, womanly chortles transitioned to hearty, manly laughter. The sound of her manly voice made Froggy smile a bit, she was back to normal. Froggy let her go.

“O-oh geez…that was- quite the…treatment…” Salesperson was hunched over, gulping down generous amounts of air to refill her lungs. The japanese man gave her a supportive pat on the back, chuckling slightly.

’I had to, otherwise we’d never get anywhere.”

“Ah ha!” She enthused.” Well than I have to bless you for your business~”

He was only half listening, scratching the back of his head. “Don’t mention it, anyways, when are you gonna get rid of that smoke- eh, ENA?”

She was gone.

It was like she vanished in thin air. Just as he was going to call out her name to find her, he felt two hands gently squeeze his sides. He shrieked, jumping a foot into the air.

Froggy squirmed far away, ringing his arms tightly wrapped around his sides. His coworker was right behind him, with her head lowered, the shadow cast over her eyes made Salesperson look very mischievous.

”It seems I’m not the only one lacking in a lot of nerves, eh?” She teased, enjoying the sight of alarm written all over her friend’s face. He was embarrassed of being caught so off guard, along with that humiliating sound he made.

“W-what are you doing?!” He screamed at her, annoyed.

”Why, I’m merely gifting you my appreciation! You put me back in the mood to work and you seem to be struggling with the…same problem.” Her voice dropped to a sinister octave.

His heart dropped. No way. There was no way she was going to…

”What’s wrong, Froggy? Don’t tell me you’re ti-ck-lish too~?” The wiggle of her fingers with every syllable of the dreaded word filled him with a shocking amount of nervousness.

“E-ENA! Don’t try anything snea- KY!”

ENA lunged for Froggy, her showman laughter was his signal for him to duck. Luckily, his reflexes were reliable enough to spring him into action and dive out of the way. Unfortunately for him, he stumbled awkwardly over his feet and fell splat, face first. He groaned in pain, feeling his nose as he pushed his body up from the rocky ground. He felt around his nose to make sure it wasn’t broken, disheveled and distracted, this was her time to strike.

He jumped and shivered when two hands once again attached themselves to his upper torso. Her white hand dug its fingers into his ribs, while her red hand squeezed up and down the length of his plush side. Froggy shouted, it didn’t take long for giggles to escape from the man.

“Ehehenaha! Tomeru! Hahahaha!” His laughter was breathy and full of gasps, similar to how he coughed when breathing in the smoke. She wasn’t cruel enough to tickle him until he coughed. ENA merely snickered to herself, her position standing over him protected her from his swinging arms.

“Why all the ribbiting, Froggy? Is something particularly amusing right now?” She beamed at her own pun.

”Shut uhuhup!” He curled himself in the fetal position, still belting out ribbits and laughter. He clutched his stomach, but that didn’t stop ENA digging under his arms and into his underarms. A long flurry of pleas and tittering escaped from her coworker. Froggy noted to himself not to ever tickle Salesperson, Meanie, or ENA in general for the matter!

“Please! Lehehet me gohoho!”

ENA grinned, removing her hands and stepping away so he may recover. Froggy clutched his chest, barely able to keep himself up. Salesperson watched, satisfied, with her hands on her hips.

She was displaying the same amount of pride as if she had sold one of the company’s products to someone. “Had enough yet?” She simpered.

”Yes yes, that’s it. N-no more!” Froggy cried, still gasping for air. Lesson learned, ENA was much more ruthless than she appeared.

“Excellent! Now then-“ She grabbed the rim of her hat, striking a pose. “Where can we find that boss?”

✿

✿

✿

✿

Fin~

[lyn31]

Sooo i just saw a video and it immediately reminds me of zayne and serena lol, so in the video a woman tells her husband that their daughter is on call with a man that's not him for the first time and her husband was like "who? Who is this boy?" And proceeds to go to his daughter room while his wife is laughing her ass off and you know at first i thought their daughter is teenager but turns out their daughter is a toddler 🤣 and i can totally see that happening with them 😂 i can picture serena calling her boy-bestfriend from school and zayne is like "why is her bestfriend a boy?" "Zayne, you do realize you were my bestfriend too when we were a child right?" "yes and we're married now aren't we?" "So?" "........" "oh" "exactly"

Ahahahahaha omg yes. that is hilarious! Ofc I put it my own little *wink* twist, but here is is 😂💕

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Phone Calls

Summary

A once-shy preschooler becomes the class favorite, prompting her doting (and slightly overprotective) parents to reflect on love, growing up, and the hilarious possibility that history might just repeat itself.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zanye x MC/Reader Familly fluff, silly, another dad panic mode, our baby girl is so popular. Short and Sweet.

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Preschool had been daunting at first. Serena had clung to your leg that first week like the world outside the front gate might swallow her whole. But now?

Now she’s the reason half the class refuses to leave.

Every pickup is a mini farewell parade. You barely step onto school grounds before a chorus of tiny voices begins.

“Bye, Serena!”

“Wait, I want a hug too!”

“See you tomorrow, Serena!”

Even when you’ve buckled her into her car seat and are pulling away, the calls still chase the car down the lot. Serena just grins, waving out the window like some kind of preschool royalty. You’re not sure when it changed—maybe around the time she built stick-bug palaces in the sandbox—but somehow, your shy little girl became the popular kid.

You tell Zayne about it later, the two of you curled together in bed, legs tangled under the covers, her laughter still echoing faintly in your mind.

“She’s basically got a fan club,” you murmur, tracing idle circles against his chest.

He hums, warm and calm, like you knew he would be. “Of course,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “She’s our daughter, after all.”

You snort softly, pressing your cheek against him. “Modest as always.”

But honestly? You don’t disagree.

Some of Serena’s friends have even asked for her number—which, of course, is yours. Group calls on Sundays are now a tradition. One hour of chaotic, high-pitched energy piped through your phone’s speaker as they debate which cartoon is actually the best, or plan imaginary expeditions through the wild jungle that is the preschool’s backyard.

Today, though, it’s different.

Just one call. James.

You raise an eyebrow when Serena darts off with your phone and close herself in her room like she’s on a high-stakes mission. Through the slightly open door, you catch her voice—low, serious, the way she gets when she’s deep in concentration.

“They must think it’s the real thing,” she whispers. “We have to distract them while Molly gets the fake frog ready.” Her little face scrunches up, which makes you grin.

Zayne appears just then, stepping into the hallway with a tray of cookies and three perfectly balanced cups of tea. His gaze flicks toward the door, then to you.

“I brought snacks,” he says, raising an eyebrow like obviously, and jerks his head. “Come on, we should go in.”

You follow, but the moment he catches a glimpse of the screen, he stops cold. A teacup tilts precariously on the tray as his brow furrows.

“Why is Serena talking to that boy?”

You blink. “You know exactly who James is. They’re planning some big prank for tomorrow. Classified preschool ops.”

But Zayne doesn’t move. His eyes narrow slightly, like he’s performing some silent mental calculation. You glance between him and Serena, then back again.

“You said you liked James.”

“I thought Molly was her best friend.”

“She is. She can have more than one, you know.”

He doesn’t answer at first. Then, very quietly, “The chance is at least fifty percent with Molly. With James, it’s higher.”

You stare. “What... what does that mean?”

“We are best friends,” he says simply.

You laugh, already seeing where this is going. “Yes, and—?”

“Now we’re married.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. “So? Molly’s also one of her best friends.”

“She liked Greyson a year ago. That’s where the fifty percent chance comes in.”

Your jaw drops. “Not every best friend leads to marriage…”

“I’m just saying. The precedent is there.”

Your mouth stay agape as you stare at his serious face, before you finally break into a laugh, shoulders shaking as you press a hand over your mouth. Serena and James both glance up from their discussion, curious.

Zayne doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s nothing,” he tells them, entirely composed. “Daddy’s jokes are just too funny.”

You’re wheezing now, sinking to the floor like your knees gave out, one hand on your stomach as you gasp for air. Serena gives James a shrug like this happens sometimes, and the two return to their scheming.

Zayne crouches beside you, still holding the tray like it’s sacred. He leans in. “So I think the first step is not leaving them alone on calls—”

You take the tray gently from his hands, set it aside, and kiss him quiet.

“Shush,” you whisper, brushing your thumb against his cheek. “Don’t spiral on me now, dear.”

His nose wrinkles slightly—same expression Serena wears when she’s concentrating hard. It makes your grin grow wider.

“If they end up like us,” you murmur, leaning into his shoulder, “wouldn’t that be a good life?”

That makes him pause. The tension drains from his shoulders in a soft exhale, and he rests his cheek against your hair.

“Definitely a good life,” he says, and his hand settles warmly around your waist, holding you close like he never plans to let go.

You don’t say anything else. Just breathe him in, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear, the familiar scent of tea and cookies and the faint hint of his cologne. Serena’s voice rises—something about decoys and glitter glue.

Zayne sighs. “We should stop them.”

You smile. “After five more minutes.”

But neither of you moves even after five minutes, both of you just sitting near the doorway, sipping tea, arm around each other with Serena’s chatter in the background.

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Notes

I would like to think that Zayne know he's being silly but he can't help himself anyway ahahahaha but him not realizing that also a pretty funny thoughts