#i've been keeping it in my drafts for like a hot minute but like

[fabdante]

anyway, given twitters continued implosion, i figured now was a good a time as any to share this so that you can read an unlimited amount. i want the reboot fandom to have this thread i saw one time on there that i’ve kept for morale

[narcissistshandler]

giving miguel head while he explains complicated concepts of the multiverse. 😳 at first he chuckles when reader requests this, but he starts to struggle and lose track of what he was talking about. his voice becomes more desperate as he tries to explain all this stuff he knows to reader with his talons gripping at his love’s skull and his voice shaking and melting into pretty breathy moans until he can’t think of what he was talking about and instead fucks reader’s throat til he’s an overstimulated, sobbing mess

𝗧𝗘𝗔𝗖𝗛 𝗠𝗘

✧ 𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦 gn!reader x miguel o'hara

✧ 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲 blowjob (reader giving), deep throat, slight overstimulation at the end, reader has no gender or genitalia mentioned, a little of blood

✧ 𝖠/𝖭 This was in my drafts for two weeks and honestly I don't remember what/how I wrote half of it, but still, this request was delicious

"—Are you listening to me?"

You blinked, seeming to come back to reality and looked into Miguel's judgmental brown eyes.

"I've been speaking Spanish for the last ten minutes," he continued before you had time to speak.

"I am," you insisted. Your first instinct was to lie. The truth was no, you weren't paying the slightest attention to any of all that complicated science and physics coming out of Miguel's mouth, even though from the beginning your focus hadn't left his lips framing every complex and long word, occasionally rising to appreciate that expression of concentration on his usually serious face that shouldn't be so erotic to anyone but you.

Miguel's eyes fell to your lap, as if he could see through the pillow you were holding, his brow immediately frowning in that way that indicated his bad mood.

"So what is the simple concept of what constitutes a Multiverse?" he questioned, sounding so much like a hot, strict teacher that you felt your sex throb in response, too distracted to even try to think of an answer. "What are the ways to overcome the barriers that separate our world from other universes?" Silence. "What happens when there is a divergence in events? Where does the variety of these universes originate?"

You knew the answer to some of these questions as someone who had heard more than enough about this subject: the multiverse was nothing more than the aggregate of parallel realities and bla bla bla. But that wasn't what Miguel wanted to hear, he wanted concise, long and scientifically coherent answers and that's why you preferred to keep your mouth shut.

"You weren't listening," he concluded with a sigh.

"Keep talking, I'll pay attention this time."

Miguel looked into your darkened eyes, noting the warm innuendo in your tone and then once again, his attention fell to the pillow that covered your lap. "You're excited," he observed, then continued seeming disgusted and irritated: "Why? Physics does that to you?"

“You do this to me,” you said. Miguel's expression seemed to become even darker. "You always seem so focused and intelligent while talking about these things I can't understand, it's sexy."

"You were the one who asked me to teach you, I didn't know this was a fantasy of yours," he pointed out.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," you asked soflty as you got up from the sofa where you sat next to Miguel and fell to your knees in front of his feet, your hands running up his bare legs until they slid under the hem of his shorts. "Continue teaching me, please? I promise I'll pay attention this time."

Miguel half growled at you, not seeming too willing to indulge in your fantasies even as his legs opened in pure muscle memory to give you room to fit between them and desire flashed in his eyes.

"How are you supposed to pay attention to what I say with my penis in your mouth? That doesn't seem like a very believable teaching method." Even with you kneeling in front of him on the floor of the apartment's living room, Miguel seemed genuinely concerned about teaching you some real knowledge about multiverse.

You rubbed your hand against the bulge in his shorts to bring him to hardness, laughing a little at how genuine Miguel was sometimes.

"You talk, I listen, then you can test me to see if I really learned something or not."

Miguel opened his mouth, looking ready to retort with some argument, but your fingers fitting into the elastic waistband of his shorts was enough to make him swallow back his words. “Okay,” he agreed finally, lifting his hips off the couch to let you pull his shorts down his legs and discard them on the floor.

"Without underwear?" You inquired teasingly, your fingers closing around Miguel's thick cock that was slowly getting hard for you and pulling him into slow, steady thrusts.

Miguel sighed at the sudden touch, a light blush coloring his cheeks at the teasing.

"Back to the beginning," he started to say, ignoring your words. "When we talk about the Multiverse, this refers to a conception of multiple universes or parallel realities existing simultaneously. Together, these universes are presumed to comprise everything that exists: the entirety of space, time, matter, energy..."

Your tongue trailed in a wet line from the base to the head, interrupting Miguel's speech as he trailed off with a soft sigh.

That usual satisfaction made you smile between the licks you dragged along his length, feeling the pulsation of the bulging veins against your tongue, your fingers keeping his dick firm at the base. Your lips parted, gently sucking the side of the bulbous, red head where drops of precum were beginning to leak.

Miguel let out the most beautiful moan, one of his hands falling into your hair.

“Oh,” he sighed softly, voice already falling into that deep tone that always did things to you. You looked up at the same time you slid your tongue over the slit leaking from his cock; Miguel's eyes met yours, warm and shining. He took a deep breath and continued speaking: "In the concept of multiverse, a scheme is imagined in which... all universes aggregate each other across an infinite vastness..."

He looked so composed even with your mouth on his dick and you wanted to break that composure of his until it became nothing, until his mind stopped working and the only coherent thought he had left was fucking your throat.

Miguel doesn't stop talking when your fingers tighten around his length in a grip that borders on painful and your mouth opens so you can take his length. His cock filled your mouth, the warm, smooth skin sliding over your tongue and inward in a delicious, welcome weight that made your skin tingle. Almost instinctively, you searched for more, leaning forward and taking him deeper, your free hand feeling Miguel's thigh muscles tense under your touch.

Saliva pooled in your mouth and as soon as you pulled your head back, spit slid down his length to his heavy balls and a wet line ran down your chin, a mess you knew Miguel liked. As expected, his breathing stuttered and you saw him losing his train of thought at the sight of your saliva-glossy lips stretching around the thickness of his dick.

"...In addition to the state superpos- superposition property, there are many other phenomena that occur as quantum-scale systems, such as quantum tunneling, quantum e-entanglement..."

The firm fingers tangled in the strands of your hair suddenly became sharper, like thick needles scratching your scalp. The threat of the grab hung in the air, filling your stomach with a tense heat as you realized they were Miguel's deadly talons, which could penetrate through the fragility of your skin in seconds and even an accidental scratch could draw blood. This realization shook you to the core and a moan rose in your throat.

"... So you can connect gravity and the other three forces in an apparently firm way?" he panted, sweat glistening on his forehead. "Dios mío."

It took you a few seconds to understand the jumbled words that came out of his mouth, but when you did you knew that you had achieved your objective, as the argument didn't seem to fit into any part of the multiverse theory.

Tears blocked the corners of your vision, jaw opening wider to take Miguel's cock deeper, the tip slapping against your cheek and tongue before going deeper, and then more and more. The salty taste of precum, sweat, and something else you could only describe as Miguel's taste rising in the back of your throat, clouding all your senses and pushing away the urgency burning between your legs. All that mattered was Miguel.

At that moment, your entire world was just Miguel's body contracting on the couch under the heat of your mouth, the heavy leg he had thrown over your shoulder and his heel digging into your shoulder blade in an attempt to bring you impossibly closer. There was a distinct feeling of discomfort growing in your body, Miguel's grip was strong and painful, his rationality seemed to have dissolved under the pleasure.

"[n-name] [name] [name] [name], por favor." The beautiful moans of your name in his voice echoed through the room in repeated, stammered repetitions.

The gag reflex kicked in, the bulbous head of Miguel's cock pressing past the tightness of your throat. Your eyes closed in an attempt to fight the immediate instinct to choke and suffocate, the desire to give Miguel everything he wanted was stronger. You willingly obeyed the grip of the talons on your head keeping you still, your mouth falling open and easy for the deep thrusts.

Resisting him, the urgency with which his hips undulated, as if he needed the pleasure to breathe, felt equal to having at least one pulled muscle and a deep cut left behind.

Fortunately, fighting him was far from your intention.

You could feel as his dick twitched inside your mouth and the thick, salty liquid filled your throat, which rose and fell as you swallowed. Your eyes opened, tears running down your cheeks, you closed your lips around Miguel's pulsing length, sucking. Miguel's reaction was lascivious, his thrusts becoming erratic, whole body shaking violently, his talons sinking at least a few centimeters into your skin, until it breaks under the pressure.

Hot liquid ran down the back of your neck, the pain was a distant thing in your warm body, your fingers digging into the soft skin of Miguel's thighs as you pressed the nose against the curly hair of his groin. Miguel whimpered as his cock continued to spurt small jets deep down your throat, tears glistening in his eyes and fangs sinking into the lower lip.

You had lied again, you hadn't paid attention to anything he said, but it didn't matter since you doubted that Miguel remembered what even was a subatomic particle now.

[eufezco]

SUPER SHY - JOEL MILLER x FEM!READER

SUMMARY – when Joel's keeping you company while you're showering, he sees something he wasn't supposed to.

english isn't my first language <3 // this is pure SMUT

A/N – omg it's been so long but i literally have no inspiration so if anyone has any request... also, i've been writing for the walking dead, especially daryl, but that's still in my drafts because i don't know if there's anyone interested in that. ANYWAYS, i hope this isn't so bad

He didn't mind. He truly didn't care. He was sitting on the toilet, bent forward, with his elbows on his knees and one of his legs shaking out of impatience. It was true that he'd rather be doing other things but with a bit of luck you'd be done soon and he'd leave. Although he didn't have much to do either, he was sure they needed some last-minute people to patrol.

He had been sitting on that toilet every night for at least thirty minutes every time you took a shower. Since you lacked music, you needed some other type of distraction and Joel wasn't the best for it but it was your only option.

"What was the last movie you saw?"

"I don't know. I can't remember."

"I'm sure you do remember, you are just too lazy to think. For me, it was Spiderman, my brother took me to the movies but I don't remember enjoying it. What was yours?"

"I think it was Catch Me If You Can."

"Never heard of that."

Of course not, he said to himself. The sound of falling water made your voice sound fainter so he had to readjust his position to hear you better. His back was now against the toilet, he ran his hands over his face. It was starting to get a little hot inside the bathroom as well. Joel looked in your direction, trying to understand what you were saying but quickly looked away. Joel closed his eyes tightly and then opened them wide again without knowing what to do. When he leaned back and looked in your direction, he expected nothing, only the curtain that was hiding you, but instead, he found a perfect view of your round and wet ass.

Joel swallowed nervously and shook his head, trying to erase that image from his mind, but it was so perfect and the water slid so easily down it. No, no, no, fuck he mumbled, massaging his temples. The way his teeth would sink into your skin there, and they would mark your soft skin just right.

"Are you okay?" You peeked your head through the curtain. Your brow furrowed as you saw him looking away.

He nodded.

"Can you pass me the bathrobe, then?"

Fuck, you were doing this on purpose, he thought. He stood from the toilet and you waited behind the curtains. You went out of the shower wrapped in the robe.

"I'll leave so you can change." He announced. His eyes briefly looked away and moved down to your breasts covered by your bathrobe, he could see how hard your nipples were and how the drops of water slid down your cleavage. You raised your eyebrows and Joel never looked you in the face again. He tried to get out of the bathroom, ashamed enough already, when you blocked his way with your body.

"I saw you looking at me, Joel. You won't get away so easily."

He didn't know what to say. Should he apologize? Should he leave anyway? He'd been looking after you practically since this started, since you two met in the woods, the least he could do was apologize for looking at you in such an inappropriate way.

"When was the last time you saw a naked woman?"

Your question caught him off guard. Joel shook his head and took his eyes off you, knowing beforehand what you were about to do. The bathrobe slipped off your shoulders and Joel closed his eyes, not even daring to look at your reflection in the mirror. You couldn't be doing this to him, he was not like the boys you'd been hanging out in Jackson.

"Look at me."

He shook his head. You told him again and this time his eyes laid on yours. You flashed him a smile, how innocent sweet Joel.

"I want you to look at my body, Joel."

Joel called your name, shaking his head again and swallowing nervously.

"I know you want to do it, I saw how you looked at me before. I want you too, but this isn't going to work if you can't even look at me."

His eyes shyly moved from yours to your breasts. He took a glance and closed his eyes. You smiled victorious. You guided one of his hands to caress one side of your body. Joel dared to look at the path his hand was making through your body, how soft the skin of your waist felt against his rough fingers.

You led his hand to cup one of your tits. Your nipple immediately became hard on contact with his palm and your pussy was already clenching around nothing. You'd dreamed so many times about how would his touch feel, and he was barely applying any pressure, nor squeezing it or pinching your nipple, he was just holding your tit in his hand.

Your hand pinched his chin and made him look up at you. His eyes were bright, darker than you'd ever seen them before, and his pupils were big. You fluttered your lashes, inocently and your thumb caressed his lips. You came close enough to his mouth for your breaths to become one, you could feel his beard tickling your lips. You ran your tongue over his lips and he leaned in for a kiss, his lips were so soft and gentle against yours compared to the thick hair of his beard.

You pushed his shoulders and made him sit on the toilet again. His cock was so hard and ready for you, already leaking precum against the fabric of his underwear. He was still unsure about this, not because he didn't want to do it but because you were so beautiful and he was an old man that doubled your age, and his cock was so hard and already throbbing against his stomach, it was almost embarrassing.

Joel put both of his hands on your hips when you placed one of your legs on each side of his body. You wrapped your fingers around his hard cock, giving it a couple of strokes and getting multiple groans from him. You could feel him twitching between your fingers. He was big, some black hairs like the ones on his head decorated the base of his cock and a prominent vein ran down its length, but the most important thing was, that he was thick. You could barely take it all in one hand, and you knew the stretch was going to be perfect.

You lined up his cock at your entrance, allowing only his tip to go inside you, and then you gently lowered yourself. One of your hands moved down to your clit and rub it to get used to the sensation of Joel filling you. He gave you all the time you needed but you were tight and he could feel his cock jumping inside you. Every time your fingers rubbed your clit your cunt clenched and squeezed him even harder.

"You good?" Joel asked, caressing one of your cheeks with the back of his hand. You nodded. "You sure? Oh, fuck-" He moaned when you started rolling your hips against his. Your movements were very delicate as your fingers continued working on your bundle of nerves, helping you to get even wetter and making it easy for you to take him. Joel could feel you dripping down the inside of his legs.

"Yeah, that's a good girl, fuck-" His eyes were locked on where you two connected although he could only see how his cock had completely disappeared inside your pussy. He was enjoying the way your tiny fingers played with your clit.

"Still good?" He asked again and you nodded. You suddenly stopped the movement of your hips against his and he was afraid that you'd hurt yourself. You placed your hands on his broad shoulders, getting a firm grip there to help you lift your hips from his lap. You pulled him out of you, his cock glistening with your juices, and then you dropped yourself back down onto his cock.

A sharp moan came out of Joel's throat and his fingers sank into the flesh of your ass. You repeated that again and again, finally getting used to Joel's width and to the sting of him going inside you deeper and deeper each time. Your hands moved from his shoulder to his face, cupping both of his cheeks and guiding his lips to yours, the sounds that escaped your mouths became one. His hands massaged your breasts shamelessly this time, his palms rubbed your nipples while you leaned your head back, giving him perfect access to your neck.

"I can't- I can't anymore." You cried out, your movements becoming more and more sloppy.

"It's okay. You did well." He gasped, his hands on your hips slowly guiding your movements, giving you enough time to recompose. Joel helped you to wrap your legs around his body, so that when he stood up from the toilet, he could move you with him, his dick still balls deep inside you.

Joel sat you on the sink and he splayed your legs completely open. You sat up on your elbows, looking through your eyelashes as he was admiring how your pussy sucked him. His dick slid inside you easily, his thrusts were stronger than you thought they would be and they made your whole body shake with them. Your throat felt dry and the burn in the pit of your stomach felt warmer and warmer. You dug your nails into his shoulders and pulled him to you, chest to chest.

Your hips rolled involuntarily against his, and you nodded to everything he muttered at you through gritted teeth. Yes, you were a good girl. Yes, you were his good girl. Yes, your pussy belonged to him. Yes, you were about to cum. Yes, you wanted his cum, and yes, you wanted it inside. And who was he to deny you your wishes? With a groan coming straight from his chest and your legs shaking and closing around his body, you both came seconds apart.

Joel stayed inside you, his head resting on your shoulder as you played with the hair on the back of his neck. You giggled. "Look at the shy one."

[poppadom0912]

Excuses

Warnings: Mentions of fainting, diabetes, canon-typical injuries

Summary: You suffer the consequences just because your teacher thought you were making excuses.

A/N: First fic of 2024!!! I had plans that I was going to post weekly in the new year just like last year but things went downhill. This january and february has had its very good but also really bad moments and even writing this was a struggle. I've found myself in a weird place of wanting to write but struggling and all of a sudden not being able to balance my schoolwork and writing. So I took a lil step back to solely focus on my work but looking at everything now, my fic updates will be much less frequent but hopefully just as or if not, more fun to read.

I feel bad for not saying or posting anything since the new year but I'm here now and hopefully will be more alive. I've got lots planned for you beautiful people, several series and way too many fics in my drafts that I cannot wait for you all to read. This wasn't as long or as juicy as I intended but my brain completely failed me so I hope this is good enough. I initially wanted to post this at the beginning of March but I finished the final editing today so here you go!!

Final note before we start, I have general knowledge about diabetes but that's all from my grandma. I have no idea if it's the same for teenagers so I'm sorry for any mistakes. Happy reading!!

Your biology teacher had been on maternity for three weeks now and you were seriously contemplating life.

Because of the crappy rules surrounding maternity leave, when your teacher refused to return before her three months ended, your school had a supply teacher fill in for her till she came back.

Since day one, you knew you hated her.

It was mid lesson and you knew as soon as you started feeling sluggish that your sugar levels were dropping. Your thoughts were only confirmed when your Dexcom receiver let you know of your decreasing glucose.

This wasn't a usual occurrence. Will and Jay always made sure you had eaten enough and you had the means to maintain the needed glucose levels so that nothing happened.

Alas, you were up late revising and you were stressing about keeping up your good grades. Jay was rushing you out the door because he needed to go to a scene he'd just been called to and Will was out walking Kol and hadn't seen you leave.

In conclusion, it'd been a hot minute since you last ate something.

The school were well aware of your diabetes. It was one of the very important things your brothers stressed them about when you first started.

Most students knew about it actually, having seen your Dexcom and not understanding since a diabetic child apparently wasn't common according to them.

So, when you randomly pulled out a snack from your bag mid class, no one questioned it and instead would make sure you were okay. There'd never been a problem before in school and everyone wanted it to stay that way.

However, this new teacher, Mrs Byrne was apparently completely unaware of your medical condition.

"Y/N. You know the rules about eating in class." She said strictly, pulling away all the attention from the board onto you.

She stopped you in the middle of opening the packet of fruit gummies. You frowned, looking at her confused along with your classmates.

"I have diabetes." You said bluntly, continuing to open the packet. "I don't eat this and I'll pass out."

Mrs Byrne only rolled her eyes, smiling at you condescendingly. "I've heard that excuse hundreds of times, give those to me."

You scoffed at the audacity, refusing to hand over what was yours.

It was when she started walking towards your desk with a pep in her step that the entire class got involved. Their raised voices overlapped, some angrier than others over what was happening.

However, you too were Stubborn alike to your brothers so you kept as firm of a grip of the packet. You turned a blind eye to the anger fuelled cover teacher. You continued to smile as she spewed threats of all sorts.

Due to your frustration and annoyance over the teacher who wanted to take your gummies away, you didn't notice how everything started change; how hard it was to move your eyes and lips, your limbs getting heavier and you thoughts slowly getting muddled up.

Lost in a daze, you were no longer able to fight back when she pulled harder, successfully snatching the small packet out of your hands. It was now that the class got furious, your friends were already up and at your side but now they were verbally attacking the teacher.

Fed up with her petty behaviour, you were going to get up and go to the nurses office who would take care of you but getting out your seat was harder said than done.

With one of your friends help, you weren't too sure who was helping you from your hazy sight that cleared when you blinked too many times.

You were wobbly on your feet, taking slow and hesitant steps towards the front of the classroom but before you could leave, you felt your legs give out and everything went black.

*****

It turned out that supposed crime scene that he was imminently needed at was nothing but a prank by a bunch of college boys resulting in a grumpy Hank putting them in cuffs and having them fined for a very reasonable reason.

That's how the rest of the unit found themselves finishing up paperwork, catching up about life in general as they debated what they were getting for lunch.

Jay was smugly sitting back, eyes flickering between Kevin and Adam who were bickering over something trivial when his phone rung, catching everyone's attention.

They were all so bored and normally when one of their phones went off during work hours, it meant something came up and they were needed.

In interest, everyone turned their heads towards Jay and waited for him to tell them they got a crime scene.

Picking up his phone, Jay's brows furrowed at the number, confused as to why your school was calling him in the middle of the day. They'd only call him if two things happened: You'd gotten in trouble or you got hurt.

"Hello. Is this Y/N Halsteads brother Jay?" A voice he couldn't recognised asked, most likely some lady from the main office.

"Yeah, that's me." Jay confirmed, sitting up in preparation for whatever he was going to be told.

"So sorry to interrupt you sir but Y/N collapsed in class." The lady said with guilt laced in her words. "Your other brother didn't pick up the phone. We called to let you know we had to call the paramedics and they've taken her to Chicago Med."

"Uh yeah." Jay said, collecting his jacket and keys. "Yes, thank you."

Not waiting for a reply, Jay hung up and quickly knocked on Hank's office door frame.

"Sarge, I gotta get Y/N-"

"Go get her. We're done here."

*****

Wanting to pull his hair out, Will rubbed his eyes in frustration, glaring at his patients scans that only confused him further. He was tired and was coming to half way through his twenty four hour shift.

"Dr Halstead- Uh, Dr Rhodes in T4." Maggie stumbled, looking down at her brick and making sure she read it correctly.

"What's wrong?" Will asked, confused as to why Maggie changed her mind which she usually never did.

"It's Y/N."

Now fully awake, Will followed Connor towards the ambulance bay where you were being rolled in. You were groggily sitting up on the stretcher, you hair a mess and a few scratches around your face and hands from when you fell.

"Sylvie, what happened?" Will asked the blonde paramedic while looking you over. He desperately wanted to check you over himself but let Connor do his thing. He really did not need Ms Goodwin on his case today.

"Teachers didn't tell us much but her classmates said she collapsed after not being able to eat." Sylvie relayed the minimal information she knew, shrugging her shoulders when the two doctors looked at her weirdly. "No one would tell us anything more."

"Y/N, it's Connor. Can you hear me kid?" Connor said while pulling out his penlight. He was like another brother to you, his concern just as high. "Can you tell me what happened?"

You groaned, mumbling nonsense with your eyes screwed closed. Your words were mostly unintelligible but Will understood them mere seconds later.

Fixing the problem you complained about, Will turned down the lights and let Connor continue fussing over you.

It didn't take long to find out the cause of your collapse, Will sighing at the news when he read the numbers from your tests.

"I thought she was always on top of her sugar levels." Connor said, closing the room door so you could sleep in peace.

And what he said was completely true but they weren't aware of why you couldn't today specifically of all days.

"She is." Will said, rubbing a hand down his face in frustration. "Maybe her dexcom malfunctioned or something."

Connor hummed, agreeing with his friend.

"Hmm, maybe."

*****

Arriving at Med, Will gave Jay a detailed rundown of everything he new about your medical state but also the events pre your hospital arrival.

Getting a good look at you, holding your hand in his and kissing you on your forehead, Jay was more than happy to leave you in your oldest brothers safe hands while he got to the bottom of this entire ordeal.

He noticed Sylvie was still at Med, Foster mentioning they were running low on a few supplies so they needed some stocking up. Jay took this opportunity to interview the two paramedics and try to get further understanding on this situation that wasn't making much sense to him.

Arriving at your school, Jay had some thoughts in mind but they weren't very concrete and his confidence wasn't as strong as he'd like it to be.

Walking into the school, Jay immediately noticed an entire class sitting and standing around in the corridor waiting in front of the principals office.

One of the girls who had been sitting in a chair had caught sight of Jay, her eyes widening before she smiled, gently nudging the girl next to her and pointing in his direction. The girls reaction was the exact same.

This created a sort of domino effect as the boy next to her noticed Jay and everyone was telling the other of his sudden arrival. The once silent corridor was now beginning to fill with murmurs and whispers, all their eyes glued onto his figure that moved down the corridor, their shocked faces quickly changing into smiles and smirks.

It seems that Jay had a reputation of sorts.

"Why are you making so much noise? What did I just say about talking-"

The principal cut himself off from his scolding when he suddenly noticed Jay's presence, his face blanching as all the pieces clicked into place.

"Detective Halstead! What a surprise, we weren't expecting to see you so soon-"

This time Jay cut him off, not too bothered about his lack manners. "My brothers with Y/N at the hospital so I thought there was no other perfect time."

The principal remained silent.

"Now, why don't you explain to me why my sister fainted under your watch?"

The students behind Jay couldn't help but snicker knowingly.

[roosterforme]

Batting Practice Part 33 The Epilogue | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Some things never seem to change for Bradley. But maybe he worked at keeping them the same. Baseball, Everett and you.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing

Length: 3700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

Seventeen and a half years later...

"Happy birthday, Coach," you whispered, slowly coaxing Bradley awake. He could feel your warm breath on his cheek and the weight of your hand resting on his chest. 

"Mmm, Kitten," he rasped, placing his bigger hand on top of yours as he cracked his eyes open. And there you were, fresh from sleep yourself, and so beautiful with the early morning sunlight catching on the angles of your face. "It's Sunday. Why won't you let me sleep in?"

"Because it's your birthday. And we get to see Ev."

Bradley stretched and rolled over so you were pinned deliciously underneath him. "We won't get to see Ev until later this afternoon. He's going to have a very busy day."

"I'm not so sure about that," you said with a smirk as you dragged your fingers through his hair. Bradley knew he was going gray, but you claimed you liked it, including the few stray strands that found their way into his mustache. 

"You sound like you've got something up your sleeve. Wait, Molly's not coming over to break the stove again, is she?"

You started laughing as you wrapped your legs around his. "Not that I know of. But anything's possible with her."

"Poor Bob," he said, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. "And the kids, too. She's an absolute menace." 

Bradley pulled up your shirt and kissed his way along your breasts. If he was lucky, he'd get round one of birthday sex now and round two tonight after the game.

"Wait," he whined as you tugged your shirt back down. "What are you doing? It's my birthday."

"Yes," you agreed, kissing him once and then slipping right out of bed. "And I've been told I need to keep you on a very strict schedule. So come on. Get up."

"A strict schedule?" he mumbled. "Baby, I'm retired. My schedule revolves around making you breakfast, packing your lunch, coaching tee ball, and watching every single Phillies game."

"Well, I'll be making your breakfast today. And you can eat nachos or a hot dog for lunch even though you should be watching your sodium intake. And we will definitely catch the Phillies game," you said, reaching out to take his hand. 

With one more groan, he let you lead him downstairs where you told him to sit at the kitchen counter. He passed his display case on the way and paused to look at his first Coach of the Year trophy and the baseball covered in little faded hearts that he used to propose to you. He smiled at the collection of other baseballs, including the one from the first time his son pitched a no hitter. 

"Seriously, Bradley. We have a schedule to keep."

A few minutes later he had his World's Greatest Dad mug full of coffee in front of him. You kept checking the time as you pulled eggs and vegetables out of the refrigerator. Once 8:00 hit, you grabbed his phone from where it sat on the counter and entered his passcode as he sipped his coffee.

"Read this," you said, voice full of excitement. 

"What is it?" he asked as you thrust the phone into his hands. It looked like he was going to have absolutely no say over what went on today, so he was just going to go with the flow.

"An article. In the Philadelphia Inquirer. It just got released two minutes ago."

"Okay," he muttered, setting down his coffee and as he started to read.

WILL SEASON FOUR BE AS LUCKY AS ONE, TWO, AND THREE?

by Harrison Boyd

June 27, 2039

From his draft day nearly four years ago to now, Everett Bradshaw has been turning heads. We had collectively wondered as baseball fans from the City of Brotherly Love if we would ever have a truly elite pitcher again after Ronson's career ending injury. But as soon as the franchise acquired Bradshaw, we were allowed to stop wondering. We have reached elite status once again. And Bradshaw shows no signs of stopping. 

When I asked the freshly twenty five year old ace about the secret to his success, the first thing out of his mouth was, "My dad."

Bradley rubbed his eyes with his fingers and took a deep breath against the swell of emotions rising in his chest. "Kitten, what is this?"

You just shrugged as you cut up a green pepper for an omelette. "A feature article on Ev. Keep reading."

Bradley took a deep breath and picked up where he left off.

So I asked him, "Was your dad the one at your games who was cheering the loudest? The one who kept you motivated since you were a kid?"

"Not exactly," Bradshaw replied with a smile. "He was my very first coach. He actually still coaches tee ball in San Diego. He wins Coach of the Year so frequently, I think we've all lost count of how many of those little trophies he has at home. But anyway, I met my dad on the very first day I ever played ball. The very first time I swung a bat with instruction was from him. And he's the one who taught me how to pitch. His slider is still really hard to hit."

"You met your dad through tee ball? Through baseball? That's fascinating."

"Yes. I begged my mom to let me play. I was already obsessed with the Phillies by the time I was six. My mom took me to see them clobber the Padres at Petco Park, and I just thought they were the coolest team. So when she let me play tee ball, and I met my coach and learned he also loved the Phillies, I just wanted to spend as much time with him as I could. Turns out, they also wanted to spend time with each other. They got married a few months later. And then my dad adopted me."

While his birth name wasn't Bradshaw, Everett said he never had a close relationship with his biological father. "Really, he's not even worth mentioning. The only one I've ever considered to be my dad is Bradley. I can barely remember a time before he was taking me to the park to hit balls and teaching me how to keep stats. We did my homework together and collected baseball cards. He helped me apply to colleges. The video of him losing his mind when the Phillies drafted me went viral. My mom and my aunt and uncle are awesome, too. But my dad has always understood me in a way probably nobody else ever will."

During his four years at Vanderbilt, Everett earned a reputation as a fun loving, team oriented pitcher. But his stats were enough to catch the eye of every major league team. He pitched a no hitter against Stanford when he was nineteen, and he hit his first grand slam when he was twenty. And he's only cleaned up his form since then. For anyone not keeping track at home, Bradshaw already owns an incredible record in the MLB: he is the only player to pitch a no hitter as well as hit at least one grand slam for every year they played in the pros. His batting averages are practically unheard of for a pitcher. 

It's no wonder he was heavily scouted. And he assures us that his dad was there with him every step of the way. "I didn't know anything about contracts. I just wanted to pitch. But I spent a lot of time talking things through with my dad before I made any decisions. And now everyone is making a huge fuss about my new 440 million dollar ten year extension with the Phils, but to be honest, I still just want to pitch as many games as I can."

The 'huge fuss' is being made, because Bradshaw is now the highest paid pitcher in league history. The Phillies went all in on him, however Bradshaw did adjust his deal to assure that the team would be able to keep top catcher Sanchez as well. "If Miguel Sanchez isn't catching for me and the other guys in the rotation, then that's a big problem. The team needed to retain him as well. And to be honest, Harrison, nobody needs 440 million dollars."

Bradley set his phone down, rubbed his eyes, and said, "I still can't believe our son is the highest paid pitcher ever."

"I can," you replied, adding cheese to the omelette. "He's incredible. Keep reading."

When I asked him what he plans to do with 44 million dollars per year, he kind of shied away from the answer at first. "Well my girlfriend runs a nonprofit organization back in San Diego. She helps fund underprivileged children and schools. So a lot of my income goes back to kids in the city where I grew up and beyond. But I've also been working on a bit of a project myself."

When I asked him for more details, he folded his hands on the table in front of him and took a few beats to answer. "We talked a lot about my dad and what he means to me personally, and how he has impacted my career. But I also think it's important to remember that I'm just one guy. I'm just one kid who went through tee ball and little league. There are thousands of kids across the country who benefit from those types of athletic programs every year. And some of them, just like me, really need the positive influence that the coaches bring. So my dad doesn't even know about this yet, but I'm starting the Bradley Bradshaw Foundation, which will help fund a handful of youth tee ball programs every year. This is something I've been thinking about for a long time. The coaches bring the love and dedication; they shouldn't have to worry about equipment costs and field rental fees."

Bradley dropped his phone onto the counter and tried to wipe his eyes as he sobbed. "I can't even finish reading it."

You slid his birthday breakfast onto a plate and set it in front of him. Then you wrapped your arms around his neck and let him cry against your shoulder. 

"Why is he doing this?" Bradley asked you. "He knows how fucking emotional I get, Kitten."

You kissed the top of his head and whispered, "Yes, you're always very soft for us. But you're also soft and sweet for all the kids you've coached. Keep reading."

So he pushed his breakfast aside and picked up his phone once again. And once he blinked away most of his tears he read the last part.

When pressed about how he thinks his stats will pan out by the end of his fourth season, Everett 'Grand Slam' Bradshaw laughed and shrugged. "I don't know. I'm just trying for consistency. I'm trying to be a good teammate. I'm trying to make the best of every game I get to start. I'm trying to spend as much time with my family as I can. But if you really have a specific question about my stats, you should call my dad. He probably knows better than I do."

Bradley stood up from the kitchen counter and walked away from you. "I need a minute," he said, raking his hands through his hair. The love Bradley felt for his son was just simply part of him. He never took the time to try to pinpoint it exactly, because it was just built into him at this point. But he supposed it really was quite simple to reach back in his mind and pull out the moments when he started to fall in love with you and Everett. And it really was just because of the Tiny Eagles tee ball team. 

If he hadn't agreed to help Bob coach that first season, his life would be fundamentally incorrect right now. He didn't even like thinking about it. But it was because of his love for Everett, and you, and baseball that he stuck with coaching. He'd spent time with countless six and seven year olds over the last eighteen years. He'd missed some practices and games for deployments here and there, sure. But giving a little bit of his time and attention to a roster of kids each spring ended up changing his life. Because while his family owned his heart, Bradley found he had quite a lot of patience and love to share with more kids. 

"Bradley?" you asked softly, standing next to his untouched breakfast. "We can go see Ev when you're ready."

"I'm ready."

Bradley took a quick shower and put on his favorite jeans and his Phillies jersey with Bradshaw and the number 1 on the back. You were dressed similarly in your own Everett Bradshaw jersey; it had taken until your son was playing for the team for you to have what Bradley considered an adequate amount of Phillies clothing in your drawers. Once Bradley added his backwards hat, he was ready to go.

You took his hand and led him out to the new Bronco, and Bradley handed you the keys. He still felt like he was on the verge of tears again. "I need you to drive."

"Okay, Coach."

When you turned onto the Private Parking Only ramp at Petco Park, Bradley chuckled. "I still can't believe Ev is playing the Padres in San Diego on my birthday."

"You screamed like a small child when the schedule came out," you reminded him as you parked near the players entrance where the three of you had entered on your ballpark tour eighteen years ago. 

"Yeah, I know, but we hardly ever get to see Ev during the season unless we fly to Philly." He was already climbing out before you turned the engine off, and then he took your hand as you laughed. "Shit, Kitten... it's 10:00. The game doesn't start until 1:00. Are the gates even open?"

"We can get in," you assured him, and you pulled a lanyard out of your pocket with VIP printed all over it. 

"How did we get that?" he asked, leaning down to kiss you as you approached the gate together. "Ev usually just sends us box tickets."

But before you had a chance to answer, the security guard looked at the VIP pass and asked, "Which player are you here to see?"

"Everett Bradshaw?" you replied. "He plays for the Phillies."

The guard's face lit up and he said, "He just autographed a ball for my kids about ten minutes ago! Nicest guy."

"He's our son," Bradley said with pride in his voice, and you squeezed his hand a little tighter. 

"Come on in," the guard said with a bright smile, unlocking the gate and sliding it open. "You can wait in the VIP lounge right up this ramp to the right. Scan the pass to unlock the door. I'll call down to the locker rooms and let him know you're here."

"Thanks," Bradley replied, and you led the way up the ramp. "Baby, I'm still a little confused about why we're here so early."

"You'll see in a minute," you replied, scanning the badge. Bradley pulled the door open when it unlocked, and he followed you into the lounge full of plush seats, TV screens, and refreshments. And at the far end, perched on the edge of one of the long tables, was Everett. He was smiling as he tucked his phone in his jeans pocket, and Bradley thought he looked impossibly taller and stronger than he had two months ago when they visited him in Philadelphia.

Bradley's eyes filled with tears as he started closing the distance to his son. "Happy birthday, Dad," Everett said with a laugh in his deep voice, but Bradley was already wrapping him up in a tight hug. He just wanted to hold all six foot two inches and two hundred and twenty pounds of his son, and Everett let him. 

Bradley had to fight the onslaught of tears as the familiar feel of Ev hugging him back filled his senses, and the words from the article he read earlier flooded his mind. When he finally released him, he patted him on the shoulder. "You look good, Kiddo. Did you eat enough for breakfast? Are you still starting today?"

Ev smiled at him and nodded, "Yeah, I'm feeling good, Dad. I could probably use some of your pancakes though."

"Well why didn't you say something? I could have brought some with us. Kitten, why didn't you say something?" he asked you as you walked over to join them.

As Everett gave you an enormous hug as well, he said, "I'm thinking about sleeping over at the house with you guys tonight, since I'm not starting tomorrow. You can make me about a dozen pancakes tomorrow morning. Hi, mom."

You kissed his cheek and adjusted his backward Phillies cap. "I like your hair this way. You look so handsome, Ev.

"Of course he does," Bradley agreed. "He looks like you." And then he was rewarded with the twin smiles that you and Everett bestowed on him at the same time. "Listen, if you're coming back to the house later, I need to stop and get groceries. You ate everything in the refrigerator and drank all my beer last time."

Everett just smiled at him. "Damn, I really do miss your pancakes."

"Ev, that's an adult word," you scolded.

"Mom. I am an adult," he scolded back playfully. But he was grinning when he turned toward Bradley. "Did mom make you read the article this morning? From the Inquirer?" 

"Yeah," he whispered, nodding his head. "You didn't need to do that for me, Kiddo. But thank you."

His throat was tight with unshed tears as Everett gave him another hug. "I didn't do it just for you. I did it for the other coaches and kids, too. You were just my main inspiration. You always are, dad."

"Please, Ev," he said, sucking in a deep breath as he rubbed his son's back before releasing him. "I might never stop crying."

And he was once again met with Everett's smile and yours. "You're a softie, Coach," you told him, cupping his chin in your hand and kissing him.

"Always for the two of you." Bradley kissed your fingers and then laced them with his as he looked around the room. "How much longer can you hang out with us, Ev? You need to warm up soon?"

"Pretty soon," he replied. "I'll walk you up to the box to meet Aunt Molly and Uncle Bob and the cousins, but we need to stop and take care of something first."

"Take care of what?" Bradley asked, but Ev was already heading for the door past the tables and unlocking it with his own badge. Hand in hand, the two of you followed your son down a long hallway that ended near the locker rooms at a door that said PRESS AND PLAYERS ONLY. "Are we even allowed back here?"

"Well," Everett said, stopping in front of the door, "if you remember the tour we took when I was six years old, this is where we met some of the players."

"Of course I remember," Bradley said, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "That was one of the best days of my life. I told your mom I loved her that day."

"He did," you confirmed for Everett.

"You two have always been sickening," Everett replied with a smile. "But yes, we're allowed in here. Actually dad, you're the man of the hour."

"Man of the hour?" he asked. "Kiddo, you're the star pitcher. It's just my fifty-fifth birthday." 

But as soon as Everett pushed the door open and Bradley stepped inside, about twenty reporters and photographers started buzzing with excitement. 

"Ev, I'm still confused," Bradley said as his son rested a hand on his shoulder. He watched you smile and head to an empty seat at the back of the room. "What's going on?"

Ev rubbed his shoulder before giving him another hug and releasing him. "Every interviewer asks me how I became successful. And my answer is always the same. It's because of you, Dad."

"Ev," Bradley choked out, his throat tight with tears once again.

"So you're in high demand, Coach. I told a few media outlets we would give an interview together. Nothing too crazy. As long as you want to."

Bradley glanced around the room, and as soon as he found you with a bright smile on your face, he said, "Okay."

So he sat down where the players sit, and Everett took the seat next to him. They had on matching jerseys and backward caps, and it didn't matter that he adopted Everett, this had always been his son. They were cut from the same cloth. They understood each other. They were a family. 

Everett cleared his throat and announced, "Hey, everyone. This is my dad and my very first coach, retired naval Captain Bradley Bradshaw. He taught me literally everything I know about baseball. Everything I know about anything, really. He showed me how to pitch sliders and curveballs at Myers Park here in San Diego. He made sure I could lose a game with the same attitude as when I won a game. He and I met the first day I ever played tee ball and the very first day he ever coached. And he's been coaching the Tiny Eagles ever since. So I guess if you want to know more about me, then he's the man to talk to."

Bradley was still wiping tears from his eyes when the first interviewer raised her hand, smiled at him, and asked, "Can you tell us how proud you are of Everett?"

He turned to look at his son and smiled. "How much time do I have?"

------------------------------

Well, that's it! The tale of Coach Bradley! I can't thank you enough to everyone who has been lovely to me as I worked on and posted this fic. I can't get enough of these three. Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32 (and thanks for the banner, Mak!)

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Don't forget to check out Bob and Molly in The Curveball!

Still want more? Read Draft Day!

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[sgrplumditz]

Simon falls for Johnny’s wife…

render by @ave661

a/n: I’ve been working on this for a hot minute, but ended up having it sit in my drafts for a couple months :(. these images were released and it definitely struck a chord in my delulu mind. hence why i decided to finish it..

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"I've got a bad feeling about this one, Johnny," she said to the Scott with a shaky breath. Their toddler clinging to his mother's leg while keeping a tight grip on his father's finger. His little hand too small to grip the entirety of his hand.

She couldn’t help but notice his worrisome sigh as he looked for the comforting words, "Eh, don't you worry, Darling. I always come back don't I?" he replied enthusiastically as he embraced her figure, his chin resting on the top of her head and his free hand caressing the back of his son’s head. Johnny always knew how to comfort her, but she couldn’t shake her nervousness and doubtful thoughts as he said goodbye to her husband and the father of her only child.

The memory of their final interaction as a family replayed in her head continuously as the rain created soft tapping noises on her black umbrella. The pattering of the water creating an almost hypnotizing effect on the new widow that kept her mind on the only aspect that was left of her late husband -- memories.

The toddler, a three-year-old boy, who like most of the time clung to his mother's body. Except this time he was fully embracing his mother, his little face placed into the crook of her neck as the pair stood together at the outdoor memorial service. She could only stare blankly at the urn that held the remains of the love of her life. Through her observant stare she took note of the simple, yet lovely set up of white roses, numerous awards and medals. All of which surrounded a framed photo of her Johnny — her favorite photo. A candid picture snapped of the blue eyed, dark haired man by his wife — the woman he kept a secret from his work life. Not out of shame, or malicious secrecy — Johnny loved his wife and his child. Love them so much that he couldn’t be bothered ever putting them in any sort of danger.

She could feel numerous pairs of eyes prying into her and her son as she stood amongst the medium sized crowd of individuals. She assumed all of them were teammates, Co-workers, or people simply paying their respects. she knew he was a highly decorated soldier, but he was far more than that. None of them knew about his personal life, and nobody knew about the widow and small boy he had left behind. Nobody but Captain John Price knew about Soap’s little family. In confidence, Soap had asked Price to maintain word of his wife and son under the rug of the sake of their safety. Although they were hidden, he always carried pieces of them with him wherever he went — attached to his dog tags were two small and silver flat pendants that had been engraved with his wife and son’s fingerprint, his wedding band usually accompanying them on the same chain whenever he was deployed.

When Johnny was home he never removed his ring. He would often complain about how difficult and stubborn the piece of jewelry was when it came time to remove it for work. Johnny thought he was as discrete as he could be when it came to protecting the two most important people in his life, but there was a certain masked individual who took notice of the tan line that marked his left ring finger, the sudden dark under eyes and disheveled appearance that started 3 years ago when they would meet early in the morning for briefings, and when he caught sight of a vomit stain decorating the left shoulder of his black t-shirt — he just wasn’t one to pry.

Those same observant eyes were glued to the grieving widow and the blue-eyed toddler.

Her mind was pulled out of thoughts as Price approached her with a warm and tender expression in his eyes. In his hands were the dog tags, along with his keepsakes of his beloveds and in a small box was the wedding band. All of his personal belongings packed neatly into a box. Price knew he didn’t have to say anything to her for her to know that he was paying his respects to Johnny’s wife. Prior to the memorial service she had made it clear to Price that she wanted him to keep his ashes. She found they would get at least some closure from releasing them.

As Price drew her small frame in for a polite hug her son grew restless in her arms. She knew he was too young to understand that his father was gone, but it was clear that he was uncomfortable and upset from the lack of him. "Mama, it's cold" he fussed as he smushed his face farther onto her neck, "and your feet are getting wet. You're gonna catch a cold". She gave Price an apologetic smile as she turned her attention to her son now — Price had taken it as a signal to retreat. He now stood with two other men.

She couldn't help but smile at the innocence and kindness that exuded from her son. She gently patted his back to soothe his discomfort, "How about we get out of here and get some lunch?" she tried to speak in her most joyful tone, but even then it was coated in sorrow. The boy did not catch on to her somber response, and instead eagerly nodded his head as he perked up to look at his mother. That is when she realized how similar their son, Samuel, looked to his father. He mirrored him in nearly every aspect -- the eye shape and color, the dark hair, and even the mannerisms were similar. This could all be a fragment of her imagination -- she thought. Maybe it was part of her grieving process. She missed him so much that she began to look for him and could only find him perfectly in their Sammie. She was so consumed by her thoughts, that she had not realized the single salty tear that slipped out of her eye and down her cheek. Samuel hated to see his mother cry, he quickly brought his tiny hands up to her cheek and wiped it away with a slightly heavy palm. Usually, he would verbally comfort her — as best as a toddler could do, but all he did was lean forward to place a gentle kiss on his mother's forehead, "This always makes you feel better when Daddy does it". Does -- in present tense.

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She could not tolerate being at the memorial service for much longer, and neither could Samuel. She had buckled him into his car seat and handed him a strawberry and banana squeezable fruit pack and crackers to ease his rumbling tummy in the meantime.

However, as she closed the car door and turned her back to face the crowd of people one last time she was instead met with a tall, burly build of a man. His face was hidden by a balaclava, leaving only his eyes on display. But the rest of his face was not necessary to note that he was also grieving. She noticed him within the crowd of the memorial service as well -- she assumed that was one of Johnny's friends, but did not bother to congregate with anyone since Johnny kept his personal life completely separate from his work life. And if she was being honest with herself, she did not have the emotional stamina to socialize with people that spent months out of the year with her late husband.

"Sorry. Can I help you with something?" she asked the brute man. She stared up at him with her eyes slightly shut to avoid water from getting into them.

"He’s Johnny’s" was his only reply. For a moment she only blinked and stared at him and noted the heavy English accent. The mention of her late husband’s name stung as she now was fighting back tears. Yes, he is Johnny's son. His pride and joy -- was what she wanted to say, but she could barely muster up the strength to nod her head.

She could tell that the individual's lips tightened into a line by the way the fabric of his mask slightly stretched. "My name is Simon. I was a friend of Johnny's..." he attempted to continue speaking, but all he did was nervously rub the back of his neck. "Johnny meant a lot to me, a real friend of mine..." he trailed off again.

She knew he was grieving, but it was a different type of pain. She sensed guilt within his sadness, but she knew better than to ask about any specifics. Her kind nature and maternal habits took over as she saw Simon struggling to find his words. For whatever reason this man decided to make himself emotionally uncomfortable to introduce himself, she figured there would be no harm in easing his mind.

She knew who Simon was since Johnny would bring up his friend "Ghost" every now and then "I know who you are" she smiled warmly trying to be the emotional rock between the two, "How about you join us for some lunch. I think Sammie would love to talk to and get to know his Uncle Ghost" she spoke eagerly in an attempt to lighten the mood -- something that was usually Johnny's role.

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The three of them sat in a booth within a homely diner. The rain had completely let down at this point, the large drops of water hitting the roof of the diner with loud individual pats. Her hands were wrapped around a warm mug of coffee as she stared out the window watching blades of grass be temporarily smooshed by the inclement weather. The waitress had refilled her mug causing her gaze to turn towards her, her eyes softened and she gave the waitress a subtle nod to thank her. It was then that she realized that her son was wearing the ghost mask that was once on Simon. There was a glimmer of joy in Sam's eyes as he stood on the booth and gently hopped toward his mother to show her the "cool mask".

"I look so cool!" he exclaimed which only caused a chuckle to leave both her and Simon's mouths as the toddler's face was completely exposed through the eye hole on the mask -- his features obviously too small to fill the mask in the same manner. Upon hearing the slight laugh she turned to look at Simon, who she was surprised to see with dirty blonde hair. He was overall a handsome man, something that anyone would notice at first glance, but his eyes always conveyed a lot of emotion. Right now it was amusement tinged with pain as he stared at Sam. She knew he also noticed how strongly he resembles Johnny, and a part of her found comfort in knowing that she was not grieving alone. The way he looked at Sammie made her feel warm. She sensed that Simon knew Johnny deeper than most of the people at the memorial service — knowing that she found herself smiling at the thought of her being able to cherish Johnny’s memories with someone else.

The waitress had arrived with everyone's meals. Sam did not hesitate to dig into his plate. The toddler abruptly grabbed the bottle of syrup and drenched his pancakes in it. His careless behavior causing some of it to spill onto to the table, "Use your table manners please" she spoke sternly, but softly to the boy as she slipped him a napkin and a set of covered utensils.

"He looks just like him" he spoke in a gentle and respectful tone. His eyes rested on Sam -- who was now too focused on using his utensils properly to pay attention to the conversation happening in front of him.

Her hand wiped a strand of dark stray hair away from his forehead before she turned her attention toward Simon, who was now looking at her, "Yeah. Carried him for 9 months and he's got the nerve to look just like his father" she shrugged with a pained smile — her attempt to lighten the mood once again failing, "but I wouldn't have it any other way".

Simon took note of the sorrow hidden within the smile as his own face mirrored it out of empathy.

A few minutes had gone by and Samuel was still working on his meal, Simon had quickly eaten his, and she played with her food, tossing it around all over her plate in a desperate attempt to distract herself. How embarrassing would it be to break down at a family diner. "You should eat your lunch" he spoke. The deep voice dragging her out of her spiraling thoughts.

She glanced down to look at his empty plate and her contrastingly full one. Casually shrugging off his suggestion she set her fork down and let out a soft sigh, "I'll just take it to go. I don't really have an appetite at the moment" she spoke in a casual tone — too causal of a tone. She was normally a social person, the type to be able to engage in conversation with any type of person for hours. Her personality was magnetizing in the sense that she was an incredibly open minded person, which only made her a vessel for hundreds on conversations, all of different topics and tones — a quality that Johnny loved about her. She was one of the few that would keep up with his mindless thoughts and nonsense ideas. That is where she was at the moment. In her mind she was thinking about the woman she was before she got the gut wrenching knock at her door. The knock where she was told by Laswell and Price that her husband was gone. “Killed in Action” were the words they used. “He died saving the world” was something Price added.

Sure he had died saving the world, but her and her son’s was destroyed. She was never a selfish person, but in that moment she wished the world would burn if it meant he was in her arms instead of merely a memory. She hadn’t noticed until recently that tears were flooding her cheeks and spilling onto her meal. Simon had been observing her for a moment as she watched her fall into deep thought, but once he saw her tear stained face he acted quickly.

He swiftly took his wallet out of his pocket and placed a $50 bill on the table to cover their meals and a decent tip, “Come on” he spoke in a demanding voice, his tone remaining soft enough for her and Sam to remain calm. Sam was oblivious to his mother’s current state as he had now distracted himself with the crayons and the kids menu.

She looked at Simon as she attempted to regain her composure. It was long gone, she was an emotional mess at the diner — exactly what she was trying to avoid. “It’s alright.” he coo’d as he took Sam into his arm. With his free hand he guided her out of the booth and to the exit.

He took the initiative to get the mother and son home as soon as possible. The three of them approached her car, “Get in and take a few deep breaths, yeah?” he instructed while simultaneously holding the door open for her. Sam had been buckled into his car seat, which Simon struggled to figure out, but the toddler being incredibly intuitive had seen his mother and father do it hundreds of times and was able to talk Simon through it.

If that had happened under different circumstances she would have been able to congratulate Sam and let him know how proud she is of him, but she was far from being in that state of self awareness and state of mind.

She was a wreck in the passengers seat of her own car. She was heartbroken in the passengers seat of her own car. The severity of it all finally setting in making it nearly impossible for her to get ahold of herself.

Is she just exhausted from the days leading up to the funeral? A weeks worth of concealed emotions finally spilling out in front of her. She is definitely overwhelmed, but this time she subconsciously feels safe and secure enough to let go of her broken front.

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Months had gone by since her meltdown in front of Simon, and he never once brought it up. He was well aware it wasn’t something she was proud of, nor did she want to talk about her grief. Simon had been coming around her and Samuel a couple times a week just to check in on the pair. He felt it was his responsibility to keep them safe now — the least he could do for his recently deceased friend. Everyday he spent with the two of them he realized why Soap had kept them a secret. They were truly too special to put into any risk; especially her. She was a walking breath of fresh air, not something anyone encounters often in their lifetime, especially not in their line of work and the lifestyle it supplies. Now it all made sense. Johnny was always the most eager to return home when they’d be out in the field, said he had “something special” waiting for him, but everyone would shrug it off.

He grew to understand Soap’s decision to keep his family hidden from the world he worked in.

Even though Simon was consumed in his own thoughts he was still able to be completely alert as the mother and son played on the playground.

Her laugh. It stripped him away from his spiraling memories and muses. His gaze snapped to her body on the floor covered in wood chips, she had clearly tripped and stumbled while playing with Samuel. She was laughing at her clumsiness, laughing at how attentive Samuel was to his mother as soon as she hit the cushioned floor, “Sammie, I’m okay” she soothed him as he clung to her — small and gentle laughs leaving her full lips as she reacted to the entire scenario.

That was the first time Simon had heard her laugh.The sound of her sweet tone intoxicating to him. He couldn’t get enough, is what he mentally told himself as he walked over to her to help get back on her feet. Her soft and polished hand nestled and firmly gripped onto his rough and calloused one as he pulled her off the ground.

Guilt lingered in his being upon realizing how much he liked being around her, but he needed to be there for them. The conflict was clear within him, and something he figures he’ll eventually learn to accept and move forward with. He knew he would have to set aside his audacious feelings to respect her and more importantly to respect Johnny. He would be there to protect them as much as she allowed him. He wasn’t planning on getting emotionally attached to the the pair, or her alone.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Later that same evening, Simon had made the decision to pay her and Sammie a visit. He stepped out of his car with a bag of Chinese takeout in his hand. Chinese food had become the only thing she would willingly eat ever since Johnny passed. A swift hand smoothing his plain black t-shirt before he began walking toward her front door, but as soon as his hand left his clothing he realized what he was doing. Bringing her favorite food to her and her son with no real reason to be seeing her, checking his appearance — something uncommon for the typically aloof man. A lingering hint of guilt settled in the pit of his stomach as he treaded towards the front door of her house. No, Simon was only supposed to be there for the mother and son duo as an aide during this severe loss. He felt that’s what he owed to Johnny since he felt partially responsible for his death. A cocktail of traumatic thoughts and memories invaded his mind . The grip on the take-out bag grew stronger, the same strength being felt in his chest as his heart pounded in its cavity

Upon reaching the front door he heard what sounded like a glass had broken — as if it had fallen off of a surface, which isn’t a big deal, she had a bad habit off leaving glasses on the edge of countertops and tables, but the yelp that followed only made Simon react in the most instinctive manner. He rushed inside the house and into the kitchen where she was found with a dish towel wrapped around her hand and a grimace on her face. Her nose scrunched in reaction to the pain.

Simon raised an eyebrow at her as he approached her with swift and long strides. His demeanor was urgent, alarmed and slightly panicked as his body was still in a reactive state from his memories, but how could she know that? She stared at him with the same expression, but she had more reason to. His breathing wasn’t heavy but it was slightly sporadic. At the same time, it was still controlled, his body was tense, but most significantly, his eyes looked panicked and unsettled. “I didn’t know you’d be visiting tonight. You should have let me know,” she spoke casually as she continued holding pressure on her fresh wound, “Or else I wouldn’t have-“ her words stopped flowing when Simon grabbed her hand and began to examine the brand-new cut. She watched his concerned expression lighten when he confirmed that the abrasion was small enough to heal on its own, “- let my mom take him for the weekend.” She finally completed her sentence when his large brown eyes met hers.

She knew exactly what was happening to him. She recognized the wide, alert eyes, uneven breathing, and tense mannerisms. This was a common occurrence that she witnessed Johnny experience. Her husband was gone, but there were constant reminders of him everywhere -- and one thing she hated seeing was Johnny struggling with his PTSD. Just like Johnny, she couldn't tolerate seeing Simon in the same condition.

Using her unharmed hand, she grabbed Simon's calloused one. Her movements were gentle and fluid as she guided their hands to the left side of her chest. With his palm now resting on her chest she looked into his eyes before speaking in a nurturing tone. "Slow and steady. Count it for me" she said as she placed her own hand over his chest. It was then that she noticed how hard and fast his heart pounded. "I’ll count yours until we match pace. One, two, three..."

Eventually, Simon counted with her, his heart rate slowing gradually as his mind remained distracted from the trauma and focused on her. On her beating heart, on her nurturing voice, on her full pink lips, on her long dark eyelashes, on her soft delicate hands. Her. His mind consumed by images of her, his newfound serenity.

Simon cannot help but feel guilty, but his pleasure and serene state strongly blinds him from this feelings. This is exactly what he didn’t want, but he can’t help but relish in it.

[wassidy-wanders-around]

----------------------------------------------------

The muse is still musing (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) I've started to play around with Zevlor in a digital format. It's been a hot minute since I've done anything but sketch and I was trying out some soft lighting on the darker image. Still I didn't do anything too dynamic.

I've got like 6 other drafts going and I keep bouncing around between them. It's hard to pick one to stick to I'm surprised I finished 2. Also I didn't know Zevlor narrating the Haunted Mansion ride audio was something I needed in my life until I got it. Thank you Mr.McCready (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ 🎃👻🪦

[iridescentprose]

your dangerously stupid little idiot - steve harrington x sinclair!reader insert

author's note: a long overdue steve fic that's been sitting in the drafts. i miss steve.

divider by: @bunnysrph

summary; you're in a secret relationship with steve - fluff; no warnings

The sound of laughter and the consistent thud of footsteps coming up the stairs made you groan. Although you'd much rather stick to your hermit agenda, you promised your parents you would keep the door to your room open, ensuring that your younger siblings and their friends didn't burn down the house without you knowing about it.

Hunched at your desk, you were busy with your nose in a book until a sudden incessant taping at your doorway got a little too annoying for comfort.

"Nice Van Halen poster."

"That's Bauhaus, idiot," you said, while your heart began to drum in your ears. You kept your back turned to him, eyes trained on the same sentence you had been reading ever since you heard Harrington's voice from downstairs. "What are you doing here, anyway? I don't remember Lucas inviting you over."

You heard him shuffle across your room —over to the poster with four Caucasian men clad in grey suits and dark sunglasses. You heard your bed creak, followed by an exaggerated sigh. You looked over your shoulder.

"Steve—"

"How come you don't have a picture of me on your wall?" He's lying in the center of your bed, legs hanging off the edge while his eyes are fixated on the Bauhaus poster above your headboard.

You sighed and shut your book before swiveling to face your boyfriend. "Because I'm not a psychopath...and last I checked, you can't carry a tune to save your life, Harrington." Abandoning your book, your walked over and grabbed his wrist, initiating a game of tug of war with a weak start.

Steve chuckled as he sat up, his body flopping forward like a limp noodle as he gave into your lack of strength. "Hey, hey. What's the rush? We're not going to get caught. Your parents aren't here."

"Yeah, but Erica and Lucas are. We'll be over before we've even started—"

You shook your head, a hot flash rising to your cheeks as the word 'dating' got stuck in your throat.

The word made you cringe. It made feel you like were in one of those lovesick romance movies whenever you said it. An unfamiliar queasiness rose in your stomach as Steve rose an eyebrow.

Crap.

You had been caught.

"What was that?" Steve stood up straight, towering over you, his features laced with an alert sense of curiosity. He had stepped forward now, nearly trapping you between him and the wall. You still had a hold on his wrist. "I didn't hear that last part, Sinclair. 'We'll be over before we've even started...?'"

You rolled your eyes. "Cut the crap, Harrington. You know what this is," you hissed under your breath, eyes darting to the open door that could expose your secret any minute.

"Yeah, but I don't think I've ever heard you say it out loud before," he said with an amused grin on his lips. A tendril of his hair loomed over the center of his forehead. You resisted the urge to brush it back into place. Now wasn't the right time for that.

Now wasn't the right time for whatever this was.

"If you don't get out of my room, you're not going to live to hear me say it."

With a small grunt, you pulled him by the wrist, guiding him to the threshold of your door. He's stumbling behind you, stifling a laugh and purposefully dragging his feet until they reach the creaky floorboards of the hallway. You then maneuver around him, taking your place in front of your door as you wait for your boyfriend to retreat back down the stairs.

But as smooth as a criminal, Steve turns around, arms braced against the doorway, feet locked into place. He has no intentions of moving until he gets what he wants.

"Harrington," you whisper, lowering your voice as you both were now in closer proximity to the stairs and Erica's room down the hall.

"Sinclair."

Seconds of silent staring pass before you sigh in defeat.

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

"But, I'm your idiot," Steve says, his face lingering close to yours. He's wearing a contagious smile that has somehow slid across the thin space between you and jumped on your face. "Now, are you going to repeat what you said earlier or am I going to have the privilege of properly introducing myself to my future in-laws?"

Crossing your arms, you lifted your chin and narrowed your eyes. He always found a way to have the upper hand, even if it made him look dangerously stupid. But as dangerously stupid as the thought of Steve introducing himself as your boyfriend to your parents and siblings was, you couldn't stop your lips from twitching upwards.

"I said," you started, your voice getting lower which each word, "If my brother or sister finds out that you're in my room, we'll be over before we've even started dating for a month."

You swallowed your embarrassment, your eyes falling to your shoes as the word tumbled out of your mouth. Steve had asked you officially to be his girlfriend only two weeks ago and you still couldn't admit out loud that you were dating him. Let alone in secret.

Having Lucas and Erica find out before your parents would be an never ending nightmare. Your parents had forbade you from dating until you had finished school. Thankfully, you only had a few more months and then —and only then—did you plan on making your relationship with Steve known to your parents.

"See?" Steve said, tilting your chin upwards. "Was that so hard?"

But before you could say 'yes' with gritted teeth, Steve had pecked your lips, leaving you speechless.

"I'll see at Family Video on Friday?" He whispered, already backing away from you as laughter came from the room right down the hall.

"Uh, yeah," you said, trying to keep your head straight. "Family Video. Friday," you confirmed long after he had vanished down the steps.

You leaned against your doorway, massaging your temples as you fought the smile on your lips.

"That boy is going to be the death of me," you mumbled to yourself before retreating back into your room and rereading the same sentence of your book all over again.

[anaoyuo]

Play With The Stars || deleted scenes

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Gojo Satoru x f!reader

notes: You’re looking at the first scene that didn’t make it into the story and got lost in my files. I wrote the draft at the beginning of adg, unsure where it would fit, but I thought I’d just use it later. Spoiler: it never happened. It was meant for the middle of the story. Unfortunately, we were busy with angst, so I wrapped it up quickly and tada here it is!

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The glass doors slid open and you were immediately hit by the terribly hot, muggy summer air. After spending the entire day in the nicely air-conditioned office, you hadn't even noticed how intense the heat had gotten outside.

The sudden growl of a motor snapped you and other nearby pedestrians out of your thoughts. There, parked at the curb, was a man who played with the loud engine of his motorcycle, spewing out the exhaust for no reason other than to show off. What an idiot. 

You rolled your eyes and were about to turn away, but as you looked closer, you quickly realized you knew that idiot. 

The man took off his helmet and ran a hand through his snowy white hair that lay a little damp and flat against his forehead.

Your brows furrowed in surprise as you approached him. "Satoru?"

"Hello, babes." Gojo grinned at you, wide and toothy. His cheeks dusted with a faint hint of pink, the heat having made them flush.

"What are you doing here?"

"Just thought I'd drop by to sweeten your day," he replied, letting go of the handlebars to lean back. 

Your gaze drifted downward to the intimidating machine. It suited him well, a glossy black frame with a few blue details here and there, most likely customized. 

"I didn't know you could ride one of these," you said, nodding toward the bike.

Gojo let out a dramatic gasp. "How rude of you to think there's something I can't do."

You smiled, keeping your lips tight and eyes dull. "Oh, forgive my ignorance. I totally forgot how amazing you are."

"Exactly." He slid off his bike and unhooked the second helmet from his seat, holding it out to you. "Here. Put it on."

"I'll pass."

His entire expression plummeted faster than a rock in water.

Had he just been rejected? Him? The great Gojo Satoru?

He huffed, as if he was just beginning to really process your response. "Wait, what do you mean? You can't pass. I'm already here."

"I've never ridden a bike before, and this thing doesn't look like it's made for slow, friendly rides," you explained while casting a wary glance at the motorcycle.

"I can make it slow and friendly." 

You frowned, unconvinced. "Oh, really?"

"Well, if you're gonna beg for it, I might, yeah," he said, a smirk curving his lips upward. 

Without saying another word, you turned around and started striding away. 

"Where you going?" Gojo's voice trailed after you.

"Taking the bus," you called back over your shoulder.

"Aw, come on. I'll be careful!" 

As you walked, Gojo hurried to catch up, reaching out to grab your arm and halt you.

"I'm literally wearing a skirt, Satoru," you protested, trying to reason with him. A futile attempt, always useless. 

"Yeah, so? You have a nice ass, just arch your back and give the cars behind us something exciting to look at."

You sighed deeply, feeling the will to argue back drain out of you in a single breath.

"Seriously, babe, you're so boring sometimes. I'm here to offer you a fun ride, and what do you do? You choose the bus! The bus, of all things! Do you know how lame that is? Sitting there, waiting for it to lurch forward every few minutes. You might as well be watching paint dry!"

While you tried to tune him out, it was not working. You really, really hoped that if you just ignored him long enough, he would eventually tire himself out and shut up, but no. Gojo rambled on and on and on with no sign of stopping anytime soon. 

"...it's like, turning down free candy. Who even does that? Oh, wait, you do! And what about sorting your socks by color? Probably your idea of a crazy Friday night, huh? Or maybe alphabetizing your spice rack is more your idea of a good time. Am I right? Or using coasters—"

Your patience snapped as you cut in. 

"You will drive slow, Satoru."

Gojo stared at your finger that poked his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and threw his head back. "Fuck, you're so sexy when you give me commands," he groaned.  

"Satoru," you warned again. "You will drive slowly."

"Yes, ma'am." Gojo saluted in front of you. 

You straddled the bike behind him, pressing a little closer than necessary, chest flushed against his broad back.

After he revved the engine to life, Gojo leaned into you, his gloved hands finding their way to your naked thighs to tease you with some strokes and squeezes.

"Nervous, babe?"

"Yes."

Gojo grabbed your wrist, guiding your arm away from his waist to rest against his chest, right above where his heart pulsed, holding your hand there. 

"Don't worry. I promise you that after we get home, you'll want to ride my bike every single day."

You heaved a sigh that faded into a chuckle. "Definitely not."

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—In memory of the bastard I dated in 2020 Full series: ao3

[the-s1lly-corner]

Shut In (Eyeless Jack x reader oneshot!)

Basic plot: its really cold outside, and you urge Jack to stay in your home with you... he decides to stay despite knowing full well that he will be fine out in the freezing temperatures. You both decide to do things to pass the time and stay warm! Turns out Jack can make a mean cup of hot coco, too

Extra notes: I dont usually write fanfics, and the last one I've written was a personal one from late August... so to say I'm rusty and underexperienced is an understatement! I feel this one ended up a little.. weirdly paced imo but I think I'm still happy with the end result! Dialogue I feel I could have done better on but I'm going to be nice to myself since I mostly write hc posts so this is way out of my comfort zone.. Drafted on Tumblr then sent through google docs to pick up on some mistakes I missed, briefly reread no proper proof reading imo... lets hope this isnt a train wreck + it copied back to tumblr okay!! LMAO

Brief joke about pregnancy/making a pregnancy but its like one small snippet but I know that can make people uncomfortable + implies at least one of the characters is AFAB

Word Count: 2915

Extra Admin's note: I want to say again that I am so so happy about this blog hitting 1k followers, when I first started this blog I was originally going to use it to burn time and have something to do on the side, as well as having a place to put out my cringe ideas and hcs. I never thought this many people would be interested in my dumb thoughts, but here we are! I intend to keep writing this year, and perhaps even make more non-celebratory one shots this year? Maybe? I don't know I guess we'll see the reception on this fic!

It was the middle of the night, around the middle of January. Your boyfriend and you were holed up inside your apartment, you having locked the man up with you after seeing that it was below freezing out, as well as raining. You had to practically beg your boyfriend to stay with you for the night.

Your boyfriend, who also just so happened to be a man eating demon with tar dripping out of his hollowed out eye sockets. Your boyfriend, who was currently sitting still and staring forward, the only sound in the apartment coming from the dripping of your faucet. You had asked him to come visit you, it'd been a while... and he would never ever let you go to his cabin when it's this cold out. So here you both were now.

You pat the palms of your hands on your knees, sucking in one of your cheeks and working the flesh through your jaws for a moment. You were both technically stuck in the apartment now; you didn't want Jack to go out and risk getting sick, and Jack more than likely wouldn't want you to step out for the same reasons. So, you were both confined to what you already had within the space. You were about to open your mouth to speak but Jack broke the silence first. "You're shivering, do you want me to get some blankets?", blunt and almost robotic. He was never that expressive. "Or would you like to go to your room?" He added after a brief pause, his fangs poking just over his lip before he readjusted his mouth. You were both in the living room, sitting together on the couch; the front door to your left and a view of the kitchen to the right. You thought for a minute as your eyes lingered on the kitchen for a moment. You'd already eaten, before your partner arrived... but..

"That's fine, I'm probably going to make some hot coco," You pulled yourself up, stretching up. "Powdered stuff ooor..?" Jack mimicked you. You only shook your head, earning a disapproving look from him. "What?" You questioned, but he only dismissed you. "Why don't you get some blankets, I'll handle it," and he turned on his heel to make his way to the kitchen. "Maybe put on a movie, too, your choice." He added as his voice carried off. "Are you saying I can't cook?" You called back, following after him. No answer as he tugged out a pot. "I'll have you know-" you started once more

"Do you have half and half?" He was already opening your pantry to grab things.

"No, I don't,"

"Heavy cream? Whipping cream? Whatever it's called..." He mumbled as he placed various ingredients on the counter. Cocoa powder, vanilla, salt and sugar. You only nodded, and as he was about to begin working he paused. "Do you want anything else in it? Cinnamon? Nutmeg?" He paused and through gritted teeth, "Coffee?"

It was almost midnight, of course he would be opposed to you having caffeine so late.

"Cinnamon is fine," You watched him get to work. He measured everything out; even mixing the heavy cream with some milk to make a substitute for half and half.... was that really all it was? You weren't sure what you expected it to be, if it weren't..

He pulled his head up and stared at you. It was then that you noticed he had actually taken his mask off and set it at the end of the counter and out of the way. The black ooze dripping from his eyes was slow and posed little threat to dripping into your drink. He had a fistful of napkins on standby to dap his face dry should the flow quicken. "Aren't you going to get the blankets?"

You pat your hands on your thighs, pausing... watching him. His body had a warm glow on him from the old light bulb in the ceiling; it flickered every now and then. Under the yellowed light he almost looked healthy and alive, though there was no glint where his eyes should have been. His sharp nail tapping on the counter brought you back to the moment, blinking a few times. "Yeah.." you mumbled, defeated at the chance of making a drink for yourself stolen from you. But was that so bad?

You backed out of the kitchen, dragging your feet across the floor. Your apartment was.. a little on the smaller side so within a few steps you were in front of your bedroom door. You didn't really pay much attention to your surroundings as you shuffled through the blankets on the bed.. eventually you settled on just grabbing an arm full and waddling back to the living room, dumping everything you had grabbed onto the couch.

The house smelled of cinnamon and chocolate.. with a hint of vanilla.

Turning your gaze to the tv, your eyes scanned across the DVDs you had stacked messily. Nothing sounded good. "Is there anything you want specifically?" You called out as you settled yourself down criss cross in front of the tv and pulling all the cases onto the floor next to you. "Movie wise," You added as you pulled the first case into your hands. The DVD collection for Child's Play.. you had gotten it a few weeks ago, finding it on sale at your local store. You still hadn't popped it in to watch..

"I have.. Chucky, uhm..." You shuffled for the next case. "All the movies by the way.. I have that and.. most of the Friday the 13th movies," You called out. No answer, the only sound coming from the kitchen was the noise of a whisk gently being stirred. "I don't have Jason goes to hell... But!" You pulled out a third case with the Nightmare on Elm Street DVDs. "I DO have Freddy vs Jason," You mumbled and spread the three disks on the floor in front of you. Most of the disks you had, you noticed, were mostly older slasher movies. Still, Jack hadn't answered you. You pull yourself to your feet and trudge back into the kitchen. His back was to you, too preoccupied with the stove... He hadn't noticed you, not yet. An idea blossomed in your head, a smirk pulling itself across your lips. You steeled yourself, trying to force yourself to stop shivering.. Jack was always paying attention to his surroundings, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

You take a step forward and he still doesn't notice your approach.

Another step.

And another.

Jack wasn't the tallest, in fact if you wanted to you could rest your chin on his shoulder... and that's what you ended up doing, while wrapping your arms around his thick waist. You could feel his body seize up just a little bit against you, before relaxing. "You didn't answer, what sounds good?" You pulled your eyes down to look at the pot. Your drink was nearly finished. You view rocked as your boyfriend shrugged, still silent but the twitching of his pointed ears let you know he was listening.

"Anything's fine," Another shrug as he cuts the heat. "You're the one cooking for me, you get to pick the movie," You insisted. He paused mid-whisk, letting out a soft huff. Suddenly he spun around, his face just a few inches from yours. In the dimmed light his eye sockets seemed deeper, it's black ooze lazily dripping down his cheeks. You noticed the smudges on his face, from wiping the streaks. You briefly wondered what it was like to sleep with them, but your thoughts were cut short as he pulled a blackened and clawed hand to your hair; tucking a lock behind your ear. "How does...." He paused, sucking in his teeth. He looked almost embarrassed. "Bride of Chucky sound?"

"What? Want to study the characters again so we can dress up again this year for Halloween?" You tease. You had convinced him a few months ago to dress up with you. With him as Chucky, and you as Tiffany... It had taken some begging and convincing but you ultimately got him to agree. Although you didn't go out to get candy, you were both fine with staying inside watching movies together in costume. It was also that night you got him to watch the movies..

His ears darkened, before he scoffed. "No... actually this year I was thinking of..." He took a long pause, visibly scraping his brain for names of characters, before seemingly giving up. "Look I don't watch many movies I don't know any.. characters.." He grimaced, before gently pushing you off of him so he could turn his attention back to the hot cocoa. "We've still got nine months, more than enough time to come up with something..." You shrugged, then smirked. "Not enough time to make a Glen... or Glenda," You teased before turning on your heel. You held back a snicker as you heard Jack splutter, finally processing what you had just said to him.

"W-"

"I'm gonna go ahead and put in the disc, I'll leave it paused for you," You cut him off, still grinning to yourself as you kneeled down to do as you had said.

Soon enough Jack walked into the room with a mug, as well as a platter of cookies. "You didn't have to," You mumbled as you eyed the treats, but he only waved you off as he placed the plate and mug onto the coffee table. "You don't have to eat them, but I figured you might want a snack while watching the movie," He mumbled. You took the mug, and swirled the drink inside of it. "I hope I didn't put in too much cinnamon," Jack added as he watched you. He leaned over and started the movie.

You took a sip, smiling a little as the warmness crept in. "You did good, probably the best hot cocoa I've ever had." You offered a grin to him. "That has got to be the fakest compliment I've ever heard," Jack shot back, though you could see the corners of his mouth turning up just slightly. "Oh, I'm sorry! I believe this is the most decadent and satisfying beverage I've had ever been graced with in my life, and-" You began, only for Jack to hush you. "I'd rather you throw it on me, don't... say words like that again," He grumbled as readjusted himself into the couch. You took a sip and shrugged, "It's just absolutely immaculate," and he lightly smacked you on the arm. "I'm never making anything for you again," He snorted, before turning his attention to the movie.

You weren't going to lie, you felt a little bad treating yourself to the cookies, knowing Jack was unable to eat them without upsetting his stomach. Being a man-eating monster must really be hard. You purse your lips, and shoot a look at him from the corner of your eye. He must have been doing the same, because he turned his head to look at you. "Do you want to do something else?" He asked lightly, his grin from a few minutes ago already faded. "Do you ever miss eating.. food?" You asked before you could stop yourself. He didn't bother pausing the movie, instead he just fell silent and stared down, into the space between the two of you on the couch.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up, I know it's a touchy subject for you," You mumbled and put the mug on the table. You sucked in the air between your teeth, flicking your eyes up to the movie, before bringing them back down to your lap. It stayed like that for a minute before Jack broke the silence. "I mean... yeah, I do. But at least I don't have to eat every day like you do, means I can have more time to do what I want," He said. Clearly, he was still bothered, tip-toeing around the big.. thing about him. The air was still tense and thick, all of the previous joking gone now. It was nearly unbearable. Nearly.

"You know," Jack began after a few more seconds of silence when you didn't reply. "I've never tried cinnamon in hot cocoa, I didn't know that was a thing people did," He was changing the subject. "You haven't?" You asked, raising a brow. He eyed your mug, but you both knew there was no way he was going to take a sip.

"It's really good," You mumbled, and took the drink, "The combo, I mean," You added. He hummed, patting his knees lightly. You swirled the drink again, watching the... what was it called? Those lighter swirls in the drink.. Did that have a name?

"You've had hot cocoa before, right?" You asked. He hummed again, nodding his head. "Well.. the cinnamon makes it warm. Taste wise.. It makes it.." You took a sip and thought for a minute. "Richer, I guess? It's hard to explain," You muttered, then looked back at him. You tore your eyes back down when you saw he was looking right at you, totally hooked onto your words. "I hear nutmeg goes good in it, too.. but I've only tried nutmeg and chocolate together in baked goods," You shrugged. "You did really good with this, you know... not too much cinnamon.. not spicy, at least." You smiled. He nodded, before turning back to the movie.

"Woody, I hear people describe cinnamon like that," He leaned back into the couch, a dull pop came from his back.

"Woody," You repeated, then took a large sip of the hot cocoa. You put the mug down onto the table, and leaned into your boyfriend as the warmth crept and settled into your bones. You weren't even paying attention to the movie, your mind was now occupied with how tired you were. Your eyes slipped up to the clock on the wall, It was nearly one in the morning. Had it only been an hour since Jack walked himself into the kitchen?

You lean deeper into Jack, not caring about his body's natural chill. His clothing still smelled a little like the cocoa from earlier.. "Gotta invest in some cologne, you smell nice like this," You mumbled into his arm. "The cinnamon?" He asked, not looking down at you. "No.. the cocoa, I mean cinnamon would be a nice touch... but you don't seem like a sweet smelling guy, do you?" You muttered. "Are you already getting tired?" Jack asked, and he leaned over you to grab the remote, pausing the movie. You muttered, the heat of the hot cocoa doing way more than you expected on the tiredness you didn't notice you had. "A little," You shrugged, "But we can still try to finish the movie," You offered, but he shook his head. Of course he would, as much of a hard ass or party pooper he came off as, he was going to make sure you were going to get your rest.

You put your hand in his, the one that had the remote.. you unpaused the movie. He paused it, and you unpaused it again. It kind of kept up like this before Jack conceited and kept it playing, although he did lower the volume.. The subtitles were already on, though. "I win," You smirked up at him, before crawling into his lap. You placed your head on his chest, pausing when you felt him stiffen before relaxing against you. His heart beat for a moment before settling to its barely there rhythm. For a minute you thought about asking about his heart, as far as you knew he explained himself like he was becoming a walking corpse... how does that work?

You decided against it, you already asked about him earlier.. and besides, your mind was already beginning to blank as Jack reached to the side of the couch, and turned the lamp off.. It was dark now. It was still raining, you could more clearly hear the drops outside now that the movie was turned down. Plus, Jack was running his fingers through your hair, lightly massaging your scalp. It wouldn't be long until you finally gave in and fell asleep.

"Are you going to still be here in the morning?" You asked, melting into his chest as he hummed in response. "Plan on it, I still need to clean up the kitchen," He added as he curled your hair around his hand. "It'll still be cold in the morning," He added, "I need to make sure you bundle up before you go out for work," He added. "I'm not that dumb," You muttered and lightly slapped his arm. You swear, if he still had his eyes he would have rolled them.

"How do you see? I know you're not.. a normal person, but," You blurted out, lifting your head. He pushed your face back down, shushing you. "Sleep," He ordered, before loosening his hold on you a bit so you could get comfortable. It wasn't an order but it may as well have been with how your body started to loosen into him within the next few minutes, quickly snuffling out your curiosity and questions.

He'd still be here in the morning, you could pester him then. After all, it's what he signed up for when the two of you started to date one another..

[icycoldninja]

OKAY-!

So I've been wanting to request something for a hot minute from y’all; Vergil (or Nero..? Idk if you do stuff for him tbh) having to warm-up with a Male reader during a blizzard???

(👉👈 Never done a request before so idk how much to put. I love your work and can't wait to read more from you (/p)!)

AAAAAA I KNOW U, U ALWAYS REBLOG MY WORKS WITH THOSE HILARIOUS TAGS! I've also read your stuff on ao3! I love your works too! I'm so glad you requested! I chose to do Vergil cause I like writing for him more than Nero lol; hope you enjoy!💜💜💜

Warm-Up (Vergil x Male!Reader)

Bonus pic I pulled off Pinterest for ya cuz y'all deserve it 💜

You shivered in your seat, goosebumps breaking out across your skin. A blizzard raged on outside, rattling the walls of your house and, via several drafts in said walls, lowered the overall temperature to lows your poor human body couldn't handle. You continued shuddering, wrapping your arms around yourself in an attempt to keep warm, futile as it was. You were just so cold, for an indescribable reason, no matter how many layers of clothes you threw on or how many blankets you piled on, you were freezing. It was like you were cursed, cursed to be eternally chilly.

The front door clicked, then swung open; Vergil stomped in, covered in snow. "Y/N?" He called, peeking around the corner and finding you curled up on the couch, swaddled in blankets and thick clothes. "What is going on?" He demanded, raising a thin white eyebrow at you. "I'm cold." You grumbled, tugging the blankets tighter around you as another strong wind shook the house and chilled the room even further. "Cold?" Vergil repeated, confused. He had never felt cold in his life, being an ice demon and whatnot. Nonchalantly, he stalked away to remove the snow from his person and change into dry clothes. A few moments later, he rejoined you in the living room, only to find a pile of blankets where you once had been seated. "Y/N? Where did you go?" A hand--your hand--shot up from within the mountain of bedclothes. "Right here, Verg. Right here, freezing my ass off." Vergil sighed, then began shifting the blankets aside to get to your trembling, nearly numb-with-cold form. "You lack motivation," He stated, shoving the blankets aside, then taking a seat on the couch and rearranging them in his lap. "A mere bit of cold is nothing; such a trivial inconvenience should mean nothing to you." While those words may have sounded harsh and derogatory, they were in fact, meant to be motivating--and they were.

"I...I guess you're right," You admitted, sighing and sitting up. "it shouldn't bother me, but it does." Vergil scoffed, then dragged you by the arm over into his lap. With a grumpy huff that was probably caused by embarrassment for his uncharacteristically soft behavior today, he began to wrap you up like a burrito. Once he was done, he scooped you up and cradled you in his arms like a mother with her baby.

You were confused at first, but soon relaxed into your new blanket cocoon. "Are you warm now?" Vergil asked, after a few moments of silence. Believe it or not, you were. The cocoon, combined with Vergil's furnace-like body heat, did wonders for your own body temperature, warming you up much more efficiently compared to all the other methods you previously tried. "Yes, I am," You murmured, rather enjoying this treatment. "Good. I suppose I can unwrap you now, correct?" You shrugged, not really wanting to leave Vergil's lap. "If you don't mind....a little longer?" Vergil gave you a side-eye that could have withered flowers, but said nothing and made no attempt to move you. You yawned, now that you'd been warmed up, you were starting to feel a little sleepy. "Tired?" He inquired, bouncing his leg so as to rock you easier. "Yeah, a little," You sighed, yawning again. "I'm gonna take a nap...wake me in a few hours, ok?" Vergĺil nodded, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. "Very well." As you closed your eyes and began to drift off to sleep, you could have sworn you heard him mumble "Sweet dreams, my little lump of coverlets."

[blushblyme]

One Admiral's Daughter (Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader)

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Simpson!Reader

Summary: Of all the people in the bar, Bradley's eyes decided to set themselves on a forbidden fruit.

Warnings: Light cursing, sexual innuendos (but nothing happens really), fluff, sexual tension

Words: 4,107

Author's Note: I whipped this out of my brain the last minute because I thought that it has been months since I wrote and this has been in my drafts for as long as I can remember. I hope you like it :')

Damn, it's bitter. You thought as the warm remains of the vodka scratched your throat. You shoved the glass away from you as you stared at it with so much hate.

"What did the glass do, dear?" Penny asks as she places a cold glass of beer in front of you. You groaned as you leaned away from the counter.

"I'm bored, Pen. Why can't I just work for you?"

Penny smiles, "You know I can't hire you, that's an order from your Dad."

You rolled your eyes and sighed. Your dad always loved to ruin everything for you. You never know how he always knew what you were doing despite him being really busy with his work. Sometimes, you'd even think he had been sending someone to spy on you when he was not around. "Fine, I guess I'll just sit here and try not to go mad with boredom."

Penny ruffled your hair as she chuckles. "Silly, why don't you just go to your office or the base to kill your time?"

You shook your head. "First, office hours are 'till 1 pm only, and second, Dad's office is too quiet for me. The Hard Deck is literally the only place that's keeping me sane, Pen."

"Well, what about you go dancing now since it's almost 7pm and customers are already flooding in? Maybe you could get yourself a dance partner or something."

You grimaced. "No, thanks. I'd rather stay here and keep myself company."

"See? You won't even lift your butt out of that chair," She shakes her head, "I'll go take some orders now. Ring me up when you need more." She adds as she tapped the side of your beer mug.

You smiled at Penny before drinking from your beer again. It's going to be a long night.

"Hey, Rooster. Check her out," Payback elbows Rooster on the stomach as Rooster looks at where he was pointing.

"I love me a woman in red." Payback adds as he continues to look respectfully at the girl on a red sundress by the bar counter.

Rooster shrugged. "What about it?"

"What do you mean what about it, man? She's hot."

"How do you know that? You haven't even seen her face." Rooster punches his friend's chest lightly before looking in the girl's direction again. This time, the girl was already facing their direction, talking to a stranger with a beautiful smile on display.

Rooster forgot to breathe for a second. "What about now?" Payback asks Rooster as if he'd sensed his friend's sudden change of heart.

"You wanna know what I think?"Rooster asks, eyes still on the girl, "Hold my beer." He shoves his beer mug onto Payback's chest as he made his way to the stage.

"Oh, come on, man! I don't like where this is going." Payback groans as he saw Rooster grab a microphone.

Rooster then made his way to the jukebox to type in a song. "Trust me, Payback, " He says as the song starts, tapping Payback's chest before making his way toward his target. "This is how you get a girl."

As you drank your second beer of the night, you suddenly felt a hand on your shoulder. "Excuse me, miss," You turned to see who it was and saw an unfamiliar man with a mustache who had a Hawaiian shirt on with a white tank top underneath.

Your brows furrowed in confusion when another man shoved him aside. "I'm sorry, miss. He's just drunk--" His words got cut off when the mustached-man shoved him aside as well.

"I've never seen you looking so lovely as you did tonight, I've never seen you shine so bright," He sings, stepping much closer to you. You chuckled, looking around as you saw people gather around your space to watch him sing.

"I've never seen so many men ask you if you wanted to dance, They're looking for a little romance, given half a chance, and I have never seen that dress you're wearing or the highlights in your hair that catch your eyes, I have been blind;" He continues, as he points at you accompanied with his dramatic gestures as he sang.

You continued watching him sing since he had a wonderful voice to begin with and people started to sing with him. He then grabs a rose from a bouquet he saw at a random table, handing them to you before he concluded his song.

You gladly accepted the rose from him as he smiled in victory, mindlessly handing the microphone to his friend from earlier. "You've got a nice voice, do you sing like that to every woman you see?"

Rooster chuckles as he pulls a seat for himself. "Just the pretty ones."

"Well, how many were they?"

"Just one."

"Oh, so that makes me the second one?"

"No, the first one. I've never actually done this before," He laughs, grabbing a beer from the counter as he drank on it. "Y'know, It's crazy how I went through that just to get your name." He adds, making you giggle in response.

"You could've just asked," You shrugged, extending your hand toward him. "I'm (Y/N) Simpson."

You saw him wince at your response. "What's wrong?" You asked.

"Nothing, it's just...I've never thought of the chances of me dealing with another Simpson for today, you know?"

You tilted your head in curiosity. "Oh, you could tell me about it."

"Over beer?" He asks as he places an empty bottle on the counter. You grabbed him another cold one and placed it right in front of him. "Yup, over beer."

He muttered a small thanks as he drank before speaking. "Well, we have this superior officer at work who can be insufferable at times. Last time, he made us train 'till the wee hours of the night and uhm...I'd love to tell you more, but I think I've stressed out how much of a jerk he can be sometimes."

You leaned back against your chair and shook your head. "That sucks, like what are they? a god or something?"

"Of the Navy I suppose, he's an Admiral." He replies, making everything make sense to you.

"So, I take it that you're from the Navy." He nods. "So, you're a pilot?" You asked as he nods again, making you smile mischievously. You realized that he was actually talking about your Dad so you decided to get the whole gossip from him without him suspecting anything.

"You know what? Tell me more about this Admiral Simpson. Get it out of your chest." You encouraged him as you leaned closer to listen more carefully. He didn't seem to realize what you were doing so he continued to speak ill about your Dad the whole night.

There were times that you agreed with what he said since your dad was a bit annoying, and there were times that you'd laugh at their experiences during their training. Overall, the night became less boring when Bradley stepped in.

"So, this is it, huh? When can I see you again?" He asks as he leans his arm beside your waist, his height towering over your seated figure.

You tilted your head as you smiled at him. "I think we'll be seeing each other more often, Bradley. You can count on it." You winked at him before pushing him away gently by his chest, leaving the bar and leaving him wanting more.

The next day, you decided to spend the rest of your day at your dad's office since you just got off of work and The Hard Deck was still closed. "You could've just stayed home, (Y/N)." Your dad says as he busies himself with his paperwork.

You sat on his guest couch as you reached for the hidden stash of fashion magazines underneath his wooden center table. "It's too boring at home, dad. I promise to be on my best behavior here." You replied as you flipped the colorful pages of the magazines.

"You better be." He adds before he calls his assistant. "Yes, sir?"

"Call Lieutenant Bradshaw and Lieutenant Seresin to my office."

The assistant then leaves as you looked at your dad. "Are they gonna be here for long, dad?"

He looks up at you for a brief second before he flips the pages of his paperwork. "No, I just have to tell them something. I don't want to hear any word from you over there, am I clear?"

You rolled your eyes as you grinned wickedly, giving your dad a small salute. "Yes, sir."

As you scanned the pages of your magazine, you found an interesting read about bags, practically hiding half of your face with your magazine. You heard the door open as you saw two large figures enter the room through your peripheral vision.

"Well, gentlemen. I just want to tell you that you have done a good job on this mission," You heard your dad say as you continued to read, not minding their praise stories about some mission.

"And of course, there will be another special training detachment that both of you and the rest of the Dagger Team will execute. It will take place 3 weeks from now and I'll have Maverick relay the rest of the details of this mission. For now, I want both of you to lead the team in exercises."

"Yes, sir!" They replied in unison, making you look up at them in irritation.

Your irritation suddenly turned into fascination as you saw who it was. Bradley. He was standing upright and proper in front of your father on his flight suit. You grinned as you closed the magazine you were reading, propping your head on your hand as you crossed your legs in the process.

Oh, how you couldn't wait to see the look on his face when he notices you. As your father dismissed them, they turned in your direction to head to the door and Bradley stopped in his tracks when he spotted you.

You swiftly glanced at your dad who was currently busy signing his paperwork before turning your eyes toward him again as you waved at him and gave him a smile. A flash of realization washed over him as he walked out of the office with heavy footsteps.

Bradley looked like he had seen a ghost as he walked away from the Admiral's office. "Hey, Bradshaw. What's wrong with you?" Hangman asks, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Instead of answering, Bradley only shakes his head before he continues to walk away from Hangman. He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't believe that he was talking shit about the Admiral to the person who turned out to be his superior officer's daughter.

He mentally punched himself as he headed to the ready room before slumping himself on the couch to sulk the whole afternoon. The last thing he wanted was to ruin his career by dallying with an Admiral's daughter.

You, on the other hand, asked permission from your Dad to go out and get some fresh air. You actually just wanted to roam the corridors and explore the whole base without your dad appointing someone to chaperone you all throughout your exploration.

You still grinned at Bradley's reaction when he saw you at your dad's office. Where could he be right now? You thought, peeking at every room you passed by, hoping to see him at least.

You saw a room in the corner with a half-opened door. You headed straight to it before peeking inside. Your lips curled up in a smile as you quietly pushed the door open upon realizing who was in the room.

"So, Lieutenant Bradshaw, huh?" You spoke as you closed the door behind you, making him get up from the couch as he looks at you in shock.

"What are you doing here?"

You placed a hand on your chest and acted as if you were offended by his question. "What am I doing here? Am I not allowed to visit a friend?" With your emphasis on friend, he cleared his throat before he stood from the couch.

"Look, last night was a mistake. I didn't mean all of that." He stutters as you make your way toward him slowly with your arms crossed on your chest.

"Even the part that you found me pretty?"You whined, making him sigh in return as you giggled at his reaction. "We both know that it wasn't a mistake, but don't worry. I won't tell on you," You added as you took some steps back to lean on the door to block the exit.

"Good. Because that won't happen again." He says as he walks in your direction. You stood your ground on the door as you continued to stare at his towering figure.

"You're leaving? So soon?" You knitted your eyebrows together as you looked up at him with an innocent doe-eyed look.

Bradley sighs in frustration as he ran his hand through his hair. "Please move away from the door, miss." He says, making you pout at the sudden honorifics.

You sighed as you trailed your hand up his chest, tracing your fingers on the patches of his fight suit as he looked at you with dark, brooding eyes. "Why don't you make me, Lieutenant?"

He closed his eyes as he clenched his jaw before grabbing your wandering hand on his chest. "It's best if you leave me alone, miss. It would be better for the both of us." He says before pushing you gently aside as he hurriedly exits the room.

It has been like that for months. Bradley ignoring you and you trying to get his attention. You would even show up in your dad's office in a sundress on a daily basis, the ones that your dad had claimed "had a shortage of fabric", but you didn't care. The moment Bradley saw you on it, you knew how it affected him since he couldn't take his eyes off you when you roamed around the base.

It was starting to frustrate you when you couldn't get him to look at you or even talk to you. Sometimes, you'd even follow him around just to coax a reaction from him or get him to talk, but he always acted like you weren't there.

One day, you've decided that you've had enough of his indifference and devised a plan to corner him.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw, Admiral's office, now." Bradley heard the assistant say as he leaves the ready room to head to the Admiral's office. When he arrived, the door was wide open, and he proceeded to enter the room.

He sat on the chair in front of the Admiral's table. The Admiral wasn't there or in any corner of his office. His brows knitted in confusion before he heard the door close and the lock click. He turned back and saw you walking towards him with a sultry smile.

"The Admiral's not here. He's on sick leave, but I promised to take care of things that I can handle." You said, moving your dad's name plaque to the side before hopping to sit on the table as you crossed your legs, revealing an ample amount of skin in Bradley's view.

"Why did you call me here? Do you have any idea what you're doing?"He stands as he glanced at the door as if he was afraid of someone walking in on both of you.

"Relax, I locked it." You giggled. "Besides, what do you think I'm doing? I called you here to ask you about something," You tilted your head at him. "Unless you thought---" Bradley quickly cut your words off with his.

"I wasn't thinking that!" He retorted almost too quickly.

You sighed before waving your hand in front of his face to dismiss the unruly topic. "Enough of that. Why have you been ignoring me, Bradley? I've been talking to you for months now but you're always acting like I'm not there."

"I'm not obligated to talk to you, miss." He replies curtly, making you gasp.

"After all we've been through--"

"We've been through nothing, okay? Because we were never friends nor lovers. I don't know what you've planted in your mind to make you even think that we had something." He said. You hopped off the table as you took a step closer to him.

"You know what? You're such a jerk." You spat before leaving the room in a haste, heading home to drown yourself in tears and in vodka.

Bradley stood there as he composed himself, internally applauding himself for holding himself back and mentally punching himself for saying those things to you.

These past few months, Bradley had been trying to avoid you since he didn't want to spark an issue that he was interested in an Admiral's daughter. Even with your advances towards him, he was holding on to his patience for dear life not to drag you inside of a room and ravish you.

He just couldn't, he can't risk his career for this. Knowing Admiral Simpson's character, he personally wouldn't let it slide if he found out about Bradley's feelings for his daughter. Keeping that in mind gave him somewhat of a reason not to even touch a single strand of your hair.

Two weeks passed and Bradley's mind was a mess. You stopped coming over to your Dad's office and you weren't at the bar, too. He started to wonder where you might be. His wonders managed to get in the way of his training as well and it caught Maverick's attention.

He approached Bradley who was sitting on the couch with his head on both of his palms. "Hey, Brad. Talk to me. What's going on with you?" Maverick sits beside him as he places his hand on Bradley's back.

"I'm fine, Mav. Don't worry about it." He says, running both of his hands through his hair before burying his face in his palms again.

"I wouldn't be asking if you are. You've been distracted during training for a while now. Talk to me, what's going on?"

Bradley sighs. "I...I kind of got involved with someone."

Maverick's eyes widened. "You got someone pregnant?"

"No, I didn't. God, Mav." Bradley groans as Maverick sighs in relief. "Oh, thank god. Then who did you got involved with?"

"(Y/N)."

"Well, she seems to be a nice girl. What's the problem?"

"Well, the problem is, she's Admiral Simpson's daughter. I can't get involved with an Admiral's daughter."

To Bradley's surprise, Maverick burst out laughing. Bradley looked at him in confusion. "You know, you might not be my son, but you sure take after me, too."

"What does that mean?"

Maverick calms himself before speaking. "Well, back in my prime, I was involved with an Admiral's daughter, too. It didn't get me in any sort of trouble like what you currently have in mind, but it did appear on my record."

"Your point is?"

Maverick taps Bradley's shoulder. "The point is, you might be worrying for nothing. It's not like you have plans on hurting the Admiral's daughter, right?"

Bradley shakes his head in response. "I don't, but it can hurt my career, Mav."

"Well then, you pick. Pursue the girl with clean intentions and be happy with her or be a mess like this forever and be the one to hurt your career because you wouldn't be able to think straight anymore."

"Are you saying I should risk it?"

"Well, if you're fine with waiting for 30 years to take her dad out of the picture, then don't risk it."

Bradley chuckles. "30 years? Who the hell waits that long, Mav?"

Maverick shrugged. "I did." Bradley leans back in surprise. "You know who the Admiral's daughter is?"

"No way.."

"That's right, It's Penny Benjamin." Maverick smiles to himself as he looks at Bradley.

"There's no way I'm going to wait that long, Mav." Bradley stands from his seat as Maverick did, too. "Go for it, son." He tapped Bradley's shoulder before Bradley ran out of the ready room, thinking about the places you might be at the moment.

Good thing he knew just where to look.

You brushed your hair as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Was I not attractive enough? You thought. You didn't really know what to think at the moment. You did everything in your power to get him, but he didn't want to.

You sighed as you rolled your eyes and thought that it was his loss anyway. While you were deep in your thoughts, you heard a loud thump on your balcony as you were brushing your hair.

You quickly grabbed something random from your dresser as you stood up, making your way toward the curtained balcony. You gasped in horror when a tall, broad, hooded man pushed the curtains aside and made himself known before you.

You threw the thing you were holding toward him, which turned out to be a wooden hairbrush, that hit him on the head. "Ow, what was that for?" The mysterious man winced in pain.

Your brows creased in confusion. That voice, it's familiar.

"W-Who are you and what the hell are you doing here?!"You asked, grabbing your unplugged hair straightener as you pointed it at him. The man pushed his hoodie back and revealed who he was.

It was Bradley.

However, since you were still furious with him, you threw the thing you were holding at him anyway. This time, he was able to dodge it as he looked at you with a baffled expression. "What the hell are you doing in my room and how did you even get past the guards?"

Bradley shrugged. "I have my ways," He took a step closer as he sighed. "I'm here to talk to you."

"There's nothing to talk about, okay? You made it perfectly clear that I meant nothing to you---"

"Okay, I didn't mean it, okay? I didn't mean all of it. I just...I was scared that maybe you're just flirting with me and I didn't want to risk my career for nothing, but I really can't stop thinking about you. You keep messing with my head and--"

You crossed your arms, leaning beside the intercom in your room. "Do you really expect me to believe that?"

Bradley sighed as he pointed at the balcony. "I think I've proven myself well enough, considering the fact that I could've died down there in the hands of your guards."

"It's not my fault you snuck in like a thief," You said as you pushed yourself away from the wall, making your way toward him. "Is that all you have to say for yourself?" You added, trailing your hand up his chest to his nape, making him look down at you.

"Well, I..uh..I want to ask you out on a date.." He mindlessly said as he drowned himself in your eyes. God, you were beautiful. He thought.

"That was the lamest thing I've ever heard." You giggled before pulling him in for a deep kiss. He pulled you in, gripping your waist for dear life.

The kiss was passionate and all that both of you didn't notice that the door suddenly opened, revealing your dad and his fuming disposition. You immediately broke the kiss and gently pushed Bradley away as both of you composed yourselves.

"What. is. the. meaning. of. this?!"

Your eyes widened at your dad's exasperated question as you looked at Bradley. "I must've accidentally pressed the intercom button earlier."

"It's okay, I'll talk to him." He gave you a small smile before you sighed and cursed yourself.

"You, young man. Out. You're going to explain yourself in detail how and why the hell are you in my house and why on earth would you even dare touch my daughter." Bradley nodded slightly as he walked towards the door.

"Dad--"

"You stay out of this, (Y/N). I'll talk to you later." Your dad said with finality in his voice, slamming your door shut.

You sighed as you bit your lip, remembering the kiss from earlier,

What an idiot, he could've just went straight to the entrance and talked to your dad. Instead, he settled with the thought of sneaking in the Admiral's home; worse, inside the Admiral's daughter's room and was caught red-handed.

You smiled at his idiotic ways and laid in your bed, thinking about what could happen to Bradley.

Surely, he wouldn't be subjected to any torture or any sorts of punishment.

This arrangement was bound to happen anyway whichever ways he could have done it.

[with-love-from-hell]

An update.

(Created June 9th, 2024)

Hello my lovely readers (both old and new). It has been a very hot minute since I have posted anything and I recognize that. I just wanted to give a short little update on some asks/comments I've been getting recently about my very low activity outside of reblogs.

A lot of stuff has happened personally over the past year or so that has left my thirst for writing completely dried up. I won't go into a lot of details, but there have been a lot of changes in friendships, amongst me training to be a supervisor at work (and completely changing my location of practice and working through a company merger), some more internal conflicts about whether me and my partner are having/adopting kids, amongst many other things. The time I would usually spend writing was during downtime at work, where I had no charting and many cancelations, and that has not been the trend lately- plus there is now a security blocker on my computer that completely blocks Tumblr from use, as well as Google Doc, which were previously the only two places I would draft my writings.

This is not me saying goodbye to writing all together. I still really love and enjoy it, but am needing to find some more free time and get back up the motivation to continue writing, which I have been hoping for over the past 9 or so months, but never happened. Because of this, I haven't moved my blog into "Hiatus", which I'm thinking I'm going to do now to avoid shame over having it open reciecing requests, and feeling too overwhelmed to even respond to them.

So for now, I am putting my blog into Hiatus.

Tips on Kofi are still accepted, but I will absolutely not be asking for any since I know I haven't been giving my all to writing lately, plus there are much more important things your money can be going to rn, like victims of the genocide in Palestine and Palestinian liberation.

In regards to my ongoing series:

I will eventually return to Melancholia, I really just don't know when. I likely will need to do a re-read of everything I've done with it and the parent series before that happens though, which is a lot to go through. I'm not making any promises, but my goal is to finish the series- I will say that much.

As for 5-sides: I completely stopped writing this one for now because I am going through a re-write of the series. Mostly because of the friendship shifts which resulted in 1 individual in the series being removed from my life, plus some shifts in other dynamics in that group. In addition, there were some things I felt I rushed and I could have done better at writing or incorporating devilgrams into the story, so I want to go back and comb through that one as well. I know this one didn't get much engagement because it's OC/my insert content, but it means a lot to me and I will be taking time to re-do it.

As for requests: I am going to put a pause on them until Melancholia is finished (which, like I said, doesn't have a clear timeline). I will also remind folks who do send in requests once they do open back up:

I am not your therapist, so please don't ask me for specific help with a problem you're having. I'm professionally trained and licensed as a therapist, but it is unethical (and illegal) for me to provide services without any agreements, HIPPA compliant technology, or respect for licensing laws that vary state to state, and even if it was, it is not something I want to do in this space. If you need help, please utilize Google or Psychology Today to find any services in your area.

Please keep requests somewhat simple and generalizable to a wider audience. I'm don't necessarily like writing for an mc with a Laundry list of diagnoses/problems occurring at once that seem *very* personal to the individual requesting, as I have many content enjoyers who want to relate to the writing I produce for free. This also takes up a lot more of my time researching to ensure I'm depicting everything correctly. This type of request is much better suited for a commission, given how much time and personalization goes into it. That doesn't mean you can't request writing for a specific diagnosis or problem (such as an eating disorder, self harm, or trauma) though. That I do encourage!

I am a person with a life outside of Tumblr. I have a full time job, an elder pet who needs significant attention, and a decent sized chunk of family and fiends that I am engaged with regularly off of the internet. Please don't harass me about your requests unless I have given you a clear timeline and am not providing updates. If you're just checking in that I have recieved them, I will reply to that and inform you that status of your request. However, you DO NOT need to send me a ton of messages asking the same thing when I had clearly indicated I was/am going to be working on it or that I'm not quite in the space to work on it, but would inform you when I was or tag you in it when its completed. This makes me far less likely to want to write your request. While it doesn't happen often, I've gotten it about commission requests a few times over the past few months and I just wanted this to serve as a gentle reminder.

I do look forward to getting the motivation to write again, and I appreciate all my readers who have supported me (not just with comments, likes, reblogs, and engagement, but financially as well when times were tough). I am so grateful for all of you and I appreciate so much that you all enjoy my writing enough to want to see more. I hope you all understand where I'm at, and can respect that while I take the time that I need ❤️

[childotkw]

Any tips on how to write a dissertation? I’m in my final year of uni & cannot stop procrastinating 😢

Oh god, I've never had to write one before and it's been a hot minute since I was in university 😅

For procrastination though? Yeah, I can provide some tips on how I try and combat it.

Begin saying "no" aloud when you catch yourself procrastinating

I find this starts slowly changing what type of tasks I drift towards and helps me break out of the headspace. Saying it aloud also makes it stick better for me. Makes it more official so my little gremlin brain actually listens.

Pace yourself

Break the work down into smaller (much much smaller) segments so they don't seem as daunting. Rather than looking at it as a chapter, or a page, or a paragraph, go right down to a sentence. Finish one sentence, then another, then another. Sentence by sentence, you'll find yourself chipping through the project a lot faster because you're focussing on individual trees without getting disheartened by the size of the forest.

Have breaks

Don't burn yourself out by trying to power through everything. Build breaks into your timeline and try and stick to them.

Have a reward / punishment system

This sometimes works for me. Depending on what you, psychologically, respond better to, implement a system to reward or punish yourself whenever you successfully avoid procrastinating / when you don't succeed. I respond better to rewards, so I give myself a little treat when I avoid procrastinating and complete the work I'm doing. You might respond better to a punishment - e.g., "I won't watch this episode of my show because I procrastinated for x hours", "I won't read this fanfiction of the rest of the week because I didn't finish xyz of my project", things like that.

I will say to be especially careful with the punishment side of things. It can be a slippery slope because this is a kind of conditioning and you should be aware of how it might backfire before attempting anything of the sought.

Set realistic timeframes

What I mean by this is set yourself a goal of "for the next ten minutes, I will only work on x" and then commit to it. If you work to a specific cadence (i.e., I often do 20-5-20, 20 minutes working, 5 min break, 20 mins works). This can be a great way to keep yourself on track.

Accept that it doesn't need to be perfect

This go through a drafting phase. Your first go through doesn't need to be perfection. Once you push through that mentality, you'll have an easier time getting your initial draft done. Then you can go through and edit.

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Hope these help!

[dvrtrblhr]

I have anxiety and have been dealing with it for as long as I can remember, although I will note how anxiety works varies for each person, as do ways to cope with it, so what works for me might not work for you. But in general when I'm going through a really bad phase of anxiety I fall back to a few different methods to try and reel my brain's responses to it back in.

First, I try to figure out the root of the anxiety (i.e. upcoming doctor's appointments, applications, stuff at work, family stuff, etc.), and then I run myself through a mental flowchart of yes/no questions such as: Have I eaten recently? If yes, move on to next question, if no, go get a snack. When did I last drink water? Dehydration can exacerbate anxiety, so it's always good to go get some water. Is [thing that is causing the anxiety] something I can do something about right now? If yes, then I go on to ask, "What needs to be done to resolve the issue and what are the exact steps I need to take to get that done?" If no, the thing causing my anxiety is not something present me can deal with, then I tell myself there's logically no reason to be wasting energy stressing over future me's problems or over problems that I have no ability to change, and I will deal with what I need to deal with when the time comes.

Whether the underlying cause of my anxiety is something only future me can deal with, or if it's something that is simply out of my control in general (i.e. general state of the world, possibility that the company I work for might go under, etc.), I know I'll still be anxious about it bc that's how my brain's wired, for better or worse, so to ease the anxiety I start coming up with step-by-step plans. For example, if my company goes under and I lose my job (something out of my control), then what are the steps I need to take afterwards? I start coming up with plans based on my knowledge.

(i.e. Plan A) If I cannot find a new job before getting fired, I should try to secure whatever documents I need to apply for and collect unemployment so that I still have some income while I search for a new job. Plan B) If I am given enough notice ahead of time to search for new jobs, or after applying the steps of Plan A, I already have a list of local businesses that I've seen hiring banners/signs for, and a list of various jobs offered around my state which I can then start applying for. I have this list of jobs ready bc I have been actively keeping an eye out for new jobs ever since my hours got cut, which is also a type of "planning to deal with an issue" except it's more of a preplanning thing I do to keep my anxiety in check in general).

Basically, for most things that cause me anxiety I spend a lot of time trying to think up potential solutions or workarounds and exactly how to implement those solutions/workarounds. These plans of mine do not always pan out, and sometimes I've had an issue surface that I simply do not have a plan for, but having multiple plans already thought of puts my general anxiety at east, and because I spend so much time coming up with plans for what-ifs, I'm usually observant and adaptable enough to find a solution to unexpected problems bc I have slowly built up analytical problem-solving skills over the course of my life through these planning mental exercises.

Both for figuring out the underlying cause of my anxiety flare up, and for drafting plans, I have to talk myself through my anxiety and really turn it over in my head a lot. Sometimes I try to imagine explaining why I am anxious to someone else, and the dialogue in my head helps me sort out the facts, but sometimes it's more like going through a checklist (have I eaten recently? when did I last drink water? am I having any physical issues like IBS that might be setting off my body's warning system? how much sleep did I get last night? etc.) and going over facts (lots of rumors at work lately, seen some weird posts online recently, haven't talked with friends in a hot minute, etc.). And sometimes the process of talking things out w/ myself will help me calm down.

Unfortunately sometimes no matter how many backup plans I have or how much I understand the cause of my anxiety, an issue will sometimes still cause me a great deal of anxiety. In these cases there's a couple of things I can still do. One is to try and step back and figure out if my brain is going haywire (i.e. asking "Am I really in danger of [thing] right now?"), and if I can get that clarity I can tell myself, "Okay, the anxiety part of my brain is overreacting, I am not actually in danger but I can't turn off that part of my brain that thinks I am." Sometimes figuring out that my brain is overreacting is enough to help the more rational and logical parts of my brain take over so I can sort of ignore the anxiety part until it calms down.

Sometimes this doesn't work, so I have to figure out a way to trick my entire body out of the anxiety response (bc I end up holding a lot of tension in my muscles when I'm anxious, which is physically exhausting). In this case I have to do something to actually make my muscles relax, which will trick my brain into thinking the "threat" has passed and the anxiety will calm down. There's lots of different ways to do this, and what works to make a body relax varies a lot from person to person (physically intense activity or exercise, yoga/stretches, controlled breathing exercises, focusing on certain types of puzzles or games like sudoku or tetris, organizing or cleaning things, drinking herbal teas, etc). For me personally, if I cannot get my body to relax I'll have a cup of tulsi tea, which works as a muscle relaxant and helps me feel mellow, but herbal teas are really hit or miss (kava and chamomile teas are also often recommended for stress-relief, but kava tea is hard to find for me and chamomile tea gives me headaches; some teas do absolutely nothing for someone). So figuring out what will help you muscles relax the most will be a lot more individual, since again, everyone's bodies work differently, and different things interact w/ medications and stuff differently.

Ultimately there's not really a "right" or "wrong" way to deal with anxiety flare ups, and what works varies a lot from person to person, so you might have to experiment with different management and coping techniques to figure out what is going to trick your brain into not being anxious.

Don't feel like you have to respond to this, esp. if you don't feel like any of it applies to you, but I wish you luck with finding a good way to manage and alleviate your anxiety. It really sucks to deal with, but keep holding on, things will change and maybe even for the better.

thank you very much for sharing your processes with me! I found the mental workflow a very interesting aproach i might try. i am, usually, a weird mix of analytical and intuitive. when i'm anxious though, i feel like i can't rely on my intuition as my perspective is 'skewed' by anxiety. in times like these, i really need to rely on my analytical part more and create these sort of mental tools i can depend on, so i don't feel so lost.

i'm actually a pretty big planner nowadays (a tool i painstakingly developed to control my adhd as an adult) and, honestly, it's one of the things that keeps my anxiety in check. though sometimes things get out of control no matter what (sometimes the brain just decides to ignore all previous instructions and go wild). in times like these, i always find important to try out new things, new mental exercises, apps, teas etc. no tool is perfect so it's good to read what everyone does to calm down!

[grav3encovnters]

hello   and   good   afternoon   !    i   know   it's   been   a   hot   minute   since   i've   been   around   and   i   owe   a   lot.   i'm   sorry.   life   has   gotten   really   busy   and   i   have   not   had   the   time   to   be   around   and   get   to   things   as   much   as   i'd   like   to.   now   ,   i   want   to   make   one   thing   clear   -   i   am   not   dropping   any   threads   or   losing   interest   in   writing   with   you   all   !   i   just   simply   don't   have   the   time   to   be   here   much   ,   but   i'm   trying.    to   give   you   a   run   down   of   how   much   i   have   to   do   here   -   and   why   it's   going   to   take   me   a   bit   to   get   caught   up   -   let   me   share   with   you   exactly   how   much   i   owe.    drafts   are   currently   at   :   268.   (   this   includes   sets   to   be   posted   ,   some   opens   i'll   eventually   reply   to   ,   but   mostly   owes.   )   i   also   have   9   asks   waiting   for   me   to   answer   on   top   of   these.    now   ,   i   am   trying   to   reply   to   them   all   and   post   them   same   day   ,   but   i   am   having   to   queue   some.   so   if   you   don't   get   a   reply   right   away   and   you   think   i   owe   you   by   now   ,   keep   an   eye   out   for   my   queues.    i   am   working   on   these   in   the   order   i   received   them   ,   so   there   is   a   bit   of   a   waiting   period   for   most   replies.   patience   is   greatly   appreciated   ,   but   i   understand   if   you   can't   wait.   if   not   ,   feel   free   to   message   me   and   feel   free   to   drop   the   thread.   just   let   me   know   ahead   of   time   so   i   don't   reply   to   a   dead   thread.   😊 that's   it   for   now.   back   to   the   writing   i   go.