#just want to sit with my husband and drink my coffee quietly

[glamlet69]

Made a whole big plan to meal prep for the week and that plan had already derailed so much and it’s snowing outside and I’m sooo eeepyyyy

[deliciousangelfestival]

Let's Play Pretend - 1 | Bucky

Character: Bucky Barnes x singer! Female reader

Summary: You just wanted to hide here and find peace from the mess that wasn’t caused by you. But then, your hot neighbor bothered you. As if that wasn’t enough, the enemies you hated found you too.

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 ,-

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By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband on Kindle. 👉 Now available on e-Kindle Amazon! << here's the link.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Shocking Split! Y/N L/N Dumps Fiancé After Drug Party Scandal

Betrayal Drama! Y/N L/N’s Manager Caught Stealing Millions for Gambling

Where’s Y/N? The Singer Vanishes Amid Scandals!

“I’ve always wanted to be a singer, but I never had the confidence to stand on a stage—until my music teacher, Mrs. Walls. She believed in me.”

Mrs. Walls sighed as she watched your Grammy interview on TV. You looked radiant, glowing with excitement after winning such a prestigious award. As a music teacher with years of experience, she had worked with many talented students, but you stood out uniquely.

At first, you were the shyest student in her class, hardly speaking above a whisper. But what surprised her the most was your natural gift: a perfect pitch. You could write down the notes to a song after hearing it just once, and you picked up musical instruments with ease. She vividly remembered showing you basic piano chords; within minutes, you were playing along effortlessly. The same thing happened when she introduced the guitar.

Her fondest memories were of you standing shyly at the front of the class, yet lighting up when it came to music. She smiled as she recalled your speeches at award shows: “I wouldn’t be here without my music teacher, Mrs. Walls. She was the first person who put faith in me.”

“That’s the last interview she gave us,” the gossip channel host said dramatically, feigning concern. “It’s been three months since anyone’s seen her. Where is Y/N L/N?”

Mrs. Walls frowned and turned off the TV with an annoyed grunt. “Urgh. Gossip vultures,” she muttered under her breath. She grabbed a glass of lemonade from the fridge and walked out to her garden. She noticed her guest seemed lost in thought, staring off into the distance. It had become a habit whenever she was in the garden.

“You’re not thirsty, huh?” she teased lightly, holding the glass toward someone sitting under the garden umbrella.

The person she handed the drink to was none other than the missing singer, Y/N L/N. For three months, the paparazzi had been on your trail, but they had no idea you were hiding here—in the sanctuary of your former music teacher’s home.

Mrs. Walls still remembered the night you appeared on her doorstep, mascara streaked down your face, eyes red and swollen from crying. You looked nothing like the glamorous star she’d seen on television, but instead like a lost child searching for safety.

“I don’t know where else to go,” you had whispered, your voice trembling.

In that moment, she didn’t see the world-renowned singer. She saw the shy, seven-year-old girl who used to sit in her classroom, clutching her music notebook like a lifeline. She hugged you tightly, her heart breaking for you. “Stay as long as you need, my dear,” she had said softly, ushering you inside.

Since that night, you’d been living quietly in her guest room. The once-vibrant star barely spoke, and the silence worried Mrs. Walls more than she let on. She watched as you avoided stepping outside, terrified of being recognized. The only place you seemed at peace was her garden.

She wondered, How long will you keep hiding like this?

You took the lemonade from her hand with a quiet “Thank you” but set it on the small table beside you without taking a sip. Sitting on the bench, you leaned back, tilting your face up toward the sky. The sun was warm, filtering through the leaves of the garden trees. Through your Ray-Ban sunglasses, you watched the golden rays dance, letting them calm your stormy thoughts.

Here, in this little haven, you could pretend the outside world didn’t exist. The judging eyes, the betrayals, the relentless cameras—everything melted away in the sunlight.

You thought back to three months ago, just after wrapping up your world tour. It had been the most significant milestone in your career, a dream come true. Exhausted but proud, you returned home, excited to move on to the next chapter of your life—starting a family with your fiancé.

But the moment you landed, things began to unravel. You’d called your fiancé multiple times, but he didn’t answer. At first, you thought he was busy, but a nagging feeling in your chest wouldn’t go away.

When the truth finally came out, it shattered you. Your assistant broke the news: your fiancé had been busted at a drug-fueled party. Worse, it was also a sex party.

You felt your chest tighten at the memory. That betrayal had cut deep. But it wasn’t the only one.

Later that week, you discovered that your longtime manager, someone you trusted implicitly, had embezzled your money to feed a gambling addiction. Two people you thought you could rely on had betrayed you in the worst ways possible.

One night, overwhelmed and broken, you drove aimlessly, tears blurring your vision. Without any plan or destination, you just kept going until you found yourself parked outside Mrs. Walls’ familiar home.

Even after all these years, she had always been honest with you. When you needed guidance, she gave it without hesitation. If she thought something was right, she’d say, “Go for it, my dear.” If it wasn’t, she’d warn, “No. You deserve better.”

Now, sitting in her garden, you sighed and closed your eyes, letting the sunlight warm your face. For a moment, you could almost believe you were that shy student again before fame and heartbreak had found you.

Mrs. Walls watched you silently, her heart heavy. She wanted to help, but she knew you needed to find your way back on your own.

“How long are you planning to hide here?” she finally asked, her voice gentle but firm.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you opened your eyes and looked at her. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Just like this, Mrs. Walls worried about you. You knew you were taking advantage of her kindness, aware she wanted you to step out of your shell, but you weren’t ready. The thought of facing the questions, the prying eyes, and the silent judgment was too much.

Just a little more time, you thought. That’s all I need. And some peace.

But peace wasn’t always easy to come by.

"VROOM!"

A sudden loud roar shattered the tranquility of the garden. The grating sound of a lawn mower filled the air, making you wince. You covered your ears, irritation flashing across your face.

Your gaze turns toward the source of the noise. “It’s already noon. The sun’s scorching hot—what kind of madman decides this is the best time to mow their lawn?”

“Well…” Mrs. Walls trailed off, watching the man seated atop the lawn mower. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

It's her neighbor, a man who had recently moved in. He wasn’t just any neighbor—he was one of her former students. Not from her music classes, though. He’d been one of the troublemakers, a kid who lived on detention slips and second chances.

“Bucky!” she called out, her voice carrying across the garden.

The man paused, cutting the engine. The deafening noise stopped, leaving an almost eerie silence in its wake. He climbed off the lawn mower, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

You squinted, ready to roll your eyes, but then your gaze lingered for a moment longer than you wanted. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his broad chest glistened with sweat. The sun highlighted the sculpted lines of his six-pack, and every step he took radiated an infuriating confidence.

Great, you thought bitterly. Annoying and ridiculously good-looking. Just my luck.

Mrs. Walls met him halfway, handing him a glass of lemonade. “Thank you,” Bucky said, his voice low and smooth.

You let out an exaggerated sigh and rolled your eyes. “You’re welcome for the noise pollution,” you muttered loud enough for him to hear.

He turned, raising an eyebrow at you. “You’re welcome for cutting the grass, princess.”

“Princess?” you repeated, your tone sharp. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re out here ruining everyone’s peace, and I’m the problem?”

He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest, the gesture only drawing more attention to his muscles. “Stop acting like a diva.”

Your jaw dropped. “I am a diva!”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed, taking a long sip of lemonade.

“What rock have you been living under?” you snapped, glaring at him.

He rolled his eyes dramatically, his expression shifting to one of mild exasperation. What you didn’t know was that Bucky wasn’t as clueless as he seemed. For the past three years, he’d been living under the radar, cutting ties with his old life. His job had demanded secrecy, isolation, and sacrifice. He didn’t have the luxury of keeping up with the world, let alone pop culture or celebrity news.

The truth was, he hadn’t recognized you—not as the world-famous singer everyone else seemed to adore. To him, you were just the frustrating woman who had suddenly appeared in Mrs. Walls’ house and made everything more complicated.

But even as irritation bubbled under his skin, he couldn’t help but feel intrigued. There was a fire in you that clashed with his rough edges, and it both annoyed and fascinated him.

For Bucky, Mrs. Walls had always been a comforting presence—a grandmother figure who offered him advice and a safe space to talk. Her home had become a haven. And then you showed up.

Now, that peace was gone, replaced with constant banter and an energy that made it hard for him to stay indifferent.

Mrs. Walls watched the two of you, her lips twitching as if suppressing a smile. Despite your usual quiet demeanor, you seemed to come alive whenever Bucky was around.

“You two are like a pair of bickering children,” she muttered under her breath.

“Excuse me?” you said, shooting her a look.

“Nothing, dear,” she replied with a knowing smile, sipping her lemonade.

Bucky glanced at you, shaking his head. “You know, for someone who wants peace and quiet, you sure have a lot to say.”

“And for someone who wants to mow the lawn, you sure talk a lot for no reason,” you shot back, folding your arms.

Bucky laughed, low and mocking. “This is going to be fun.”

“Fun for you, maybe,” you muttered, turning your attention back to the garden, though your face was still flushed from the exchange.

As he walked away, you couldn’t help but glance at his retreating figure, hating how effortlessly confident he looked. Bucky, meanwhile, shook his head, pretending not to notice you watching him.

Both of you were equally exasperated—and similarly intrigued.

Bucky reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin, holding it up between two fingers with a smug grin. “Alright, princess, let’s make a deal. If it lands heads, I’ll keep mowing. If it’s tails, I’ll stop, and you can go back to your precious nap.”

You crossed your arms tightly, narrowing your eyes at him. “I hate this game,” you muttered, watching as the coin gleamed in the sunlight. He always did this—turning everything into some sort of challenge just to get under your skin.

Bucky smirked, clearly enjoying your irritation. “I know. That’s why it’s so much fun.”

Rolling your eyes, you huffed, “Tails.”

He nodded mock-seriously, flicking the coin into the air with practiced ease. It spun rapidly, catching the light with every turn before landing in his palm. He slapped it onto the back of his hand, then slowly revealed the result with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Heads,” he declared, his voice full of triumph.

“Ugh!” You threw your hands in the air, frustrated, pushing off the bench. As you stomped toward the house, the wooden slats creaked behind you, muttering, “I’m getting noise-canceling headphones.”

Mrs. Walls watched you retreat inside, shaking her head with a fond smile. She turned to Bucky, who was spinning the coin between his fingers like a magician showing off his trick.

“You really should stop teasing her,” Mrs. Walls said gently, her tone a mix of reproach and amusement.

Bucky shrugged, slipping the coin back into his pocket. His lips curled into a devilish grin. “Nah… it’s fun.”

🌷🌷🌷🌷

You peeked through the blinds, trying not to let the soft rustle of the fabric give you away. Outside, Bucky was still chatting casually with Mrs. Walls. He leaned against the handle of the lawn mower, his broad shoulders relaxed, and his expression unusually serene.

How could he be so normal and polite with her, yet every time he spoke to you, it felt like he lived to make you grit your teeth?

You narrowed your eyes, watching him laugh at something Mrs. Walls said. That face… you thought bitterly. What a waste of a perfectly good jawline and those stupid dimples.

Letting the blinds fall back into place with a soft snap, you turned away and headed to your room.

Inside, the space was dim, the curtains drawn tightly against the glaring afternoon sun. The cool, muted light was a welcome contrast to the irritation buzzing in your head. You kicked off your slippers with a little more force than necessary and flopped onto the bed, burying your face in the pillows.

The mattress was soft, and the faint scent of lavender from the room’s diffuser helped ease the tension in your shoulders. But even as you lay there, trying to block out the world, your mind kept drifting back to the smug grin on Bucky’s face and the way he seemed to revel in riling you up.

“Urgh,” you groaned, rolling onto your side and hugging the pillow close. You closed your eyes, willing yourself to forget about him.

Eventually, the steady hum of the ceiling fan and the distant chirping of birds outside began to lull you into a state of calm. Your breathing slowed, and your grip on the pillow loosened. For now, rest was the only thing you wanted—a reprieve from the relentless antics of your maddeningly handsome neighbor.

🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷

The dream came fast and vivid, like a storm. You were running—barefoot, your breath ragged and your heart pounding in your chest. Behind you, shadowy figures loomed, their voices sharp and cruel. The flash of cameras blinded you, their light like fire against your skin. You kept running, your legs aching, but the ground felt like quicksand, pulling you down.

You jolted awake, gasping for air. Your hands gripped the sheets tightly as your heart raced, the remnants of the nightmare still clinging to your mind. Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, you saw the dim, glowing numbers: 2:00 a.m.

Sleep felt impossible now. The stillness of the house, once comforting, now felt suffocating. You swung your legs off the bed and walked to the window, pushing it open. Cool air rushed in, brushing against your flushed skin and carrying the faint scent of dew and earth.

“Should I go out?” you murmured to yourself. It was late—no, it was early—and the world outside was likely asleep. It might be safe.

Pulling on a hoodie and sweatpants, you crept quietly through the house. Every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet made your pulse spike, but you pressed on, determined. When you reached the door, you hesitated, your hand resting on the doorknob.

Flashes of the past flooded your mind—the crowd of paparazzi outside your apartment, shouting your name, their cameras clicking incessantly, their relentless pursuit. You clenched your eyes shut and took a deep breath.

“It’s different here,” you whispered, willing yourself to believe it. Slowly, you pushed the door open and stepped outside.

The cool grass greeted your bare feet as you stepped off the porch, the gentle night breeze brushing against your face. There was no one. No voices. No flashing lights. Just silence and the soft rustling of leaves in the dark.

You exhaled deeply, relief washing over you like a wave. One tentative step after another, you left the house, the distance growing between you and your sanctuary.

You wandered toward the park, the faint glow of streetlights guiding your way. The world felt peaceful, and for the first time in months, so did you—until the faint hum of an engine broke the stillness.

You glanced over your shoulder, your pulse quickening. A car was following you, its headlights low but its presence unmistakable. Then you saw it—a glint of metal, the unmistakable outline of a camera lens.

Shit. They’d found you.

Your heart pounded as the car crept closer. Picking up your pace, you started walking faster, then broke into a run.

“Y/N! Where have you been?” a voice called out from the car, loud and intrusive.

You didn’t answer, your breath quickening as you pushed yourself to move faster.

“Have you heard your ex-fiancé has rekindled things with his ex?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. What? Your mind reeled. You hadn’t even ended things officially, and he’d already moved on? That bastard. While you were here, broken and dealing with trauma, he was playing house?

“Is it true you gave money to your manager, knowing about his gambling addiction?”

You stopped dead in your tracks, glaring at the man hanging out of the car window. “No! I didn’t know! Leave me alone, you jerk!”

You started running again, your breath burning in your lungs, your legs aching. Desperation clawed at you as the car followed relentlessly. Then you saw him—a familiar figure jogging under the streetlights.

“It can’t be,” you whispered.

Without thinking, you sprinted toward him, your voice frantic. “Bucky! Help me!”

Bucky stopped mid-stride, his brows furrowed as he saw you running toward him. His routine early-morning jog had just turned unusual. His sharp eyes quickly took in the distress written all over your face. Before he could react, you leaped behind him, clutching the back of his hoodie and crouching slightly to shield yourself.

He stiffened, caught off guard. Then he saw it—a car slowing down, its passenger wielding a camera that kept flashing incessantly. The bright lights blinded him momentarily, and irritation sparked in his chest.

“Hey!” Bucky growled, marching toward the car. The camera flashes continued, and without hesitation, he snatched the camera from the paparazzo’s hands and smashed it against the pavement.

The paparazzo’s jaw dropped in shock. “My camera!” he yelled, scrambling to pick up the broken pieces.

But he wasn’t done. Pulling out his phone, the man began recording. “You’re a dead man! Who the fuck are you? Her boyfriend? Bodyguard?”

Bucky, his irritation mounting, opened his mouth to correct him, but before he could, you blurted out, “He’s my boyfriend.”

Bucky froze, glancing over his shoulder at you. Your grip on his hoodie tightened as you peeked around him, glaring at the paparazzo.

The man in the car stared at the two of you, his phone still recording. “This is going to be front-page news.”

Bucky sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What the hell did you just drag me into?” he muttered under his breath.

Exciting News!

I’m thrilled to announce the release of my new book, Dad, I Can’t Let You Go—a heartfelt collection of short poems about loss, love, and the journey of missing someone deeply. This book is dedicated to my father and to anyone who has experienced the pain of losing a loved one.

Available now on E-Kindle Amazon!

Dad, I Can't Let You Go! <<< Here's the link.

Thank you for your support, and I hope these poems resonate with you.

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[itostea]

rings (gojo x wife! reader)

in which you want your arranged husband to finally give you a ring

warnings: arranged marriage au (part of the gojo's wife series), gojo calls you his wife, suggestive bc gojo is a menace, reader lowkey downbad, i'm back after 4(?) months oops & lmk if i’m missing anyone for the tag list

There’s a gentle breeze that escapes from the open windows of the cafe you sit in, the quiet chatter blending in with the bossa nova jazz that plays from the speakers. Only a few people reside in the building–some of which include students, friend groups, or strangers just hoping for a nice cup of coffee. 

Your eyes flit to Utahime using a straw to make circles in her drink. She was the one who recommended this cafe, referring to it as an “underground” location–a phrase that you would’ve not expected her to use. Correctly at that. 

“How are you doing with that idiot,” your other friend, Shoko asks. “Do you guys still sleep in separate rooms?”

You watch her reach for a cigarette and frown, your hand slapping hers lightly. “There's a ‘no smoking policy’ here. And to answer your question, no we’re not. We’ve been sleeping in the same room for a little over a month now.”

“On the same bed?”

“Yes?”

“And that’s it?” She drawls, arching an elegant brow as she puts her box of cigarettes away–taking another sip of her black coffee. “Nothing else? You know, like clothes gone, french kissing–”

“Yes that’s it! Keep it down here,” you hiss, shooting another glare at Utahime who stifles a laugh by pretending to drink her tea.

Shoko rolls her eyes, taking another sip of her coffee–this time narrowing her eyes at you. “So why are you sulking?”

“I’m not sulking.”

“Yes you are,” she retorts and you frown when you hear Utahime agree. They’ve always been so sharp. “Something’s bothering you so tell us.”

You purse your lips, gripping your cup a bit tighter as you heave a sigh. You’re avoiding their gazes, biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s stupid.”

“We’re not gonna judge you,” Utahime gives you a reassuring smile, nudging Shoko who tries to take out her cigarette box again.

“Okay,” you start. “Something feels like it’s missing. Not that it’s ‘Toru–”

“You call him ‘Toru?” Shoko laughs quietly, rolling her eyes when you narrow your eyes at her. She sighs. “Continue.”

“There's nothing wrong with ‘Toru and I feel like I’m expecting something from him. We’re making progress with the whole husband and wife thing but I guess I just want,” you pause. “I guess I’m just wondering when he’s gonna give me a ring…”

They both blink at you, with Utahime making a sound with her throat. “There’s no way that idiot’s that stupid.”

“But that makes sense. The wedding just happened on paper since the elders wanted Gojo to get married quickly,” Shoko adds. “So? What are you gonna do? Drop hints?”

“That’s not really my way of doing things…”

Shoko rolls her eyes for the nth time, frowning at the lack of coffee in her cup. “Things would be a lot easier between you two if you just communicated,” she says, holding a hand up when you’re about to respond. “But I say give him some time. Gojo might be a lot sharper than he lets on.”

You replay your friend’s words in your head as you dice the carrots mindlessly–throwing them in a bowl with chopped up potatoes. Ever since Gojo told you that he hardly has any time to cook with the sudden rise of curses, you’ve been wanting to surprise him with a home cooked meal: curry rice. After all, you were finally granted some leisure time after a mission so you were more than happy to set up a surprise.

Not that it was much of a surprise since he was home earlier than usual–not that you were mad since it was rare for him to arrive home just a little after you did. You perk up, catching a glimpse of his boyish grin that seems to spread across his face. “Oh? What’s this?”

You clear your throat, feeling a bit bashful at how pretty his smile was. “I’m making dinner for us since we haven’t been able to have a home cooked meal in a while.”

“Well, aren't I a lucky guy?” He ruffles your hair as if it were a habit of his, his eyes as soft as his voice the moment he leans down. “You mind if I take a shower first? I promise it’ll be quick.”

“Your shower’s are never quick,” you comment, giggling at how he acts as if he’s been caught. As he leaves, you feel yourself getting giddy at how wide his grin had been when he saw you. You wonder if he always looked at you like that and you have to mentally calm yourself down by reminding yourself to not get too excited. 

By the time you set the plates down, you already hear the padding of his feet against the marble floor. He’s dressed comfortably in a pair of sweats and a pullover, sitting in front of you. He smiles again, murmuring a low “hello” as if somewhat shy. 

You smile in return, observing him as he takes a bite of the food you made. Your heart stops for a few seconds, gauging his expression for any sign of disgust–feeling it explode in your chest when he eats it like a starved man. “Is it good?” 

“So good,” he answers without hesitation, flashing another grin at you–the same grin that makes you feel warm inside. “My wife’s so talented.”

“It’s just curry rice,” you respond, feeling a bit sheepish at how easily he sings praises to you. You realize you’ve been watching him eat for a little over than a minute, your hands reaching to the utensils to try your own food. 

The conversation takes off naturally. He’s asking about your day at work and you do the same; he teases you and you shoot another remark at him. It’s all good-natured until he pauses, looking a little hesitant. “Listen (Name),” his voice is lower, nervous. “I know I should've done this before but it really didn’t cross my mind…”

Your reaction is instantaneous as much as you try to hide it. The ring. Was he going to give you one? Your eyes flit to his furrowed brows and the way he pokes the inside of his cheek. If he’s this nervous, then it should be pertaining to a ring right? You’re already answering before he can finish. “Yes.”

He blinks, peering directly at you. “Really?”

“Really,” you nod, your smile wide as you lean a bit closer to the table. 

He breaks out in a large smile, breathing a sigh of relief. “Wow I didn’t know you liked Netflix so much.”

All of a sudden, the delusions you’ve been building up topple like dominos. Your voice’s stuck in your throat as a wave of bemusement hits you. “Huh?”

“I was gonna give you my Netflix account! I completely forgot to give you it for a while and the kids have been on my ass about it.”

“Y-Your Netflix account?” You murmur in disbelief, wondering if sharing a Netflix account was a golden rule couples had to obey. 

It was Gojo’s turn to be confused, his pretty blues blinking at you. “That’s what we’re talking about right?”

Disappointment drenches you from top to bottom but you quickly mask it with an easy going smile. “Yeah! I love Netflix…”

You breathe a sigh of relief, mentally applauding yourself for not mentioning anything about a ring. You take another bite of your food, not noticing the way Gojo looks at you–gulping as if hiding a secret of his own. 

“I want to give you something,” your husband’s voice is gentle, velvety as he pulls you towards the couch. 

He smells good, you think to yourself–earthy and fresh. It’s faint yet it’s enough to make you dizzy. “Something?”

“That’s right,” he coos, grinning down at you from the couch. Again, you have that undeniable feeling of hope choking you, trying your hardest not to show your excitement as he reaches in his pocket.

Yet, instead of a small, round object, you’re faced with a card. A black card. Not a ring. Your lips part in shock as the initial disappointment becomes surprise. “I can’t take this!” 

You’re left with more disbelief at how his expression seems to fall dramatically. “Why not…?”

“Because I just can’t!” 

“But you’re my wife and I wanna spoil you,” he tries to reason and you have to try not to swoon how he calls you his wife even though you already know it. You clear your throat, shaking your head rapidly. 

“I can’t ‘Toru–”

“Yes you can,” he huffs, his lips falling into a pout that you would’ve found funny if he didn’t just hand you his card. “Trust me on this one. You’ll make me happy if you use it. So treat yourself, alright?”

You frown, murmuring another protest and stopping when he glances at you from under his shades, his lips curling into a coy smile once he sees the guilt in your eyes–his mind piecing things together. “Aren’t you a sweetheart?” He ruffles your hair once more, making your heart do another jump. “Just take it. Please?”

You think he’s doing it on purpose–the way he looks at you as if you’re a diamond among rocks. It’s hard not to say no when someone looks at you like that–harder when it’s Gojo. You sigh. “Fine. But I’m not gonna use it often.”

He grins that smile you like again, his thumb grazing your jaw. “That’s my girl.”

You avert your eyes at his binding smile, ignore how he seems to enjoy teasing you a bit too much. You sigh, ignoring the way your heart flutters all over again. And with the way he watches you, you think his stomach’s doing somersaults as well

It’s early in the morning, dark in the room you share with Gojo–the sun barely awake just as you were. There’s the sound of quiet shuffling, the spot next to your empty. It must be one of those missions, you think to yourself.

You hear him murmur a low curse at the sound of something dropping, feeling amusement at how he tries to quietly put the item back in its original place. You think of falling asleep again but your gut tells you to stay awake, still listening to his quiet pacing. 

You feel how the mattress slightly dips, his cologne filling your senses–luring you to sleep. Out of sheer willpower, you try not to react as his fingers reach down to graze your cheek–try not to open your eyes to see what kind of expression he wore. You wonder if he did this every time he had a mission so early in the morning, feeling an unfamiliar feeling tug at your heart. 

His voice is barely above a whisper as he leans down. “I’ll be back home by dinner today. I promise.”

Part of you debates on falling asleep and it wins, until you feel him shuffle a bit closer. And just like that, you feel cold metal slip on your finger–your ring finger. The material fits perfectly around your finger and your hand twitches as you hear him stand up to leave. 

It hits you a bit later than you’d expect and you would’ve never thought realization would sound like the front door opening. You scramble out of bed, tripping on the blankets as you smile so hard it hurts. 

“Toru?! Wait! Don't leave yet! Toru come back!” 

And like you hoped, he looks back, the metal of a ring similar to yours greets you.

tags:

@maliamaiden, @dookiemeshibear, @icarusignite, @padsgrlly, @katiaesmeralda, @mooncleaver, @jcrml, @istanuwow, @stilinskispjo, @hjjjbb, @delulusuga, @hellogoog, @scrumdillyyumyumpurr, @wordskeeper, @rampagingroses, @demiwizardvampire145, @haikyuusimpsblog, @esmeensheep, @msunknown911, @saebeary, @mysuperrainbow, @scarletevening, @tedbunny333, @tulips-ss, @primapoppy, @realboysrdumb, @ems-tumbo, @a-cloudy-dreamy-day, @evalynanne, @kaiisers, @trisisbasic, @luna0713hunter, @arisucat, @honili, @dovahkiinsbitch, @porridgesblog, @siennahsteaparty, @dee-dreams-and-stuff, @satoruskitchenrag, @moonmalice, @junglewoos, @thisbicc, @heartsoji, @mysticmyth, @phoenixforgotten, @sillygoosegoose, @the-mad-hatress, @kairuthewriter, @batmansleftfoot

[charcoal-xl]

Hi! Can i request Sasuke x Uchiha fem reader arranged marriage? Please make it, non massacre au. Thank you! 😄

Sasuke Uchiha - Arranged Marriage

Artcreds @oppy190213 (found on Pinterest)

Growing up in a disciplined clan such as the Uchiha he wouldn't be to surprised that he'd been placed into an arranged marriage, he might view this as part of his duties being the son of Fugaku.

On the other hand however he's pissed, he believes this will get in the way of his goals and what he's trying to achieve, he has no time for dull lifeless romance his goals are much bigger than that, he needs to train to surpass his brother and prove himself as more than just a second born son.

When he finally meets you it's at a situated event organized by both parties, neither of you spoke it was mainly just both your families finalizing marriage agreements, making sure everything was set properly.

That was the first time and only time you met your fiance before your wedding.

The wedding was simple and traditional, the main guests being family, friends and high ranking clan officials.

The both of you are then moved into a house together on Uchiha territory, right next to the main household and it's quiet to say the least...

You don't do anything intimate the first night (if you catch my drift) however you do sit down and have a discussion.

"I want to make one thing clear I'm not doing this out of love but obligation to my clan, I have never desired a wife or a family for that matter, so don't expect this to be like one of those childish fairytales, I have my own goals and ambitions and I don't need anyone getting in the way."

And that's it, the first words your husband ever spoke to you...colddddd.

It's not that he doesn't like you, it's just that he doesn't care about you that much. If anything you're just another burden he has to deal with for now.

If you want him to warm up to you even a bit you'd need to show that you are in fact not a burden, and that you are perfectly fine being independent and on your own sometimes.

In the beginning your married life with him isn't too bad, as long as you're not in his face 24/7 trying to get him to love you.

If anything it's still quiet maybe even a bit boring, but it doesn't stay like that for long, slowly but surely his temperature gets warmer.

And he starts to notice things you do.

Like how even though he makes his own lunches, the right ingredients are always in the fridge.

He'll be training in the yard and you'll prepare fresh food and a cold glass of water for him for when he's done.

Or when he comes back from missions and has a nice warm bath and a clean house waiting for him.

He likes how you do these things in silence, where you're not constantly asking him to praise you and tell you you did good, you just know that your work doesn't go unnoticed, and he can just appreciate things in silence.

These actions don't go unreciprocated however, he starts to do things differently as well.

You sleep in separate rooms and wake up around the same time, you just a bit after him. You'll see him in the mornings drinking his coffee at the dinner table, if he notices you drink coffee or tea in the morning as well he'll start to leave just a little extra water in the kettle for you, so you don't have to heat some up yourself.

Or if he notices you take on a certain hobby and you're running out of something like paint or yarn he'll quietly pick up more for you, no thanks needed. But don't point out how he smiles slightly seeing you using it.

He's smart enough to know he doesn't feel the same about you, like he did in the beginning. And that the feelings he has for you now are more deep and meaningful.

He would never want to admit this out loud however, he wouldn't even know how to express it.

Until (drum roll please...) you're put in danger! classic am I right

For this let's say someone kidnaps you for ransom while out shopping.

Maybe this was for the best, now he can enjoy his life in peace and not have to worry about having a wife at least that's what you thought he would want.

That was until a very angry Uchiha showed up and beat the bloody shit out of everyone in that room but you, using his sharingan.

He takes you in his arms and asks if you're all right or if you're hurt anywhere, when you say you're surprised he showed up he responds with something along the lines of:

"You're my wife, did you think I was just going to leave you here?"

It's said in a slightly aggressive tone, as if he was mad you even questioned it.

However there were a couple words he said that really stood out to you.

You're his wife?

I mean sure legally you were his wife you are married, but he's never referred to you as such before, even in public he'd call you his 'arranged spouse' or his 'contracted marriage partner' nothing flattering to say the least.

He notices your reaction and tries to cover up his words with:

"if anything ever happened to you it would look bad on me, I mean what would people say about the Uchiha clan if they just let their, uhm spouses yeah spouses get stolen... *cough* *cough*

You don't press any further, his slightly flushed cheeks and sped up words give it all away and your relationship only goes up from there.

Come winter you might even be sharing a bed, but it's just to keep you warm, obviously winter can be a very harsh season, he swears it...

I reread this a couple times but it's still very likely that a couple mistakes slipped past me so if you see anything that's phrased weirdly just point it out and I'll fix it, anyways I hope you like it, and if it's not what you were looking for feel free to send in a more specific request, and I'll do my best... maybe

also I accidentally lost a bullet point, I think I deleted it, but if something random is just there and you're super confused and it looks a lot like something else just lmk lol

Jan 18,2025

[shhhsecretsideblog]

They had been trying for a baby for a while, when finally she was looking at a positive test. Unfortunately, there was only one time it could have happened. A bit too much to drink, a few confessions that she'd sometimes thought about her husbands best friend in some of her more intimate fantasies, and just like that his little secret had taken root in her belly.

She was excited to be a mom, but can't bring herself to tell her husband she's expecting. Hiding her bump as best she can, not letting herself be intimate with him in case he noticed her beautiful changing body, how firm and heavy her belly had gotten. She has a plan. Give birth in secret where he won't find out, and then claim someone left the baby there. "Probably some teenager or something, can't imagine how she could raise it." Of course, since they're struggling to have one of their own, it's all but a sign. Of course they should take it in.

A perfect little plan for the eager mom to get out of her bad choice concequence free.

At least, it would be, if her waters hadn't broken in the shower, and the contractions were starting to get worse and worse, no matter how she tried to pretend otherwise and act like nothing was happening...

Extramarital Consequences

AN: I just wanted to write a short little rp drabble, but instead it comes out as a full scale 3k word fic. Thanks for the prompt MuchBirth, it was a great concept. Hope you like it. [fpreg, tw: vomit, tw: cheating]

“Are you alright in there, babe?” My husband's voice sounded through the bathroom door and I tried to swallow the groan that was sitting in my throat.

Why now, why today?! I had done so well concealing this pregnancy from everyone, thanks to the cold winter and the abundance of thick oversized jumpers and coats. And for the fact I was carrying a rather modest, if heavy, bump. Said bump had dropped in recent days and I had hoped the baby was merely getting prepared and wouldn’t be coming for another week when Daniel would be away on business. The baby, it seemed, had other ideas.

The contractions had started in the early hours and I laid beside my husband quietly breathing through each pain and praying it was just braxton hicks. But they just kept on coming. Every 40 minutes… every 30 minutes… and when they got down to 20 minutes apart I knew I had to move.

Hiding downstairs in the dark, I paced around our living room and kitchen as the contractions got closer together and more and more intense. Why couldn’t it have been a work day?! Daniel would leave the house early and I could labour and birth this baby in secret just as I’d planned. But it was Saturday and we were scheduled to go to a family event that afternoon. The heavy weight of the baby sitting low in my pelvis confirmed there was little-to-no chance of me making it to that party.

I paced around the downstairs of our town house until the early morning with its first glimpse of a rising sun filtering through the windows. Bracing myself against walls, tables, all manner of furniture, I spent hours swaying my hips through each agonising contraction that struck, praying they would eventually stop but they never did. I heard Daniel get out of bed and jump in the shower and I busied myself doing the dishes when he came downstairs. He looked at me curiously, seeing my sweaty and flushed face and asked if I was coming down with something. I assured him I was fine as he made his morning coffee, but soon had to twist back around to face the sink to hide the grimace on my face as another strong contraction barrelled its way through my womb. My hands gripped the counter in a white knuckle grip and it took everything I had not to whimper from the pain.

After assuring Daniel that I was alright, I disappeared quickly back upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom. I turned on the shower, the tiled room echoing the loud noise of the powerful jets, and allowed myself to groan deeply through the next contraction. They were less than 15 minutes apart and had the ability to steal my breath away. Gripping the sink and panting heavily, my mind began to spiral and panic. How the fuck was I going to keep this from Daniel?! We were struggling to conceive, if his discovered this pregnancy there would be no way I could pass this baby off as his. He would find out I slept with his best friend and my dream of a suburban family life would be destroyed. The baby sank lower in my hips and my knees dipped into a semi-squat from the increase in pressure. We were supposed to go to a party later, with family and friends, and Daniel would be by my side all day. But this baby was coming, soon if the pressure between my legs was any indication.

I stepped into the shower, attempting to ease the pain knifing at my lower back. Cupping my protruding belly I whispered a plea to the baby to stay put a while longer. I loved my pregnant body and was sad not to have shared this experience, to marvel at the incredible changes of pregnancy, with my partner. But there was an alluring excitement in keeping the baby secret - something just known by them and me. I couldn’t wait to meet the life I had been growing.

My thoughts tempted fate and the next contraction was soon upon me and I doubled over in the shower bracing my knees. The pressure between my thighs was building, the steaming hot water doing very little to ease the pain as it crested, my belly turning to stone and pushing everything downward. “Mnghhhhhhh!!” I grunted, involuntary, and almost dropped into a squat as the urgency built. No… baby, not now.

The water at my feet turned a pinkish murky colour and I knew from the release of pressure that my waters had just broken. Fuck.

When the contraction faded and my legs stopped shaking I carefully stepped out of the shower. Okay… my water’s broken but that doesn’t mean I’ve run out of time. I just need to think of a way of getting Daniel out of the house. I could feel the baby shift and kick within my womb, protesting the situation as much as I was, its head pressing eagerly against my cervix. “Hoooo… it’ll be okay little one. I promise— mnnnnhhhh…” Every breath, every word, that slipped past my lips now laced with a pained groan.

“Are you alright in there, babe?” Daniel asked from the other side of our bathroom door. I clamped my mouth shut and swallowed the involuntary noises from escaping.

“Nng— yeah— fine.” I somehow gritted. The weight and pressure pushing down in my pelvis was quickly making me nauseous.

“Are you sure? You weren’t looking too great downstairs.”

Damn him and his caring nature, just move away from the door before I scream! A contraction struck mere minutes after the last and I couldn’t stop the gasp as my belly visibly hardened and contorted inwards. The pressure was mounting, expanding like a balloon about to burst, my pelvis being shoved apart to make space for the large head that was pressing atop my cervix. I couldn’t breathe, the sensations overwhelming my senses, my stomach rolled and my throat gagged. I was going to be sick.

Dropping to my knees, naked on the floor, I hunched over the toilet bowl and promptly vomited the remnants of last night's dinner into the porcelain. My whole torso contracted in on itself in more ways than one and I completely lost all semblance of control. My taut belly, hardened by labour pains, convulsed and I heaved and coughed loudly. The force of throwing up also resulted in my womb squeezing against the bowling ball in my pelvis, bearing down on the already low head and pushing it into the birth canal.

“Oh sweetheart, are you sick?” Daniel asked through the door. “Let me in honey.”

“No, just— give me a minute…” I gruffed, laying my head in the crook of my elbow.

“We don’t have to go today if you’re not well. I can stay here and look after you.”

Hell no, that is the last thing I need. I asked him to get me some water from the kitchen, to buy me some precious time to gather myself. When the sickness passed I hesitantly put a hand between my legs… the baby so low it felt like it was about to fall out at any minute. I had pushed. I didn’t mean to, it was automatic. But still my body had pushed the baby lower towards its exit. Thankfully it was not as low as it felt as I couldn’t feel a head, but I knew it wouldn’t be long. Wrapping myself in a fluffy dressing gown and schooling as neutral a face as I could, I unlocked the door and greeted my husband as he brought me the requested water.

“I don’t think I’m going to go today, I feel like shit.” I said honestly, taking a sip and slowly walking towards our bed, careful not to waddle from the massive head lodged in my pelvis.

“It’s okay babes, we can cancel. I’ll call your parents.” Daniel offered, helping me to sit.

“No—” I said a little too quickly. “You- you can still go. I’ll just take it easy and s-sleep it off…” He looked at me curiously, trying to ascertain just how unwell I was and if I could be left alone. “Really,” I pleaded, “I’ll be fine. Go, have fun.”

“Well, if you’re sure.”

“I am. Really—mmhh…” My hands clenched tight as another contraction was beginning to appear, my fingernails burrowing deep into my palms. “W-why don’t you go e-early… see if they need h-help setting up.” My stomach tensed beneath my fluffy dressing gown and I shifted subtly on the bed as an immeasurable pressure returned with the pain. This baby was not waiting until the afternoon for Daniel to leave for the party, I desperately needed him to go now.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Daniel joked, tucking a frazzled lock of hair behind my ear. “I want to stay and look after you darling, make sure you’re okay.”

“Mnnn… I just need to lie down…” I huffed, trying to keep the strain from my voice. My body was itching to move, to sway and move my hips, to open up for the emerging baby as the contractions worked hard to deliver the child. But I had to fight against the instincts, ignore all the cues in the recess of my brain. Slumping sideways down on the bed, I curled over my contracting belly and arduously moved to lie under the covers. My skin was radiating heat but I couldn’t remove my dressing gown, couldn’t risk exposing a glimpse of my pregnant body. Had to stay covered, had to hide this baby, had to stay sweating beneath the fluffy gown and duvet covers.

Daniel stroked my hair as I curled up and I couldn’t help but scrunch my eyes through the pain barrelling between my hips. Oh baby, wait a bit more… please.

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright hun?” Daniel questioned once more and I managed to gruff out an assurance, stating that I’d be fine and just needed to be alone.

Thankfully I felt the bed shift, my husband getting up and leaving the room saying something about calling the family and giving me space to rest. I sighed in relief at the sound of the bedroom door closing.

Lying on my side helped the constant stabbing pain in my lower back but it was doing nothing to prevent the baby from making its way further down. I could feel it pressing against every nerve from the inside, pushing its way through the narrow space. I tried to squeeze my thighs, to clench everything I could to stop its movements but nothing worked. The pressure was constant, sitting heavily and urgently at the apex of my thighs. Rolling forward I buried my face deep in the pillow to muffle the rattled groan that came from the pit of my stomach. The baby was right there, its imminent arrival clear by the agonising pressure consuming me. I tried to fight it, meeting every wave with defiance, but my attempts were failing. I needed to push.

Before I was even aware of what was happening my whole body tensed and bore down with the peak of the contraction. It felt…satisfying, to give in to the urge and push alongside the tensing muscles, to work with my body instead of against it. Gasping a ragged breath, I pushed again, more forcefully this time. It was moving, inching closer towards my folds. Without thinking I grabbed my leg, still wrapped under the layers of clothing and duvet, and I pulled it towards me so my thigh was beside my contracting belly. I had to make more room, I needed to open myself up for the emerging babe. The back of my knee was damp from sweat and I gripped it tight, opening my hip beneath the covers, and gritting my teeth I pushed again.

It was coming, I could feel it! The contraction soon ended and I let my leg fall back against the other, curled up sideways on the bed and panting frantic breaths. A knock on the bedroom door brought me out of my birthing bubble, suddenly remembering Daniel was still in the house. Oh fuck, what if he heard me pushing?!

“Honey..? Can I come in?” His tentative voice asked and opened the door a crack. I groaned, neither an acceptance or refusal, but it was all I could manage.

Daniel stepped in our bedroom softly. “I’ve spoken with your parents and I’m going to head over there early and help them set up. I know you like to be alone when you’re unwell.” I nearly cried with relief.

“But I’ll come back to check on you before the party starts, okay?” Daniel perched on the edge of the bed and brushed his fingers through my sweaty hair. I nodded and exhaled heavily, hoping it looked like I was just fighting nausea and nothing more. “I’ll get you a bucket, just in case.” Daniel said sweetly and disappeared into our en-suite bathroom.

The contractions were right on top of each other now, the baby was sitting right between my legs desperate to get out. The next wave hit when Daniel was out of sight and I panted as quietly as I could. Don’t push… don’t push… don’t push… I thought over and over again. Curled up on my side my legs drifted apart, one leg bent at the knee, the other straight down the length of the bed. The pressure was slowly killing me; the strain of holding everything in, the baby slipping lower, pressing gently against my labia despite my efforts. Fuck I needed to push, but I daren’t. Daniel was still here…. Breathe… don’t push… breathe… don’t push… Even with the mantra my body did not adhere to the instructions. At the end of each measured breath I could feel my muscles bearing down and pushing the baby, its head starting to part my sensitive lips.

Daniel came back into the room and placed a bucket beside the bed, right next to the pillow where my face was half buried. “How you holding up?” He asked affectionately. I couldn’t speak, could barely breathe, every ounce of strength going into not actively pushing. Instead I closed my eyes and tilted my face further into the pillow.

In the faint background of my personal hell I could hear my husband slowly pottering around our bedroom as he got himself dressed and ready to leave for the party. Every minute dragged on for hours, as he found his trousers and shirt, muttering to himself, all the while I wanted to scream and howl and push! The baby was parting my folds, its head surely poking out between my thighs. Tears dampened the pillow and I was trembling, trying desperately hard not to push. But even without my participation, the baby was slowly making its way into the world. I nervously lowered one of my hands beneath the heavy covers, feeling between my legs. Oh my gosh… that’s my baby I thought as I felt the slimy surface of the partial sliver of its head. It was moving down, every contraction squeezing it further out of my body. My palm clamped hard over the emerging head… don’t… don’t pushhhhhh… a weak groan rumbled my throat as my body uncontrollably pushed, hard.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Daniel asked.

I was far from okay, I was pushing his best friend's baby into my own palm for fucks sake. In between pushes, I gulped a breath and offered a short and snappy “uh-huh” before my body was forced to bear down once more. My hand remained steadfast in its position between my legs and thankfully the baby didn’t slip out any further. Once the contraction eased I panted a relieved sigh.

“I’m heading out now babes.” Daniel stated aloud. “I’ll be back to check on you later. I love you.”

“Ngghh— love you too—” my rasped voice came from under the covers. I was in too much pain to notice the guilt that twisted in my chest.

I remained frozen in the bed, my ears listening desperately for the sound of the front door to close and his car to start. The roar of the engine, the glorious sound, slipped through the vents in the bedroom window and I sobbed with relief. He was gone!!

Immediately I threw the covers off my sweaty skin and tore myself out the tangled mess of my dressing gown. The baby was partially crowning and my gods I needed to push. Everything hurt, everything ached, I needed to move but there was no strength left in my body to get up. Hooking a leg over the edge of the mattress I rolled off the bed and slipped down to my knees on the luscious carpet.

With my elbows on the mattress and my face buried against the sheets, my knees widened on the floor and my hips sank downwards as I pushed with everything that I had. Burning fiery pressure erupted between my thighs and I growled through the excruciating pain, pushing and pushing and pushing. I couldn’t take it anymore, this baby had to get out. My entire body trembled as the baby stretched me open, but I kept going push after push and with a primal grunt the head finally slipped out. Relief flooded through me as the pressure eased. Panting, desperate for air, I was barely aware of any of my other senses; of the now-damp carpet under my knees, or the sound of the engine returning to our driveway, or the creek of the bedroom door being opened.

“Honey?… I errr… I forgot my phone and then I heard you scream. What’s… what’s going on?” Daniel asked, frozen in shock at the door.

“…um… I erm…” I stuttered, speechless and naked beside the bed, an illegitimate baby hanging between my legs. “I umm…I— I— ohhhh… oh I need to push….!!!” Before I could think of an explanation my body was bearing down once more, birthing my husband’s best friend’s baby right beside our marital bed.

[charliedaltonswife]

My one and only claim about Henry is that he's a yapper. We know it from the books. So why not make it sweet? I would find it endearing (and just so slightly comical) to have Henry, the ever stoic, leaning against the bathtub in which you've planned a relaxing, wine-accompanied bubble bath. To have Henry chat quietly, mindlessly, of whatever topic first reaches his mind, knowing you might not even listen, but nit exactly caring, simply because he wants to be close to you.

Oh, and how even sweeter would it be for him to wash your hair...

A Bath to Ease The Soul

Henry Winter x reader (The Secret History)

nonnie, oh did this get my creative juices flowing, i got so carried away writing this at like 3am after just drinking a coffee. i think this is my longest one yet.

Summary: read the request

Warnings: mother pushing very traditional domestic views

master list found here

You hated - and I mean, hated - visiting your mother. You tried to tell yourself it wouldn’t be so bad this time. Just dinner. Just a few hours. You could handle that. But as the car pulled into the driveway, the sight of your mother’s perfectly manicured front lawn and the pristine wreath hanging on the door filled you with the same quiet panic it always did.

Your mother greeted you with her signature smile, the one that looked genuine to the untrained eye but always carried the sharp undertone of appraisal. She kissed you on the cheek, her perfume clouding around you like a fog, and ushered you inside, where the unmistakable sounds of domestic perfection were already in full swing.

The living room smelled faintly of cinnamon, a carefully curated holiday scent despite it being weeks past the season. Your sister sat on the couch, her newborn cradled in her arms, the picture of serene motherhood. She looked up as you entered, her face lighting up with genuine warmth that made you feel both loved and uncomfortably exposed.

“Sissy” she said, shifting the baby to one arm so she could wave. “You’re here!”

“Of course,” you said, forcing a smile as you dropped your coat onto the nearest chair. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Your mother appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray of neatly arranged hors d'oeuvres, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood. “You’re late,” she remarked, her tone light but not without its sting.

“Traffic, snow on the road” you said simply, knowing better than to offer any further explanation. 

“Well, come in, come in. Don’t just stand there.”

You followed her into the dining room, where the table was already set with the kind of meticulous care that made you vaguely nervous to sit down. The china on the table was worth more than everything in your kitchen combined. 

The evening started innocuously enough. Your sister talked about the baby, her sleeping patterns, her favorite toys, how she already had your brother-in-law wrapped around her tiny fingers. Your mother listened intently, occasionally chiming in with advice or anecdotes from her own experiences raising the two of you. And you waited, you knew what was coming. 

And then, inevitably, the conversation shifted.

“So,” your mother began, her tone casual but her gaze sharp, “any exciting news from you, Y/N? Any boy special in your life?”

You felt the question land like a stone in the pit of your stomach, your carefully constructed defenses threatening to crack under the weight of her scrutiny.

“No, nothing like that,” you said, trying to keep your tone light. “Just busy with my classes, you know.”

Your mother frowned, a delicate crease appearing between her brows. “Education is fine, but it’s not everything. Don’t you want more than that? A husband?”

You felt sick at her words. Your mothers words felt like you had travelled back a couple centuries. 

Before you could respond, your sister chimed in, her voice annoyingly gentle. “Mom, leave her alone. She’s fine.”

Your mother sighed, clearly unimpressed. “I just worry about her. She’s not getting any younger, you know.” 

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to take a slow sip of your wine instead of responding. It wouldn’t do any good to argue. It never did.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of forced smiles and shallow conversation. Your sister’s baby cooed softly, her tiny fingers grasping at the air, and your mother looked at her with the kind of adoration you’d long since given up trying to earn.

By the time you finally escaped, the night was fully dark, the stars hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. The drive home felt longer than usual, the silence somehow made your mother’s words replay louder in your head.

Your apartment greeted you with silence, that particular stillness that always felt both a blessing and a curse. You dropped your bag by the door, kicked off your shoes without bothering to line them up, and sighed. The wine you’d downed at dinner buzzed faintly in your veins, not enough to soften the edges of the evening but enough to make the ache in your temples feel slightly less personal.

You flicked on the lights and surveyed the mess of your living room with the vague dissatisfaction of someone who’s been out of the house long enough to forget what they left behind. A half-empty mug of tea sat abandoned on the coffee table, its contents now a murky swamp of regret.

Well, you thought to yourself, at least no one’s here to judge.

Not like your mother, who had practically appraised you at dinner like you were a loaf of bread she wasn’t sure was worth buying. Not like your sister, who didn’t have to say anything at all because her glowing, perfect existence spoke volumes louder than words. And she was younger than you. Although, she barely finished high school before she fell pregnant. So, in some ways, you felt you had it better than her. 

It was absurd, really, how the evening had played out exactly as you’d known it would, and yet you’d still come home feeling like you’d been hit by a truck. You were too old to still be doing this, subjecting yourself to their quiet disapproval, hoping against all evidence to the contrary that this time, things would be different.

Maybe next time you should just send a cardboard cutout of yourself you thought, toeing off your socks and heading for the bathroom. The bathroom was blissfully cool, the tiles smooth under your bare feet. You turned the taps, the sound of rushing water filling the small space and drowning out the hum of self-doubt still rattling around in your head.

The steam rose quickly, curling in lazy tendrils, and you reached for the bubble bath you kept stashed in the cabinet, the one you only used when you were feeling particularly indulgent, or particularly wrecked. Either way, you deserved it. 

As the scent of lavender filled the room, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. You paused, studying your reflection with the detached curiosity of someone examining a stranger.

Your hair was a little too messy, your makeup slightly smudged from where you’d rubbed at your eyes during dinner. 

“It’s no wonder,” you said aloud, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “You look exactly like someone who spent the evening being reminded of how woefully unaccomplished they are.”

The bath was nearly full now, the bubbles threatening to spill over the sides. You turned off the taps and leaned against the counter for a moment, letting the heat and the lavender and the soft gurgle of the water settle your nerves.

This was what you needed. Not validation from your mother, not the approval of a sister who had never once doubted herself, but this. A quiet room, a hot bath, and enough time to wash away the feeling of not being quite enough. The lavender in the air was soothing, but the cigarette in your hand did the real heavy lifting. You had perched yourself on the edge of the tub, still in your clothes, holding the cigarette between your fingers like it was the only tether to your sanity after a hellish day. You didn’t particularly care that the bathroom was filling with steam or that the cigarette. This was your time, and that was that.

You exhaled a plume of smoke toward the ceiling, watching it swirl and dissipate into nothing. 

Just as you were leaning back against the counter to savor another drag, the door creaked open. Henry stepped in without so much as a knock, his sharp, calculating presence contrasting with the languid heat of the room.

“You know,” he began, his voice as matter-of-fact as ever, “smoking indoors is a sure way to ruin your walls.”

You didn’t bother looking at him. “So is being condescending, but you keep showing up.”

He huffed softly, a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh but carried the same faint amusement. “At least open a window,” he said, crossing the room to the counter where the small sliding window was barely cracked. With an exasperated look, he shoved it open further and glanced at the cigarette in your hand. “Do you even have an ashtray?”

You gestured vaguely with your free hand. “Does it look like I have an ashtray, Henry?”

He sighed, the sort of sigh that implied he thought you hopeless but didn’t quite mind the fact. “Stay there,” he said, disappearing back into the hallway.

You took another drag, waiting. The bath gurgled softly, the bubbles popping against the surface in tiny, irregular bursts. A full minute passed before Henry returned, balancing a small ashtray and a wooden chair in his hands.

“Improvised, but it’ll do,” he muttered, placing the ashtray on the edge of the counter before setting the chair beside the tub. He sat down without ceremony, his long legs awkwardly folded in the cramped space, and rested his elbows on his knees.

The chair looked absurdly out of place in your bathroom. You snorted, finally turning your attention to him. “Are you planning to stay?”

“That depends,” he said, his expression impassive but his voice just warm enough to undercut the dryness of his words. “Will you allow me to indulge in some company, or are you going to sulk in silence all evening?”

You didn’t answer right away, flicking ash into the tray and watching him out of the corner of your eye. He had his head tilted slightly, studying you with that particular intensity that always felt a little invasive but not entirely unpleasant.

“Fine,” you said at last, leaning back against the counter and exhaling a slow stream of smoke. “But if you start lecturing me, I’m throwing you out.”

Henry smirked faintly, his mouth curving in that small, rare way that made you think he might actually be human beneath all the precision and logic.

“I’ll restrain myself,” he said. “Though, you won't believe what Bunny told me today, he claims someone landed on the moon.”

You stared at him for a beat, and then a laugh escaped before you could stop it. “Yes, and?”

“Word for word,” Henry replied, leaning back in the chair with an ease that didn’t match his usual rigidity. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s ridiculous that you learnt a dead language yet you didn’t know of the moon landing,” you said, your smile lingering as you stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray. “Although I’m not sure what’s more ridiculous, that or you sitting on a kitchen chair in my bathroom.”

Henry’s brow arched slightly. “Would you prefer I left?”

“No,” you admitted, surprising yourself with the honesty of it. “I’d rather you stay.”

He nodded, as if the matter were settled, and leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees again. “You seem off today,” he said, his tone gentler now. “I take it dinner didn’t go well?”

You sighed, your shoulders sagging under the weight of the question. “It went about as well as it always does. Mom asked me when I was getting married, and my sister reminded me that I’m failing at womanhood because I don’t have a baby attached to my hip.”

Henry tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “That seems like an odd metric for success.”

“It’s not odd if you’re them,” you said, running a hand through your hair. “It’s tradition, Henry. Marry young, have kids, spend the rest of your life baking pies and judging your neighbors. I’ve apparently failed on all counts.”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on you like he was trying to untangle your words and find the truth hidden beneath them. “And do you care?” he asked finally.

“Not really,” you said, though your tone betrayed a flicker of doubt. “I mean, I care in the sense that it’s exhausting to have them constantly reminding me of what I’m not. But I don’t care enough to change who I am just to make them happy.”

“Good,” he said simply, his voice firm in a way that made your chest ache a little.

You looked at him, surprised. “Good?”

“Yes,” he said, his gaze steady and unwavering. “Because you’d be miserable living a life that wasn’t yours. And, frankly, you’re too interesting to waste on something so banal.”

The words hung in the air between you, unexpected and heavy in their sincerity. You swallowed, unsure how to respond, and finally settled for a quiet, “Thanks.”

Henry leaned back again, his shoulders relaxing as he shifted in the chair. “You’re welcome,” he said, his voice softer now. “Though if you’re planning to spend the rest of the evening wallowing, I’d suggest getting in the bath before the water goes cold.”

You blinked at him, startled by the shift in tone. “You’re really going to sit here while I take a bath?”

“Why not?” he said, his lips twitching with the ghost of a smile. “I have plenty to talk about, and you seem in desperate need of distraction.”

You couldn’t argue with that, so you stubbed out the remains of your cigarette, watching the faint curl of smoke spiral upward. Henry’s gaze flicked toward the ashtray, then back to you, as if assessing whether you were finished sulking or simply pausing for dramatic effect.

“Fine,” you said, standing with a soft sigh. “But if you’re staying, you’re making yourself useful.”

“I already fetched the chair and ashtray,” he pointed out dryly, standing as well. “What more could you possibly require?”

“I don’t know,” you said, unbuttoning your shirt as you walked toward the bath. “Hand me a towel. Keep me entertained.”

Henry didn’t roll his eyes, you doubted he was capable of anything so undignified, but there was a faint quirk of his brow as he picked up the towel you’d tossed haphazardly onto the sink. He handed it to you, his fingers brushing yours briefly before retreating back to the chair he’d claimed.

As you sank into the steaming water, the tension in your shoulders began to dissolve, though the sight of Henry leaning back in the wooden chair, his legs crossed neatly at the ankle, was a small distraction.

“You’re going to sit there and stare at me the whole time, aren’t you?” you asked, settling against the curve of the tub.

He tilted his head slightly. “It depends. Would it make you uncomfortable?”

“Yes,” you said immediately, though the heat creeping into your cheeks suggested otherwise.

Henry hummed softly, clearly unconvinced. “Then I’ll avert my gaze,” he said, his voice tinged with mockery as he turned his head toward the window. “There. Better?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, instead letting your head fall back against the tub. The warmth of the water soaked into your skin, easing away the frustration of the day, and you closed your eyes, content to let the silence settle.

It didn’t last long.

“You’ve been reading Proust again, haven’t you?” Henry asked, his voice cutting through the stillness.

You cracked one eye open, frowning at him. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you’ve been quoting him under your breath,” he said simply. “And because you always fall into this particular mood after reading Swann’s Way.”

You blinked, caught between annoyance and a begrudging sort of admiration. “Do you keep notes on me or something?”

“Of course not,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his hands clasped between his knees. “But I notice things. Like how you always reread the section about the madeleine whenever you’ve had a bad day. Or how you defend Swann’s obsession with Odette, even though you claim to despise sentimentality.”

You groaned, sinking lower into the water. “Can we not analyze my reading habits right now?”

“Would you rather discuss yours or mine?” Henry countered, the faintest hint of a smirk playing at his lips.

“I’m not sure I have the energy for either,” you muttered.

He ignored you, leaning back in the chair as he laced his fingers together in his lap. “I’ve been revisiting Montaigne lately,” he said, as though you’d asked. “His essays on friendship, in particular. There’s a passage where he writes about how true friends are mirrors to one another. That their souls are so intertwined that they become one.”

“Very romantic,” you said, your tone laced with sarcasm.

Henry gave a small shrug. “It’s not about romance. Montaigne was writing about companionship, the kind that transcends any notion of love as we understand it. The kind that’s rare and profound, and ultimately irreplaceable.”

You glanced at him, his profile lit softly by the dim light of the bathroom. There was a weight to his words that made your chest tighten, though you weren’t sure if it was the content or the way he said it, with that quiet, almost unintentional reverence that made you wonder if he was speaking about something specific.

“Well,” you said after a pause, “if Montaigne had friends who talked as much as you, he must’ve been a very patient man.”

Henry chuckled softly, the sound rare and fleeting. “Patience,” he said, “is a virtue.”

“Not one of mine,” you replied, shaking your head slightly and letting your eyes drift closed again.

Henry didn’t argue, and for a moment, you thought he might’ve taken the hint and decided to let you relax in peace. But, of course, that was wishful thinking.

“Do you ever think about the way writers immortalize people?” he asked suddenly.

You cracked one eye open, staring at him. “What?”

“Think about it,” he said, leaning forward again. “Proust wrote Odette into eternity because of Swann. Dante canonized Beatrice. Even Montaigne’s essays are filled with reflections of his closest friend. It’s a kind of madness, really, to believe you can preserve someone forever in words.”

You frowned, unsure where he was going with this. “What’s your point?”

He tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “Do you ever wonder,” he said quietly, “what someone might write about you.”

The question hung in the air, heavy and unexpected.

“Hopefully something better than ‘she smokes in the bathroom and sulks in the tub,’” you said, trying to mask the sudden tightness in your throat with humor.

Henry’s lips curved slightly, though his eyes remained serious. “I think,” he said, his voice low, “they’d write about how you find humor in the absurd. How you’re more than anyone expects you to be.”

You stared at him, caught off guard by the sudden softness in his tone. “That’s very poetic Henry,” you said finally, your voice quieter now.

“I’ve been told I have my moments,” he replied, settling back in his chair. For once, you didn’t argue.

Henry stood from his chair without a word, his long shadow stretching across the bathroom tiles as he stepped toward the sink. He reached for the bottle of shampoo sitting on the counter, flipping it open and testing the consistency between his fingers. You watched him with a mix of amusement and curiosity, the faintest smile tugging at your lips.

“What are you doing?” you asked, though the question was half-hearted.

“Washing your hair,” he said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“What in God’s name- I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He placed the bottle on the edge of the tub and rolled up his sleeves with deliberate precision, exposing the sharp planes of his forearms. It was such a Henry gesture, that you couldn’t help but laugh softly under your breath.

“Do you even know how?” you teased, tilting your head back to meet his gaze.

He gave you a look, one that was equal parts amused and vaguely condescending. “It’s not that difficult,” he said, crouching beside the tub. “Tilt your head back.”

You obeyed, leaning your head against the curve of the tub as he cupped his hands to gather water, carefully pouring it over your hair. The warmth seeped into your scalp, and you let out a soft sigh, your body sinking deeper into the water.

“This is absurd,” you murmured, though your voice lacked conviction.

“You can thank me later,” he replied, his tone dry as he worked a small amount of shampoo into his palms.

His hands were gentle as they worked through your hair, his fingertips massaging your scalp with a kind of practiced ease that made you wonder if he’d done this before. There was a certain tenderness in the way he handled you. Something that made this feel intimate. You sure wouldn’t want Bunny or Richard barging in. 

“Have you always been this bossy?” you asked, your eyes closed as his fingers traced careful patterns against your skin.

“Only when necessary,” he replied.

“And you think this is necessary?”

“I think you’ve had a long day,” he said simply, his voice softer now. “And I think you’re too stubborn to admit you need someone to take care of you every once in a while.”

Your lips parted to argue, but the words died on your tongue as his fingers moved to the nape of your neck, kneading the tension there with a skill that left you momentarily speechless.

“See?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “You’re already proving my point.”

You groaned softly, though it was more out of reluctant enjoyment than genuine annoyance. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered.

“I’ve been called worse,” he said with a faint smile, rinsing the suds from your hair with another careful pour of water.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the soft lapping of the water against the tub and the rhythmic motion of his hands in your hair. It was... soothing, in a way you hadn’t expected, and you found yourself relaxing in his presence in a way that felt oddly vulnerable.

“You’re quiet,” Henry remarked after a moment, his tone almost teasing. But you didn't respond, slightly scared you were going to wake up from a dream or something. 

He hummed softly, his hands moving to smooth the strands of your hair back from your face. “You know,” he said, his voice thoughtful, “I was reading something the other day about rituals. About how they can make the mundane feel sacred.”

You opened one eye, glancing up at him. “And this is your idea of a ritual?”

“Perhaps,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Though I doubt Montaigne had bubble baths in mind.”

You snorted softly, the sound cutting through the quiet. “You really can’t turn it off, can you?”

“Turn what off?”

“That incessant need to intellectualize everything,” you said, though there was no real bite to your words.

Henry’s smile widened slightly, and he reached for the towel he’d set aside earlier, draping it gently over your shoulders. “Perhaps not,” he admitted. “But I’d argue it’s part of my charm.”

You rolled your eyes, but the gesture was half-hearted. “You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, though the faint smile on your lips betrayed your words.

His voice low and amused, “But here you are, letting me wash your hair.”

Henry’s hands stilled, resting lightly on your shoulders as he adjusted the towel, tucking it more securely around you. The air in the room shifted, the playful tension dissipating into something softer, quieter. You leaned back against the curve of the tub, your eyes drifting shut, the warmth of the water lulling you into a pleasant haze.

The silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable but companionable, filled with the faint dripping of water and the occasional rustle as Henry shifted in his seat. He didn’t leave; you’d known he wouldn’t. Instead, you felt him settle against the edge of the tub again, his hand brushing against yours briefly as he adjusted his position.

You opened your eyes just enough to catch him gazing at you, not in the sharp, calculating way he often regarded the world, but with a gentleness you weren’t sure you’d ever seen before. It was disarming, that look, as if he were seeing parts of you that even you didn’t know existed.

“Comfortable?” he asked quietly, his voice low and soft, as if he didn’t want to disturb the stillness.

You nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “More than.”

He gave a small nod, seemingly satisfied, and leaned back slightly, his head tilting against the wall. “Good.”

For a moment, you thought he might lapse into silence again, but then he started talking, quietly, almost absentmindedly, as though the words had been waiting to spill out all along. He spoke of a poem he’d been reading earlier in the day, his voice steady and soothing, weaving the verses into the air between you. He recited a line here and there, translating the meaning, tracing its cadence like a finger over parchment.

And then, as if the poem had unlocked something in him, he moved seamlessly into other topics. He talked about a book he’d been meaning to recommend to you, about a theory he’d read concerning the relationship between mythology and memory. His voice was unhurried, lilting, each word delivered as if he were sharing a secret meant only for you. You listened, not to every word of course, but to the rhythm of his voice, letting it wash over you like the water pooling around you.

Without thinking, you shifted slightly in the tub, your hand brushing against his where it rested on the edge. You expected him to move away, to pull back into himself as he often did, but he didn’t. Instead, his fingers curled around yours briefly, a small, almost imperceptible gesture, but one that spoke volumes.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice barely audible over the hum of the heater kicking on.

“For what?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

“For staying,” you said simply, the words carrying a weight you couldn’t quite explain.

He didn’t reply immediately, but his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, his thumb brushing against your skin in a gesture that felt almost instinctive. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it.

“Always.”

[eternal-love]

Lover, you’re on your own

Pairings: Austin Butler x Female!Reader

Summary: After years of your divorce, Austin and you get in each other’s way again. Catch up, know what happened in last few years.

Author’s note: I don’t even know what this plot is but I kinda liked the idea of Austin and Reader finding themselves again. I kinda liked it, idk.

Warning: mentions of divorce, unhealthy relationships, children loss, spousal death, the reader’s been through a shit ton of divorces.

You were inside a café in New York City, enjoying being in your own for a while. After another hectic divorce, the choice of going to a bar wasn’t even on your mind anymore.

You started to wonder if you were cursed, you didn’t even care to count how many divorces you’ve had in the last thirteen years. Were you really never good enough to be a long time wife? Or did faith have something else for you in store? Whatever it was, life treated you like trash.

You drank your coffee quietly as she scrolled through your phone, you heard the door of the café open and close. You were very perceptive of who came in, who left, who coughed, who laughed. And once you saw who came in, you had to do a double take.

You knew that guy— man. He wasn’t a young guy anymore but a man. Austin. All those years ago and you still remembered him. Of course you had seen his rapid success these last years, he was everywhere. But you were in his past and you understood it. You didn’t expect anything but you wouldn’t lie if you said you didn’t want him to at least recognize you, wave at you or at least smile and nod his head.

You focused on your overpriced coffee and muffin, stealing gentle glances towards him. Until one time, you both made eye contact, he was going to turn back to his phone but immediately turned back again to see you. Oh, he recognized you!

“Hey.” His deep voice spoke as he reached your small table. You looked up.

“Austin. Wow. Hi!” You said, as if you had just seen him. “Oh my goodness, it’s been so long.” You stood up, greeting him with a hug.

“Look at you. You’re all grown up now.” He smiled at you. Whistling a little.

“I could say the same about you.” You said, sitting down again. Thank God he recognized you.

“Wow. I just can’t believe it. It’s been what… ten years?”

“Thirteen.” You corrected him. His eyes widened.

“Thirteen years? Damn, that long? He chuckled. “What are you doing in New York anyways. You used to tell me how much you hated the city.”

“A girl can change. And I find that bars here serve much better drinks.” You chuckled with him, then there was a calm silence before he spoke up.

“I heard you got married. Who’s the lucky guy?”

You sighed, showing him your empty right hand. Oh, so divorced already?

“How long?” He asked.

“Two years married. It was just a disagreement between us. We weren’t looking for the same shit in the long run anyways.” You sighed. It was better to say that than to reveal that your last husband left you for a barely legal girl.

“Two years. Damn.” Austin pressed his lips together, he looked away as he brought the cup to his lips.

“I heard you’re dating a model. Cindy Crawford’s daughter. That’s nice, it give you some… it factor.” You said, you were being half sarcastic and half truthful.

“Ah. Yes, Kaia.” He said, he really didn’t sound enthusiastic. “Everything is going just fucking peachy.” He said, a smirk on his lips.

You nod. The whole tired voice went over your head. He was dating a model, what else could a man wish for? If not a model with long limbs.

“Listen. I’m filming a movie right not but— I surely can make time to see you again. You said you drink, right?”

Your eyes immediately lit up, of course you could make time for him. Well, you wanted to catch up. That’s all.

“Sure. Yeah, what day?”

It was a cold night. But inside the bar it was cozy. You both had ordered, he ordered an Old-Fashioned and you ordered a Cosmopolitan.

You started drinking the night away, you weren’t outright tipsy, but the alcohol was getting to your head.

“I really, really wanted to ask. What’s the true reason behind your divorce?” He asked as he held his glass on his big hands.

You sighed. You were already here. You had known him forever. Yes, you two might have not seen each other in more than a decade, but beforehand you were husband and wife. You shouldn’t be honest at least.

“He cheated on me. With the neighbor.” You confessed, he gasped softly, his hand going to his mouth. “Yeah. She was nineteen, now he’s dating her.”

“What a motherfucker…” Austin said, rubbing his chin.

“I’m starting to believe I curse every guy that gives me a ring. Seriously, five failed marriages. I must be cursed.” You sighed, his eyes widened even more.

“Five you say?” His voice was incredulous. Five. Five marriages. He was your first, of course. “What about the other three? If you don’t mind me asking…”

“My second husband, Tyler, we weren’t a match made in heaven. I guess he scared me a lot. He would drink his paycheck away. We divorced because his incompetent ass went to rehab.” You sighed as you played with the napkins.

“Then there was Eric, he was boring. He spent more time on his office than he did with me. He wasn’t so bad, he was just distant, very. He loved his job more than he ever loved me. He didn’t even talk to me, he just left the divorce papers in the kitchen. He had left a day prior.”

“Then there was… Nate.” You sighed, looking down again at the napkin you’ve been ripping apart. “He wasn’t perfect. Indeed he could be very moody and he yelled all the time. But I cared for him. I didn’t expect him to be taken from me. No wife does. By I learned to accept it. Now I remember him from time to time. I take flowers to his grave whenever I can.”

Austin’s eyes softened as he reached out his hand and placed it upon your shoulder, giving you a gentle squeeze. My goodness, where did you find those bastards to marry?

“Got any kids?” He asked you. Softly. Threading carefully.

“I tried. After we lost our boy, I really tried to get pregnant again. I wasn’t able to.” You said softly, you had at least wanted a baby. Not because you thought it would fulfill you. That was crap. But you wanted a kid so that you wouldn’t be so alone. “But I’m also grateful I never had a kid. It wouldn’t have been healthy if I had the kid calling three men daddy.”

“That’s true.” Austin said, taking a sip from his glass and nodding his head. “Listen. I know that you might think that I’ve forgotten about our baby. I haven’t. I visit the grave whenever I can. It’s just hard for me. Still. To believe he would have been thirteen this year.”

Austin looked down again. Taking your hand in his, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand.

Your baby boy would have been thirteen this year. How time flies.

You and Austin had been eighteen when you had a shotgun wedding because he knocked you up. He had been nervous but so happy. I mean, a tiny baby? He adored tiny babies. It was a happy married albeit you two didn’t know what to do.

But then, it happened, you delivered a beautiful baby boy. A tiny black-haired beauty, he had been a fighter, he had tried to beat the heat stroke that took him. You cried for days, he was there by your side, but he was young too and he was battling with his own demons, he quite literally filled for divorce out of nowhere, when you needed him the most.

You never saw each other again until now.

“I sometimes wonder, how different my life would be if he had lived.” Austin said softly, looking at you.

“Me too.” You wanted to cry, but you held back. You already cried a lot to your first child. You cried in private, like a prayer.

“Maybe we should’ve stayed married.” Austin said, almost with a hint of hopelessness. You stared up at him, a small smile on your lips.

“You were the best of them all.” You said, a smile on your lips. For all his faults, back then he was a kid too, and he mourned in whatever way he found fit.

“What a terrifying thought,” he finished his Old-Fashioned and laughed once again, shaking his head as he licked his lips. “Jesus Christ, don’t say that.”

You laughed together again, as you had done when you were younger. As you used to do late at night. And for some hours, you were happy by his side. He took this as an opportunity to talk about him now.

“You know, my girlfriend and I are having problems. Last thing I knew was that she fucked this comedian guy, from SNL…”

As you waited for a taxi, you smoked together. Maybe this could be the last time you two saw each other. Your lives were the total opposite now. He was a successful actor with a girlfriend and you were an office worker, who spent all her time working or outside.

But you couldn’t deny that when he talked, you stared at his lips, he stared at yours. The way he smoked, the way he held the cigarette.

“Aren’t you lonely now? I mean, you’re all alone.” Austin asked as he threw the ash on the floor.

“I’m trying to learn how to be alone. It will be my next year’s resolution. Stay away from dating.” You chuckled, you then took a drag from your cigarette. “But yes. I can’t get lonely from time to time. I have been someone’s wife for too long, being and living with someone changed the way you feel once they’re gone.”

“I can relate. Kaia and I— we never even got to live together before everything went south. All just because of her stupid parents and her stupid pap walks. It’s exhausting, really.” He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose with this empty hand. “And now that I finally put my limits. She’s all mad at me, with her team sending these ridiculous articles, making me the bad guy.”

“Hey, it’ll get better.” You said, patting his shoulder. “That’s what you get for dating a twenty-something year old.” You patted his shoulder a bit more playfully.

You two started playing with one another, pushing each other playfully, the cigarettes on the floor already. Until he cornered you in the brick wall.

He leaned in and kissed you, you followed the kiss, at first it started slow but it escalated quickly. His tongue entered your mouth, both your tongues danced with one another, his hand went to your neck, pressing it softly. You both could taste the cigarette and liquor on your lips and mouths.

You hadn’t kissed someone in so long, but it wasn’t right. It wasn’t. No. Not like this. No, you had promised yourself that you wouldn’t say anymore.

So after a while, you pushed him off you gently. He was out of breath, he kicked his lips, his hand going to the side of your head, he leaned down.

“You could survive another man…” He basically purred out, his lips on a smirk.

“It wouldn’t work between us.” You said. Looking into his eyes.

“Why not?” He asked, his eyes only showed confusion.

He would forget you, and you would forget him. For the love of God, never once in thirteen years did he try to contact you, and viceversa. You both would remember your baby boy, but not one another. You two would disappear into each other’s memory until you were old and wrinkly, telling your grandchildren or whatever young person asked about your youth. Talking about how you had a shotgun wedding. Of how you two lost your baby. About how you two continued each other’s lives like strangers.

“We’re too different now.” You said, it was all you could mutter.

Not all the bottled up pain you had from when he just left you, grieving and alone. Nothing. You just couldn’t even talk about it anymore.

He stared at you and nodded. You know what? He understood. He understood where you came from. He was a dick back then. And he couldn’t expect you to jump into his arms after all the men you went through, after what you went through with him.

“It’s alright.” He said, pulling away from you. “I guess I should go back to my apartment, it’s late.” He cleared his throat and came closer to hug you. “It was great seeing you again. I hope we see each other walking by or something. Goodbye.”

He knew he was lying. He was pleased to see you, but every time he looked at you, he saw your younger self. He saw the baby. He saw all the bad things. He loved you once. Not anymore. He had a special place for you in his memory.

But it would be the last time you two saw each other.

As you watched him walk away, you took deep breaths. That was it. You were alone once again. As you had been before he walked into the café. You had no one to turn to tomorrow.

As a taxi pulled to the side, you got in and told the driver the address of the hotel you were staying at.

You were all on your own.

I won’t have any free time from now on so… I’ll try to really write whenever I have time.

[babydollslibrary]

NEVER GROW UP — JOHN MARINO

john marino x fem!reader

published: July 16th, 2023

summary: in which y/n puts she and John’s newborn to bed and remembers moments of her childhood while feeling homesick out in New Jersey

GIF by eyesthatroll

my eyes are soft. tear filled orbs, gazing down at the one month old in my arms.

the wood of the rocking chair numbs my body, but i’m not quite ready to get up yet.

her tiny hand is wrapped around my index finger, squeezing in reassurance that i’m still here. her face nuzzled against my shirt.

her little eyelids flutter, and my heart grows heavy in my chest. thoughts of her growing up make my heart break.

“i won’t let anybody hurt you, my love.” my whispers carry in the open nursery room. “i won’t let anyone break your heart, or desert you.”

my voice cracks as sobs rack my chest, and i know i must put her down before i awaken her with my tears.

i rise to my feet, carefully setting her in her crib for her first night sleeping in her own room.

walking over to the wall, i flick on the little cloud nightlight plugged into the outlet. a heavy weight settling inside of me as i step back to the crib, watching as my daughter sleeps.

“please, just try to never grow up.” i mumble through choked sobs.

i quietly exit the room, padding down the hallway and back to the living room to clean up.

my husbands game is still playing on the tv at the lowest volume, the score having changed since the last time i was watching.

my eyes flicker between the game and the baby monitor on the coffee table as i sit and fold laundry. the camera pans in on a close-up of my husband and i bite back a small smile as i look back down at the monitor and see my baby do the same nose scrunch as her father.

who knew that after all these years, we’d be here? married, living in New Jersey, with a newborn baby.

i can’t help but let my mind wander back to our very first date.

**PAST: DECEMBER, 2011**

“mom, can you please just drop me off right there?” i point to the sidewalk out the passengers side window, my fingertip pressing against the cool glass.

“what?” her tone is incredulous. confused to say the least. “honey, the movie theater is still around the block.”

“yeah, that’s kinda the point, mom.” i groan. “do you know how embarrassing it would be to show up on my first date with my mom dropping me off?”

“you’re fourteen years old, y/n. it’s not embarrassing.” she tells me, but she still rolls to a stop on the side of the road. she sighs, hitting the unlock button. “go ahead.”

“thank you!” i exclaim, throwing the door open and jumping out of the car. “love you, mom!”

“love you too! have fun!” her words are cut off by the slamming of the car door and i’m already smoothing out my sundress as i start fast walking the rest of the way to the movies.

i pull my cardigan tighter around my body, attempting to fight the Massachusetts mid-December chill. i must deal with the consequences of my clothing choice.

it takes me around 7 minutes to get there, and the first thing my eyes lock on through the glass doors is John.

my heart races, my palms getting clammy, and i quickly wipe them on my dress.

what if he wants to hold hands?

i can’t let my hands be sweaty.

that’s gross.

i open the door, fighting to keep the grin off my face as i walk his way.

“hi.” my hands are clasped behind my back, my voice timid and shy.

“hey.” he smiles, the tip of his button nose slightly red from the cold.

“should we get tickets?” my teeth gnaw into my bottom lip as he nods, leading the way to the ticket counter.

John pays for our movie tickets, even going so far as to buy a bucket of popcorn and two drinks, despite me nervously offering to help. i wasn’t sure what the appropriate etiquette was.

was i supposed to pay for my ticket?

he follows behind me as i hike up the steps of the theater, to the seats all the way in the top row.

“is here okay?” i ask quietly. the theater is relatively empty, only around four other couples in our company.

“here’s great.” he nods, gesturing for me to sit.

it’s halfway through the movie that i get the courage to lace my fingers with his, his hand already perched upon the armrest between us.

and it’s not until after the movie, standing in the cold night air, that he presses his lips against mine.

it’s my first kiss.

it wasn’t fireworks or leg popping, like i’ve seen in the movies. rather awkward, our noses bumping and the kiss chaste.

but it’s perfect, because it’s with him.

**PRESENT**

it wasn’t until a couple months later that we actually earned the title of boyfriend and girlfriend. despite already acting like it at school.

but now we’re husband and wife. having gotten married ten years into dating.

wiping the leftover tears from my eyes, i watch the time run down, a buzzer sounding on the tv and signifying the end of the game.

New Jersey Devils, 6-2.

a smirk spreads across my lips as i think back to this morning. John’s worry over playing the Rangers.

i told him they would win.

my hand grasps into the laundry basket, pulling out another article of clothing to fold, and i look down to see my sophomore year school spirit shirt. still a staple in my pajama drawer.

i bite my lip, memories flooding back to me from just mere months after John and i got together. back when i first got this shirt.

**PAST: APRIL, 2012**

music echoes through my bathroom, my mother chuckling as she walks past.

my little plug-in radio sits on the counter, blasting pop hits as i apply mascara to my lashes. i’m leaned in close to the mirror, nearly touching it with the hand that enclosed around the mascara wand.

i sing along to the Katy Perry song currently playing as i put the makeup item away. staring at my reflection in the mirror. my black school spirit shirt and baggy plaid pajama shorts adorn my body, and i shimmy my hips to the beat of the song.

“y/n! you better hurry up or you’ll be late for school!” my mother calls up the stairs, and i roll my eyes.

“i’m hurrying, mom!” i tell back, huffing in frustration. “i can’t look like i didn’t try! i have a boyfriend now!”

she doesn’t understand.

i take one last glance at my makeup, confirming it’s up to my standards, before i run a brush through my hair.

i dance around the bathroom, brushing my hair as i think about John.

John.

god, he’s amazing.

the sweetest boy i’ve ever met, and i get to call him mine.

“y/n!” my mom’s voice carries up the stairs and i let out a frustrated groan.

“coming!” i shout back, finally leaving back to my room to put on the outfit i had carefully selected from my closet the night prior.

snatching the school bag from my desk chair, i stop by the bathroom to shut my radio back off before bounding down the stairs.

“c’mon, mom!” i throw open the front door, leaving my mother to follow me as i rush out to her car.

“children.” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head as she pulls out of the driveway.

**PRESENT**

i click the tv off, setting the remote back on the coffee table before i pick up the basket of folded laundry and head towards John and i’s bedroom.

i set the baby monitor on the top of my nightstand, setting the basket down on the bed.

the house is silent, nothing but the sound of drawers closing as i put clothing back in their rightful places, and static from the monitor.

finishing the chore, i stick the basket back in the corner of the bedroom so we can continue using it as a hamper, before i turn back around and just stare at the bedroom.

my emotions run rampant tonight. on an all time high from my daughter sleeping in the nursery for the first time. and these emotions certainly don’t let up when i spot the little bunny nightlight plugged into the wall, half hidden by the dresser.

my nightlight.

the same one i used my entire childhood. my mother used to preach that it was a miracle it still worked when i moved out; but even if it hadn’t, i’m not sure i could’ve bore getting rid of it. too many memories attached to it.

tears gather in my eyes as i picture my childhood bedroom. the pink walls, the nightlight, the boyband posters, the stuffed animals that had made a home upon my twin sized bed.

with that comes the remembrance of sitting on my bedroom floor, barbie’s clutched in my hands when i would hear my father arrive home from work. i remember stomping down the stairs, eager to tell him about my day at school.

i remember my teenage years, when my brother would play his music too loud from his bedroom beside mine. yelling at him to turn it down, and it all ultimately always ending with us pleading our cases to our mother; who would shake her head and sigh before telling us to love one another.

she always used to tell us we would miss each other one day, and i was a brat, who rolled my eyes and would rebuttal. claiming that i would never miss someone so annoying.

now, my brother lives across the country, and i have no shame in admitting that i do miss him. sometimes, on nights like this especially, i look back and miss when we got along.

i miss driving him to his friends houses, our screaming of lyrics covering over the actual music. i miss sitting in his room as he ranted about his basketball practices, or watching movie on the couch, arguing over who got to hold the popcorn. i even miss our fights. slamming my bedroom door after he called me a ‘bitch’ or smacking his head when he tried to embarrass me in front of John.

tears gather in my eyes and i frustratingly run my hand down my face. pulling my phone out of the pocket of John’s pajama pants that i wear, my thumb taps the screen a few times before i hold it up to my ear, listening to the tone of the outgoing call.

it’s nearly eleven-thirty at night, but somehow i’m not shocked when the call is picked up after the third ring. no words can even be said from the other line before i speak.

“mommy?” i choke out, crumbling to sit on the floor of the bedroom.

“hey, honey. what’s wrong?” her tone is soft and she lets out gentle shushes when a sob escapes my lips.

“i miss you.” i admit between heaves of tears.

“i miss you too, baby.” she tells me, her voice cracking.

“how did you do this?”

“do what, honey?” she questions as i wipe at my eyes.

“it’s so hard.” i cry, not fully answering her question. “she’s a month old today, and i know John and i talked about it a long time ago and decided she would sleep in her own room now-”

i pause to catch my breath between the sobs.

“but i’m not ready for it, momma.” i confess. “i don’t want her to grow up.”

“it’s okay, baby. i promise, it’ll be okay.” she coos.

“how do you know?” i ask.

“because i did this twice, didn’t i?” she lets out a wet laugh. “and look at that, you’re still calling your old mom when you’re sad.”

i can’t hold back a chuckle at her joke. she has a point.

“yeah, that’s true.” i huff out.

“she has to grow up, honey. all you can do is be there for her as she does.” i stand up from the floor, wiping my tears again.

“okay.” i nod, although she can’t see me.

“you okay, baby? or do you want me to stay on?”

“i’ll be okay. i think John should be home soon.” i say, pacing the bedroom.

“okay. i love you. don’t hesitate to call me again.” i nod once more, repeating the three words back to her before i hang up.

my eyes go back to the nightlight and i determinedly stalk over, pushing against the side of the dresser with my shoulder and moving it out of the way before i kneel down and flick on the nightlight. i rise back to my feet, clicking off the ceiling light and admiring as a soft glow from the nightlight fills the room.

crawling up the king sized bed, i climb under the covers, nuzzling my head into my pillow. pulling the blanket up to my chin, i lay on my side and stare at the baby monitor, lovingly watching my baby as she sleeps.

i lose track of how long i lay there, drowning out the world in favor of watching mine. but at some point, my focus is ripped away when my husband walks into our room.

his gear bag is slung over his shoulder and a wide grin resting on his face, but it drops when he sees my position and the comfort nightlight on. his eyes soften and he slowly places his bag on the floor, stepping over and squatting down next to the bed, his face vertical to mine.

“hey, babygirl.” his hand comes up to my head, smoothing my hair back. “are you okay?”

i hum out in agreement, giving a slight nod of my head, and a pity filled smile graces his lips.

“i don’t think you are.” he whispers. “the tension in this room is awfully sad for someone who says they’re okay.”

a choked giggle escapes me at his joke, and i bite at my lip to push back the tears that try and resurface. John presses a soft kiss to my cheek before standing once again.

he makes quick work of changing out of his game day suit, opting for pajama pants and no shirt, before he joins me in the bed.

snuggling down under the blanket, he pulls me back into his chest, resting his chin on my shoulder.

“what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” he questions, his breath fanning over my cheek.

i flip over in his arms, coming face to face with him. my hand moves on its own accord, ghosting over his cheek and then letting my fingertip slide down the bridge of his nose.

“do you remember our first date?” i ask him quietly.

“i remember how nervous i was.” he chuckles. “i remember that it took me three months to even get the courage to ask you out. and Paul kept calling me a pussy.”

i bark out a laugh, my head tipping back.

“you seemed so confident! i was a nervous wreck! i made my mom drop me off around the block because i was mortified she was driving me.” i confess.

“babe, we were fourteen! how else were you supposed to get there? neither of us could drive.” he chuckles, running his thumb over my cheekbone.

“well i get that now.” i tell him. “but when you’re young, you don’t really understand that.”

“anyways, this wasn’t the point.” i redirect. “tonight was just really hard. i don’t want her to grow up.”

“i know. i don’t want her to grow up either.” he whispers. “god, if i could freeze time, i would.”

“she’s sleeping in her own room tonight.” i point out the obvious.

“i saw.” he draws circles on my lower back, an anxious habit he’s always had, but that has amplified since we first even found out i was pregnant.

“is it wrong of me to say i hate it?” i ask weakly.

“if it’s wrong then we’re both wrong.” he admits. he turns onto his back, pulling me with him so my head rests on his chest, my ear pressed right over his heart.

it’s silent for a moment, nothing but his heartbeat coming to my ears, before he speaks again.

“i know she can’t sleep in here forever, but i kinda wish she could.”

“me too.” i murmur, my eyes falling heavy after the loaded emotions felt tonight.

John continues to draw circles on my back, soothing me and causing my eyes to drift closed in the silence.

“goodnight, my love.” i hear him whisper, just conscious enough to hear him, not quite enough to respond. “these past twelve years have been the best of my life. i’ve loved growing up with you, and i’m so grateful that our love has grown along with us.”

[wednesdays-buck]

. . . a 9-1-1 abc fic rec!

🚒❤️🚒❤️🚒

Buck is Trying by brownbananas (nickel710)

“What’s with Chim?” Eddie asked quietly as he presented Hen with a mug of coffee, which they both knew was a bribe to get information.

She gave him an unamused look, but accepted the coffee and leaned onto the counter. “He’s got some plan to break the LAFD record for the annual blood drive competition between houses,” she answered.

“Exactly,” Chim’s voice chimed in, and Eddie groaned as he looked over his shoulder to find the man himself grinning from ear to ear as he caught Hen and Eddie chatting about the blood drive. “Do you remember that YouTuber I met a year and a half ago?”

Hen squinted her eyes thoughtfully. “That really tall guy?” she asked after a moment, her face lighting up as she remembered.

“That’s him! His channel is called ‘Buck is Trying.’”

The Long Road Home by inkinmyheartandonthepage

“Hey! I’m Buck,” he had said as he held the bathroom door open for the boy to pass through. “You’re on the bus with me.”

Chris had squinted up at Buck. “Yeah! You’re reading the book on – on space!”

Buck hadn’t realised that the boy had taken any notice of him. “Yeah, I am. And you’re reading Percy Jackson, right?”

Chris had looked delighted that Buck knew about his book. “Yeah! I’m Christopher.”

“Nice to meet you, Christopher,” Buck said.

I’ll Take You All The Way, Boy Just Come Along by fruitsdoesnotknow

Sighing, Eddie checks the desk again, about to abandon the cause when sees something wedged in the back. Trying to get a hold of the paper stuck behind a book, Eddie tugs at it forcefully and steps back with a yelp. He looks down and sees his finger’s got a fine line of blood emerging, and he sucks it into his mouth as he opens up the paper.

“Chris? Is this what you’re looking for?” He hands the paper over, and Chris snatches it while he reads it over, squinting, before gasping and shoving it into his bag.

“Yes! Let’s go, I’m late!” He grabs his crutches and speeds out of there, and Eddie slumps his shoulders before chasing after him with a curse as he glances at his watch.

That’s how his day starts. It only goes downhill from there.

***

The Diaz boys are having a rough day. Lucky for them, they meet a firefighter at the 118 who's determined to do anything he can to make them smile. It works, it really, really works.

Browsing by helloimgh

Firefighter Eddie Diaz and his son Christopher walk into Buck’s bookshop and let him change their lives.

The Tooth Fairy by snowflake194

Eddie sighed, turning back to Christopher. “Mijo, look,” he deadpanned, pointing to the guy. “The Tooth Fairy decided to sit next to us.” “You’re the Tooth Fairy?” Christopher asked, looking at him like he was Santa Claus and a superhero all rolled into one. “Of course,” the man said, straightening up and puffing out his chest a little. “But you can call me Buck.”

OR: Christopher loses his first tooth on a plane to LA, and a random stranger is there to save the day.

(A collection of semi-connected oneshots. AKA: My happy bubble)

Baby, You Can Drive My Car by serenelystrange

“Oh, I am going to murder the new guy,” Buck hisses under his breath.

In which Buck hates the new salesman at work with a burning passion, but Eddie doesn't even know they're fighting.

Suffice to say, they fall in love.

The Weight of it All by serenelystrange

“You want a husband?” Buck asks, still giggling lightly to himself. “I can make dad jokes if I’m a step-dad, right?”

Eddie just shakes his head in amusement and flips on the radio, letting Buck get wrapped up into singing along to a bubblegum pop song.

He never does answer the question

(In which Eddie is Obviously Straight. The fact that he can’t stop thinking about his new gym buddy is irrelevant.)

power forward by circuslife

Maddie fiddles around on her phone for a moment. “March 29th is the Kings game?” she asks, and Eddie nods. “I can get you rinkside.” Eddie almost chokes on his drink. “And how much is that going to cost?” he asks, considering the cheapest ticket he’s seen is pushing $350 and even then they weren’t rinkside. Eddie feels faint at the thought of it. But Maddie giggles and says, “Nothing, they’d be free.” Eddie goes to argue, tries to tell Maddie he absolutely cannot take tickets worth probably $500 off her hands for nothing but she shakes her head some more. “My brother plays for the Leafs,” she explains, “the tickets are free for me to get, Eddie.”

Or, Chris has really gotten into hockey lately. Good thing Maddie's brother plays for Chris's favourite team.

Red Solo Cup by 7ate9

Eddie was less than thrilled when Chris came home with a red solo cup full of dirt. He was so happy to tell Eddie about the class speaker they had, a botanist—“plant guy,” he called him—who helped them plant a flower. Eddie was used to Chris dumping all of his latest endeavors on him, and it would certainly disappoint the kid when his plant died because Eddie couldn’t care for it.

But Chris took care of it. He took care of Queen and loved her, but of course, she started to wilt. So, what else could Eddie do but pack up his son and the plant, drive over to the botanist that came to speak to their class, and find out what was wrong with the plant? And maybe drool over the guy, just a little bit? No harm, right?

On the Light Up Floor by Mooeyeddie (mooeyeddie)

[EXPLICIT]

But standing before him, was without question, the hottest man he had ever met and, if the lime slice Shannon threw at his head was anything to go by, he had been staring for far too long.

“Hi,” he blurted, the lime doing its job at pulling him back out of his thoughts.

“Hey,” the guy grinned crookedly and leaned against the bar, curly hair flopping across his forehead in a way that threatened Eddie’s mind to bluescreen again.

“Hello!” Shannon chimed in with an evil grin, pointedly ignoring Eddie’s glare, elbow on the bartop, head resting on her palm.

Or:

In which Buck is a firefighter and Eddie is the worst bartender the world has ever seen

Thank You, Alaska by serenelystrange

[EXPLICIT]

Oh, Eddie thinks as several of the mom’s grins turn sharp and interested, he is going to murder this man. Or fuck him into the mattress. The jury is still out.

(In which Buck is the nurse at Chris's school, and Eddie is immediately down bad crying at the gym.)

Five-Dollar Fridays by serenelystrange

[EXPLICIT]

“I am literally popping corn,” Buck says, “What more do you…” he trails off as he finally looks up and sees the man by the entrance that Taylor was eyeing. “Holy shit.”

In which Buck crushes on the hot firefighter dad that comes in for the $5 movie nights, and then they fall in love about it.

lucky streak by 2manyboys

[EXPLICIT]

A massive tsunami hits the Santa Monica Pier; Eddie has an instant connection with a firefighter from another station.

keep me as your finish line by thatbuddie (talktothesky)

[EXPLICIT]

“Oh no, we’re not doing this.” Chimney pops a bubble with the gum he’s been chewing as he moves one of his fingers back and forth to point between The-Man-who-isn’t-Buck’s-man-he’s-just-The-Man and Buck. “You didn’t drag me to the gym just so you can ditch me to fuck some guy in the showers."

Buck lowers his voice, leaning forward as if trying to make the words’s journey shorter between him and Chimney so they can’t escape and reach anyone else’s ears,“I wouldn’t fuck him in the showers.”

Chimney’s response is wordless in the form of an eyebrow raise.

“Not anymore, okay?” Buck clarifies, rolling his eyes. “That’s not who I am now."

(spoiler alert: Buck does fuck the guy in the showers. but that comes after nicknaming him Big Beautiful Brown Eyes, finding out his name is actually Eddie, becoming his best friend, and falling madly in love with him.)

I built a home for you, for me by staticsilencee

“You know,” Bobby said, looking thoughtful, “I might have a solution for you. There’s a childcare center near here called Save the Day. They aren’t open overnight, of course, but they are open until 9 with the option to stay a bit late if a shift runs long.”

Eddie stared at Bobby in wonder. “Holy shit. I should have told you about Chris during my interview for the station, that’s perfect! Wait– How much does it cost? I know childcare isn’t exactly cheap, and LA is already kind of expensive–”

“Everyone at the 118 gets a discount. Perks of having an in at the daycare.”

-or- After the ladder truck crushed his leg, Buck is unable to return to work and left permanently disabled. One of Maddie's friends at dispatch gets him a job working at a childcare center geared towards shift workers.

[rems-writing]

Doberman cafe but a Maltese owns it?

Pairing: barista!Yeosang x office worker!reader

Summary: This will be tied to the dilf YunGi fics I posted a while back but this time, the reader will have no connection to any of the characters. Just a heads up lol

Warning(s): Swearing, yelling, Yeosang being a total softie for the reader, reader is a certified simp for Yeosang (i mean who wouldn't be lol), mentions of a non-Ateez member

Genre: A shit ton of fluff lol

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society

Originally, I was going to post a Hongjoong fic. However, in observance of the birth of the man named Kang Yeosang, I've decided to post this first before the Joong fic.

Thank you to @bunnliix for helping me decide the order of the remaining fics that I should write and post

The calming effect of the soft jazz music playing in the background of the Doberman Cafe provided much needed soothing effort for those that entered the small coffee shop. From college students to families that wanted a day out, the owner would always greet his customers with a smile.

Kang Yeosang was happy where he was at. After quitting his old job, he found it relaxing to grind coffee and mix in various ingredients to create caffeinated drinks varying from sweet to bitter. He also got some help from his best friend Jung Wooyoung, who was currently in the back baking various pastries. The two have been friends since diapers and they vowed to never abandon the other.

Yeosang has heard tales of Wooyoung's other best friend getting together with Jeong Yunho and the widow of Doh Kyungsoo dating Song Mingi.

When would it be his turn?

Business was slow as usual for today. After all, it was Friday so most of his usual customers weren't coming in which was fine. It gave the man time to relax and rest his hands from making coffee. The bell attached above the front door chimed and Yeosang looked up. He was getting ready to greet the customer with a kind smile when he heard the argument that came through.

"LISTEN, JONES! I DON'T FUCKING CARE IF HE ACTS LIKE A DAMN CHILD THROWING A TANTRUM! HE SHOULD'VE THOUGHT TWICE BEFORE FUCKING CHEATING ON ME!"

Oh dear. This person sounded angry. Wooyoung must've noticed Yeosang's confusion and slight fear since he poked his head out of the back and heard the unintentionally loud conversation this person had with this Jones person.

"HE HAD THE AUDACITY TO SAY THAT?! OH HELL NAH! I'M OVER HERE BUSTING MY ASS LEFT AND RIGHT 24/7 TO BRING FOOD ON THE TABLE AND PAY RENT WHILE HE SITS ON HIS ASS AND DOES ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOTHING! AND YET HE HAS THE GALL TO SAY, 'yOu nEvER mAkE tiMe fOr me' STRAIGHT TO MY FACE?! AT LEAST I DIDN'T SLEEP WITH HIS BEST FRIEND!"

Oh. This just got interesting. As Yeosang saw the customer sit down, he couldn't help but to be smitten with them. Sure, they were angry as hell and very much stressed yet he couldn't help it. He tilted his head and eavesdropped some more. Unintentionally.

"Look, Jones! After gathering the divorce papers, make sure you also provide documents for a restraining order against my soon to be ex-husband. It may be too much, but I don't care. I'm so fucking tired! I'm just... done. Let me know when those papers are finished and fax them to me. My boss won't care. He knows of the shit that's happening to me right now. Hence, that strangely kind offer for me to take a trip down to the Bahamas. Anyways, I have to go. Tell your wife and kids I said hi."

You hung up after your attorney and former college roommate Jones bid you goodbye. You groaned quietly and laid your head on the table that you sat at. You felt someone sit across from you and you were about to tell them to kindly fuck off when you lifted your head and was immediately greeted with a statue staring down at you with big brown eyes that were full of curiosity and wonder.

'HOLY SHIT! I KNOW THAT A LOT OF PEOPLE SAY THAT THE OWNER WAS HANDSOME, BUT THEY CERTAINLY DIDN'T TELL ME HOW HANDSOME! AND HE'S SO CUTE TOO! LIKE A MALTESE!'

'Quit it, Y/N! He probably thinks you're a lunatic with the way he must've heard you scream over the phone.'

'Damn it! Ok I'll stop my simping...'

After you finished internally scolding yourself, you looked down to see him move a white teacup slowly in your direction, along with a slice of cake.

"Hey. I figured you'd need this. I didn't mean to, but I overheard you yelling at someone over a certain douchebag that's also a man-child. Hopefully, this cheers you up." He said in a rich honey-like deep voice.

In the cup was a freshly brewed batch of lavender green tea and on the plate was a slice of black cherry chiffon cake. You smiled sheepishly and thanked him shyly for the treats.

When you sipped the tea, all the stress over your cheating soon-to-be ex-husband washed away and you instantly relaxed. You then picked up your fork and took a piece of the cafe before eating it.

You were in heaven. You definitely needed this.

"Um... thank you." Your voice came out softer than usual and had a twinge of shyness to it. Yeosang smiled and beckoned for Wooyoung to come sit with you.

Wooyoung was extremely sexy, but not as sexy as the man sitting across from you.

"I hope you guys don't mind me coming in here at this ungodly hour. If you haven't heard, I'm... kind of going through a lot right now."

Wooyoung, who was usually loud as hell, softened his voice.

"It's no problem. Fridays are our slowest days and since Saturday is our day off, we usually stay in here until we decide to go home. You're welcome to stay as long as you like."

"Thank you. By the way, these are amazing."

"Thank you! I made the cake." Wooyoung proudly said with a smile.

"And I made the tea." Yeosang said. "Speaking of which, would you like to spill the tea on your oh-so shabby life?"

You found yourself smiling at that and Yeosang found his heart beating rapidly with excitement.

"Oof. Where do I start?"

From there, you spilled the tea on everything. From your recent tragic event to your life in general, you said it all. Yeosang and Wooyoung were sassy and savage and you found yourself giggling at their quick and witty responses. Finally, you felt yourself becoming sleepy and you yawned. Yeosang found the sound cute. Wooyoung cleared the dishes while Yeosang stood up and help you with your things.

"Would it be possible to walk you home? Not only do I enjoy your company but uh... the Namhae Strongman is still out there. You need to stay alive in order to sign those divorce papers and file that restraining order against that ex of yours."

You shivered at the thought of the killer coming after you. Even though you were angry at your ex, you wished him well enough to pray for his safety.

The Namhae Strongman is not someone you'd want to mess with.

"Of course, Yeosang. I live down the block from here so it'll be a short walk."

Yeosang grinned excitedly and your heart ached in adoration for the human personification of a Maltese. After Wooyoung locked up the shop, you three headed to your apartment. You talked some more and kept an eye out for any suspicious activity or sign of the killer. Finally, you reached your apartment.

"Thanks for the walk home. Oh and for the tea & cake as well. How much do I owe you by the way?"

"It's on the house."

"No no, Yeosang. It's ok. I seriously need to repay you-"

"Repay me by giving me your number. So you can send updates."

Wow. He was smooth.

You blushed lightly and nodded before exchanging numbers with him. After that, you bid him goodbye and entered your apartment. You sighed dreamily as you closed the door behind you and locked it. You set your keys on the counter and made your way to the kitchen, where your roommate was still awake.

"So... you got a new man now?" He teased you and smirked at your reaction.

"Shut up, Jongho!"

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

A couple of days later, you found yourself in Doberman Cafe again. Insomnia was being a bitch to you so you woke up way earlier than Jongho. Sighing to yourself, you threw on a hoodie and walked to the coffee shop before looking for the one person you were majorly simping for.

He just so happened to be standing in front of you with a grin on his face.

"Good morning, lovely."

The pet name gave you butterflies.

Yeosang led you to your seat from Friday night and sat down across from you.

"What will it be today?"

"I'll get a caffe mocha with a soymilk substitute and if possible, a slice of that black cherry cake?"

"Ahh. Now with that cake, it only pairs with tea since it's sweet. Unless you have a giant sweet tooth, I'd recommend some of our breakfast sandwiches. Specifically, a roast beef sandwich with a fried egg all on ciabatta bread that's toasted to perfection."

"Ooh! In this case, I'll have that then. And maybe later, when I leave, can I get an iced americano to go?"

"Sure thing, lovely. It'll be $10 by the way. For your order and that iced americano."

You pulled out a $10 bill and gave it to Yeosang before seeing him walk away and do his magic. While you waited, you received a text from Jones.

Jones: Hey. I'd thought I'd stop by and give you the papers myself. Are you home?

You: No. I'm at the Doberman Cafe. I couldn't sleep anymore so I'd figure I'd stop by here and wake myself up.

Jones: Oh? Ok bet. I heard from my wife that the owner is handsome. Maybe I'll see for myself. ;)

You: And I oop -

You: Don't go simping for the barista now, Jones. You're married and he's actually mine fyi

Jones: Can't a man appreciate another man's good looks?

You: Of course you can. Just don't go full on simp mode. XD

Jones: Like you? XD

You: Fuck you <3

Jones: Ew. No thanks <3

You: Hurry with the fuck ass papers, you dickhead.

Jones: Ok ok! XD

"Is that Jones?" Yeosang asked curiously. You would expect the Maltese to be jealous, but since he overheard your conversation two nights away, he wasn't too worried.

"Yeah. He's coming by here to drop off the divorce papers and the necessary documents to file a restraining order." You clarified to him. "I know I said that he'd fax them to me, but I didn't think he would get them that fast. Hence, why he's coming over to drop them off himself."

Yeosang nodded and set your coffee and meal down before sitting next to you. You thanked him and began to eat. You two made small talk and even introduced Yeosang to Jones when Jones came walking in to deliver the papers. Yeosang grabbed a pen and you happily retrieved it from him before signing the papers. After that, Jones put all of those papers away and bid you goodbye before buying a coffee from Yeosang and going home.

A weight lifted off your shoulders and you felt at ease. Yeosang was feeling the same way, especially since he found you attractive.

Little did he know that you felt the same way.

"Now that it has been done, want to turn this little encounter into a date?"

Yeosang was shocked by your boldness but he eventually nodded eagerly.

"I would love nothing more than that."

[hoenoredone]

IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH – nanami kento

a/n: sorry for the inactivity, exams have been kicking my ass

contents: nanami is starting to get old. he used to be able to withstand nights of drinking until he passed out and the subsequent work day, but now the a/c gives him a cold. tags: sfw, enstablished relationship, married au, non sorcerer au, fem!reader, talks of snot and fever, unbelievably self indulgent.

unbelievable. un-believable. you knew something was wrong when nanami had made himself a cup of chamomile tea with a spoonful of honey the night before. he had told you he was just tired from work, but – realistically – who wants to have hot tea in the middle of july? he had been clearig his throat way too often before going to bed, and he looked like he was struggling to swallow whatever food you offered.

after years of marriage you knew better than to ask him about it, he'd only deny feeling unwell. so you do the next best thing: slip him a tablet for his sore throat with the usual vitamins he takes every night. he fell asleep almost instantly, his body already tired from fighting off the illness. he unintentionally woke you up at around 4am from blowing his nose a little too hard, causing him to cough into the tissue.

he struggled to fall asleep again after that, tossing and turning every couple of minutes, no doubt from not being able to breathe properly. it's in that precise moment (5:33am) when you decide that he's taking the day off tomorrow. he's an icredibly responsible worker, he has more than enough sick days accumulated to be able to use at least one.

you wake up before him – miraculously, considering how little sleep you got – and make him some breakfast as quietly as possible. you decided not to turn off his alarm clock because you knew he would not listen to you and simply rush straight to work if you had done that. so you opt to set the table and place the freshly squeezed orange and ginger juice next to his green tea and a bowl of honey-banana oatmeal.

you hear the familiar beeping of the alarm clock as you're pouring yourself a cup of coffee, and patiently wait for your husband to come into the kitchen. you must be lost in thought because you almost don't notie him until he rests his head on your shoulder and tries to stifle a cough.

"morning," he groggily says.

"sweetheart," you coo while turning to face him, "did you have trouble sleeping? i heard you coughing at some point. here," you place your coffee down on the counter and raise your hand to his forehead, "let me see."

you almost gasp at the heaviness of his eyelids and the unusual warmth of his forehead.

"kento, you look ill," and he knows you're serious, you never call him by his name.

"i feel fine," he tries, but he knows that it's useless. he doesn't feel too bad, just congested. and he has a headache. and his throat is killing him. he can power through.

"have some breakfast and go back to bed, i'll text your boss and bring you some medicine after," he can't even protest, the thought of having to get ready and go into that cold, cold office where his cubicle is inches away from the a/c sending chills down his spine. not like his protests would matter much, regardless, as you're already sprinting to his phone. so he sits down, alternates between sipping his tea and the juice you had made him (the ginger burns his throat but he forces himself to swallow). he tries to eat most of the oatmeal but his stomach just doesn't agree with him, so he leaves a little less than half of it in the bowl.

he's a good man, tidies up after himself even when oh so horribly sick, and goes back to bed. once you hear the rustling of the covers you know you've succeded. you exit the bathroom, a smidge of eye cream unblended on your cheek, and hand him a glass of water and some ibuprofen. you make sure he has enough tissues by the bed and leave him a bottle of cough syrup and a spoon on his nightstand. you tuck the comforter all the way up his chin and grab some clothes to get ready for work.

once you're ready you come back into the bedroom and almost decide to leave without giving him a kiss in fear of disturbing his rest. you opt against that, knowing how unusually whiny your husband gets when he's sick. so you place a gentle hand on his arm and leave a peck on his forehead.

"i'll try to be back for lunch," you whisper, "but if i don't make it there should be some leftovers in the fridge if you feel up to it."

he groans in response as you make your way to your shoe rack, a barely audible "love you" from him painting a smile on your lips as you quietly close the door.

[mimisempai]

You're making my day better

Summary

There's nothing like a cup of coffee and a loving embrace to take the sting out of a nightmare, and the florist won't disagree. Especially when it's the bookseller who does the coffee and the hugging.

Notes

I just missed my florist and bookseller and wanted them to have a little moment of domestic bliss.

On Ao3

Rating G -  534 words

It was one of those mornings.

When the nightmare clung to Crowley like a leech.

When he felt its shadow hovering over his head.

He reached the kitchen where Aziraphale was finishing the coffee, the smell pleasantly tingling his nose.

He couldn't hold back a yawn, then scratched his head before saying in a still sleepy voice, "Good morning, my angel."

He planted a kiss on Aziraphale's hair as he walked by and jumped up to sit on the kitchen counter.

Aziraphale looked at him with a fond expression and replied, "Good morning, sweetheart.  I'm surprised you're up, considering it's your day off. You could have slept longer. "

Crowley shook his head and replied monosyllabically, "Nightmare...couldn't sleep."

Aziraphale's expression turned compassionate as he poured coffee into two cups before turning to his lover and handing him one. The florist took it gratefully, inhaling its scent with an expression of delight.

He set the cup down beside him and took the bookseller's hand, pulling him between his legs.  Aziraphale, smiling with amusement, let the florist manhandle him without resistance until he was in the right place, with his back to him.

The bookseller leaned against Crowley, who wrapped his arms and legs around him, resting his chin on his lover's shoulder.

Aziraphale took a sip of coffee and, after humming contentedly, asked Crowley quietly, "Aren't you drinking your coffee?"

Crowley hummed against Aziraphale's ear, "I need you now, not coffee, at least not right now. Can I stay like this for a while?"

Aziraphale nodded and replied softly, "Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you need."

They stayed like that for a few moments in silence, Aziraphale slowly sipping his coffee while Crowley nestled against him.

After a moment, the florist leaned his head forward on Aziraphale's shoulder and said softly, "I could use a sip now."

Aziraphale chuckled and brought his own cup to Crowley's mouth, who took a sip before saying, a playful smile on his lips, "It's like an indirect kiss."

Aziraphale laughed softly and replied, "It's totally cheesy."

Crowley chuckled into his neck, fully aware of the shiver he was causing in his lover, before replying in a laughing tone, "I know you like it, so don't pretend you don't.... That's why I'm going to tell you something cheesier. You know I love coffee, and that I love you even more. But do you know why?"

Aziraphale shook his head, curious to see what nonsense Crowley would come up with.

"Coffee makes my day bearable, but you make it enjoyable." 

Crowley's propensity for saying profound things when Aziraphale least expected it never ceased to amaze him, and above all left him once again speechless and blushing.

Crowley, knowing this, whispered in his ear, "See? I knew you'd like it. I knew you'd like my cheesiness, my sweet angel."

Aziraphale didn't try to deny it because it was true, so he set the cup down on the counter and turned before taking his lover's face between his hands and saying softly, "I still prefer a direct kiss."

Then he gently pressed his lips to the florist's and Crowley felt the last remnants of his nightmare slowly fade away in the soft, coffee-flavored embrace.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

The florist and the booksellers series : here

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here

[cielie-voss]

hi, can I make a request for an eddie fic? Like enemies to lovers where the reader is in a classic school band which is always in a fight with corroded coffin? Thanks a lot :D

You know I hate you, right?

Eddie Munson x fem!Reader - Enemies to lovers

Warnings: swearing, Eddie and Reader being bitchy.

a/n: thank you so much, I loved this one, it's so sweet! I hope you like how it turned out!

If you want to be tagged in coming fanfics or if you want to request something, feel free to send me a dm or an ask. 🥰 Likes, comments and especially reblogs are always welcome. 🤗

Masterlist

“If I were your wife, I would poison your coffee!” Her screeching voice fills the cafeteria.

"Oh yeah?" Eddie stands up angrily and stomps a step towards her, "If I were your husband, I'd love to drink it!"

“She doesn’t mean it.” Shrugging, Gareth leans back in denial.

“Oh, she means it.” With a shake of his head, Jeff brings his friend out of his delusion. “And I couldn’t blame her.”

“Nonsense!” Gareth denies and continues to stick to his conviction.

“Jesus Christ, I’m counting the days until I don’t have to put up with this smug behavior from her anymore.” Grumbling, Eddie sits down at the table again, seething with anger at his eternal rival, who, also seething with anger, stomps away from the table.

"And her wannabe metal look... How I'd love to rip the studs off her vest."

“I bet he’d love to rip other things off her,” Dustin whispers to Gareth, unfortunately not as quietly as he intended to, and receives a bitterly angry look from the freak.

“Never in my life! And not in a thousand years and if we were the last two people in this universe!” he explains to his young friend with a disgusted grimace.

"And now? Where should we practice now?” After a few moments of deliberation, Jeff says what everyone at the table was silently wondering. After the water damage to Gareth's house, the garage was blocked. Unless the guys at Corroded Coffin would love to practice between Laundry baskets and boxes full of books. And at the gig in three months, according to rumors, people from the music industry will also be there to scout new talents. So nothing is more important than practice right now.

“So I guess we can forget about the music room,” Gareth sighs and leans back. “Thanks to our Prince Charming here.”

Eddie shoots up next to him indignantly. “Prince Charming?” His mouth opens and closes like a fish on land, trying to counter this sarcastic remark.

“What can I do about her being like that? A stupid, bitchy, snippy, unfriendly, unempathetic, arrogant wannabe alternative bitch?”

“You don't happen to have any more negative Attributes come to mind as these …”

“Seven, it was seven,” Dustin adds to Jeff’s remark about the line-up of unnecessary adjectives.

An uncomfortable, oppressive silence falls over them as everyone picks at their food thoughtfully.

“Maybe you’ll try again. Just… nicer?” Gareth suggests after what feels like an eternity, furrowing his eyebrows, ready for another angry tirade on Eddie's part.

“Yeah, maybe you should really try charm. You know, women are into that sort of thing. Flattery, nice words,” Jeff adds.

“Oh, and how do you know what women are into?” With a very exaggerated rolling of his eyes, Eddie turns to his friend. “Besides, I doubt there is even an ounce of femininity in this … bitch. And when it does, it's buried deep under a heap of arrogance. No, before I have to deal with her again, hell will freeze over. We'll find another rehearsal room."

XXX

The Hawkins High School music club has always been a tight-knit community, a sanctuary for those who revel in the soothing melodies of classical music. Y/N, with her cello in hand, was the epitome of this world. She thrives on the sweet symphonies that echo through the club's hallowed halls. As for Eddie Munson, lead guitarist of the local metal band and self-proclaimed "Metalhead," he was about to clash with this world in ways he couldn't have imagined.

One sunny afternoon, Eddie and his bandmates strolled into the music club's headquarters, hoping to secure a practice space for the coming months. Despite Eddies reluctance and constant complaints, they managed to talk to him, convince him that this is the only way to find some place to practice. Open confrontation is what they called it. And to keep everything nice and calm, they asked Dustin to help them negotiate.

Y/N, sitting amidst her fellow cellists, raises an eyebrow at the sight of these intruders. Their leather jackets and wild hair stood in stark contrast to the elegant formality she is used to. It is clear from the beginning that Eddie and his bandmates are unwanted guests.

"We need a place to practice," Eddie declares, his voice dripping with defiance.

Dustin added, "Yeah, and we're willing to pay."

“Pay?”, Gareth asks quietly with furrowed brows and leans to Jeff.

The music club's president, a stern guy named Brandon, stares them down. "This isn't a place for your noise," he sneeres.

Y/N's fingers tighten around her cello's neck, her disdain for the interlopers growing by the second. She has always despised their kind—the rebels, the rule-breakers. To her, music was a sacred refuge, and these delinquents threatened to disrupt it. Although she secretly began to find some peace - unlike the one she knew before - in listening to Metallica or even Iron Butterfly.

Eddie, undeterred by the icy glares and piercing remarks, leans in closer to Brandon. "We won't be here forever, just a few months. We won't interfere with your precious little concerts or rehearsals."

Brandon scoffed, his eyes flicking toward Y/N as if seeking her approval. "The answer is no."

Y/N, unable to contain her annoyance any longer, speaks up. “If you won’t take no for an answer, you have to discuss with the principal. And I’m pretty sure, since you’re definitely not his favorite student, he’s on our side. So I’m afraid you have to find another way to practice your … noise.” With her hands gesturing around their instruments, she puts on a smug grin.

Reluctant Dustin tugs at Eddie's vest. “Dude, come on. We’ll find another way.”

“Yeah, go on Freaks, find another way.”, she quips and shoos them out with waving hands.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, smirking as he shoots back, slowly walking towards her, nearer and nearer with every word until their noses nearly touch, "Oh we’ll find another way, little Beethoven. And it’ll bother you even more than sharing this room with us, just because I’d love to see the regret and defeat on your nasty, little face."

The room falls silent, the tension between them palpable. Their exchange has caught everyone off guard, a brief spark of some kind of chemistry amidst the hostility. But neither is willing to admit it.

XXX

In the following weeks, Eddie and his bandmates scoured Hawkins for any available practice spaces. Everywhere they went, doors slammed in their faces, and they were met with cold rejection. It seemed the music club's word had spread like wildfire, labeling them as outcasts.

“Shit. Fucking. Bullshit.” Gareth declares, as they leave another unsuccessful negotiation. “The gig is in two months. What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know if this is a stupid idea. But… what about the hellfire club room?” Shrugging, Dustin turns to Eddie with this last resort.

“The-” Eddie takes a deep breath and clenches his hand into a fist, bringing it dangerously close to his face waving around. “The Hellfire Room? Why didn’t we think of this before?!”

Now that a new rehearsal space was found, Corroded Coffin spent every free minute practicing. Of course, to the great dismay of the music club, which was only a few rooms away. Their unruly appearance and the thunderous echoes of their music didn't sit well with the club's traditionalists. A constant battle ensued as to who is louder; Corroded Coffin with their covers of Metallica, Van Halen and Co, or the Music Club with their cello and piano version of Mendelssohn's ��Song without words’.

One evening, Y/N is practicing with her cello alone when she hears the distant sound of an electric guitar. Curiosity piqued, she follows the music, which stops and starts playing again every now and then, paired with a string of curse words until she stumbles upon an abandoned classroom. There, she finds Eddie, his fingers dancing across the guitar strings, lost in the raw passion of his music and the frustration in not hitting the right tones.

In that moment, Y/N is captivated by the power and emotion in Eddie's playing. It is a stark contrast to the elegance of her cello, but it resonated with her in a way she couldn't explain. She leans against the doorway, silently listening, her earlier animosity momentarily forgotten.

Eddie notices her presence but doesn't stop playing. He smirks and quips, "Enjoying the noise?"

Y/N bites her lip, feeling a strange sense of connection. "It's not noise," she admits, surprising even herself. “And you’re playing it wrong.”

Before Eddie even has the chance to say a word, she continues and takes a step towards him. “Your fingers are too slow. If you would move your index finger faster from here - “ She raises her hand and mimics his hand, still wrapped around his guitar, making it easier to understand for him, “ - to here, you would get the right tone. But either way your finger is too slow, or you just simply don’t know how to actually play guitar.”

Still with furrowed brows, Eddie cocks his head. She’s not wrong. She’s absolutely right. And that bugs him.

“But actually, in my opinion, the latter is the case. Well … “

“Woah, woah, woah! Stop, little Beethoven!” He carefully lays down his guitar, then turns to her, raising his hands indignant. “So you are trying to tell me, Edward Munson, lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin, that I can’t play guitar?” Laughing contemptuously he leans forward and grabs one of the little silly pompoms hanging down from her jacket. “You don’t even know what real music is and you have the audacity to tell me how to play my guitar?”

Rolling with her eyes, Y/N brushes off his hand and sighs. “Dickhead.”, she hisses under her breath, reaching out to his guitar. Before Eddies mind has the chance to comprehend what is happening, she wraps her hand around the neck of said instrument.

“See, you play it this way.” Her fingers glide smoothly over the strings, mimicking his previous playing.

With his eyes wide in shock, he follows her actions. She is good. Really good, actually. But of course Eddie is way too proud to admit it, so he rolls with his eyes and laughs.

“And this is how it’s really done.” She continues the song, but plays the right chords. And damn, she was right. That’s why it never sounded good when Eddie was playing.

“You know, you’re really getting on my nerves, little Beethoven.” Ripping his guitar out of her hands, and pushing her outside of the room again, he desperately tries to fight against the butterflies inside his stomach. But this? Damn, without him knowing, his mind decided that this was damn sexy. And he hates himself for feeling this way.

From that day on, Y/N finds herself drawn to the abandoned classroom. She begins to bring her cello along - pretending to feel safer when she isn’t all alone in the school at night practicing-, while Eddie shreds his incredible solos. Every now and then, he even lets her play with his guitar, acting dumb and like he needs some help from her. They still exchange barbs and insults, but there is a newfound camaraderie beneath it all.

One evening, after a particularly intense jam session, Eddie looks at Y/N, who has brought her own guitar this time, his eyes softened. "You know," he begins hesitantly, "you're not half bad on that guitar of yours."

Y/N raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "Coming from a Metalhead and lead guitarist, that's a compliment, I suppose."

Eddie grins and for the first time, it isn’t a taunting grin. It’s genuine, filled with a warmth Y/N had never seen before.

As the weeks pass, Eddie and Y/N's secret jam sessions continue. They are enemies turned to unlikely allies, and the more they play together, the more their mutual attraction grows. The music club's rejection has pushed them together, and in the process, they discovered a love for each other's worlds.

And the more he gets to know her, the more he realizes that she isn’t just some wannabe alternative bitch, but a real alternative bitch, listening to Metallica, Mötley Crüe and Slayer in secret. He hates to admit it, but he really starts to have a crush on her. Which, of course, his bandmates and friends start to notice.

One evening, after they played a haunting melody that blended their two musical styles, Y/N leans in, her lips brushing against Eddie's ear. "You know," she whispers and his hand automatically finds its place on her knee, "if I were your wife, I'd make you coffee every morning." What is happening? She never even dared to think about getting near to the freak, let alone imagining enjoying this intimacy she recently has with him. Her heart is beating so fast, he nearly could hear its pounding.

Eddie's heart skips a beat, and the tips of his ears start to turn into a burning red as he whispers back, "And if I were your husband, I'd drink it every day."

Carefully he lets his hand run through her soft hair only to stop at her cheek, cupping her face with his calloused hand. He feels the heat of her breath against his neck as she leans further into his touch. Their lips meet in a fiery kiss, sealing the unspoken bond that has formed between them. The enemies-turned-lovers have found their harmony, a fusion of metal and classical music that was as unique as their love story.

“You know I hate you, right?”, he whispers out of breath between kisses.

“Hell yeah,”, she answers, smiling against his lips. “As much as I hate you too.”

In Hawkins, where strange things always seem to happen, the most unexpected love has blossomed between a Metalhead and a Cello player, proving that even the fiercest enemies could become the sweetest of lovers.

xxx

Thank you for reading! 🫶 If you want to be tagged in coming fanfics or if you want to request something, feel free to send me a dm or an ask. 🥰 Likes, comments and especially reblogs are always welcome. 🤗

[jamdoughnutmagician]

A Slice Of Life (Waitress AU) Part 4

Doctor!Steve Harrington x Waitress!Reader

<- Previous part Next Part ->

Warnings:Billy continues to be an terrible husband, domestic violence (one mention of the reader being slapped)

*not proof-read, sorry..

Word Count:2,434

*dividers by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist // Steve Harrington Masterlist

“Billy murders me in my sleep because I’m having an affair with my doctor” pie. Smash tart blackberries and sun-sweet raspberries into a rich dark chocolate crust.

“I can’t have an affair with my doctor because it’s wrong and I don’t want my husband to kill me” pie. Velvety smooth vanilla custard with sliced banana…

“Y/n!” you’re brought out of your thoughts by Joyce’s cheery voice coming up beside you. “You’re here early, I haven’t even opened up the diner yet.”

“I’m sorry, what?” your mind is still a little hazy at this time of the morning.

“I do hope you didn’t sleep out here last night. A woman in your position needs to sleep in a warm bed at night.” 

“I went home last night, Joyce, don’t you worry about that.” you reassure her. 

“No doubt to that lousy, good-for-nothing husband of yours.” she sighs with a slight shake of her head.

“Billy was passed out in front of the tv by the time I got home last night, so I guess I got lucky there.” you give a soft half-hearted laugh with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

“C’mon, I’ll open up and I’ll let you get started.”

You’re already on your feet, drifting around the diner floor, taking orders, serving tables and filling up empty coffee mugs as you go.

As you’re working around, your eyes catch a young mother with her daughter sitting in the booth together. The little girl is quietly sipping from her juice box and scribbling her crayons in a colouring book and her mother is sitting with her, a crayon in her hand, helping her to finish her picture.

You hear Nancy’s voice call out to you, and so you make your way behind the counter where she and Robin are smiling at you.

“We bought you a little present.” Nancy says, sliding a small gift wrapped up in striped wrapping paper and tied up with a pink ribbon.

“It’s just something small that we figured you were going to need.” Robin adds on, leaning in to eagerly watch you unwrap your present.

You pull at the paper to reveal a hard-cover book. 

The First-time Mom’s Hand-book.

“Oh look at that, thank you so much girls.” you smile, leafing through the pages of the book quickly.

“We know you weren’t initially all too thrilled about this whole baby thing, but we thought you could at least read up and be prepared for when she actually does arrive, you know?” Nancy playfully nudges your shoulder.

“We don’t know it’s a she yet, Nance.” you dismiss softly.

“Well you better read it, because this baby is coming whether you like it or not.” Robin nods.

“What if I'm not cut out for being a mother, I could really fuck up this baby’s life and I haven’t even brought them into the world yet.” you slump against the counter 

“You’re not even feeling a little bit maternal towards that baby?” Nancy asks.

“I don’t do anything harmful to this baby, I don’t drink, I watch what I eat, but no, I just don’t feel that immediate rush of affection when I think of this baby.” you sigh. “Maybe being with Billy all these years just sucked all the love and affection right out of me.”

There’s a beat of silence between the three of you for a moment.

“Well I suppose I should be getting back to work.” Nancy says, hopping up from her seat. “Looks like the breakfast rush is starting up.” and with that she rushes off to start serving customers.

“Thanks for the book, Nance, I really do appreciate it.” you call out to her.

Robin places a kind hand on your shoulder before she leaves, leaning in to talk to you.

“There’s all these cool things to do in this book, like here..” she says pointing to a section in the back of the book. “There’s a scrapbook section where you can put silly pictures of you with your pregnant belly as it develops, and there’s also a page where you can write your first letter to your baby.” she smiles.

“Oh, okay, thanks Rob.” you say softly, offering her a kind smile, before she leaves you alone at the counter.

Your eyes stare down at the blank page where your baby’s first letter is supposed to be. You slip the book into the front pocket of your apron, not giving it too much though as you begin to start another day of work. Waltzing around the diner’s sticky floors, chasing after customer’s orders and re-filling endless cups of coffee.

Back home, whilst Billy is at work, you hastily pack yourself a small suitcase, filling it with only enough clothes to see you finally, once and for all get away from your husband.

Sitting down on the bench by the bus stop, suitcase at your feet, your mind strays, thinking about what kind of first letter you should write to your baby. 

Dear baby, If I was writing you a letter in all honesty it would probably be a letter of apology. I know that everyone deserves a mom who would want a nice baby such as yourself. The kind of mom who is a good wife and an upstanding member of society, but it would be wrong of me to say that that’s me. I worry that I'm doing the right thing by bringing you into this world when it’s already so messed up. I’m sorry, baby, that I don’t seem like the typical excited mom-to-be, but I don’t know what I can offer you. What if I leave Billy but don’t win that pie contest next week and don’t win the money? What happens to us then? All my life I’ve been so scared that all I want to do is run away, and that sure as hell isn’t something that a baby like you deserves. I wish I could feel all the feeling that’s expected of a new mother, to feel that giddy excitement that you’re with me right now, to feel that rush of reassurance that I’ll be a good mother, even if my life isn’t in such a great place. Anyway, I’m writing this letter to you, and in some small way I suppose I’m writing this letter to myself too.

Love, Mom.

The crushing of gravel under car tires brings you out of your thoughts and you cast your eyes up to see where the noise is coming from and your stomach drops at the sight of your husband’s dark Camaro rolling to a stop in front of you. His heavy boots step out onto the ground as he slams the door behind him and strides towards you.

Billy crouches down, bearing his hands on his knees as he fixes you with a menacing glare.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

“Nowhere, Billy.” you mumble softly. “I-I mean I had to go to work..”

“Then why the fuck have you got a suitcase, huh?”

Because I’ve finally had enough of your shit, Billy. Because I’m sick of the way you treat me. Because I deserve better than this, I deserve better than you.

The eerie silence that hangs in the air. You don’t have an answer for him. At least not an answer that he was going to be pleased to hear. 

The silence from you is more than enough of an answer for him as he slaps his hand across your face, stinging your skin with the force of his blow. Bubbling tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“Shut up and get in the car.” he spits as he shoves you towards the passenger’s side door, and throws your suitcase in the back seat. 

The tension in the car as Billy drives the pair of you home is icy. Uncomfortably cold and unwelcoming.

“A pie baking contest, huh?” he scoffs, keeping his eyes on the road, never daring to look your way.

You snivel, wiping the tear tracks on your cheek with the sleeve of your cardigan.

“Yeah, I was just going to go up there and win and surprise you with the prize money when I came home.”

“Nah, nah, I know you’re lying to me, sweetheart.” his voice grumbles. “You ain’t ever been to any pie contest before.” His voice is unmistakably hostile, his one hand lifting off the steering wheel to shove against your face, forcefully pushing you against the window. “YOU’RE FUCKING LYING TO ME!” he screams.

“BILLY STOP IT! I’M PREGNANT!” you shout.

And it’s at your admission that his foot is slamming on the brake and the tires screeching to a halt in the middle of the road.

“So when were you going to tell me?” he rasps out.

pulling out the chair from under the dining table, you take your seat next to him, sitting down with a soft huff.

“I was going to tell you after I won the contest.”

“Well you can kiss that dumb pie contest goodbye, ‘cause you ain’t going anywhere now, darling” Billy scoffs. “‘Cause here’s the thing, what if you decide that you love this baby more than you love me. It happens all the time, they have a baby, then the man is out of the picture.” 

“You’re jealous of the baby?” you murmur quietly.

“I ain’t jealous, it’s not in my nature to be jealous, I’m just talking about my feelings. I know how you women get. I just don’t know if I want that happening to me.” 

“So what do you want me to say, Billy?”

“Well I’d tell you to get rid of it, but somehow I don’t see that happening, so how about you promise me that you won’t end up loving this baby more than you love me. That you make a real effort to be a good little wife to me. I come first every time, not some damn baby.”

There’s that uncomfortable silence again, slowly closing in on you, making you feel the loneliest you have ever felt.  

“So, do you think you can promise me that? That this baby won’t come between us?” 

No.

“I promise.” 

“Well how ‘bout that, huh? Looks like I knocked you up real good, I gotta say I thought you were getting chubbier, I guess now we know why. I bet it happened that night got you drunk” he laughs to himself.

You push yourself away from the table quickly, needing to get away from him 

“Where are you rushing off too?”

“I gotta throw up.”

Steve strolls into the doctor’s room where you’re already sitting up on the reclining bed, a medical gown draped over your frame.

“Y/n.” he smiles warmly.

“Dr. Harrington.” you smile back.

“I haven’t had any calls from you, you haven’t been having any problems?”

With my husband? Oh, there are far too many problems to mention. 

“With the baby? No, no problems at all, doctor.”

“Good, good. So today I’m going to be doing your ultrasound, so we can check out your baby’s development and see how things are progressing. Does that sound okay to you?”

You nod, immediately put at ease by his gentle manner.

“Okay if you could just lie back for me please and hold your gown out of the way.”

You settle yourself back, lying flat against the bed as you roll the hem of your medical gown up to reveal the small bump of your belly.

“Okay, so this isn’t going to hurt at all, it’s just going to be a little bit cold is all.” he tells you, squirting a small amount of gel on your stomach, and gently pressing the ultrasound wand against your skin and moving it around.

“Okay…ah! There we are. There’s your baby.”

You turn your head towards the monitor to see the black and white image on the screen.

“Wonderful! Everything looks perfectly normal and healthy, and do you see that little flickering in the middle of the screen?” he says, pointing his finger on the monitor. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat.”

Something about seeing the gentle thump of the tiny life growing inside you suddenly made this all feel real. Before now it was all too easy to pretend that it wasn’t real, that it wasn’t happening, that it was just another thing that you could stash away deep in the back of your mind to where you didn’t have to think about it. But there it was, your baby, as clear as day, perfectly healthy.

“It certainly doesn’t look much like a baby yet.” you say with a soft shake of your head.

“No, I suppose it doesn’t, but things will start to take shape a lot quicker than you expect, I promise.” he nods. “Okay, everything looks good to me, if you want to pull your gown back down.” he says, handing you some tissues to wipe the gel from your skin.

“Thank you, Doctor.” you nod, as you pull yourself together.

“Y/n, I want to let you know that I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I know it’s very unprofessional of me, and god knows I’d probably be fired from my job if anyone ever found out about what we were doing but I like you, and I just think…”

You stop him in his tracks, pulling him forward by his white coat and pressing your lips against his. He leans into the kiss, slipping his tongue past your lips as you moan quietly. His hands cradle your head, fingers weaving amongst your hair, desperately trying to pull you closer.

“Don’t do that again.” he says between panted breaths, pulling away from your lips.

“Do what? Kiss you?”

“No, not that, definitely not that. Don’t go away for a full month without calling, Y/n.”

“What was I supposed to do, Steve, I’ve got a crazy husband who’s watching my every move.” you sigh, holding your head in your hands. “I wanted to call you, believe me, I did. It’s just harder for me when I’ve got Billy breathing down my neck every time I step out the door.”

“I just know how I feel about you, I like you a lot, Y/n and I wanna see you, I know this whole thing is crazy, all I’m asking is that you give me a chance.” He says with a soft smile and a sparkle in those beautiful hazel-brown eyes. "I don't care that you're married, I can see you're unhappy, and I just think I could be the one to make you happy"

@keerygal @penguinsandpotterheads @paybacksawitch @mrsjellymunson @seatnights @ali-r3n @potatobeanpies

[part-timewonders]

#TWIYOR: roots in my dreamland

For @dailytwiyorprompts: nightmare!

(read on twitter or ao3)

When Yor wakes, the stretch of bed next to her is empty and cold. That in itself isn’t unusual, except that she does distinctly remember her husband coming to bed with her earlier in the evening. The moonlight peeks into the bedroom (their bedroom now!) through the curtains, which means it can’t be close to dawn yet.

Yor considers, briefly, going back to sleep, but she sits up to find a warm robe to wrap around herself. Loid would’ve told her if he had a mission tonight, so hopefully he’s just in the living room.

She creeps into the hallway, noticing Anya’s door slightly ajar, but she stops when she hears Loid speaking quietly inside. When she peeks in, she notices him sitting on the bed next to a dozing Anya, a stack of picture books on the nightstand and another one open on his lap. The nightlight is on.

He looks up at her, but doesn’t stop reading quietly to Anya, even as Yor retreats and makes her way to the kitchen instead. Bond lifts his head when she walks past, but lays back down after she pats his head and scratches behind his ear. “Nothing to worry about, Bond, I promise.” 

She gets the kettle set up, and then goes to look for tea options. There’s a box of chamomile tea in the cabinet, newly purchased from their last grocery trip, so she carefully peels away the plastic wrapper from the box while the water boils.

Two deep red mugs wait for her on the counter, an artifact from another, lonelier life. Thorn Princess may be a cold-hearted killer, but Yor Briar had desperately wanted a relationship, and a family, however unobtainable it all seemed. Until she met Loid Forger, who carried plenty of secrets of his own, but accepted hers when he inevitably found her coming home exhausted one late night, bleeding sluggishly through her black dress. She’d waited for him to tell her to pack her things and leave, that he’ll send divorce papers by courier, that he couldn’t have his precious daughter in the same house as an assassin. But over the course of that painful, sleepless night, he whispered his secrets to her instead while he sponged the blood off her skin. If you trust me with yours, then I can trust you with mine too.

It was the first time she’d ever been in his bedroom, to see the weapons, the disguises, everything that marked him as the most elusive spy of Westalis. Even Thorn Princess has heard of Agent Twilight, though she’s pretty certain they’ve never crossed paths until that fateful day at the tailor’s. They don’t talk about their respective missions and the work that brings them home late, but it’s enough for now to know that he understands her, and she understands him.

Loid emerges from the hallway soon after Yor settles on the couch, one steaming cup in her hands while the other waits for him on the coffee table. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“I just wasn’t sure where you went off to,” Yor says softly. She shifts over to make room for him. “Is Anya okay?”

“Yeah. A nightmare, again,” Loid sighs. He rubs his eyes before he takes up his mug too. Yor scoots in closer again, so he can rest his arm over her shoulders and she can lean against him. “I worry about her so much, Yor. She’s so young… too young to be having these kinds of nightmares. And she won’t tell me what she’s dreaming about… she fell asleep again after three books. Thank God it’s the weekend.”

Yor smiles to herself, thinking about how difficult it could be to get Anya up for school after a night like this. Loid is right; the weekend will allow them all to sleep in, and hopefully spend some time together as a family. It won’t chase the nightmares away, not completely, but they can give Anya happier things to dream about.

“You’ll never be able to fix it,” she begins after a few moments of silence and tea-drinking. She looks up at him, brings her hand to his cheek so he’ll know how serious she is. “The nightmares might never go away. But we love her, she’s our daughter, and we’ll never let her come to harm again. That’s all we can do.”

That’s a promise. From Thorn Princess to Agent Twilight. From wife to husband, from parent to parent.

She hopes it’s enough.

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep7 Musings - Loumand (Spoilers)

I actually don't have much to say about Armand--I'm waiting to see what he has to say for himself in the finale.

Exactly, Mr. Professional--let Louis talk this out on his own. We'll skulldrag Mr. I Could Not Prevent It soon enough.

"Yeah all right I sold him out"--YEAH YOU DID ARMAND, no sass or backtalk, just STFU. You had your chance to speak up IN PARIS, Mr. I Made My Choice!

NO NOTES.

PLEASE 🙄😒 How? With Sam's dinky little scythe? You can set them all on fire with a THOUGHT, stfu with that 🥺 face.

PLEASE 🙄😒 It was the terms of their agreement--IN CAHOOTS.

PLEASE 🙄😒 It was the LEAST he could do. The key word is to save YOU. Not Claudia. This was PREMEDITATED.

What I'm actually REALLY bummed about is that AMC seems to have kept Armand "held captive" by Sam the whole time, so he wouldn't've had the opportunity to go FRANKENSTEIN on Claudia (I assume they just swapped that for the Rat Box scene). Unless that happened after they beat Louis unconscious. 👀

Madz being dragged into this to implicate Louis, cuz Armand killed Santiago's Maker for doing the exact same thing with him! 👀💀

GO AWF, king! May your reign be short and sterile! 🤴🏼😜

SOOOO hypocritical that the coven is LITERALLY breaking Law 5 by doing this entire Trial, but wtvr; politics is just parlor tricks.

The way Ben delivered those lines; the crazed look in his eyes--this was the REAL bee in Santiago's bonnet & stick in his craw. Eff Claudia; Santiago DGAF about her in the scheme of things. But that persona non grata, who "wasn't even all that attractive," had rejected & offended & humiliated him, and this green-eyed monster wanted Louis DEAD.

NYA NYA NYA! 😝

"It took all my strength," PLEASE 🙄😒

Armand wanted Claudia dead so dang bad, lol.

TWICE OMG, PLEASE! 🙄😒 Louis just staring him down. YOU BUY THAT, LOUIS!? 👀 HAYUL naw, which is why Armand's been in this Grovel Era for 77 years! 😅

NICE save, Santiago!

Here we effing go; eternity in a box.... ⚰️💀

Rolin, whose idea was it to fill it with rocks; that is SAVAGE!

Thank god Lou didn't have to see his baby burn to ash--"and his face turned to soup." He fought, he really tried, but it wasn't enough; he was POWERLESS to protect any of them. U_U But you KNOW Lou had to FEEL what was happening when Madz died, cuz she's his blood/fledgling. So the pain's still there, even w/out seeing Claudia.

THAT'S what karma effing means, y'all! THAT'S what it means to DESERVE pain. Lest had to sit there and watch HIS DAUGHTER burn, "cuz sooner or later, they end up dead." AR said Claudia (read: Michelle) was DOOMED by the narrative, and DIDN'T deserve what happened to her. But Lestat ADMITTED that he deserved everything that happened to him! Les had to PAY the consequence!

CONSEQUENCES, Armand! You don't get to sell out Louis at the price of Claudia, then brag about how "I never harmed you," and whine about how you "atoned" for Paris but can never make up for it.

EFF your apologies--his daughter's DEAD, ffs.

Whew, I'm actually tearing up, this ep's HEAVY; I'm moved, fasho!

Sure, Jan. 🙄 Les crossed the ocean cuz Santiago told him what was going down, so OF COURSE Lestat was gonna go to Paris; regardless! (AMC removed the need for Swamp King to crawl begging for Armand's healing blood.)

Santiago and the coven woke Lestat up by climbing the Eiffel Tower and radio-signalling him to come to them--that lines up with the newspaper clippings Loumand mentioned in Ep6 about "strange crimes" being committed.

STFU WITH THE BAGELS AND COFFEE, TUAN, it shoulda been a CROISSANT! 🥐🤣

STFU ARMAND, we don't need YOU mansplaining Lestat's toxic AF behavior, Master Manipulator! LOUIS can be wrong about his husband he lived with for dang near 40 years ("this is Lestat; what he does over and over"), but YOU can't talk about the dude you only knew for a few months max! Sit QUIETLY and drink your blood soup!

Yeah Armand, you BETTER duck TF out the way! 😤 Lou was aiming right at your dome--eff you, AND all the luxurious golden-spooned Jimmy Choo wearing stolen Rembrandts you've filled this sterile penthouse cage with!

"THIS IS HARD"--bruh, I bet Jacob said that from the soul; I have no idea how any of these actors do this, incredible! AMC I hate y'all so bad for not giving these artists as much shine & accolades as possible; they're being robbed. U_U

(Quick Insider preview for the finale--Ep8 SPOILERS)

Santiago asking "Did Armand tell you what we did with her ashes?" omfg imma be sick.

Armand telling Louis "I lied to you;" chile, we been knew.

Fire Gift Louis de Pyromaniac du Lac telling Lestat chained up under the Threatre "I'VE COME TO KILL YOU;" get in line, my guy! 😡🔥