#pure unadulterated crack

[scumbag-the-hedgehog]

Scourge: I hate Sonic because I grew up in the evil dimension with shitty parents and he had it so easy!

Archie Sonic's life:

[theswampghost]

this poem actually stole my breath away when i first read it like FUCK it’s crazy. david elliott when i GET you

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

in a completely unpredictable turn of events, the crackfic-within-a-crackseries lucky jumbo 7 has developed a plot that involves important series lore

[readwritealldayallnight]

Comatose Confessions

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

wc: 4k words

warnings/tags: fluff

Part two to this

He’s barely moved a single inch in the last hour

Though he blinks every so often, his eyes never once stray from where he’s held his gaze so steadily this entire time, as focused as any trained sniper could ever hope to be

Sat on his bed, back against the wall and stiff as a statue, he watches as the faint light creeping in under the crack of his door shifts every so often, the shadows outside refusing to stand still

He knows it’s you

As perfectly silent as you are, he can still see the shadow of your boots pacing back and forth, back and forth, again and again, just outside his room

You know he’s inside

And he knows that’s why you refuse to leave, annoyingly stubborn in your pursuit, determined in your efforts to get the man inside to put an end to his charades

He knows you won’t leave until you get what you want

And what you want, is for Ghost to stop avoiding you

He’s been very carefully, very intentionally avoiding having to speak to you

He can’t bring himself to do it

He just can’t

Not since he’s woken up

Not since his head felt worse than it had in a very long time, mind swimming through a heavy fog in an attempt to fight his way back to consciousness, his entire being had felt shaken to its core and thrown off its axis, his blood running cold with the unmistakable chill of pure, unadulterated fear, not too far off to how he’d once felt waking up with the taste of dirt in his mouth, buried six feet under ground

Only to be jolted into a startlingly opposite reality when he suddenly was able to smell that achingly familiar, enrapturing fragrance he’d come to associate with a certain someone, could somehow feel miraculously soft, gentle fingertips smoothing along his neck into his goddamn hair, an affectionate touch he’d only felt fleetingly as a young boy, and when he’d opened his eyes, he was certain he’d somehow snuck his way past the gates and into heaven

Because above him had been you, and though the light glowing around you burned his tired eyes, you remained a vision so beautiful to behold he could never dream of shutting his eyes ever again, could not help but to instinctually reach out to grasp you, should you vanish before him and he lose the chance to ever hold you, at least once

His brain was still pounding, insistently throbbing as it shocked itself back awake, fighting to take control back as his lips suddenly said the only thing that both his mind and heart could agree upon at this moment, looking up at you:

“Love.”

It was nearly an entire day later, following a flurry of you being whisked out of his room, doctors and nurses fussing over him, his mind and body slowly beginning to feel more like his own again, when Soap came to visit him and all too happily recounted to his Lieutenant what he’d supposedly said upon waking up from his days long coma

After the doctors released him from the med bay or rather accepted that the Lieutenant was going to leave when he wanted to whether they liked it or not, they’d given strict instructions for at least a fortnights rest, wanting to allow his brain enough time to truly recover, concerned that though everything else was checking out fine, that short bout of confusion upon waking could not be looked over when it came to head injuries

Confusion

Is that what they all thought it had been?

He couldn’t exactly blame them, he felt he’d done a more than phenomenal job of hiding the true nature of his feelings for you from anyone and everyone, making it appear as though he was nothing more than indifferent to your existence, far from someone he’d be relieved to see waking up in a hospital bed

No, he’d been far from confused when he’d insisted to anyone who would listen, not caring that anyone’s ears but your own would hear his words spoken with the utmost sincerity, when he called you his girl, his love

No, if anything that was the most honest Ghost had been in a long time

At least since you’d worked your way into his life and apparently his heart along the way

But now, nearly two weeks passed since he’d woken up and admitted to you in his vulnerable state of mind his true feelings for you, after months of carefully avoiding ever letting you know how he felt, months of keeping his distance in hopes of diminishing the gravitation pull he felt whenever you were near, and he couldn’t bring himself to face you

He can’t decide whether it’s a small mercy or not that in the fog of waking up and all the chaos that ensued, that he can’t recall seeing your reaction to his words, can’t remember seeing the look on your face when he admitted the words he would have preferred to have been buried with than to profess out loud to you

A blessing, in that he doesn’t know whether your face twisted up into a look of horror or disgust at his revelation, and a curse, in that he’s had days upon days holed up in his room, imagining every other possible reaction you might have had

Since his release from the med bay, you’ve come knocking at his door, he knows you’ve been asking around base for him, have tried to run into him during those few fleeting moments he trudges to the mess hall and back

Why you’re so determined to confront him, he can’t be sure

To laugh at him? Rub it in his face?

He doesn’t think so, it’s not something he believes you’d so, but then again he’s never had his entire heart held in a pretty birds hands before, especially when he’d never intended to hand the bloodied, somehow still beating thing over in the first place

Maybe you feel sorry for him, hope to let him down easy, or even pretend as though you never heard him in the first place, he’s not sure which would hurt him most if he’s honest-

None of those excuses feel right however, with the way you’ve been seeking him out so persistently, opposite to the neutrality the two of you had less than half a month ago, and so always more at ease in the certainty of his own misery, rather than the misery of uncertainty, he remains hidden from you

Fuck, he hopes you haven’t been speaking to Johnny too much

When he notices your steady back and forth pacing suddenly come to a halt with the shadows indicating you’re stood directly in front of his door, the only movement Ghost allows is the slightest quirk of his scarred eyebrow, gaze intent on where he imagines your form stands just beyond the thick plank of wood separating you

He’s holding his breath, wondering what your next move will be in this childish game of cat and mouse he’s roped you into, when he hears the slightest shuffling from outside, a crinkling sound accompanied by shadows moving about under the door, followed by the sound of your boots echoing away from him and down the hall

It takes him nearly another ten minutes before he dares to move again, already beginning to berate himself for the way he’s behaving like a frightened child, when his eyes lock in on the anomaly on his floor

The sun was just beginning to set when he’d dared to venture out to the mess hall and back to his room quickly, hoping it was the best time to avoid most everyone including you before they ran out of decently edible grub, only just slipping into his room and shutting the door behind him when he’d glanced down the hall and locked eyes with you turning the corner

Now more than an hour passed, the sun long gone and his food cold and untouched, he notices something that wasn’t there before

Slowly, Ghost approaches his door, bending down to a crouch to examine what’s been slipped so carefully underneath the thin seam of his door

A single cigarette

He huffs a silent approving hum, bringing the death stick up to his mask covered nose to smell the bad habit he hasn’t touched in a few days

In all his efforts to avoid running into you, he’d quickly gone through the packs he kept in his room, only daring to smoke them out of his own ajar window like a goddamn teenager hiding the smoke from their parents

He’d smoked his last one a handful of days ago, and had yet to pick up a new pack, his years long addiction to nicotine apparently coming second to his need to continue avoiding you, no matter the cravings he felt

Now however, holding the smoke between his calloused fingers, he finds himself too relieved to begin the logical train of thought that should accompany such a gift from you being slid under his door

Fetching his lighter out of his desk drawer, Ghost steps towards his window and cracks it ajar enough that he can lean his upper half out, prepared to enjoy his cig in peace

What he isn’t prepared for however, as he inches his balaclava up above his crooked nose and begins trying to spark the lighter to life, is for the flames to be reflected back at him through your very own eyes staring up at him, stood directly below his window

“Hi Ghost.” You whisper up to him with amusement, the faint quiver of your lip giving away the mischievous smirk threatening to push through the darkness of the late night hour

You’re quicker than he expects you to be, almost as though you anticipated what his next move would be, when you reach out to squeeze your hand between the window and the pane, just as Ghost hurries to shut it

“What the fuck do ye think you’re doin’?” The Lieutenant growls out, hoping to stall for time as he recomposes himself, internally shaking his head at himself for falling for your trick. Leaving him a damn cigarette like a taunt and waiting beneath his window for him to smoke it was purely childish on your part, but then again, he hasn’t exactly been the most level headed soldier on base recently either he supposes

“Apparently what I have to do to get you to acknowledge me.” You reply casually, refusing to budge your hand away from where it prevents the window from shutting you out. “How long are you planning on avoiding me? Hm?”

“You’re bloody mental if ye think tha’ I-” He cuts himself off with the sharp glance you throw his way, a look that easily reads ‘are you fucking kidding me’ even in the low light illuminated across your features. “Alrigh’, fine. You’ve got me. Your grand plan was to hide ou’ here, like some bloody lunatic, wait for me… and then what? You plannin’ on climbin’ in through the fuckin’ window next?”

Fighting for the upper hand in this situation, Ghost watches as you take a deep breath, eyes quickly scanning the length between the ground and the windowsill, where you’re struggling to keep your hold while stood on tip toes

“Well I was hoping you’d invite me in by now. But I’ll do what I have to.” You decide confidently, raising your chin up high as you hold his gaze, refusing to back down now that you’ve got him in front of you. You must see something in him that puts a slight dent in your resolve however, as he watches your eyes soften ever so slightly, and you begin to shift on your feet. “I just want to talk to you, Ghost. Can’t we at least just do that?”

He fights the urge to grind his teeth as he clenches his jaw, shifting his eyes away from you as he struggles to maintain his composure seeing you standing there bathed in moonlight, a look of genuine sincerity on your face as you plead with him to be reasonable

“Fucking fine. But you’re using the bloody door. Don’t need you causing a scene out ‘ere.” He relents, pulling his hand back from the window pane.

“You promise to let me in?” You ask, hesitating before you release your grip on the glass. He peers back down at you, taking his own steadying breath before he offers a curt but steady nod in your direction. “Good, because my next move was going to be to pull the fire alarm, and that would’ve just been so much more of a mess.”

With that little revelation, he watches your hand slip away from the glass as you tip toe along the edge of the barracks, finding your way back inside. He scoffs to himself as he shuts the windows firmly, shaking his head at your antics as he stares solemnly at the unlit cigarette still pinched between his fingers

What the fuck has he gotten himself into?

Your fist has barely finished its first knock on his door before he’s swinging it open, reaching a large hand out to grip you by the waist and pull you inside before he has the chance to change his mind about this whole thing. He peers his head quickly around the corridor to make sure no one caught sight of anything before shutting the door behind you both, sealing him in with the last person he thought he’d find himself with tonight

He releases his hold on you as quick as he can, taking a large step backwards to put space between you both, eyes raking in the sight of you pressed up against the back of his door, an image he’s pictured many times before in his head but never believed he’d truly ever lay his eyes upon

He watches your own gaze hesitantly sweep around the space quickly, taking in the sparseness of the room. What he wouldn’t do to be able to take a peek into your mind, especially right now

“How’s your head feel?” You ask quietly, eyes shifting back towards the masked man’s visage as he clenches and unclenches his fists at his side. The only answer you get from him is a grunt you’ve heard from him often enough to know translates to ‘fine’. “Soap was telling me that if the docs clear you this weekend you’ll be able to start easing back into work.”

Ghost simply watches as you watch him, slowly lifting one foot before another, cautiously making your way over to his small desk and easing yourself down into the chair, all the while keeping him in your sight, as though he were a wild animal you might spook with one wrong move

“I’m sure they’ll pass you, but between you and me,” you add, leaning back slightly in the chair as a shadow of a smile crinkles in the corner of your lips. “I’d help you forge the docs signature if we had to. I’ve had my fair share of Soap, I’m ready to pass custody back over to you.”

At this, Ghost can’t help the soft chuckle that slips out, watching as the hesitant smile on your face forms into a full fledge smirk at the sound of his approval. With the tension in the room slowly beginning to dissipate already, he dares to allow himself to take his own atop his bed, opposite to you. Still though, he can’t completely let go of the nerves running through him, knowing you’re likely moments away from confronting him.

“You wanted to talk, let’s talk.” His deep voice rings out in the small space, hoping to cut straight to the chase, get this over with

“Right,” he watches you fidget in your seat, eyes leaving his for a moment as you begin to fiddle with your jacket pockets. “Listen Ghost, I- I realize that I might have heard something you didn’t necessarily want me to know.”

‘Yeah, that’s putting it fucking lightly’ he thinks to himself, but allows you to go on with whatever speech you’ve obviously prepare, hoping you’ll at least be quick in your rejection of him, and that this can soon all be a thing of the past

“And I figured if we were going to talk, it would really only be fair to level the playing field, so to speak.” He watches with veiled curiosity as you fish something out of your jacket. In your hands you hold a small, but clearly well loved notebook

“How’s that?” He questions, nodding towards the item in your grasp

“I don’t think I have to swear you to secrecy here but, I used to write in journals a lot, when I was little. Don’t really keep up with it as much anymore, you know how busy we are.” You mention, pulling the strap down from across the front cover and opening the book, fingers sifting through the pages covered in handwritten words of ink and lead. “Every once in a while I’ll write something down, if it’s memorable. But mostly I jot down my uh, well my more embarrassing stories.”

“Why would ye do tha’?” Ghost questions, eyebrows furrowing as he tries not to decipher any of the words he sees on in your book, unsure where this is all going

“Honestly,” you say with a small, airy chuckle. The Lieutenant ignores the sudden feeling in his chest cavity as he comes to the conclusion he’s never seen you smile so often, at least not so up close and personal. “Reading them back makes me feel better. They make me laugh. Especially after a long day or hard missions. Nice to come back to and remind myself not everything in life has to be so… serious, I guess.”

You offer a casual shrug, still thumbing between pages as Ghost takes in your words.

“Anyways, I just thought that, maybe you’d want to hear something I would usually never tell anyone. Make us a little more even?”

He narrows his eyes at you slightly, understanding now what it is you’re trying to do.

He slipped up that day when he woke up from the coma, accidentally made himself vulnerable in front of you and said something he wish he hadn’t, something he’s embarrassed about

And so here you are now, offering to be vulnerable in front of him instead, to grant him access to some of your embarrassing moments and thoughts, level the playing field as you had put it

Yeah, he’ll bite

Again, he offers you no more than a subtle nod in your direction to communicate his agreement, but the way your eyes lights up at this response, you’d think he would’ve just agreed to make you Captain for a day

“Thought maybe we’d start easy. How about the time I accidentally spit my gum out on my CO’s boots? Or when I peed myself during basic-”

Ghost isn’t sure how you’ve done it, whether you knew this was how your cunning plan would work out all along, or if you’ve just gotten incredibly lucky tonight, but as one embarrassing story on your part turns into two, and then three, and suddenly hours have gone by, the stoic Lieutenant finds himself smiling with you, laughing with you, fuck he even starts offering up his own carefully curated stories when you pull an almost full carton of cigs out of your other pocket and toss them to him, the two of you sharing remarks over a shared smoke, hunched over the same window he nearly slammed in your face earlier

“Oh man,” you choke out in small fit of giggles, your hand holding your sides as you pass the cigarette back to him. “We oughta put all your dad jokes down on paper one day, you know why? Because they’re tear-able.”

He rolls his eyes as he takes a deep inhale off the cig, pretending the corners of his mouth haven’t been lifted nearly all night.

“Tha’ was awful.” He mutters, sparing you a side glance before he adds, “A real pun-ishable offence you jus’ committed there.” He doesn’t bother hiding his smirk anymore when your giggles grow louder at that.

“Alright, alright. I suppose my pun-ishment then,” you say between breaths, casting him a glance to see if he approves of yet another one of your corny puns tonight. “Would be to read these last few pages.”

He watches as your fingers dance across the handful of pages making up the end of the journal, yet to be read aloud tonight, your movements appearing hesitant for the first time this entire interaction.

Part of him feels the urge to tell you whatever it is, it’s not necessary, that you don’t have to read anymore about yourself that you don’t want to

Another part however, is far too curious, far too intrigued to know more about you, having learned more tonight from your own lips than he has in all the months he’s known you

“Actually, maybe I’ll just have you read it this time.” You say, reaching the journal out towards him, allowing him that one final glimpse into your personal thoughts. With a calloused palm, he takes the book from your hand, careful not to linger too long on the soft touch of your digits against his rougher ones. Glancing down at the words written haphazardly across the lined paper, he reads:

‘First week with the 141 went by in a blur, don’t think I’ve ever sweat so much on a base before, those men sure know how to train’

‘Captain is nicer than any other CO I’ve had before, and the Sergeants are funny, very welcoming’

‘The Lieutenant is… different’

‘Not bad different (though he might not say the same for me), just different. Hoping to learn more about him soon’

‘One month on the team has flown by, almost can’t remember life before the 141’

‘The lads are great, but the Lieutenant still doesn’t seem keen on me being here. Which is a shame, his teammates speak so highly of him, and his work speaks for itself. Just wish he’d speak to me sometimes’

‘Almost half a year already, if you can believe it’

‘These men feel like family, all apart from the one who still won’t acknowledge me’

‘The lads say not to worry about it, that Ghost will come around eventually… I just hope they’re right. There’s something about him I can’t shake. I find myself thinking about him more than I should’

‘Mission went bad. Lieutenant got hurt and has yet to wake up from his coma’

‘For the lads sake, I hope he wakes up soon’

‘Ghost opened his eyes yesterday…’

‘I don’t know if he meant what he said, or if he even remembers it, but I know I’ll never be able to forget it’

‘This entire time I’ve just wanted him and I to be cordial, to work together, hell maybe even become friends… but ever since he’s said those words… I can’t shake the feeling … maybe friends isn’t quite the right word for us’

Ghost isn’t sure how many times his eyes scan that last entry over and over and over, willing his eyes to believe what he’s seeing right in front of him, not until your hand slowly slips over his own, still holding the journal open, does his gaze flicker up to meet your own vulnerable stare

“I’ll be honest I’m not sure how to- do this.” You say with a slightly awkward chuckle, the vulnerability of the situation clearly starting to get to you as your Lieutenant stares you down wordlessly. “But I wanted to be honest with you. Couldn’t have you wallowing away in here any longer without knowing - well I guess without knowing how I felt too. I don’t know you as well as I’d like to Ghost, we haven’t exactly given each other many chances to do so. But I’d really like to be your… friend.”

His eyes narrow in on the sweet but anxious smile you try to put on through your nerves, your earlier confidence diminishing now that you’ve truly laid your cards out and made yourself as vulnerable as you can before the man who still has yet to say anything.

Ghost takes a steadying breath, eyes never leaving yours as he tosses your journal onto his bed where it lands with a soft bounce.

Vulnerability like this, feelings like this… it’s a grey area Ghost usually tries to avoid at all costs, a field of land mines he’d rather not cross, knowing no one makes it out on the other side unscathed

But with everything you’ve done for him, everything you’ve revealed to him, in combination with the throbbing organ behind his ribs fighting to beat its way back to life since the moment he met you and decided he couldn’t fall for you, Ghost finally relents and says fuck it. You’ve shown more bravery tonight than he has in the last two weeks, avoiding you like you were the plague, and it’s about time he put on his big boy trousers and show some bravery of his own now

“Don’ know it the lads told ya, but I don’ really do friends.” He says, slowly lifting a single boot and cautiously stepping in your direction

“I- I’ve heard.” You mutter, trying not to show the defeat that threatens to come across your features at his words, fearing he’s about to let you down.

The large man takes another step, and another, until there’s suddenly less than an inch of space left between both your heaving chests, and you have to crane your neck upwards while his is tilted down to keep his eyes on yours. Your eyes widen as you watch one of Ghost’s large hands come up into view, sneaking towards the bottom of his balaclava, which has been rolled up with entire time as you both shared some smokes

His fingers pinch the fabric, pulling it up further above his mouth to rest on the crooked bridge of his nose, revealing more of his scarred lips to you just as they whisper:

“But you and I, my love, aren’t quite friends.”

With the way Ghost’s lips come crashing onto your own waiting mouth, you’re inclined to agree with him

Tag list:

@kat-herine00 @unclearblur @anastrashbin @sundaescreamcheese @milanriol @mismatchsposts @xye-weirdo @readingthingy @kitkatkristal1020

@purplegamer99 @idkwhatfor09 @alkalineapparition @lovelycurls @thecattyinthedark-blog @idkwhattodosooo @hao-ming-8 @wh0s-ra3 @cricricorner @tessakate @laduenadelswing @pinkpookiebear

[scumbag-the-hedgehog]

It's his buddy! Look at him go!

oh my godd it's. its *cough* THE FLAMES OF DISASTER!!

[adventuringblind]

He Must Be Lucky!

Max Verstappen x Reader

Genre: fluff and crack

Summary: Max gets wasted and can't remember that the reader is his wife. It's endearing how much he simps bith sober and drunk.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, a wild party (at least for Max), Max being down bad

Notes: This one is for @amajixi! I hope you like it! Does anybody wanna send me asks and talk about drivers with me? Give me your most feral thoughts because I'm genuinely curious... please >_< (I even turned my anonymous asks back on please just send me things).

Side note: my fics haven't been getting much traction as they usually do. Is it something on my end? Have y'all disappeared on me? I know I shouldn't care, but y'all are the only ones that validate my writing T_T

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

Max has a track record of partying hard. It's who he is, and she lives him for it. There isn't any kind of gripe of hang-up, just Max having fun and doing dumb shit that makes her laugh.

Lando is throwing a - well - a party. There was an excuse for it in the invitation, but she's too buzzed to remember it.

The echoing sound of Max's laughter ricochets off the walls. Daniel is with him, probably getting them into more trouble, but she knows Daniel will look after him. At least until he's trashed and can't get off the floor.

Alex brings her another shot glass. She has no idea what's in it, but Alex is letting loose, and she'll be damned if she doesn't partake.

He raises the shot glass in a toast. "To whatever this party is!" He cheers. They clink their glasses together and down the shots. She gags at whatever was in it.

"The fuck was that, Alex?!" She sputters.

He gives her a blank look. Really thinking hard about what he gave her. "I've got no idea."

The hours seem to tick by. The people are slowly dissipating, leaving the safety of this weird little bubble they've created.

She's lightly buzzed still, having danced off the majority of the shots Alex had her doing. The couch is her new best friend, and Lando had brought her a blanket at some point in the last twenty minutes.

A weight on the other end of the sofa catches her attention. Max, with complete adoration in his blue eyes, is staring at her. "Wow," he slurs. "You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen."

She laughs at his drunken thoughts. "You're not too bad looking yourself, babe."

The smile on his face is almost childish. It's big enough to almost fall off. His cheeks tinged a darker red with the blush adding to the alcohol flush.

"Go on a date with me? Please?" He tries to pout, but it ends up looking awkward mixed with the grin.

She flashes the ring at him. "Sorry, I'm spoken for." Alex and Lando are giggling from where they are watching this interaction unfold.

Max looks like a wounded puppy. Eye's glossing over like her might cry. "He must be such a lucky guy. You're just so perfect!"

"Awe, love, you wanna know a secret?" She leans in to whisper into Max's ear. "You married me."

If Max could hand you the world on a silver platter, he might have tried in this moment. The Dutch is vibrating in pure, unadulterated joy. Like a child who just got the ice-cream they were so desperately craving.

"Holy shit! I'm the lucky guy!"

Max smothers himself against your body. Eventually falling asleep, mumbling about how she's so amazing, and how he loves her so much. It's endearing to here his drunk affections laid bare for everyone to see.

It's the lullaby that calms her to a restful state. Fingers tangling with the softness of his hair. "You're not the only one who's lucky. I guess I'm pretty lucky, too."

[milf-murdock]

Feels Like Home

Ghost x Soap x Reader // Established relationship

Summary: Your boys come home to you.

Warnings: none, just the fluffiest of fluff

“S’late,” Johnny murmured in the dark as he nudged off his boots beside the door. Simon offered up a small hum in agreement as he slid the locks into place, ensuring each and every one clicked firmly. “Try not to wake her this time, Johnny,” he warned as they made their way through the shared flat and towards the bedroom. “No promises,” Johnny whispered. “Just missed her so fucking much.” Simon rolled his eyes affectionately, but there was no denying that he felt the same way. The deep-seated ache they both felt when they were apart from you, it was damn near debilitating.

The bedroom door let out a quiet squeak as they carefully opened it, and Simon made a mental note to grease it in the morning.

The two men paused in the doorway, their breath momentarily taken away by the sight of your sleeping form. The soft glow of the lamp you’d accidentally left on washed your body in a warm hue. You were in one of Simon’s oversized sweatshirts, the well-worn material draping your frame as you cuddled close to Johnny’s pillow. The soft rise and fall of your chest let them know that you were still peacefully asleep, and for a brief panicked moment, Simon felt his chest constrict as he thought about how easily it would be for someone else, someone with more sinister intent, to sneak in here with you completely unaware. He pushed the thought out of his mind, reminding himself of all the security measures he and Johnny strategically put into place to assure your safety at all times.

The moment of quiet of short lived as Johnny all but bounded to the bed, unable to curb his enthusiasm for a moment longer. To be fair, he did try his hardest to be quiet and smooth, but he couldn’t stand the look of you curled around his pillow when you clearly needed to be resting against his own body. He lifted the covers back and slid into the warm sheets, carefully untangling you from the pillow and coaxing your head onto his chest, the soft patch of curls gracing his burly form have you instinctively curling inwards, burying your face in the soft warmth.

You let out a contented sigh and for the first time in nearly four weeks, Johnny feels like he can finally breathe, like he is finally whole once more. As he wrapped his strong arms around you, realization slowly pulls you from your slumber as you wiggle against his hard body, your body torn between falling back into sleep and knowing that something has changed.

Simon stepped closer to the bed, looking at you and Johnny with pure unadulterated affection. “Hey love,” his deep voice was soft in the darkness, not wanting to startle you. “We’re home.” A single finger traced the outline of your face, trailing from your temple to your chin, as your eyelashes fluttered open.

“You’re home?” Your voice cracked on the last word, the last dregs of sleep clearing from you as you took in the sight before you.

Johnny pressed a kiss to your temple, pulling you even closer. “Aye lass,” he murmured against your skin, pressing kiss after kiss. “We’re home. Missed ya.”

As much as Simon enjoyed watching the sweet moment between you and Johnny, his own exhaustion was slowly overtaking him. He does his best to juggle taking care of you and Johnny, especially looking after Johnny when they’re on missions together—not just as his lieutenant, but as his partner.

Simon slid into the bed from the other side, his large frame coming up behind you and his arm hooking under Johnny’s neck, enabling him to pull you both close to him, your pliant body wedged between the two men. Simon took a deep breath, breathing in the subtle mix of your shampoo and a faint whiff of musk that was distinctly Johnny. Nothing compared to the feeling of being home with his loves, both of you safe in his arms.

The three of you drifted off to sleep just like that, limbs thoroughly entangled, steady breathing soothing every last one of you.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Ok hear me out- (this is an official request 🥺🙌🏼) can we get a Logan x fem!reader smut but it sparely based on sex pollen? I just love that trope so much that some plant of whatever drives both of them so crazy to the point where they’re just going at it out of pure instinct? Thank you in advanceeeee

im gonna be honest with you, I haven’t got a clue what sex pollen is. no matter how many things I read or how much I try to understand it, it doesn’t go in my brain and for that reason, ive deleted every sex pollen request ive received😭 but I finally had a crack at it. thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

POLLEN.

logan howlett x fem!reader — smut

word count. 321 (soz it's short)

warnings. 18+ only. pinv, exhibitionism, sex pollen. mdni

Desperation. That’s the only word, only way to describe what you’re feeling. Pure, unadulterated lust – mounds of unbridled desire. Maybe it was something you ate, something you smelt, you didn’t know.

All you did know is that you felt empty. Not empty in the sad, hopeless sense, but instead physically unfulfilled. The lack of friction where you wanted it sending your mind further into a tizzy. 

The presence of Logan only adding metaphorical fuel to the fire. Every little, micro, casual thing he does makes it harder and harder to suppress what you so desperately wanted to contain. 

These feelings –urges– were reciprocated, the same substance affecting Logan in the same way it did you. Neither of you knew what it was, knew what had caused it. You only knew what it felt like: deep, primal and repressed. 

Everything about it is urgent, all of it happening as if it were purely instinctual. The hasty unbuttoning of bottoms and lifting of tops following as a result of the substance.

Each of you quiet and close as you cramp yourselves in the cubbyhole of a service station bathroom. The dingy, grimey room like a reflection of the act itself: dirty, secret, forbidden.

The space between you minimal, distance non-existent as he presses you up against the stall door. One of your legs loosely wrapped around his thigh, footing sturdy on the toilet seat lid as you keep yourself balanced. His hands tight on you only aiding your stability. 

His strokes are urgent —everything about it is so urgent— the fucking of his cock into you is hasty and desperate, every wind of his hips coming from a place of deep-rooted need. 

The stuttery, cut-off noises from your mouths only add to the hotness of it all – hushed, muffled moans into the other's skin to avoid the chance of being caught. To avoid the possibility of a patron overhearing it all.

almost blew my load seeing this gif. it’s not mine, found it on pinterest

[scumbag-the-hedgehog]

"If any children would like firearms, I will be giving them away for free later."

[sirhamburrger]

and some roommates (don't worry, we're cool!)

a/n: thinking silly thoughts today... having sae itoshi and ryusei shidou as roommates while getting involved with rin itoshi… (unrealistic since they'd both probably be really rich by the end of bllk, whenever that is, or adulthood) for the purpose of this drabble please pretend they are two broke boys 🙏

wc: 739 || tags: all characters are 18+, gn!reader, reader is in uni, situationship ryusae once again putting the bl in blue lock, background rin x reader, 700 words of domestic crack and more || header from bllk manga

(continued here in my christmas miniseries, more rin x reader centric)

it all begins when you're looking for an apartment in downtown tokyo. but since you can't afford one of your own at the moment, you're looking to see if anyone could use another roommate to split rent with.

and after days of scouring the internet, you find a promising place. clean, well-furnished, spacious - but there's already a couple living together in it...

oh well. the more the better. 

so you show up at their door after a couple of text messages exchanged with one of the very enthusiastic co-tenants, hoping to get a better look at the place. you ring the bell. no response. you try again. and again. maybe they're out -

“shidou, will you just get the damn door already?”

oh. okay.

the door finally swings open, and you're greeted by a tall, tan-skinned and vaguely familiar-looking man with a terrifying grin. you take a step back, a little shocked, but he just beams at you.

“you're the one who's been messaging me about the apartment, aren’tcha? come on in!”

he loops an arm around your shoulder, introducing himself as he walks you in. he's ryusei shidou, a member of the national football team who played in an exhibition match a few years back (which explains why you find him so familiar).

“so, uh…” you shudder slightly when shidou fixes his gaze on you. “where's your girlfriend? or, uh, boyfriend, i guess. partner. i should probably meet them.”

and it's at this moment that you abandon your inital thoughts of finding another place because sae freaking itoshi steps into the kitchen??

you think you might just faint. 

“o-oh my gosh, sae,” you stammer,  “it's an honour to meet you –”

he stares at you blankly, then at shidou with murderous intent in his eyes.

“who is this?”

“i'm not, like, a side chick or anything,” you quickly clarify, but shidou simply grins.

“we need someone to split rent with, and-”

“and i thought i would just check your place out, seeing as i'm in the same boat,” you finish. “but you two, as a couple, should probably discuss this. you know what? i can wait outside-"

“wait,” sae says slowly, pure, unadulterated disgust in his eyes. “he told you we're a couple?”

shidou's face falls. "we're not?"

and that's the story of how you move in with two men around your age who have some weird dynamic going on that you don't question.

japan's talented young midfielder is a great roommate (then again, you did go into this with no expectations whatsoever). he does the dishes when he's supposed to, takes the heavier bags off your hands during grocery runs with you, stays quiet after ten pm. he makes breakfast for you and shidou in the mornings, and teaches you about football.

ryusei shidou, though... oh, you get why sae's so sick of him now.

he takes the most massive dumps in the bathroom and doesn't flush. or put the seat back up after he's done. or turn the tap off properly. (he's flooded the sink before.) speaking of sinks, he leaves his dirty dishes in the sink. sometimes you want to tear his diabolical dye job off his scalp. sae informs you he has has tried just that and failed to do so.

but he does make you laugh a lot with his jokes and antics.

"one thing you should know about genius sae-chan is that he loves back hugs." "please don't speak for me."

and the two of you absolutely love making fun of sae's attempts to properly reconcile with his brother. you'll be peering over at his phone screen, ryusei on his right and you on his left, as he types out something about lunch plans tomorrow.

"you spelled 'restaurant' wrong for a second there."

ryusei dodges the pillow that comes flying at his face.

they've known each other for longer than you've known them, but they tell you things they wouldn't ever tell the other. like when ryusei quietly admitted to you one night, that despite all his careless flirting, he does really want to be with sae, in a more-than-friends kind of way. or like when sae told you in confidence that he secretly likes ryusei's back hugs.

and when against all odds, a certain green-haired boy in your lectures starts talking to you, you shudder to think that you now have something in common with ryusei - being deeply obsessed with an itoshi sibling.

bllk masterlist || general masterlist

© sirhamburrger 2024

[amourrs]

so there’s this absolutely filthy thought that’s stuck in my head of miguel with standing missionary… oh to be fucked in the air like a doll… what can i say i love my men big n strong.

thanks for your request lovey!! — one where you and your boyfriend have a quickie in a public bathroom (established relationship, smut 18+, 0.8k)

Your back is pressed to the wall, hands scraping for purchase against it and coming up empty as your legs squeeze firmly around your boyfriend’s thighs. This is kind of disgusting, you think fleetingly, your head turning towards the closed toilet half a foot to your right. You quickly decide not to care about hygiene, though, not with six feet and nine inches of muscle and sex appeal hard and willing in front of you.

“Cariño,” Miguel pants into your mouth, hands coming up to circle your waist. You’re forced to turn back to him as your eyes begin to flutter closed. “Nuh uh- eyes open, honey. Gotta keep your attention on me or I’m gonna get jealous of a toilet and we can’t give Morales that kind of ammunition against me, not when he caught me stroking that cat last week.”

Your eyes snap open at once. “That cat has a name, Miguel, and it’s Monty—” A gasp cuts you off and it takes you a second to realise that it came from your own throat. Miguel’s hips snap into yours a second time as a smug smile saunters across his lips, twisting them into a condescending expression.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t give a fuck what the cat was called, sweetheart. How could I when I have you right here? Fuck, you’re dripping for me, angel, gonna feel so good when you cum around my cock,” he groans, hands sliding down to cup your thighs as he massages them in his grip. Heat rises to your face and you promptly bury yourself in his neck, peppering kisses to the junction where it meets his jawline as he chuckles at you. “Don’t get all shy on me now, corazón. Actin’ like this wasn’t your idea in the first place,” Miguel teases, his voice cracking slightly as his cock drags against your velvety walls and you let out a broken moan.

“Shut up,” you whine, head still firmly planted against your boyfriend’s hot skin. “Didn’t— fuck— ask, did I?”

Something about the pettiness of your statement is far harder to take seriously when Miguel has your legs shaking around him and so he decides to let it slide, opting to laugh at you rather than torturing you further. “Okay, okay, mi— shit, squeezin’ me so tight. You close, honey? Gonna cum for me? God, please cum for me, you look so pretty when you do—” It’s not long before the huge man’s babbling has your head tilting back to hit the wall of the stall as your cunt clenches around him, your orgasm washing over you as Miguel’s thumb comes up to brush against your clit. You jolt slightly at the stimulation, whining at the slight pain that’s beginning to creep in as Miguel’s thrusts speed up. He’s pounding into you with no reprieve now, arm up above you as he clutches at the top of the stall’s wall to steady himself. “I know, mi vida, I know. I’m sorry, I’m so close, I swear— fuck— taking me so well, cariño, I’m gonna— shit”, he swears, pulling out at the last moment so that he can paint your thigh with his release. It’s so hot when his head slides back to moan as he cums and you have to resist the urge to bite him, instead deciding to whine as you turn on shaky legs to sit on top of the closed lid of the toilet. Miguel turns to you a second later, pulling toilet roll out of the dispenser to his left as he leans over and begins to clean himself off of the soft skin of your thigh, leaving a sweet kiss behind on the spot as he does so.

“So,” he starts as soon as you’re both fully dressed again, your breath finally beginning to return to your lungs. He’s bending down to retie your shoelace for you as he squares his shoulders and looks up into your eyes, an expression of pure, unadulterated (and rather sappy) love evident on his face. “I have a really important question to ask you, and it’s been on my mind for so long—”

You roll your eyes at him, incredulous. “Miguel O’Hara, I swear to God. If you dare propose to me in a public bathroom—”

Your boyfriend’s eyes widen in mock surprise and he rises to his feet. “Propose? To you? In a bathroom?! Mi vida, what are you on about? Clearly I was about to ask if you wanted falafel or sushi for dinner,” he rebukes, barely holding in a peal of laughter as it shakes his broadened shoulders.

“Oh, fuck off, O’Hara. Obviously I want sushi.”

Miguel grins at your irritated expression before leaning down to smear an affectionate kiss across your forehead. “Sushi it is then, cariño.”

[callme-holly]

Can you please do “Darrel Curtis holding his new born daughter for the first time?” And he’s like totally in love and Y/N is like “Darrel are you crying?” And he, through sniffles is like “n-no” and it’s just tooth rotting sweet?? ♥️♥️

𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

limerence: (adj.) a state of pure, overwhelming emotional attachment and adoration, often accompanied by an almost dreamlike sense of devotion and joy

The hospital room was silent, save for the faint beeping from the various machines around the room and the soft, slight, uneven breaths from the tiny baby dozing on your chest.

Your body ached, fatigue taking hold of every part of you, your eyes heavy and your mind slightly foggy; however, you couldn't bring yourself to sleep and miss this moment. 

Darry was sitting at your side, transfixed by the little bundle. His face held a mixture of awe and fear, his eyes surprisingly glassy and filled with nothing but love. He'd been so tough through it all, your rock during the whole entire pregnancy, and now he was finally letting himself go, finally letting all of his emotions break through. 

"Do you want to hold her?" you ask quietly, almost afraid that if you talk too loud, you will break the comforting quiet that has enveloped the both of you. Darry doesn't respond straight away but nods slowly in response, holding out his arms so that you can carefully transfer the baby to him.

Immediately, his entire demeanour melts, his body sinking further into the chair as he holds his baby girl close to his chest, watching the way her little chest rises and falls. Her face is scrunched up in sleep, her hair fine and dark, and you feel your heart clench as she subconsciously turns to tuck her face into her dad's shirt.

"She's so perfect." His voice cracks as he speaks, and he swallows heavily in an attempt to bypass the lump forming in his throat. You glance up, catching sight of the tears shining in his eyes, and you can't help but smile.

"Darrel Curtis, are you crying?" Your voice holds not an ounce of judgement or disapproval, just pure, unadulterated affection. He shakes his head quickly, clearing his throat but refusing to meet your eyes.

"No... I'm not," he denies, but the way his voice wobbles says otherwise. Carefully, you reach out with a tentative hand, resting it lightly on his arm and squeezing reassuringly. That finally draws his attention to you, and he lets out a small puff of air, disbelief painted across his features.

"She's ours," he mumbles, rocking the tiny bundle as he speaks. "She's actually ours."

You nod, your own tears forming. "Yeah. She is, hon. She's ours." 

Darry smiles down at the baby, and it seems he can't bring himself to look away from her for more than a few seconds.  It's like a magnet for his attention, a sponge absorbing every ounce of love he has to give. "This... It doesn't feel real, you know? I never knew I could love someone so much." he

And the truth in his words, the pure honesty in which he speaks them, is what finally breaks through the dam and allows your tears to seep free. The baby stirs slightly, letting out a small whimper as she shifts, but she doesn't wake. Her eyes stay closed, and you watch with great wonder as her features twitch and twist before settling once more.

"We did good," you speak eventually. "Did really good." 

And Darry can only manage a small hum of agreement, grinning at you like he's the   man on earth, like he's just won the largest bet in history. But no amount of money in the world could ever compare to this feeling; nothing could ever live up to knowing he's got you by his side, and now, this tiny baby too. That's all he needed. Just you and your daughter. And that's all that mattered.

[revelboo]

Everything Is Alright

Chapter One

Rolling through the clouds, Starscream almost feels free. Everything dragging at him left behind far below. Up here, the paranoia and anger can’t hold him. He can think. So it’s an effort to make himself land, transforming at the last minute so his peds gouge up dirt and rocks as he slides. And reality sinks back in like it always does as soon as he’s grounded again. Up there, he sometimes just thinks about not stopping. That maybe he could just fly away and leave the hurt and frustration behind. He never does, though. He can’t.

There’s nothing really here, just thickly wooded land and a winding ribbon of asphalt running through it. Nothing to indicate there’s energon here. Venting softly, he maps out the terrain. It’s such a little thing that he almost misses it. A branch among the trees cracking. And he turns toward it, arm lifting.

That small move saves his life. There’s no mistaking the Autobot spy lunging at him, denta bared like a feral beast. A blade humming in his fist that almost sheers through a wing and drives into his side. Reeling back with a cry, he spots the little scout raising his own weapon. And he’s transforming even as his wound pour energon and scream at him. Thrusters igniting and bowling Jazz over. Knowing he’s not bought himself any time at all.

Scrap. Just like every other time he reaches, everything’s gone sideways. All the intelligence Starscream had received in his reports had indicated that the Autobots were unaware of the energon deposit the Decepticon scouts had picked up on their scanners. Supposed to have been only a recon mission to get a better lay of the land. Not an ambush. Meaning someone had set him up. He should be used to it by now, it shouldn’t still have the power to hurt him.

Turbines screaming, Starscream can feel the wound in his side and wing pulling. Too much damage to get any altitude, so now he’s down over a wooded stretch of road. Every attempt to climb sending darts of tearing pain through him and spurring the Autobots to double their attacks. Trying to ground him, because once they do it’s over and they know it as well as he does. Pain burns white hot as his own fury through him even as he steadily loses altitude and any hope of just flying away from his pursuers. No, that wing is hanging on by a prayer to Primus and pure, unadulterated spite as he drops even lower. His wingspan too wide for the narrow road he’s flying over as he dips down below the trees and feels the tips of his wings cracking branches to rain down into the road. Every impact jarring through him, trying to tear him apart.

Not that the debris is doing a blasted thing to deter the two Autobots in pursuit. No, Bumblebee and Jazz are right there, still firing on him as they swerve around the bigger branches. It’s almost funny that he’s going to be brought down by only two of them. It’s insulting.

He rolls slightly around a curve, wingtip scraping the asphalt in a spray of paint-scraping, painful sparks. Knows they won’t give up the chase. Can’t now that he’s bleeding energon and running like a startled turbo fox. Because while he isn’t exactly outgunned, he has little doubt that they’ve already called in for backup. Fury twisting about his spark, desperation claws at him.

Calling in his own? Having to beg for help even from his own trine? Weak. And weakness doesn’t survive long among the Decepticon ranks. Maybe Thundercracker and Skywarp won’t exploit that weakness to ursurp his spot, but Megatron would feel that it’s a teaching moment. And beat it into him with his fists. Besides, someone had tipped off the Autobots that he’d be out here. Betrayed again, even though at this point it really shouldn’t be a surprise.  Another tight corner. So tired, but then that spark deep exhaustion is something he’s well and truly used to. He’s on his own, but that’s nothing new. When you can’t trust anyone, you learn to rely on yourself. To push harder, fight with the desperation of the cornered. They might bring him down, but he’ll drag at least one to the Pit with him.

Weapons fire peppering him, he swings another curve and there’s a car up ahead in the distance. For a moment, he thinks it’s over. That this is the reinforcements the Autobots must have summoned. But, no. It’s only a human. And an opportunity.

One more mile to get it together. Except, you’ve been telling yourself that for how many miles now? It’s been halfheartedly misting rain for the last several minutes, but you don’t bother to roll the windows up on your old sedan. Not when you desperately need the chilly feel of the wind sinking icy fingers into your hair and tearing at your ponytail to help numb the anger and stress just there under the surface. Because it always falls apart when you think that maybe this time you got it right.

But even with the speedometer pushing 65 on the wooded country road, there’s no outrunning yourself. Or stopping your mind from sifting through the fallout from your latest boyfriend. Letting the intrusive thoughts in. Like maybe he’d been right, and you hadn’t really made enough time for him. Even if you both worked crappy, full-time jobs that consumed more than their fair share of your time and energy.

If anything, it was as much his fault as yours, right? Hands going white knuckled on the wheel, you crank the rock and roll even higher to let the thump of the bass roll through your bones and send your thoughts flying. You’re out past the county line now, the road just an inky ribbon of asphalt snaking through the woods. Occasionally, the setting sun dazzles you through the gaps in the trees in piercing, painful flares of red and gold.

From the depths of your mind comes the thought that you could just keep driving. See where the road went until it ended somewhere on the coast. It was a lovely dream, but just that. You weren’t brave enough to just go. That’s why you still lived in the nowhere town you’d grown up in. Your foot settles a little more firmly on the gas pedal, slaloming around lazy curves as you try to shake off the mellow ache, because now you’re angry with him and yourself.

You could do it. Flip the proverbial bird to everything you know, especially your awful boss, and just nope off into the sunset without a plan. Probably end up living in the car if it didn’t break down before you even managed to cross the state line. It was funny in a decidedly unfunny way, because your own worst enemy? You. It’s always you.

Snorting at yourself, it takes a minute to register the new sound over the wail of an electric guitar pouring tinnily through your speakers. What is that? The fine hair at your nape prickles as it rolls over you, a thunderous scream that locks the breath in your lungs. Eyes darting up to your mirror there’s a moment of blank disbelief, because no. That’s not a jet right behind you, flying lower than a jet has any reason to as its huge wingspan sheers off branches in its wake. It can’t be.

There’s no time to argue with the impossible vision because the belly of the jet slams and scrapes along the roof of your car with an awful shriek, and panic lights you up. You haul at the wheel, foot slamming down on the brake and then you’re sliding on the wet road. Things get a bit funny after that. Trees right there and the noise of the impact. Your forehead bouncing off the wheel and then slamming back as the airbag deploys with enough force you’re stunned again.

Your world blurs into a confusing smear of impossibility when you lift your head and feel your heartbeat throbbing at your temple. For a moment, you can’t figure out the seatbelt, everything hurts, and your mouth tastes like old pennies.

In the distance, a rumble of thunder rolls as the buckle finally unclips. The door is partially dented in by the impact, so you crawl out the window, head pounding to match the thunder. But thunder doesn’t sound like that. This is a staccato thumping that makes no sense. Guns? Probably that jet exploding. Your awkward slide out of the car via the window isn’t dignified or graceful. Twisting to land on your hip instead of your face, you lift your head. Everything’s muddled and you definitely have a concussion. That’s the only way to explain whatever the hell it is you’re looking at. There are giant robots in the road and one of them has wings painted like the stupid, low flying jet that had tried to kill you. And they have guns. You don’t even know what to make of this particular hallucination playing out in front of you. Staggering up out of the ditch and onto the road, it feels like you’re on a ship, the ground pitching and rolling under your feet as your stare up at the nonsense. You definitely brained yourself good. Most likely, you’re still in the car bleeding out and this was your mind’s idea of a consolation prize. Except you’d never actually liked sci-fi or robots.

Turning unsteadily as your whole body screams in pain, you stare from the jet and its fiery red eyes to the other two imaginary head trauma robots. One’s yellow and the other is white with red and blue accents. And they’re not shooting the jet anymore. They’re just staring down at you in the same kind of dumb stupor that's weighing you down. Your legs get a bit cute on you and your knee thumps onto the road. Feeling the grit and loose gravel digging into you cuts through the hazy fog of pain and disbelief.

Because it’s real. And then the panic rears its head, screaming at you to run even as you freeze. You’d always kind of assumed you’d do well under pressure. That you’d at least do something. Kneeling there as the misty rain slowly chills your skin, you don’t move. You can’t. Not even when you see the jet monster lunge right at you, big hand reaching.

It's almost serendipity when the human staggers up into the road between him and the two Autobots. Gaping up at them with no sense of self-preservation or fear. Staring at him in the optics like he’s no threat to you. Brave, but so stupid.

Because his options are limited. How long until the Autobot’s backup arrives? Feeling the wound in his side pulling as he lunges, he’s only barely aware of Jazz’s cry. The human is softer than he expects, that soft flesh giving horribly against his servos as he catches you and lifts you out in front of him like the most ineffective shield ever. Aside from a wheezing sound halfway between a gasp and a moan, the human just hangs there in his grip, unresisting. Maybe broken.

All that matters is that Jazz and Bumblebee have frozen. Maybe it isn’t so ineffective. Because the Autobots are forbidden from harming organics. Especially humans. Baring his denta in a feral smile, he backs away from the two.

“Let the human go, Starscream,” Bumblebee says, voice as steady as the weapon still raised toward him in threat.

An empty threat. A laugh escapes him, his smile turning nasty. “No, I don’t think so.”

Whatever is inside humans is hot, sticky, and leaking unpleasantly against his servos. The sensation is almost enough to make him chuck you at the two idiots to buy himself some time. Small hands push at his servos as the thing in his grip shudders. You’re silent, though as you look up at him with big, terrified eyes.

Spark thrumming, he keeps moving back. They’re really going to let him go just because he’d nabbed a human with no survival instincts whatsoever. It’s too sweet to believe. Eerily quiet  in his grip as you sluggishly leak red fluid from a gash on your head, those wide eyes meet his optics. Turning on his heel, he pulls you into his chassis as he transforms, pain rippling through him. There’s a terrifying moment of very real fear that his wing won’t hold. That he and his hostage will crash back down, but his turbines roar and he’s gone. Still can’t get any altitude, but they’re not firing on him. Not pursuing all because they might hurt the weak little organic he grabbed. It’s almost too funny to think something so stupid just saved his life. This pitiful thing’s life is worth more than his to them.

You’re no longer silent, he can hear your rasping gasps. Maybe transforming around you had finally broke through your shock. Something definitely had. He can feel your little hands scrabbling at his interior in a panic, the sensation causing his metal flesh to crawl all over. Because you’re inside him. Touching everything. Leaking that sticky red stuff inside him. The only consolation at all was that you aren’t screaming.

Yet.

“Keep your filthy little hands to yourself,” he snarls as you paw at the seam of his cockpit as if you want to be jettisoned. Nearly begging for it. As tempting as that thought is, the docile, little thing has potential. Namely as a way to keep the Autobots from firing at him.

Snatching your hands back, wide eyes dart around his interior. So, you aren’t quite as addled as he’d thought. Surprising. “It’s talking. The giant, metal death robot is talking,” you mutter, voice soft and raspy with pain as you tuck your hands against your chest.

“Starscream.” The annoyance is immediate and the human flinches at his tone, shoulders hunching. You don’t respond, though. Just make that weird, gasping sound as you look around for an escape.

Aside from a low, moaning when he transforms around you a second time, you’re silent as he keeps you trapped inside his canopy. One of your soft hands slaps against the glass to make him shudder, hearing your breathing becoming louder and more frantic. There’s the fear he’d expected. By some miracle, he makes it inside the base and to his quarters without getting stopped. Though, Skywarp gives him a look as he limps past. A low growl and a flash of denta enough to discourage his trine brother from needling him for the moment. Wondering if he walks past if he’s the one who betrayed him.

Closing the door behind himself, the pain of his ruined wing crests and threatens to wash over him. Servos gingerly touching his side and wincing when they come away wet with energon, he picks up an empty energon cube and pops his canopy. With a startled cry, you fall out into his palm, and he drops you into the cube. The walls are high enough that he doubts you can manage to get free and even if you do, where will you go? Placing the cube on a shelf, his optics narrow as you scramble to the far side of your prison, eyes wide.

Whether or not you’d meant to, and it’s definitely not, you’d saved his life. And he’s not sure how he feels about being in the debt of a human. Venting softly, he turns and leaves you to go find the medic.

You slide slowly down the smooth glass wall to land on your butt as your legs just give up. The apparently not hallucinatory, brain trauma induced, giant robot stuck you in a big, square aquarium and even though the top is open, you can’t get enough air. Or stop shaking as panic sank its teeth into your throat.

Reaching up, you gingerly touch your temple. There’s blood there, but sticky and not actively bleeding you think. And even if you’re not imagining all this, you probably, definitely, do have a concussion. You can’t motivate your shaking, noodle legs to stand, so you crane your neck to study your prison. The walls are much higher than you are tall and featureless. No way to get a good grip to climb out, even as you very briefly entertain and dismiss the idea of parkouring up the corner of the box to freedom, because that isn’t happening, and you know it.

Which leaves you all alone to wander the shores of melancholy regret in the silence of the empty room. There’ll be no seeing where any other roads go now. No second chances. You tunnel your fingers through your hair, pulling on it as you try to gather yourself. To think it out. Feeling miserable, you look around the big room. It's giant robot sized and surprisingly spartan. There’s a flat metal berth along one wall, a desk and chair, what might be storage drawers, but blessedly little else. No mementos of a life lived. No trinkets. Something about that nags at you, but you don’t dwell on it.

You’re not sure how long your big, evil robot, Starscream, is gone. Hours? You’re almost drowsing in your corner even as you shiver uncontrollably in the icy room. Apparently cold doesn’t bother giant robots, but then, it’d been very warm when you’d been trapped inside its interior. Any other time you’d have been ecstatic about riding in a jet. Fear for your life had soured the experience. You’d explored your head wound with tentative fingers and decided it wasn’t that bad. A little gash at your temple.

You bang the back of your head on the glass wall of your cage when the door opens, and your kidnapper returns. Those glowing red optics slide your way before dismissing you. That stare is weighing you and finding you lacking. Shifting to drag your legs against yourself, you watch it move to an oversized chair and slump. Teeth chattering, a new concern surfaces. This horror knows you need food and water, right?

“Almost brought down by two weak Autobots,” it mutters, dragging a hand down its face in a disturbingly human gesture. For an alien robot murder machine, its face is uncannily human. It reaches back to prod at one of its wings. It looks better than it had, you realize. “Nearly ripped my wing off.”

Was it talking to you? Unsure, you dart your tongue out to wet your lips. Somehow you hadn’t yet won yourself a Darwin Award even though you’d blundered into the middle of a fire fight between huge, angry robots while gawping like a hick tourist. Did you dare push your luck? “How dare they,” you say, voice a barely-there, raspy whisper. Mostly being sarcastic, although it’s more tired than anything else.

It hears you, though. That big head turns to stare at you, and you wilt as its wings flit up a little higher and the silence stretches. You shouldn’t have said that.

“Right?” Starscream demands suddenly, growling voice full of irritation. It sounds like a he, you decide. Though since it is whatever the hell it is, who knew. Staring right at you, he bares his denta in a smug snarl. “I could have destroyed them then and there with one servo.”

It’s almost funny as the alien death machine actually puffs out his chest a bit when you nod in agreement, teeth chattering. And then you run with it, playing devil’s advocate, because staying on his good side? Definitely a good idea. “They wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Of course not,” he sneers, rising to tip his head at you with almost predatory interest. Drifting away to a wall, he retrieves a huge blanket and drops it unceremoniously on you. The material is soft as silk, but some chemical smell clings faintly to it. You still cocoon yourself in it, face poking out to watch your evil robot return to his chair and his sprawl. And the silence spreads between you, studying him since he’s studying you in return.

The shivers slowly ease, but don’t go away altogether. That doesn’t stop you from drifting off, though. Your sleep is thankfully a dreamless void that sinks its claws in and drags you under. It’s almost pleasant up until something bounces off your head and the pain you’d left behind in sleep screams through you. Along with the realization that you’re being buried alive. Clawing your way free, you fall on your face, swearing.

And look up to find Starscream staring down at you, his lips twitching in cruel amusement at your expense. Your heart runs wild, rabbit-fast in fear. Red optics shift behind you then back. Wary, you turn to look and find he’d buried you in a mountain of beef jerky, chips, soda, and- its food. He’s brought you food. That has to be a good sign, right? Why bother to feed you if he’s just going to squish you.

Sure, he could have not dropped it all on your head, but you aren’t about to tell him that. Just like you aren’t going to think too deeply about where the food came from either. It’s not like he can just waltz into a store and buy stuff. You’re snapped out of thoughts of sirens and explosions when you realize those fearsome optics are scrutinizing you. Waiting for your reaction?

“Thank you?” Your voice is soft and uncertain, but the big, scary robot freezes all the same. Those wings on his back flip up then back down. Like he’s surprised that you’d thanked him. Just like the complete 360 he’d pulled when you’d agreed with him before. Like your captor isn’t too used to being listened to or appreciated. And he not only loves the attention, he might just crave it. Fawning over him is a small price to pay for your life. And that smug, preening smirk paired with those little wing flutters? For a kidnapping, killer robot, he’s kind of adorable. Not that you’re ever going to admit that out loud. You like living too much for that.

You freeze when he reaches into your cage before scooting back from that massive hand. Unwilling to give up your warm blanket, you drag it with you and suck in a sharp breath when he cages you in his hand and lifts you out. His grip isn’t as rib crushing as the last time he’d snatched you up and you cling to his servos, heart racing as he places you on the desk.

Scrolling through reports, Starscream keeps an optic on his new- what, pet? Yes. A pet. Letting out a long-drawn vent, he works and tracks the human as you stand up still wrapped in the cleaning cloth he’d given you and dragging it along as you cautiously move around his desk. It only takes a low growl under his breath to discourage you from getting near the edge. Those big eyes dart up to him in surprise before moving away from the drop.

Satisfied that you’re not going to launch yourself to a stupid death, he resumes perusing reports. “Can you believe those idiots?” He grumbles to himself out of habit. “I told them that mine was unstable.”

He hears your quiet steps as you move closer to him, little face tipped up toward him. “They should have listened to you,” you say, the words surprising him.and he studies you. While your hair is matted with dry blood, it doesn’t look like the wound is serious since you’re up and about.

Were humans usually this astute or had he just picked a particularly smart one? His wings adjust slightly as he turns his attention to the tiny creature. “They never listen to me.” Reaching out he ghosts the tip of a servo over your head, surprised by how soft your hair is. And you go still under his touch, head lowering as he slides that finger down your back. Feeling the rapid beat of your heart against his servo.

He'd had a petro rabbit once, the tiny, fragile thing so trusting. It would eat from his hand and come willingly to him. Petro rabbits weren’t exactly clever, though. Couldn’t distinguish him from Skywarp and had died for it. And even though Skywarp had claimed it had been an accident, Starscream had never really let it go. Or believed him. Suddenly unsettled, he gently strokes over your head again. Soothing himself and his new pet.

Because this time would be different. He freezes as you lean into his palm, slowly relaxing. Your skin is colder than he remembered, and he frowns as he carefully curls his servos around you. And you shift eagerly into his warmth with a little noise of pleasure. His optics flit to the empty energon cube as you relax further against him, your own big eyes peering up at him trustingly. He'd never actually been this close to a human, he realizes. Certainly never touched one.

Venting softly, he uses his free hand to pull his datapad closer so he can finish going through the reports. Stiffening when you lay your head on his servo, little hands clinging as you soak up his warmth. Not sure what to make of your trust when he can’t trust anyone. So how can you trust him when you don’t even know him?

Next

[stxrbxster]

YAYYY JIMMY X READER pls :3

I love that horrible man so muxh

Baby, Can You See Through The Tears? (Mature)

jimmy x gn!reader

c/w - jimmy being jimmy (misogyny, verbal and physical abuse, manipulation, gaslighting, cursing, ect..)

synopsis - you, jimmy's s/o, go to comfort him after curly gives the crew the news that they'll all lose their jobs after they return to earth. he's... not taking it well.

a/n - ahhhh! i love evil men so so much.... NOT excusing or validating his actions btw, you can enjoy things in fiction and not agree w or support them irl. and yes, the title is a lana del ray reference.

wc - 1240

(image not mine)

jimmy had snapped after hearing the news of how, upon returning to earth, pony express would be terminating the employment of your crew. he had stood from his seat at the dining table and yelled, berating curly for allegedly having hoped for this and being a horrible friend, then stormed off. you, being the doting s/o that you are, excused yourself from the table and nervously chased after him.

"jimmy...?" you call out, your voice is soft and low as you slowly step into the tulpar's sleeping quarters. jimmy is stood at the foot of his bed, head in his hands and his fingers tangled tightly in his long locks of brown hair.

he turns, eyes almost crazed as his neck snaps around to look at you. "jesus FUCKING christ!" he yells, kicking the leg of his bed. you hear the wood splinter and crack at the impact. "what? what could you POSSIBLY fucking want?" he asks, venom dripping from his angrily slurred words as he takes an imposing step towards you.

you stumble back, frightened. it wasn't uncommon for jimmy to yell, especially at you and especially when he was stressed or angry, but this scared you. jimmy gets angry, sure. and yeah, sometimes he'll even get a little violent, but this was different. you've never seen him so belligerently angry and the sight of it sends a knee-weakening chill through your spine.

"i-" your breath catches in your throat as you fumble to find your words, arms bracing yourself against the doorframe on instinct. "i just... i wanted to make sure you were alright." you mutter, trying your hardest to seem unbothered, unafraid. jimmy is a scary, scary man when he's angry, but you'd learned over the years not to show him that.

it always made him angrier, the sight of you cowering in fear below him as he'd scream at you, spit flying from his mouth and occasionally peppering your face as your eyes would fill with tears and your knees would buckle below you. "weak" he'd call you. a weak, insignificant, coward that couldn't even handle words. "i'll fucking give you something to be scared of." he'd always say, raising his hand to bring it down across your face.

despite you efforts, he notices. he steps closer, grabbing you by the collar of your uniform shirt and pulling you away from the doorframe, his eyes wide with blind fury. "what do you think?" he spits, pulling you closer to him, your faces barely inches apart. "seriously, how fucking oblivious can you be?" he asks in an angry, condescending tone. "no. no obviously i'm not fucking okay."

you shutter as his breath hits your face, eyes frantically darting across his features as sweat gathers on your brow. "i'm sorry, jim. i just-" your voice is shaky as you try to explain yourself before being cut off.

"just what?" he taunted, pushing you up against the wall behind you, hitting your head off of it. "just came to rub it in my face?" he asks, his voice growing louder as he looks down at you, pure unadulterated rage painting his face "just came to rub it in my face that i'm losing everything?"

you shake your head vigorously, ignoring the throbbing pain emanating from the back of your skull. "no! no, of course not.." you stutter, eyes welling with tears as he stares down at you with an expression more frightening than pure hate. "i- everything's gonna be alright jimmy." you speak softly, your voice cracking as you try to comfort him, to bring him down from this enormously high point of rage. "it'll... it'll be tough, but we'll have each other, won't we?'

"that's what you think, huh?" he scoffs a mean-hearted laugh before bringing his hand down against your cheek with a booming clap. "that everything is going to be just-fucking-fine because 'we have eachother'? i hate to break it to you, dollface, but in the real world everything doesn't just magically work out because of togetherness."

your lips quiver as a few stray tears fall down your cheeks, swallowing a sob before you attempt to speak again. "that's... that's not what i meant." you whimper, voice shaky and cracking.

he grips you by the jaw, squeezing it just tightly enough to hurt without bruising. "then what?" he speaks with flat anger. "what did you mean?"

more tears fall down your cheeks as you crumple. you don't know why you're trying to 'argue' back to him, it never works. "i just.." you mumble. "i just meant..." your voice breaks again as a quiet sob pushes out of your throat. "that- that i'd be here for you no matter what happens, that you'll have my support regardless of how things go when we get back to earth."

his face almost softens and a pang of slight guilt thrums through his chest, unbeknownst to you. his grip moves from your jaw to your hair as he balls it in his fist. "yeah, of course you would." he scoffs again, the venom in his words not quite reaching his eyes this time. "thats your fucking job, you're my partner."

he feels bad. he'd never express that, never let you know that, but he feels bad. his chest throbs with guilt every single time that he does this. he doesn't really know why he does it in the first place, but he does. he's never not felt bad for treating you this way, he knows you love him with every fiber of your being, that you'd never hurt him or leave him for the things he does to you and, in his own sick, perverted, twisted way he loves you too. but he can't stop being this way. if he never admits that he's wrong for this, that he's hurting you just for the sake of it then, in his mind, he's not. if he verbalizes it, makes it real, it gives you a reason to buck back, to leave, to put yourself first. he cannot handle the thought of that. not to mention the fact that there were... others that he'd been treating much, much worse as of late. he knows you wouldn't forgive him if you knew what he'd done to anya.

you let out several more weak sobs, trembling as he holds you pinned in place. "i'm sorry!" you cry, staring up at him with bleary eyes. "you're right, i'm sorry..." you concede. you just want the pain to stop as you crumble.

he moves his hands from your hair and wraps them around your waist and lets you bury your face in his chest as you cry, rubbing circles on your back. "i know you're sorry." he says, the poisonous, vitriolic tone he'd had moments earlier seemly vanished, leaving behind a low, comforting hum. he gently lifts your head by the chin, making your teary eyes meet his distant ones as he presses his chapped lips to yours.

you melt as you wrap your arms around his neck, tears still flowing down your cheeks as you press against him, the comforting warmth of his body washing away every fear you'd felt since the beginning of your altercation. you knew he didn't mean to. he's just stressed. besides, you were out of line.

he pulls back from your lips, gently pushing your hair from your forehead as he planted a soft kiss against it. "I forgive you."

[scumbag-the-hedgehog]

...maybe second place isn't so bad.

{{ L }} He's Buddha.

Probably smart NOT to fight a literal deity for the sake of being the strongest.

[pinkslipxox]

could you do a fic like a compilation when Billie have spoke about her kids (the twins) in an interview

hola mi amor! I did a compilation of Billie talking about her twins from newborns to two year olds, hope you like it 😘🥰

——————————————————————————

Newborns:

The bright studio lights shone on Billie Eilish, her usual edgy style softened by a gentle, almost ethereal glow. She sat poised and composed, yet a nervous energy thrummed beneath the surface, a quiet anticipation in the way she clasped her hands. The interviewer, a seasoned professional, leaned forward, his voice a smooth baritone.

"Billie," he began, "you've always been very private about your personal life. But recently, you've become a mother. Can you share a little bit about that experience?"

Billie paused, a soft smile gracing her lips. The usual enigmatic aura that surrounded her seemed to dissipate, replaced by a radiant warmth. "It's… overwhelming," she confessed, her voice soft and tinged with emotion. "In the best possible way."

She spoke about Ava and Mia, her twin daughters, her words filled with a quiet reverence. "They're… amazing. Tiny little humans, full of so much life and energy. Ava's a little more serious, always observing. Mia’s a bit more mischievous, always smiling." A genuine laugh, light and airy, escaped her lips.

The interviewer nodded, encouraging her to continue.

Billie continued, her eyes glistening slightly. "It's changed everything," she said, her voice catching slightly. "My perspective, my priorities… everything. It's hard to explain. It's just… unconditional love. Pure, unadulterated love."

She paused, taking a deep breath, her usual composure momentarily faltering. "And Y/N…" she began, her voice softening even further. "My wife… she's incredible. She's the strongest person I know. She's been amazing through all of this." Her voice cracked, and she quickly wiped away a stray tear. "She's my rock, my everything. I don’t know what I would do without her."

***

Six Months Old:

"Billie," the interviewer began, poised and ready, "you've become a mother of twins! How's that changed your world?”

Billie smiled, a genuine, heart-warming smile that reached her eyes. "It's… chaotic," she admitted, her voice soft and warm. "Pure, beautiful chaos. But the best kind of chaos." She paused, her fingers gently tracing a small, barely-there ring on her left hand.

"They're six months old now, Ava and Mia," she continued, her voice filled with a quiet pride. "And they’re already so different. Ava's a little more serious, very observant. She’ll just stare at you intensely, like she's figuring out your whole life story. Mia, on the other hand… well, Mia's a little comedian."

A soft laugh escaped her lips, a sound both light and happy. "The other day," she recounted, her eyes twinkling, "we were trying to give them a bath. It’s always a bit of a production, right? Lots of screaming and splashing. Well, Mia, in the midst of all the chaos, managed to grab a rubber ducky and completely submerge it in the soapy water, then proceed to drink the soapy water from the duck’s little mouth. It was absolutely disgusting, but also… hilarious."

Billie chuckled again, her shoulders shaking with laughter. The studio audience mirrored her amusement, their laughter a ripple of shared joy.

"Y/N and I just looked at each other," Billie recounted, "and started laughing. It was utter mayhem, but it was also pure, unadulterated joy. It’s moments like that, the messy, crazy moments, that I treasure the most. It's the stuff that makes the everyday incredible."

She paused, her expression softening. "They’re my whole world. Y/N and I, we’re learning as we go, but the love… it’s something I never knew existed, you know? It’s overwhelming, but in the best possible way. I never thought I could feel this much love for anyone or anything."

***

1 Year Olds:

Billie sat comfortably, radiating a quiet contentment that was far removed from her sometimes enigmatic public persona. The interviewer, a seasoned professional, smiled warmly.

"Billie," he began, "Happy belated birthday to your twin daughters! Ava and Mia just turned one."

Billie's face lit up. "Thank you!" she replied, her voice soft and full of warmth. "It was such a special day." She paused, a wistful smile playing on her lips. "It’s hard to believe they’re already a year old. It feels like just yesterday we were bringing them home from the hospital."

She launched into a description of Ava and Mia’s first birthday party, her voice brimming with affection. "We kept it pretty small," she explained. "Just close family and friends. Y/N and I planned everything together – it was a real team effort." A soft blush colored her cheeks as she mentioned her wife.

"We had a little 'twins' theme," she continued, her eyes sparkling. "We made sure there were plenty of toys, soft blankets and lots of delicious, baby-friendly food. Ava and Mia mostly just stared at everything with wide eyes. Ava seemed fascinated by the balloons. Mia mostly wanted to try and eat everything, even the flowers!" She chuckled, a warm, melodic sound that filled the studio.

"The cake," she said, her voice softening, "was the best part. A double-decker, each layer decorated differently. We had a little photoshoot, but they were more interested in grabbing the frosting!"

Billie's voice took on a sweeter tone as she recounted a particular moment. "Y/N captured this amazing picture of Ava reaching out and grabbing Mia's hand. It was so pure and sweet, it made me cry." Her usual guarded demeanor was gone; in its place, a tender and profoundly loving mother glowed through. "It was a really special moment. It perfectly captured the essence of what having twins is like – this beautiful, messy, and chaotic love."

The interviewer nodded, his gaze gentle and understanding.

Billie concluded with a soft sigh, a faraway look in her eyes. "It was the most perfect day. Being able to celebrate our beautiful girls with the people we love, all under one roof… it doesn't get much better than that."

***

18 Months Old:

The gently slow radiating off Billie was palpable. Gone was the usual edgy attire; she was dressed in something soft and comfortable, her hair pulled back in a simple style. She looked relaxed, content, and utterly radiant. The interviewer smiled warmly.

"Billie," he began, "your twin daughters, Ava and Mia, are about to turn two. Can you believe it?"

Billie's eyes widened slightly, a mixture of disbelief and wonder in their depths. "I can't," she breathed, her voice hushed with emotion. "It feels like just yesterday they were tiny newborns. Now they're running around, exploring the world, getting into everything!" A gentle laugh escaped her lips, a sound full of love and wonder.

She described Ava and Mia's personalities, her voice soft and tender. "Ava is still our little observer. She's so thoughtful, always watching, taking everything in. Mia… well, Mia is still our little comedian. She's always cracking us up, getting into mischief. She just loves making faces and being silly!"

The interviewer nodded, prompting her to continue.

Billie's gaze softened as she talked about her wife, Y/N. "Y/N is incredible," she said, her voice filled with reverence and love. "As a partner, she's my rock. She’s my best friend, my confidante, my everything. And as a mother? She’s simply extraordinary. She’s so patient, so loving, so incredibly strong. Seeing her with Ava and Mia fills my heart with so much joy. She’s an amazing mother. I’m so lucky to have her."

Billie’s usual guarded demeanor seemed to completely melt away. She spoke with such genuine warmth and affection, a tenderness that radiated through the studio. Her eyes shone with a soft glow, conveying a depth of emotion rarely glimpsed in her public appearances.

"These past eighteen months have been the most challenging, yet most rewarding of my life," she confessed. "There are moments of utter exhaustion, moments of frustration, moments where I feel completely overwhelmed. But there are so many moments of pure, unadulterated joy that make it all worthwhile. Every tiny milestone, every giggle, every cuddle… it's all worth it. They’re perfect, both of them."

***

2 Years Old:

The interviewer smiled softly. “Billie," he started, "your twin daughters, Ava and Mia, just turned two. What’s that like?"

Billie smiled, a genuine, heartwarming smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. "It's…intense," she admitted, her voice soft and warm. "The terrible twos are definitely living up to their name! It's a rollercoaster of emotions – pure joy, utter chaos, and everything in between. But seeing them reach these milestones is so incredible, it makes all the challenges worth it."

She recounted a recent moment with a proud chuckle. "Just yesterday, Ava finally figured out how to stack her blocks. She was so proud of herself, and watching her tiny face light up with accomplishment melted my heart. And Mia? Oh, Mia finally mastered walking backwards. She thinks it's the funniest thing ever." She shook her head, a mixture of amusement and love in her eyes.

The interviewer nodded, encouraging her to continue.

Billie's gaze softened as she turned to talk about her wife, Y/N. "Y/N is my hero," she said, her voice filled with deep admiration. "She's so amazing with them. She’s the calm amidst the storm. Seriously, I don’t know what I’d do without her. We’re a team, a real partnership. Y/N is not just an incredible mother, but also my best friend and my greatest source of support. Watching her navigate motherhood with such grace and patience is truly inspiring. She's just incredible."

She paused, reflecting for a moment. "Motherhood is the most challenging and rewarding experience of my life. It's exhausting, messy, and frequently overwhelming. But there's this unbelievable joy, this unbreakable bond, that makes it all worthwhile. Ava and Mia are teaching me so much about love, patience, and resilience. It's beautiful, really."

A gentle tear escaped her eye, and she quickly brushed it away with a self-deprecating smile. "I’m a mess, aren't I?" she whispered. But there was no embarrassment, only a profound and beautiful vulnerability, a testament to the overwhelming love she felt for her family. The interview became less of a professional engagement and more a tender sharing of her life's most profound joys, a heart-warming glimpse into the life of a devoted mother and wife, blissfully in love with her family.