#the TALENT this kid has…. unbelievable

[singlecrochet]

everyone find a way to watch ilia malinin October 21 2023 skate America men’s free program to succession theme by Nicholas brittel right NOW

[hardcorecaffeineshroom]

I don't care if that eight year old kid has got talent and i absolutely refuse to believe it. it's clearly a fake, cause when i was that kids age i was playing puppets with my hands and my brother ate sand.

[fanaticsnail]

"Good Boy"

Masterlist here

Word count: 3,200+

Synopsis: Eustass Kid didn't know exactly when it happened, but now he craves to be praised by you. He thrives beneath your words, but the one time you didn't call him a "good boy" has him in a bratty rage.

Themes: mutual pining, kid x gn!reader, fluffy, praise kink Kid, he just wants to be a good boy, no kisses just praise.

Notes: it's past 1am where I am, and I physically couldn't get to sleep until I got this request by @remisloves out of my mind. It's all about praise and softening rough characters lately with me. Good night everyone! Sweet blorbo dreams

Tag list: @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @feral-artistry @carrotsunshine

A shudder erupted from the base of Eustass Kid's spine to the top of his cranium. Downturning his chin, he attempted to disguise how wide his smile had risen to his lips beneath the shadow of his blast goggles. 

Never one to shy away from a challenge, Captain Kid pushed himself to the absolute limit to best his latest opponent. Blood dripping from his body, his bones bent to the point of nearly breaking. The weight of his metal arm overencumbered his body, his brute strength no longer enough to propel his legs forward. 

Successful at last, he claimed their loot in their vast treasury, selecting a few key pieces that caught his eye to present back to you: a former thief, his ships’ appraiser, and now his curator of chronological dialogue, items and routines. 

What would possess this hulking captain to risk his body and his crew to collect this small piece of art to present to you? Why would he ever risk such a heavy physical toll for a mere trinket? 

Because he was a good boy. 

And you always informed him as such.

While Kid saw no need for a chronicler initially, he very quickly warmed to the idea of maintaining one on his payroll. When Massacre Soldier Killer suggested a small snippet of their adventures be cataloged in journals, Kid never knew that reading the words back would prompt a rapid boil beneath his skin. A craving. A need. 

Seeing those words scribed on paper held him hostage. Those doting, praising, uplifting words that held such passionate composition regarding his exploits; they pushed him to go further, drive harder, propell longer in his adventures. This was all in an attempt to dream of seeing more of those beautiful words describing him articulated upon paper. 

Well, his exploits at least. 

Most of all, he craved to hear them depart from your lips. You managed to slip a single verbalized expression of praise once upon his return from doing a menial task. Since then, he was hooked on the rush it brought him. 

“Oh, wow! Captain, you've done so well! So unbelievably well!” was that first door opening to the praise he needed. 

That small snippet from you, was all well and good in his opinion. He did enjoy your recognition of his talent, but it was not what he craved the most. 

And what he wanted the most, was to be told he was, “a good boy.” 

He couldn't explain it, but the thought of hearing those words flee from your lips had his eyelids half-hooded, eyes glazed, pupils blackened and blown, and a droopy smile lazily draw itself up onto his lips. 

You had only ever come close one time to praising him personally, rather than the talent of his exploits. He felt the flutter of his heart rapidly igniting his veins with adrenaline, screaming with his eyes for you to utter the words he so desperately craved. 

And you said it. 

You finally said it today. 

His feet thumped upon the wooden deck, after he hoisted himself over the small opening on the side of the ship. The ‘away team' had finally assembled together and began greeting those who remained behind. 

Rushing to greet your Captain, he shot you a reciprocated, triumphant and winning smile, while happily presenting a small object up to you in the center of his right, flesh hand. 

“You found it? You actually found it?” your eyes widened, reaching your hand out to Kid's extended right palm. His body was still dripping with the blood of his enemies, a visible shake in his fingertips as he elevated the trinket up to you. 

“It nearly cost me my other arm,” he winced through the words, his forearm beginning to twitch beneath the strain of his exhaustion, “But I brought it back for you-...” he halted his words, pondering whether it was now time to make his affections known or not “...-to add to the collection.”

“For me?” your eyes widened, looking at the shiny and ornate gold filigree design. In the center of the flattened piece lay a single garnet: small, something one would cast aside should more items be presented. But to you, a prized piece in an antique collection you had been dedicating your life to find. 

“It's the missing piece, yeah?” Kid smirked, huffing through his words as the rest of the crew assembled atop the Victoria Punk, “The one you told us about last Friday?”

“Honestly, Captain, I don't remember half of what happened last Friday,” you confessed sheepishly, up turning your brows as your fingers brushed against his palm, “You'd think my liver would be able to tolerate being aboard your ship, drinking that slosh alongside the crew by now.”

He barked a cracked cackle at your confession, prompting your own to rise in your chest. His laugh was contagious, a laugh that could be felt through his whole body springing and vibrating up within your own. 

“Thank you, captain,” you expressed your deepest gratitude to the taller man, your head nodding in praise, “You don't know what this means to me.”

After a moment's pause, he looked down at the object before bringing his whisky-coloured eyes back up to meet with your own. He inhaled a shaken breath, baited and waiting within his lungs while anticipating his next words. 

“S-So,” he stuttered over his words, scolding himself under his own anxiety, “Did I do good? Is this the one you needed? Am I a-...” he didn't want to lead you into giving him the praise he desperately sought, but didn't want to not hear it either. 

With all the patience you could muster upon such a triumphant moment in your life, you prompted him with your eyes to have him complete his sentence. 

“...Am I a good-...” trying so, so hard to say the final word, he physically couldn't have them pass his lips, “...-Captain?” He mentally slapped himself, knowing that those were not the words he craved and how stupid that must've made him sound. 

You took a moment to carefully think about your next words, noticing how bruised he was, how bloody his knuckles were, how a lot of the crew that went with him on this private ‘away mission' were faring upon return. 

“Of course you are. You captain us extremely well, sir,” you uttered with a soft smile, “I'll adjust my findings accordingly in the journals, if I may be excused?” 

A small puff of air flew from his lips, defeat almost tangibly thick as it shrouded his shoulders with its presence. He looked away after giving his nod of dismissal, his gaze fixed on the wood of the deck below his feet. 

Your smile widened, claiming the object from his palm and holding your hand within his for a moment longer, before withdrawing completely. Fluttering your eyes over each fixed point of concern on his features, you searched for what his body seemed to be screaming for. 

Thanking him with a curt nod, you turned on your heel and abruptly halted your next step. 

At this moment, it fully dawned on you exactly the words your Captain wanted to hear. Eustass Kid, captain of the Kid pirates, champion and leader of the Victoria punk, devil-fruit user and wielder of Haki… had a praise kink. And he wanted you to praise him. 

A playful smile spread like warm honey up your cheeks, a scrunch in your nose as you rolled your next words over your tongue. You turned your head over your shoulder, guarding your intentions close to your chest as you spoke two words that almost had your Captain fall on his knees in gratitude. 

“Good boy.”

From that moment on, he was simply smitten. No matter what he did, whether it was aiding his crew with carrying supplies, carrying out great acts of violence, defending his Nakama from their enemies, or simply finishing his vegetables at meal time - he would look to you in anticipation, that anticipation being met with those two simple words. 

“Good boy.”

They echoed within his mind, swirling around within the chasms of his brain as slumber eluded him. He did not mind in the slightest having his lack of rest consumed with praises departing from your lips. 

Your voice plagued him, haunted him as a spectral ghost would hunt down their unfinished business. He did not mind such a haunting, in fact: he wanted more. He wanted to have more praise, more compliments, more of your verbal, beautiful words crying out from your perfect lips. 

He was smitten, completely smitten, by your compliments. The way your talented tongue made his name sound, the way your lips curved up in a knowing smirk each time you told him he was a ‘good boy.’

Until the day you didn't. 

Eustass Kid was in a foul mood, one that nobody knew the cause nor the cure for such a horrid, stampeding mess of a captain. Food, ales, meads, even gold - nothing appeared to pry him from his raging temper. Breaking tankards, tipping over tables, scattering documents on his captains’ desk, nothing was safe from the wrath he was wreaking on the furniture. 

Hunched over your desk, you continued cataloging and appraising the latest haul of trinkets and treasures thrust into your office. It was overwhelming for you, the sheer number of items scattered around your room. You attempted to alphabetize them, sort them accordingly and lump them into itemized piles. 

The toll the elevation of work raised onto your shoulders had you dismiss all those who presented you with various finds, including your Captain. He rocked on the ball and heels of his feet, eagerly awaiting and anticipating his sought-after praise - but found nothing but an anxious sigh and scratch of your neck in response to his hard labor. 

This was the reason for his intense rage.

After leaving your office, and selfishly paying no mind to your exhausted expression, he began to spiral.  

“He was so good. Why didn't you tell him he was? Was there something he could've done better? Something he could've pushed harder to strive for?” all circled within his mind as he tore piece after piece of his office apart. 

Several hours had passed, and you carved a hefty chunk of your work apart and managed to get a fair bit done. It was nowhere near complete, but it had you feeling a sense of anxious accomplishment. 

A knock at the door prompted you to raise your chin, eyes panicked and overwhelmed with the amount of work still required to be completed before mealtime. 

“Need help?” The light flickered off the cerulean and pearl colored mask of the first mate, who peeked his head around the doorframe. 

“Please,” you sighed, gesturing to your position kneeling on the ground beside you. Killer promptly entered your office, crouching beside you and sifting through the uncharted treasures still needing to be sorted. 

“What we up to?” he elevated his hand, gesturing out to the various piles in front of you both, “I think I see where they need to go. You written down them all?”

“All recorded in the book, down to the last drooped earpiece,” you confirmed, nodding to the mess in the center of the room, “They just need to be put in the right piles, locked in the treasury, and then we can call it a night. Maybe have an ale, if you're up for it, Kil?”

After a moment's pause, both of you rolling the items in your fingertips and placing them within the according: gold, silver, platinum, gemstone, raw material, ceramic, wearable materials, and weaponry piles. 

“Leave this with me,” Killer uttered, placing a throwing knife within the weaponry stack, “And you go and perform your other job.”

“What other job?” your brows knit with confusion, “I've already done the journalling of the exploits, the timetabling of the crew shift-changes, notarizing the stock we need within the kitchen-.”

“-Oh, no, buckaroo,” you could audibly hear the smirk behind Killer's mask as he teased you, “the other one. The one nobody pays you to do.”

“Which is, champ?” you taunted in return, nudging him with your shoulder roughly against his, “Be specific.”

“The one where you-...” he took this brief pause as an opportunity to sigh in huffed frustration, “...-where you tell our captain he's a good boy. Although, in his current state,” Killer rotated his neck to relieve the tension on his shoulders, “I might even go so far as to suggest you call him a bad one, considering that's exactly how he's behaving.”

Your confusion knit your brow down in the center of your face, your mind focussing on when the last time you praised the puppy you had turned your Captain into. 

“Oh, fuck! I didn't praise him when he brought in the loot!” your eyes widened in shock, promptly rising to your feet and brushing over your pants, “I just got so overwhelmed by the sheer bloody number, I couldn't think of anything else. Oh, I'm an idiot.”

“You're not an idiot,” Killer interrupted you, rising to his own feet and cupping your shoulders in an attempt to halt the rise in your anxiety, “Hell, you're not even dating him. It shouldn't be your job-,” he brushed over your shirt, adjusting the crumpled material to make it more appealing to the eye. 

“-Yet here you are,” he concluded, nodding at you before glancing down at the piles of treasure, “And here I am: the first-mate, the best friend, the confidant. The one who is unable to tear him away from his absolutely shit-house mood, because all he wants is you.”

You attempted to stifle the warm flush that drew itself up to your cheeks. Captain Kid was a tall, broad and intimidating man - those were the three assessments you initially made when you were hired to serve aboard the Victoria Punk. Then you got to know him, and were made privy to truly see who he was beneath the surface. 

The twinkle behind the feral rage, the purity in his unbridled emotions, the lack of restraint in all his advances: you adored him. When he began to seek out your praises, you were immediately swooning at his attention. 

He wanted your words, not just due to the fact words were your job, but because he wanted you to speak them. Just to speak his praises to be granted the luxury of a light tingle in his ears, a blush rise to his cheeks and a smile decorating his lips with such beautiful words. 

Now within the doorframe of your captain's office, you arched your brow and crossed your arms. Leaning on the wooden panel, you continued to watch his chest rise and fall with each exasperated and berzerk breath. Your eyes never left his body, each arch of his back and ripple of his muscles straining under the taut fabrics atop his shoulders. 

“All this because I didn't call you a good boy?” you addressed him in a low and dangerous tone. His feral eyes snapped over to you, widening as he truly witnessed the devastation in the destruction in his office. 

“You've been a bad boy, I see,” you continued in your dark tone, promptly stepping into his office and closing the door behind you, “Look at all this mess. Tsk, naughty.” 

The click of your tongue had Kid arching his back, straightening his spine as he bit back a soft whimper. His brows triangulated in the center of his face, bottom lip now quivering under the weight of your disciplinary tone. 

Circling his body, fingers brushing against his large right hand beside his hip as you leaned into him. You shook your head, stooping down and beginning to collect the paper, stationary, tankards, and paperweights that had been flung against the floor. 

Before you could say a following, disciplinary word, Kid immediately fell onto his knees and began hurriedly picking up the items he threw onto the ground beside you. 

“I-I’ll pick it all up,” he nodded his head as to confirm his words further, “I'll tidy up all this shit. Please, I-I’m sorry. I just-.”

“-Just wanted to be praised, hm?” you hummed at him. He hid his head from view, his painted lips pouting while his eyes held their attention firmly against the mess. 

He nodded, the weight of finally admitting his craving lifting off his chest and shoulders as he received the items you were holding atop the stack he was forming. 

“Tidy up your mess, handsome,” you smiled, elevating your right hand to capture his pointed chin within your thumb and index finger, “I'll watch every step you take, and let you know how good you're being, if you do it properly.”

Kid’s breath caught in his lungs, a pink dust settled against his cheeks and ears. He hurriedly rose to his feet, up-turning his askew desk and dusting off his captains’ chair. He extended it outwards, wordlessly and politely gesturing for you to take a seat. 

“My, my,” you commented, rising to your feet and accepting his invitation, “Such a gentleman, you're being. But, you've gotta’ work a little bit harder to earn that title you crave.”

Captain Eustass Kid was a dutiful, whimpering puppy under your watchful eyes. He was, almost, happily rearranging all of the objects he had thrown askew. He even took the time to appropriately categorize the pages he didn't complete prior to his little tantrum.

“Hm, very good. Well done picking up after yourself.” He blushed further at your words, but craved so much more. 

“Oh, look at how much time you're taking on that bookshelf. I can even see how clean you're making each of the panels. Look at you go, big boy.” That praise had him whimpering, his eyes fluttering shut as he continued to clean in silence. 

“So strong, picking up that heavy weight all by yourself. So proud of you.” He could not stop the audible gasp, nor the rush of blood seeping to places they had no business in flooding to at that moment. 

He completed all this while glancing over his shoulder and thriving beneath the giddy feeling rushing to his chest upon being the center of your unwavering gaze. 

Upon the last paperweight being placed and straightened atop his desk, he knelt between your knees and glanced up into your eyes. He looked innocent of all wrongdoing, all prior anger and malice fleeing from within his silent pleading. 

He was desperate for those words, those two simple little words that he so yearned for. Noseying up further between your knees, his shuddering metal and flesh hands cautiously placed themselves gently on your calves. 

Soft and slow circles were traced against your legs, his eyes never leaving yours as they began twinkling with hope. All his mind was screaming, silently and internally, was a simple repetition of: “Please, please, please. Say it, say it, say it.”

And you obliged him by leaning down, caressing his left, scarred cheek and drawing your lips close enough to taste the tingle of his breath upon your skin. Hovering before contact was made, you floated your gaze between his whisky-hued orbs and his parted lips with a soft smile. 

“Good boy.”

[souporsaladnatural]

Transcription of Jensen's full answer from That Part of his and Misha's panel

[Misha laughs, Jensen goes to speak but looks down shaking his head and grinning]

Jensen: “God… [Crowd laughs] Uh, professionally, [Crowd laughs again][...]”

Misha: “And you put that in air quotes.”

Jensen: “[Laughs] Use that term loosely. Uhm, there- there is- uh- there’s- there’s few people that, when the cameras are rolling, you get to um… truly create, moments that aren't on the page. Uhm, and it’s- it’s hard sometimes to find rhythm, and cohesiveness with everyone you work with. Uhh, and when you find the- the rare person that um, can- can, uh, play at a level that… makes you wanna be better, and also it almost is like a- it’s like a high that you get, when the creative juices are flowing and you're- you’re making moments that maybe didn't even plan to be there. ‘Happy accidents’ we used to call them. Of- Of emotion, or, uh- between-the-lines, uh- nuance moments.

And I think there’s a reason that the story of- of Dean and Cas skewed to where it was, was because, uh, I kept- kept being able to have that creative, um, ignition with Mish when- when those cameras were rolling that was uhh- that made me a better actor, uhm, and- and made me wanna be- wanna find that even more. And… and it’s- it’s a testament to not just his, uh, his talent but his- the way he preps, the way he plays, the way he- he uh, entertains, and performs. Um, there’s- there’s just such a uh, there’s such an openness. I say that um, that as- as an actor, you know people have asked me ‘I wanna be an actor, do you have any, uh, advice?’ I say ‘Know your stuff, but be emotionally available to any and everything when the cameras are rolling.’ And that is when you find the magic. And… the magic was always there when Misha would walk on set and those cameras would roll. So I think professionally that was one of the great assets that he brought on a daily basis, that I- that I got to be the beneficiary of.

In fact all- everybody, anybody that got to work with him, if they were available to it, and they noticed what he was doing was- was, you know, so nuanced, um, that it made them better. Um, so I really appreciate that gift of getting to work with him. Uh, the scene where he tells Dean goodbye, uhm, I- I- I blanked in that- in that scene. Because I became an audience member. I just simply was watching this unbelievable performance unfold and I had the best seat in the house. And then it was like my turn to speak and I was like ‘Oh, shit, uhm.’ I said ’Don’t ruin this for him, don’t ruin this for him.’ Uh, so when you get to work with somebody that has that level of talent and that level of expertise and- and- and knows how to- how to utilize performance the way he does, it just- um- it’s just really a gift.

Uhh personally, uh- the- he- he disgusts me. Um. [Crowd laughs] He’s just so dry that the oil never worked. [Crowd and Misha laughs] Buckets, of buckets of oil, it just… No, he- uh- I will say this, he’s- um- he- he’s such a man of- of many talents outside of just the acting field, uh, that it- it does truly disgust me sometimes. When he- in our meet and greet he’s like ‘What kind of hobbies do you have?’ and he’s like ‘Oh, I like to go into the woods and make furniture.’ I’m like ‘No!’ [crowd laughs] No! I see on- He’s like ‘What’d you do this weekend?’ ‘Oh, I went and like forged metal things with my kid-’ No! [Misha and crowd laugh]

Um… he’s such an amazing dad, he’s such an amazing friend, um… and… and uh, I mean this is very self-serving, but uh, it’s- um- he’s- he’s on the extreme short list of people that I would, that I would call, if I had a problem.”

[Misha gets up to hug Jensen, and Jensen immediately retreats to the other side of the stage. Misha hugs him, whispers something in his ear, and Jensen grins and hugs him back. They walk back to their seats]

Jensen: “[whispered into mic] He told me he loved me!”

What in the fuck was in the water this weekend

[Video] [Misha's Answer]

[pucksandpower]

A Little Arson as a Treat

Logan Sargeant x protective!Reader

Summary: after news that Williams has dropped Logan mid-way through the season comes out, you decide that revenge is best served hot

Warnings: they literally set James Vowles’ house on fire

“You think they’ll be able to tell it was us?”

Logan’s voice is shaky, his eyes locked on the flickering flames dancing up the side of James Vowles’ house. The orange glow reflects in his wide eyes, making him look like a boy who just realized he’s in way over his head. His hands are buried deep in his jacket pockets, and you can see the nervous twitch of his fingers beneath the fabric.

You snort, not taking your eyes off the fire. “No way. They’ll think it was an electrical fault or something. We were careful.”

“We weren’t that careful,” he murmurs, almost to himself, biting his lip. “This is ... this is insane.”

“Maybe,” you admit, leaning a little closer to him, feeling the coolness of the night brushing against your skin in contrast to the heat radiating from the fire. “But what were we supposed to do? Just sit back and let them throw you out? Nine races left, and they think they can just-”

Logan cuts you off, his voice tight with emotion. “It’s not just the races. It’s everything. It’s like ... they’re saying I’m not good enough, that I never was.”

You turn to face him, your heart squeezing in your chest. He’s not looking at you, his eyes fixed on the fire like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “Logan, that’s bullshit, and you know it. You are good enough. They’re just too blind to see it.”

“Am I, though?” He finally meets your gaze, and you can see the doubt etched into every line of his face. “I mean, if I was, they wouldn’t be dropping me, right?”

You sigh, frustration bubbling up inside you. “This isn’t about your talent. This is about politics, money, and a bunch of old men who can’t see past their spreadsheets. You know that.”

He’s silent for a moment, just watching the flames as they start to consume the upper floor. “So, we burn down his house?”

You shrug, a small, defiant smile playing on your lips. “Sometimes you’ve got to make a statement.”

Logan shakes his head, a disbelieving laugh escaping him. “You’re insane.”

“You love me for it.”

His eyes soften, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. “Yeah. I do.”

You reach out, taking his hand in yours. His fingers are cold, trembling slightly as they curl around yours. “We’re gonna get through this, okay? You’re not done. Not even close.”

“Tell that to the team that just replaced me with a kid from F2,” he mutters, but there’s less bite in his words now, more weariness than anger.

“They’ll regret it,” you say firmly. “They’ll be watching from the back of the grid while you’re out there somewhere proving them wrong.”

“And if I don’t?” His voice is so quiet you almost don’t hear him.

“You will.”

He looks at you like he’s trying to absorb your confidence, to borrow just a little of the fire that keeps you burning so brightly. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know you,” you say simply, squeezing his hand. “And I know that you’re going to fight like hell to get back on the track. And when you do, they’ll all see what they lost.”

Logan takes a deep breath, nodding slowly. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“Only because I’m right.”

He laughs again, a real laugh this time, and it warms you more than the fire ever could. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievable enough to commit a little arson as a treat?” You tease, nudging him lightly.

His smile fades a little, and he looks back at the house, the flames now licking at the roof. “You really think we’re going to get away with this?”

You tilt your head, considering. “Even if we don’t, what are they going to do? Kick you off the team you’re already off of? We’ve got nothing to lose.”

“I’ve got you to lose,” he says softly, his grip on your hand tightening.

Your heart skips a beat, and you swallow hard. “You won’t lose me. Ever.”

He turns to you fully now, the fire forgotten, his eyes searching yours. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

For a moment, the world shrinks down to just the two of you, standing together in the night, hands clasped, hearts beating in time. The fire is a distant roar in the background, a symbol of the chaos that’s been following you both for weeks, but it’s nothing compared to the storm inside Logan, the one you’re trying so hard to calm.

“So,” he says, his voice a little lighter, “what’s the plan? We just walk away?”

“Pretty much,” you reply, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

He hesitates, glancing back at the house one last time. “No ... I guess that’s all we can do.”

“Good. Because I’m starving, and I’m thinking burgers.”

Logan blinks, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “Burgers? We just committed a felony, and you want to go get burgers?”

“Don’t you?”

He stares at you, then shakes his head with a disbelieving grin. “You’re insane.”

“I’m hungry. Big difference.”

Logan chuckles, the tension in his shoulders finally easing as he lets out a long breath. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, squeezing your hand again. “I really do.”

You smile, pulling him away from the sight of the burning house, guiding him down the street like it’s just any other night and you’re just two people out for a walk. “Come on, there’s a place a few blocks over that makes the best burgers.”

Logan falls into step beside you, the smell of smoke fading as you put more distance between yourselves and the scene of the crime. “I’m still on a diet plan, you know. Think they’ll have something that fits?”

“Probably not,” you admit with a grin. “But I’m sure we can figure it out.”

He laughs again, a sound that makes your heart swell. “You’re seriously insane.”

“Maybe. But you love me for it.”

He shakes his head, his smile softening into something more tender. “Yeah. I do.”

As you walk together, hand in hand, you can feel the weight lifting off Logan’s shoulders. It’s not gone entirely — it won’t be, not for a long time — but for now, in this moment, it’s lighter. And that’s enough.

“So, what do we do after the burgers?” He asks, his voice casual but laced with something deeper, something that says he’s already thinking about the future, about what comes next.

“After the burgers,” you repeat, pretending to think it over. “We find a way to get you back on that track.”

Logan glances at you, surprised. “You’re not giving up, are you?”

“Never,” you say firmly. “This is just the beginning. We’re going to prove them wrong.”

He’s silent for a moment, then nods. “Okay. What’s the plan?”

“First, we get you back in a car. Then, we show them what they’re missing.”

“And how do we do that?”

You smile, squeezing his hand. “One step at a time. We’ll figure it out.”

He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize this moment, to hold onto it for as long as he can. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t be stupid. You deserve everything.”

He smiles, but there’s a hint of sadness in it, like he’s not quite sure he believes you. “I just ... I don’t want to let you down.”

“You won’t,” you say, your voice soft but certain. “You never have.”

Logan doesn’t respond, just pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walk. The night is quiet now, the fire just a faint glow in the distance, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s a sense of peace between you.

“Burgers sound good,” he says after a while, his voice warm and content.

“Yeah?” You ask, looking up at him.

“Yeah. And then maybe we can figure out that plan of yours.”

You grin. “Deal.”

As you walk, the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you, together against the odds, against the world. And in that moment, you know that no matter what happens next, you’ll face it together.

The fire is behind you, but the real battle is just beginning. And as long as you have each other, you know you can win.

[world-of-wales]

NEWS -

Liz Hatton's mother, Vicky spoke about the support their family has received from The Prince and Princess of Wales-

Vicky Robayna speaking at her daughter Liz's memorial today, said that The Prince and Princess of Wales had been 'so kind, so caring' and she couldn't thank them, or their team, enough.

Surrounded by her talented daughter's photographs that first brought her to William and Kate's attention, she said:

'They are so incredibly kind. They have been in touch throughout. It's been a difficult time but we have had messages from them. They and their team are often checking in. They have looked after us incredibly.

'They even invited us down to the carol service on Friday. We didn't know if we would feel up to going, but I am so glad we did. It was so beautiful. They really looked after us.

I knew it would be one of those things we would regret if we hadn't gone. It was tough as Liz had been determined to go to it and we now have so many memories associated with London. But I think we knew how cross she would be with us if we didn't go. The prince and princess made it a lot easier. '

She also said:

'We are taking a lot of comfort from the legacy she has left for someone her age. And we really do have the prince and princess to thank for that. I mean before that there had been a little publicity about her bucket list but after they highlighted it, it just absolutely skyrocketed.

'I have seen things on Twitter (X) attacking them and saying they have only done it for the publicity but that is just such rubbish. It just makes me so angry. We gave them full permission to make Liz's story public in order to help her and others. No-one will ever know the extent of what they and their team have done behind the scenes to help us. They have all been unbelievably kind and they've kept in touch with all this time and looked after us so well. Liz wanted people to know that.

'She loved their authenticity. I think kids can sniff that out. A lot of the reasons she did the press afterwards was because she wanted to tell everybody how kind the prince and princess were. They were so sincere.

Liz knew how hard chemotherapy is and was angry that some people had criticised the princess over how she had handled her diagnosis. It made her incredibly sad. She was furious that people weren't being kind.'

Vicky also announced their intention to create a charity dedicated to research into rare forms of cancer such as her own. The family have already set up a fund which has raised £40,000 in just a matter of days.

[shallowseeker]

Cas is right. Dean, with all of his free will intact, would NOT have murdered the Stynes kid.

Like Cas, with his free will intact, would never have murdered Samandriel.

Their assessments of one another are actually correct.

///

Both are on their way to becoming mindless super-soldiers who feel nothing.

And essentially, they tell each other, "you're gonna have to go through me" (to become that).

///

Some similarities in the fight scenes:

They both reach out a hand to the other's shoulder, saying the other's name:

///

Both twist the other's hand away:

///

They ask each other to: "Stop," both telling the other in so many words that "this isn't you."

Their styles differ, of course. Dean goads Cas defiantly: "Come on you coward, do it!" Cas tries to remain level-headed and controlled, only moving to block and restrain.

Essentially, their desires are the same, for the other to stop.

///

With everyone telling them who they should be, and trying to make them into things other than what their big hearts would actually want, they beg each other to stay as they are.

I don't want you to be what they want you to be.

Just be you. Just be.

///

///

And then, much like Cas in the crypt... flight. Cas leaves.

Dean leaves.

///

And here's what's on my mind... They were both GOOD at being soldiers. Unbelievably good.

Their talents were recognized early and exploited. They became chained to their respective battle aptitudes.

Both had to reckon with becoming addicted to war, to the feeling of adrenaline and black-and-white causes (see: Purgatory, hunting, etc.). Both often feel too much responsibility, punishing themselves and undertaking penance.

They struggled with thinking it's all they were good for, battle or WORK.

Or worse. For Dean, it was often being one of the "crazy ones," only "good for a fling." For Cas, it was often "being expendable."

They're looked down upon by the likes of Metatron: Cas is like a "dumb puppy," a "stupid, lumbering jock." Even Crowley talks to Dean this way on occasion: "It's math (idiot)."

It's also like when Death calls Cas a "stupid soldier." Or when the British Men of Letters call the ones on the ground doing the fighting and getting their hands dirty "dogs." Or when Henry calls hunters "apes."

Despite their supposed "legacy lineage," Sam and Dean inherited the Campbell class. The soldier class.

Interesting to me that Jack inherits this, too. Despite his aptitude for nearly everything he touches (computers, research, even blossoming machete skills when he kills Noah the Gorgon), Jack too will inherit this Campbell-coded "stupidity."

That's what Chuck charges him with in Unity: "TOO STUPID."

Jack has Cas and Dean's class: the soldier class.

[whimsiwitchy]

Controversially Young Girlfriend (part seven)

Hugh Jackman x popstar!reader 

series masterlist & main masterlist

summary: y/n is a globally beloved pop star. She is known for her talent and dedication towards her craft. Recently, she has also been known for her preference for older men. After a breakup with her former older boyfriend, she had a run in with the hottest dilf right now, Hugh Jackman. Y/n tried to warn him, but what can she say, she has an effect on hot, older men. 

warnings: age gap (23/55), cursing, y/n used, implied shorter reader, afab reader, she/her pronouns, sexual themes, pedro (srry he's a big part of this chapter)

warnings will change as the story progresses! all descriptions of real people in this story are FAKE. I do not know these people and this is purely fiction. Please let me know if I missed anything!! <3

authors note: hi everyone! I literally just posted saying idk when I would update again but I decided to look through what I had written for this part and give it to y'all. she's a short one but it's cute. somewhat proof read lol. enjoy <3

part seven: closing chapters

You’ve been back in Los Angeles for less than a day and you already missed the simplicity of being with Hugh. Los Angeles was reality and it was an ugly one. All of the responsibilities came tumbling down on you and you felt like you were stuck in an inescapable maze. As much as you wanted to stay hidden, tucked under Hugh’s protective arm forever, you had to be an adult about this. You needed to stop ignoring Ashley and talk things out with her. You also needed to talk to Pedro and close that chapter that had been left wide open. Your personal life couldn’t have picked a worse time to get interesting. Tour started in two weeks, leaving very little time to tie all loose ends before traveling the world.

When you landed this morning, you ate a quick breakfast from a small cafe and went straight to rehearsals. They ran longer today to make up for the few days you were gone but you didn’t mind. Being on stage and performing the music you worked so hard on always upped your mood, even if you were unbelievably tired at the end of the day. At the moment, you were laying in bed, trying your best to stay awake while you waited for Hugh to call. He texted you a few hours earlier saying he spent the day with his kids and talked to them about the relationship you two had built over the questionable short period of time. He didn’t go into any further detail but promised to call as soon as he got home and settled. It was a little past 10pm, making it 1am in New York. Just as you were beginning to lose hope in Hugh’s late night call, your phone lit up with Hugh’s contact. 

“Hi Hugh.” You say sweetly into the speaker, sleepiness evident in your voice. “Hi, baby. Were you sleeping?” The deep accent you adored so much rumbled through the phone. “No, I was just laying down. How are you? How was your day?” As you speak, you move to sit up, your back resting against the headboard. “My day was good. It was nice to spend some time with the kids and catch up. We did a puzzle and talked, it was a nice day. How was your day, baby?” 

“It was good, busy. Basically hopped off the plan straight into rehearsals.” You let out an airy laugh. “I’m sorry sweet girl, I should let you get some sleep.” His voice trails off at the end and you know he genuinely feels bad for calling so late. “No, no…it’s fine. I want to talk to you. I don’t start as early tomorrow so I have some time to sleep in.” You assure him. “Are you sure baby? We can always talk tomorrow.” “I’m sure.” You let out a small yawn and Hugh chuckles.  “Hm, if you say so.” 

“Whatever..” You say playfully. The line goes quiet for a moment, neither of you speaking. “So uh…you told your kids about us?” 

You wanted to ease into asking but you were dying to know. Thay had been the number one reason you’d been so hesitant to take on a relationship with Hugh and you know their opinion means something to him too. If they didn’t approve or had any distaste towards your pairing, you weren’t sure if you could be with Hugh without having a heavy layer of guilt strapped to your heart. 

“Oh yea, I told them.” 

His response makes your heart skip a beat. Hugh was never one to beat around the bush but he was dragging this out and it scared you. 

“And what did they say?” 

Hugh takes a sharp breath in and your heart falls into your stomach. They don’t approve, you can sense the words about to tumble out of his mouth. 

“They’re fine with it.” 

His short answers are beginning to irritate you a little bit. You needed to know every detail of their conversation, you wouldn’t be able to sleep without it. 

“Hugh, can you please just tell me everything? Your lack of words is driving me insane.” You draw out the end of the last word, showing him just how frustrated you are. 

“I’m sorry baby, there's not much to tell. My daughter is a fan and begged me to introduce you two and um…well my son…he uh..this is so fucking awkward…” He huffs. “What did he say? I’m sure it can’t be that bad if they’re fine with everything right? Just spit it out, I can take it.” He sighs. “My son has a crush on you.” 

“Oh!” You can feel your body heat up underneath your duvet. “That uh…that is kinda awkward. What did he say about us being together then?” 

“He said something about how he doesn't understand how I was able to ‘bag a baddie’ like you, whatever that means.” You laugh at that. “He’s not mad, just jealous I guess. I’m really gonna have to keep an eye out for him when you meet them. I trust him, he’s my son, but I’m not gonna stand for his eyes wandering on my girl.”

You laugh again, partially because of his words and partially because of how wild this entire conversation is. 

“Well I’d love to meet your daughter and she’s free to come to any show she wants, I'll get her in. Same goes for your son as well, if that’s okay with you. I don’t want you to get too jealous and cause a fight between you two.” You giggle through the last few words. 

“Yea yea, we’ll see.” 

The line goes quiet again, a comfortable silence. 

“Hugh, I have a question.” “Shoot baby.” You can hear the sleepiness starting to appear in his voice. “I was wondering if you’d be okay with me going to talk to Pedro soon?” You hear rustling on his end before he speaks again. “Why do you want to do that?” There’s a slight hint of anger in his tone but you know it’s not towards you but towards how Pedro treated you. “I really need to talk things out with him. As much as I'm over him, there’s still a little part of me that needs closure, that needs to ask questions. I want this part of my life to be done but I need to have it properly sealed off.” “Could you wait until I’m back in town? I trust you but I don’t trust him one bit.” You smile at his protectiveness. “I really want to fix everything before the tour starts. I need to talk to Ashley too and the sooner I can get over this, the sooner I can put all my focus on the tour and you. So unless you’re planning on being back in town in a week, I need to do this alone. Is that okay?” He sighs and takes a moment. “Of course that’s fine baby. Just keep me updated on everything that happens.” “I will.” The two of you talk for 20 more minutes before you both call it a night, ending the call with “I love you”. 

The next morning, you immediately texted Hugh before rolling out of bed and starting your day. You showered, brushed your teeth, got dressed, and made your way to the kitchen. You opted for a lazy breakfast, too tired to do anything else. You popped a bagel into the toaster and fried an egg, laying a slice of cheese on top to melt. You made your little bagel breakfast sandwich and washed a few berries to go with it. 

While you ate, you scrolled through your phone. Hugh hasn't texted you back yet but it didn't surprise you. He was up late and with his age, he needed his sleep. You smiled to yourself as you thought about how peaceful he looks while he’s deep in sleep. While scrolling through instagram, you get an ad for Gladiator II. Your ex’s stupid hot face was plastered on your phone. You sighed and pulled up his contact. You were grateful you deleted the text thread you once had, you weren’t sure if you could handle seeing all of the previous sweet words he used to send you. 

You: hey p, it’s y/n. I was wondering if we could meet up soon and talk? no pressure :) 

Once you hit send, you locked your phone and slid it across your kitchen table. Your phone buzzed a few seconds later and your heart started beating faster…there’s no way he could have already responded. You reached for your phone, having to lift out of your chair slightly. When your phone unlocks, your heart slows down, it’s just Hugh. 

You texted back and forth with Hugh all morning until you pulled up to the Kia Forum. Tour was officially a week away from starting which meant you got to rehearse in the venue that would be starting the tour off. You’d been in the Forum a few times for various concerts but being here for your own performance was a different animal. Knowing that this place was sold out for you was wild. You caught up with all of your dancers, them sharing the same excitement. The energy in the building was electric. The crew was excited to get their creations in full and everyone was just happy to finally be starting. 

With being in a new space, the start of rehearsal was a bit slow. Lights, sounds, and various other things had to be adjusted now that everything was in full. You didn’t mind though. It gives you a chance to slow down and appreciate how far you’ve come. It was lunchtime and you decided to hide away in your dressing room to eat. A few people offered you to come with them but you really needed a moment to yourself. You were overwhelmed but in a good way. You grabbed some food from the catering someone had ordered, you made a note to yourself to find out who it was and thank them. 

Once you got to your dressing room, you pulled your phone out of your purse and scrolled through your notification log. Hugh’s messages were the first thing you saw. You were responding to everything he had sent when another message popped up at the top of your phone. 

pedro: hey y/n. I’m free today if you wanna swing by sometime? 

You pulled up to the familiar gates and typed in the code that was still etched in your brain. Once you parked your car in the semi circle driveway, you texted Pedro that you were here before taking a deep breath and stepping out of your car. It always looked out of place next to the large home, even more now that you didn’t belong here the way you once had. One of the brown French style doors open just as you're walking up the three concrete steps that lead to the entrance. You look up from your shoes. Locking eyes with Pedro, you feel your heart tense up. The pain of losing the man you had felt so deeply for re-entered your body involuntarily. He was wearing his typical casual attire: a pair of black cotton shorts, his beloved yellow lakers tee, and a pair of long black socks. The slight gray in his hair had begun to spread, the sides of his beard almost losing all color. He looked as handsome as ever. He held the door open with one arm, leaning slightly. A small smile rested on his face and his brown puppy dog eyes gave you the same feeling they had when you had first met him. 

“Hi y/n.” His voice sounded almost hesitant. “Hi P…Thanks for having me.” He backs up to let you inside. You slip your shoes off, like you had many times before. “No problem. I’m kinda surprised you wanted to talk to me, thought you would’ve been done with me after…well you know.” You don’t answer, instead you walk towards his living room and plop yourself down in the spot you had claimed many months ago, Pedro taking his own claimed spot not too far from yours. “It’s weird seeing you there again…missed seeing you here.” You sigh. “Pedro…don’t say that.” “Why not?” “You don’t get to miss me when you’re the one that left me. You hurt me P. Not the other way around.” He scoffs. “Sure didn’t seem too hurt to me. You moved on just fine.” “Can you stop being an asshole for two fucking seconds?” 

You wanted to come into this with patience and maturity but Pedro was making that impossible. He was being completely insufferable and had been since the moment he broke up with you, like it was somehow your fault. You missed the kind Pedro, the one you had fallen for. 

“Well it’s true, isn’t it? It took a month before you fell into someone else's arms, no let me clarify, my friend’s arms.” You could tell he was trying to get under your skin and you didn’t know where he gained this hatred for you. His voice was sour, a scowl present on his face. 

“God Pedro…” You sigh in anger. “Yes I invited him to the album party but he was there for me when you sat there and yelled- no embarrassed me at my own event. You don’t get to play victim in this situation. We weren’t together and hadn’t been together for weeks by the time I met him.” You could tell you were beginning to lose control over your emotions. The anger and pain both battled reaching for your throat begging to take control over your next words. 

His eyes go soft as he starts to speak again. “Y/n…I’m sorry about that, I was drunk and I-” 

You couldn’t help but laugh. 

“You know what? Fuck you Pedro. Truly. You are the most selfish person I’ve ever met. You broke up with me because the pressure was too hard on you. You come to my event and try to grab me, then you yell at me because Hugh came to check on me. Now you’re mad that I found someone that actually gives two shits about me, that isn’t afraid to deal with whatever comes with dating a younger girl? I’m over it.” You laugh again. “And now you want to apologize for that night when you’ve been nothing but rude since I sat on this couch? I came here for closure, nothing more. I liked you Pedro. I really really like you and you crushed my heart that night and every time I’ve seen you after. I don’t understand what I did to deserve this hatred that you’ve been throwing at me but it’s not fair.” 

Your anger had won the battle but your sadness would win the war. Your voice broke on your last words, hot tears pouring down your cheeks. 

“It’s not fucking fair P…” 

You tuck your face into your sweatshirt, allowing yourself to cry in peace. Pedro doesn’t speak and the silence lasts for what feels like forever. You could feel a slight movement on the couch, then two warm arms wrap around your shoulder, a chin resting atop your head. The two of you stay like that for a while. You let your tears flood your cheeks until there aren’t any left. 

“I’m so sorry babygirl. I didn’t mean to hurt you like this.” 

You slowly pull your face out of the sweater. One of Pedro’s arms drops to rest on his leg, the other lay across your shoulders still. His water line was filled with his own tears, eyes red. 

“Then why did you?” He takes a moment to think and pulls you into his chest. Your head resting right above his heart, the beat a little faster than the one you had memorized. 

“Shit y/n…I know no matter how I say this, it’s gonna sound fucked up.” He squeezes his arms gently. “I was so scared, baby. When everyone started to form their opinions on us and kept pinning me to be some weirdo, I freaked out. I’m at the height of my career and I couldn’t imagine losing that…and you were right, I'm selfish. When I let you go, I immediately regretted it. I showed up to your party wanting to apologize. I had a few drinks, some liquid courage if you will, but damn baby, those fruity little drinks were a lot stronger than I thought they’d be.” You chuckle at the comment. “I was waisted by the time I saw you and when…Hu-...when he came to defend you, I lost my shit. I was so pissed off. Even in the state I was in, the look in his eyes was loud. He looked at you with so much adoration and I knew I’d already lost you.” 

He pauses. 

“I’m not trying to make excuses for myself, I just..I just want you to- no, I need you to know what happened. I’m sorry for being an ass today too. I guess I’m not over you and it hurts that you’re over me.” 

You look up at him. 

“I’m not trying to be mean when I say this P but it’s your fault. I could’ve loved you….I was falling in love with you. My time with you was special, so different than anything I’d ever felt before. I think we would’ve been good together. If you would have talked to me, maybe things would be different. You should have talked to me.” 

“We could’ve been the greatest?” He gives a lazy smile down to you and you look down in shame, wincing slightly. “You watched it?” You ask quietly. “Yea I did.” He pauses. “You sounded beautiful up there, you’re so talented y/n…even if it was so clearly targeted towards me.” The arm that's wrapped around your shoulder moves, his hand resting on your head now, moving in slow circles. 

“Would you ever give us another chance?” He asks, looking down at you. The hope in his eyes pains you. 

“I love him P…” You see the small glimmer of happiness drain from his face. You were feeling just as hurt, knowing that if Hugh hadn’t entered your life when he did or if you had talked to Pedro sooner, you’d give him another chance without a second thought. 

“Does he treat you good?” You almost scoff at the question, given who’s asking, but you don’t have the heart to be mean to him anymore. “Yea he does…” You smile at the thought of just how well Hugh does treat you. “Well, then I’m happy for you.” 

“Are you really or are you just trying to be nice?” You joke and he shrugs. “The latter but truthfully if you were going to be with anyone other than myself, I’m glad it’s him. He’s good.” He smiles down at you and it almost reaches his eyes. “Speaking of Hugh���you kinda owe him an apology, mister.” You poke at the side of his chest that you’re not leaning on. “For what? Stealing my girl?” His words make your tummy stir. “I wasn’t your girl anymore. You called him old and yelled at him. He’s your friend, so apologize.” 

“He is old.” You punch his arm and give him a look. “Ow..fuck. Fine, I’ll apologize but I’m not sure how buddy buddy I can be with him anymore.” “I don’t really care about that, as long as you’re nice to him.” 

He doesn’t respond. You spend a few minutes feeling the warmth of his embrace, it was something you were going to miss. As much as you loved Hugh, Pedro had been someone special to you and it hurt to let him go, even with what he put you through. 

“How much longer do my pictures have on your instagram before I’m replaced by Hugh?” He jokes and your eyes go wide. “Oh fuck me…” You had completely forgotten about the pictures that littered your page. “I will.” He smirks. “Shut the fuck up. I’m deleting them in front of your face just for saying that.” You whip out your phone. There are a few texts from Hugh on the homescreen asking how it’s going. “I’m surprised your guard dog let you come alone.” “Oh believe me, he didn’t want me to but he’s in New York and couldn’t stop me.” You open instagram. “And for that comment, I'm making you press delete on these. You can feel the finalization of us being over. Consider it punishment for being such a dick.”  He laughed and pressed delete on the first one. 

In the third picture, you started to regret this ‘punishment’. “We were a cute couple. You remember that one? That’s when you came over and we fucked like rabbits all week-” “Okay your done. Give me my phone.” You shove him away after and he lets out a deep belly laugh. The sound made you pause for a moment. This was the Pedro you had enjoyed being around. It was always so easy to joke around with him and be yourself. You would miss him. 

series taglist: @chronicallybubbly @spideybv28 @pear-1206 @robertthehoover @reidsworld @bloody-bunni666 @quillycrow @kythefangirl25 @bluetimeombre @cskidjgsjaoaknayan52782 @thewiselionessss @annagraceevanss @peterparkernotfound @rogueinmymind @samsamsantos @wolviesgirl @white-wolf-buckaroo @weskerussy @marvelgirlie-4 @honey-ros3ss @nonamevenus @nizem8 @chaimshelii @rockerchick05 @starryeddie @saylak @haytchee @godlypresley @mega-kittyglitter-1 @acescutejeans-1247 @bethexo07

*taglist closed*

[greengoblinswifey]

Thanks for ur answers on the dbf!rafe asks, I’m loving them sm 😍😍 ur so talented!! How do u think reader’s dad would eventually react if he found out abt rafe and reader? 😳😳 not like I would want that to happen but I’m just so curious abt what would happen, I know he’d be pissed but like how would he react specifically

a/n— you’re so messy for this and thank you for the kind words <3

You knew it was only a matter of time before your secret with Rafe came out. The stolen glances, the way he lingered just a bit too long at family gatherings, and the late night “errands” you claimed to be running together, it was all bound to unravel eventually. But you hadn’t expected it to happen like this.

Your dad’s voice thundered through the house, shaking the very walls. “You’re what with Rafe?!”

You flinched at the volume, but Rafe stood his ground beside you, calm and composed as ever. His hand rested lightly on your lower back, a silent reminder that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Dad, calm down,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Calm down?!” your dad repeated, his face heated with disbelief. “My little girl? Really, Rafe?” His gaze turned to Rafe, livid. “You’re supposed to be family, and this is what you do? You go behind my back, with my daughter?”

“Look, I understand how this looks—” Rake spoke, his tone measured but firm.

“How this looks?!” your dad barked, stepping closer to him. “This is disgusting! She’s half your age. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Dad,” you interrupted, stepping between them. “It’s not like that. He didn’t take advantage of me. I’m an adult, and I wanted this too.”

Your dad’s eyes darted to you, betrayal etched across his face. “You’re defending him? You’ve been sneaking around with my best friend, and you think I’m just going to be okay with this?”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, but he kept his tone steady. “I’m not here to cause problems. I care about her. This isn’t some fling. I’m serious about her.”

“Serious? With my daughter? You’ve known her since she was a kid, Rafe. Do you even hear yourself?” your dad said, letting out a bitter laugh.

“I know how it sounds,” Rafe admitted, his voice low. “But she’s not a kid anymore, and my feelings for her are real. I’d never hurt her.”

“Your feelings?” your dad spat. “You’re my best friend. How long has this been going on? How long have you been fucking my daughter behind my back?”

“Dad, stop!” you said, your voice shaking. “This isn’t about you. It’s about me and Rafe. I love him.”

Your dad’s expression twisted with disbelief and anger. “Love? You think this is love? He’s taking advantage of you, and you’re too blind to see it.”

“I would never take advantage of her, you know that’s not me. I care about her more than anything, and I’d do whatever it takes to prove that to you,” Rafe said as he stepped forward, his calm demeanor cracking slightly

“Prove it?” your dad snapped, his voice rising again. “You already betrayed me, Rafe. There’s no coming back from this. I should kill you.”

There was a tense silence before your dad sighed heavily, shaking his head. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“Dad,” you started softly, stepping closer to him, “I know this is hard for you, but Rafe isn’t what you’re making him out to be. He’s good to me. He makes me happier than anyone else ever has.”

Your dad looked between you and Rafe, his anger simmering under the surface. Finally, he pointed a shaking finger at Rafe. “You’d better take care of her, because if you don’t, I swear to God, I’ll make you regret it. I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Rafe said firmly, his gaze unwavering.

Your dad shook his head, his face a mixture of hurt and fury. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, walking out of the room.

The silence that followed was deafening. Rafe turned to you, his hand brushing against your arm. “That could’ve gone worse,” he said softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You gave him a small, shaky smile. “Much worse.”

“You’re worth every risk,” he murmured, tilting your chin to his lips.

“And you’re worth every argument,” you whispered, leaning into his kiss.

[niallerspayno]

About Last Night (Louis Tomlinson x reader) - Fic Request

Masterlist

Anonymous request: Hi!! I was wondering if you could do Louis Tomlinson x fem! Reader who is in the band, her and Louis always had a flirty relationship but always told people it was a joke until one night during one of their tours things get heated between them and they hook up, a few weeks later reader finds out she’s pregnant and doesn’t know how to tell Louis so she goes to her best friend Niall Horan for advice and Louis ends up over hearing them? Smut and fluff please!!

Tags: Louis x reader, friends to lovers, smut, pregnancy, fluff, angst

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

…

The arena hums softly with the buzz of amps and muffled conversations, but your focus is already on Louis, who stands near the drum kit, spinning a drumstick between his fingers with that familiar mischievous glint in his eye. This is how it’s always been with the two of you—partners in chaos, constantly toeing the line of what you can get away with, but never crossing it. The harmless flirting, the relentless teasing—it’s your thing.

“Don’t even think about it,” you call out, a grin tugging at your lips.

Louis turns to you, all innocence and dimples. “Think about what, love?”

“Oh, you know exactly what,” you say, stepping closer. “Put the stick down before you get us all in trouble.”

“Trouble?” he echoes, mock-offended. “I am the very definition of responsibility.”

“You’re the definition of a menace,” you retort, grabbing the other drumstick off the snare. You twirl it between your fingers and smirk at him. “If you’re going to cause chaos, at least make it entertaining.”

His eyes light up at your challenge. “I knew I could count on you, partner.”

Before anyone can stop you, Louis taps the microphone stand with his drumstick, and you follow suit, matching his rhythm with the snare drum. The resulting cacophony blares through the speakers, earning a collective groan from Liam and the sound crew.

“Really?!” Liam barks from center stage, throwing his hands up. “Do you two have to do this every time?”

“Yes,” you and Louis say in unison, both grinning like kids caught raiding the cookie jar.

“Unbelievable,” Liam mutters, shaking his head.

“Oh, lighten up, Payno,” Louis says, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “We’re just making things more fun.”

“Fun is subjective,” Liam replies, deadpan.

Louis doesn’t even acknowledge him, already pulling you toward the piano at the corner of the stage. “Come on, let’s give them a real show.”

You follow without hesitation, laughing as you plop down on the bench beside him. “Alright, Mozart, let’s hear it.”

“Watch and learn, darling,” he says, cracking his knuckles dramatically before slamming his fingers onto the keys.

The result is an aggressively off-key rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, and you immediately burst into laughter, doubling over as he continues his “masterpiece.”

“Wow,” you say between giggles, clapping along. “Move over, Beethoven. Louis Tomlinson has arrived.”

“I know,” he says smugly, tossing you a wink. “Don’t be jealous of my talent.”

“Talent?” you tease, leaning closer. “This is more like a crime against music.”

“Oh, you wound me,” he says, clutching his chest in mock pain. “But I’ll forgive you because you look cute when you’re pretending to be unimpressed.”

You arch an eyebrow, leaning in just enough to close the space between you. “Who says I’m pretending?”

He falters for a split second, just enough for you to notice, before recovering with a smirk. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you reply, but the playful tone in your voice makes it clear you’re enjoying every second.

The moment lingers, his eyes locked on yours, the air between you buzzing with unspoken tension. But before anything can happen, Liam’s voice cuts through like a bucket of cold water.

“Enough!” he shouts. “Can we please get back to work?”

Louis groans dramatically, standing up and offering you a hand. “Fine, Payno. We’ll behave. For now.”

“Behaving’s overrated anyway,” you say, letting him pull you to your feet.

He grins, leaning in just enough to make your heart race. “Spoken like a true partner in crime.”

You smirk back, the flush creeping up your neck impossible to hide. “You couldn’t handle this partnership without me.”

“Oh, don’t I know it,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, before finally letting you go.

As you return to your spot on stage, his laughter still ringing in your ears, you can’t help but feel the familiar thrill that comes with being Louis’s partner in crime. This is just how it’s always been—safe, playful, and light. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

…

The club is alive with pulsing music, flashing lights, and the hum of conversation. The six of you—plus a few crew members—have commandeered a booth near the dance floor, a place to regroup between rounds of drinks and bursts of reckless fun. The night is supposed to be lighthearted, a rare break in the chaos of touring. But your attention keeps drifting toward the bar, where Louis leans casually against the counter, chatting up a pair of girls who can’t stop giggling at whatever he’s saying.

You take another sip of your drink, the sharp burn of tequila doing little to distract you. It shouldn’t bother you. This is Louis, after all—flirty, charming, and always ready to make someone’s night with a cheeky grin. It’s harmless. Always harmless. Just like it’s always been with you and him.

But tonight, it stings.

“You alright there, love?”

Niall’s voice pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to find him sliding into the booth beside you, a fresh pint in hand. His blue eyes are sharper than they should be after three rounds, catching onto your mood immediately.

“Fine,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just enjoying the view.”

Niall snorts, following your gaze toward Louis. “Ah. Him.”

“Him what?” you ask, though your tone is defensive even to your own ears.

“You’re watching him like he owes you money,” Niall says, smirking, but his voice softens when he adds, “What’s going on?”

You hesitate, swirling your drink in your hand. Niall’s always been the one you confide in, the one who listens without judgment. But this—whatever this is—feels like dangerous territory.

“It’s nothing,” you lie.

“Sure it is,” he says, leaning closer. “Come on. You’re never this quiet.”

You glance at Louis again, just in time to see him lean in to whisper something in one of the girls’ ears. Your chest tightens, and before you can stop yourself, the words spill out.

“It’s stupid,” you say, setting your glass down with more force than necessary. “I just… I don’t get how he can be like that. Flirting with everyone, acting like it’s all a game.”

Niall raises an eyebrow. “That’s just Louis, though. You know that.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, staring at the condensation on your glass. “But sometimes I wonder if it’s ever not a game for him. If he ever actually means it.”

Niall doesn’t answer right away, his gaze steady and thoughtful. Finally, he says, “And what if he does? Would that change things?”

You laugh, though it’s bitter and hollow. “Not for him. He’d still be Louis, and I’d still be the idiot who gets worked up over it.”

“Hey,” Niall says gently, nudging your shoulder. “You’re not an idiot. You care about him. That’s not stupid.”

You look at him, startled by how easily he’s put words to something you’ve been trying to deny. “I didn’t say I care about him.”

“You didn’t have to.”

His voice is kind, but it hits you like a punch to the gut. You reach for your drink again, draining the rest of it in one go.

“Okay,” you say, standing up abruptly. “I need another one.”

“Hang on,” Niall says, grabbing your wrist before you can escape. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? You’re already—”

“Drinking?” you interrupt, flashing him a wry smile. “Yeah, I know. That’s kind of the point.”

Niall lets you go, watching as you make your way to the bar. You don’t look at Louis as you order another round, but you can feel his presence—his laughter, his charm—like a static charge in the air.

When you return to the booth, Niall’s still waiting, his expression unreadable. “You don’t have to tell him, you know,” he says quietly.

“Tell him what?”

“Whatever it is you’re feeling. If you’re not ready, that’s okay.”

You sit down, your drink clutched tightly in your hands. “What if I never am?”

Niall shrugs, his usual easygoing demeanor softening. “Then that’s okay, too. But just… don’t beat yourself up over it, alright? He’s an idiot, but he’d be even more of one not to see how great you are.”

You manage a small smile, but the ache in your chest doesn’t fade. Across the room, Louis throws his head back in laughter, and you drain your drink, trying not to think about what it would mean if Niall was right.

...

You’re halfway through your drink, the alcohol starting to make the room blur at the edges, when you feel someone slide into the booth beside you. It’s not Niall this time—he’s gone to the bar for another round.

“Having fun, partner?”

You don’t need to look to know it’s Louis. His voice, low and warm, cuts through the haze like a match striking in the dark.

“Loads,” you reply, your tone sharper than you intended. You focus on your glass, not him.

There’s a pause, and then he leans closer, so close you can feel the heat of him against your arm. “What’s got you in a mood, then?”

You scoff, finally turning to meet his gaze. “Why would I be in a mood?”

Louis’s brow furrows, and he studies you with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “Dunno. That’s why I’m asking.”

You shrug, trying to brush him off. “It’s nothing. Go back to your fans.”

Realization dawns in his expression, and his lips curve into a small smirk. “Ah, so that’s what this is about.”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” he says, his tone light but his eyes sharp. He tilts his head toward the bar, where the girls he’d been chatting with have moved on. “They’re just fans, love. Took a couple photos, had a laugh. That’s all.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say quickly, taking another sip of your drink.

“Clearly, it does,” he counters, his voice dipping lower.

You glance at him, and the teasing edge in his expression is gone, replaced by something quieter. More serious. It makes your stomach flip, and you hate how easily he gets under your skin.

“I just don’t get how you can do it,” you murmur, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “Turn it on and off like it’s nothing.”

Louis stares at you for a moment, his blue eyes searching yours. Then he leans back slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You think it’s nothing?”

You don’t answer, and he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not. I just… I don’t know. It’s easier sometimes to keep it light, you know? Keeps people from expecting too much.”

Your chest tightens at his words, and you look away, focusing on the dance floor instead. It feels safer than looking at him when he’s being like this—honest and raw in a way that catches you off guard.

Louis follows your gaze, then nudges you with his shoulder. “Come on.”

“What?”

“Dance with me.”

You blink at him. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” he says, standing up and holding a hand out to you. “Unless you’re scared you can’t keep up.”

It’s a challenge, one you’d normally accept without hesitation. But tonight, there’s something heavier in the air between you, something that makes you hesitate.

“Louis…” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Just one dance, love. For old time’s sake.”

You sigh, finishing the last of your drink before placing your hand in his. His grip is warm and steady as he pulls you to your feet, leading you toward the dance floor.

The music is loud and fast, but Louis doesn’t seem to care. He spins you around dramatically, earning a laugh despite yourself, and when he pulls you close, his grin is infectious.

“There she is,” he says, his voice just loud enough for you to hear over the music. “I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me.”

“I’m not mad,” you reply, though you’re not sure it’s true.

“No?” he asks, leaning in until his lips are just inches from your ear. “Then what are you?”

The question lingers, hanging between you as the beat of the music thrums in your chest. You glance up at him, your breath catching at the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing in the room that matters.

And then, as if drawn by some invisible force, your fingers tighten around his, and you let him pull you closer.

The music is deafening, the bass vibrating through your chest as Louis pulls you closer. The heat of the crowd presses in around you—sweaty bodies moving together in time with the pulsing beat—but all you can feel is him. His hand rests lightly on your waist, fingers brushing against the bare skin where your top has ridden up, and the touch sends a jolt of electricity through you.

You match his rhythm, your bodies swaying together as the lights flash and the room spins in a blur of color and sound. He leans down, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs something you can’t hear over the music. But it doesn’t matter, because the low rasp of his voice alone makes your pulse race.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, then slide down to his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your fingertips. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and intense, and for a moment, it’s as if the entire club has faded away.

He’s looking at you like he’s never seen you before, like he’s trying to memorize every detail. And you can’t look away.

“Louis,” you manage to say, but your voice is swallowed by the music.

He doesn’t answer, just pulls you even closer, his forehead resting lightly against yours. His hand tightens on your waist, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin, and it’s almost too much.

The air between you is charged, thick with something you can’t quite name but can’t ignore either. And when his lips brush against your temple—soft, almost tentative—it sends a shiver down your spine.

Your resolve snaps.

Without thinking, you grab his hand and tug him toward the edge of the dance floor, weaving through the crowd until you find a dark hallway leading toward the bathrooms.

“Here?” he asks, his voice rough and breathless as you pull him into the dimly lit space.

“Unless you’ve got a better idea,” you reply, your back pressing against the wall as he steps closer, crowding into your space.

He doesn’t hesitate. His hands are on your hips in an instant, his lips crashing against yours with a force that makes your head spin. It’s all heat and desperation, months of tension unraveling in a single, searing kiss.

You fist your hands in his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groans softly against your lips. The sound sends a thrill through you, and you arch into him, gasping when his mouth moves to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses down your skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against your throat, his voice low and strained.

But stopping is the last thing on your mind. “Don’t,” you whisper.

The noise of the club fades into a dull throb, your pulse pounding in your ears as Louis pulls you deeper into the hallway. His grip is unrelenting, his hand firm around your wrist as he guides you toward the dimly lit bathroom, the air thick with the sharp scent of alcohol and sweat. When you step inside, he doesn’t hesitate. He closes the door behind you with a soft thud, and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s already pulling you toward him, his hands sliding to the curve of your waist.

"Fuck," he breathes, his voice low, gravelly, as he looks you over. His eyes darken with something primal, raw. "I need you."

The way he says it—like there’s no choice in the matter, like he’s been waiting for this—makes your stomach flutter with anticipation. Your heart races as he lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. His body presses flush against yours, the heat radiating off of him like a furnace.

You’re suddenly aware of everything—his breath against your skin, the brush of his chest against yours, the sensation of his hands sliding down to grip your thighs as he carries you toward one of the stalls. The door bangs against the wall as he kicks it open with a force that leaves you breathless. You barely register it, too caught up in the way he’s looking at you—so intensely, so urgently—that it’s like the entire world outside has ceased to exist.

Louis doesn’t give you a moment to breathe. He presses you back against the door, and the sharp click of the lock echoes in the small space. His hands move to the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly, deliberately, until the cool air hits your skin. The contrast of the cold on your warm body makes you gasp, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling of him against you.

"God, you're perfect," he mutters under his breath, his eyes raking over you like he can’t quite believe you’re here. His mouth finds the curve of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that makes your pulse spike. He’s everywhere at once—his lips, his hands, his body—leaving no space between the two of you.

His lips trail lower, his breath hot as it brushes against your collarbone, and you can’t help but shiver, arching into him as his hands slip lower, tracing the curve of your waist and hips. “Louis,” you breathe, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

“You want this,” he says, his voice rough with hunger as he presses his body into yours. His hands slide under your skirt, gripping your thighs, his thumbs brushing the inside of your legs. The sensation sends a shock of desire through you, and you tighten your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer.

You’re both moving instinctively now—his body surging into yours, your hands tearing at his jeans, pushing them down just enough so you can feel the hard line of him pressing into you. You’re both breathless, desperate, as your bodies start moving together, finding a rhythm born from nothing but pure need.

The heat between you is overwhelming, suffocating. You can feel every inch of him against you, your bodies grinding together with a desperation that feels like it's been building for weeks, months even. His lips find yours again, more forcefully this time, his tongue slipping between your lips as your hands roam over his chest, feeling the hard planes of his body.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans against your mouth, his hands moving to the zipper of your skirt, tugging it down, leaving you exposed to him in the dim light.

You gasp as the cold air hits your skin, but the shock of it only fuels the fire between you. You push him back slightly, giving yourself enough room to pull off your panties, tossing them carelessly to the side. His eyes darken at the sight, and he groans again, his hands trembling slightly as they slide down your body.

“God, you’re killing me,” he mutters as he presses his body into yours again, the door rattling against the force of it. His lips trail down your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin, and you can’t help the moan that slips from your mouth.

“You want me?” he asks, his voice low, dangerous, as his hands slide between your bodies, his fingers brushing against you, making you gasp.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, I need you.”

And just like that, he’s pulling you closer, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he positions himself against you. The first thrust is slow, deliberate, but it doesn’t take long for the urgency to take over, for both of you to lose control.

Your bodies move together with a frantic rhythm, the pressure building, tightening, until you feel like you’re going to explode. The sensation is overwhelming, dizzying, and you cling to him, feeling his hands grip your skin like he’s afraid to let go. His breath comes in ragged gasps against your ear as he buries his face in your neck, his body pressing into yours with every thrust.

The world outside the stall is forgotten—there’s nothing but the sound of your breathing, the rhythm of your bodies, the urgent need to feel more.

When it happens, it’s all at once—the sharp pull of release, the sensation of your body shuddering as he groans your name, the feeling of him inside you. You lose yourself in him completely, and for a moment, the entire world falls away, leaving nothing but the raw, pulsing connection between the two of you.

For a long time, neither of you speaks. You’re both panting, trying to catch your breath as you stand there, still tangled together in the small, dimly lit stall. The air is thick, heavy with the aftermath, and the sound of the club’s music feels distant now, like it belongs to someone else’s world.

Louis rests his forehead against yours, his hands still cradling your hips as if he’s afraid to let you go. His breathing slows, but his grip on you doesn’t loosen.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, his voice soft, the intensity from moments ago replaced with something else. Something almost tender.

You nod, your hands tracing the lines of his back, still feeling the echo of his touch. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I’m more than okay.”

And for a brief, fleeting moment, it feels like everything has shifted.

...

The morning light seeps through the curtains, casting pale slivers across the room, and you wake with a pounding headache that has everything to do with last night. As you sit up, stretching stiff muscles, your fingers graze your neck, and you freeze.

You already know what you’ll find. Your stomach flips as you rush to the mirror, pulling your hair away to reveal dark, circular marks. Hickeys. Louis’s hickeys.

Heat floods your face as the memories from last night rush back—his hands on your body, the rasp of his voice in your ear, the way he kissed you like he was starving for it. A shiver runs through you, not from regret, but from how damn good it all was.

Still, the marks are a problem. You grab your makeup bag and get to work, layering concealer and powder until they’re faint enough to be hidden by your hair. It’s not perfect, but it’ll have to do. You can’t let the others see. You can’t let anyone see.

Your phone buzzes on the counter, pulling you from your thoughts. It’s a message from Louis: "You good?"

Your heart hammers as you type back: "We need to talk."

A few minutes later, you’re knocking on his door. When it swings open, Louis is there—hair tousled, barefoot, still half-asleep, but the way he looks at you makes it clear he knows why you’re here.

“Hey,” you say, stepping inside. Your voice feels thin, unsure, but you force yourself to keep going. “About last night...”

Louis closes the door behind you and leans against it, crossing his arms. “Yeah,” he says slowly, watching you with that sharp, unreadable gaze of his.

“I woke up with... these,” you continue, gesturing toward your neck. His eyes follow the motion, a smirk twitching at his lips as he realizes what you’re talking about.

“Didn’t think I went that hard,” he teases, but there’s something softer underneath his usual playfulness. “Sorry about that.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your fingers brushing over the covered marks. “It’s fine. I covered them up, but, Louis... no one can know about this. The others would never let us live it down.”

Louis straightens, the smirk slipping into something more serious. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s probably best if we keep it between us.”

The weight of that decision settles over the room, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, Louis lets out a low laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, for what it’s worth... it was a really fucking good time.”

Your breath catches, your heart flipping at the sincerity in his tone. A small, involuntary smile tugs at your lips. “Yeah,” you admit softly, meeting his gaze. “It really was.”

The tension in the room shifts—heavier, but warmer. There’s something unspoken between you, something lingering from last night, but you force yourself to push it aside.

“But it was... a one-time thing,” you say, your voice firmer now. “We were drunk, caught up in the moment. It doesn’t mean anything. Right?”

Louis hesitates, his jaw tightening ever so slightly before he nods. “Right,” he agrees, though his voice doesn’t carry the same conviction. “Just a one-time thing. We go back to normal. Friends. Bandmates. No weirdness.”

You nod, the words hanging heavy in the air. “Alright,” you say, standing and smoothing your shirt. “I’ll see you at soundcheck.”

Louis follows you to the door, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “Yeah,” he says softly. “See you there.”

You step out into the hallway, feeling the weight of everything unspoken between you. The memory of last night burns in your mind, and as much as you tell yourself it was a mistake, a small, stubborn part of you knows it wasn’t.

And as you walk away, you know the secret you’re both keeping won’t be the hardest part. The hardest part will be pretending that you don’t want more.

...

The hotel bathroom feels impossibly small, its tiled walls closing in on you as you stare down at the pregnancy test in your trembling hands. The instructions are simple, straightforward, but they feel like a foreign language as you reread them for the third time.

Niall is waiting just outside, sitting on the edge of your hotel bed. You hadn’t planned to involve him this much, but when you decided to sneak out and buy the test earlier, he’d been the one person you trusted enough to call. Now, as the reality of what you’re about to do looms over you, you’re beyond grateful he’s here.

“Everything okay in there?” Niall’s voice drifts through the door, steady and calm.

“Yeah,” you call back, though your voice wavers. “I’m doing it now.”

“Take your time,” he replies, his tone gentle.

You follow the instructions mechanically, your heart pounding louder with every step. When it’s done, you set the test on the counter, face down, and set the timer on your phone. For a moment, you just stand there, gripping the edge of the sink to steady yourself.

When the timer buzzes, you hesitate, your hand hovering over the test.

“You good?” Niall asks from the other side of the door, the concern in his voice unmistakable.

You take a deep breath and pick up the test. The result is instant.

Pregnant.

The air rushes out of your lungs, and you open the bathroom door without even thinking. Niall is on his feet in an instant, his eyes scanning your face.

“What does it say?” he asks, his voice soft but urgent.

You hold up the test, your hand shaking. “It’s positive,” you whisper. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, Niall just stares, processing the words. Then, he crosses the room in two quick steps and pulls you into a hug. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

You cling to him, tears spilling over as the weight of the situation crashes down on you. After a moment, he pulls back, his hands resting on your shoulders as he studies your face.

“Do you… know who the father is?” he asks carefully.

You nod, wiping your eyes. “It’s Louis.”

Niall’s eyebrows shoot up, and his mouth falls open slightly. “Louis?”

You laugh, a short, incredulous sound that bubbles out of you before you can stop it. “Yeah. It was that night we all went out to the bar.”

Realization dawns in his eyes, and he stares at you like he’s trying to piece it together. “Wait—so… the bathroom stall?”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “Yes, the bathroom stall,” you say, your voice muffled.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then, to your surprise, Niall starts to laugh—a low chuckle that quickly turns into full-on laughter. It’s contagious, and soon you’re laughing too, tears streaming down your face as the absurdity of it all sinks in.

“I can’t believe I’m having a baby that was conceived in a bathroom stall,” you manage to choke out, shaking your head.

Niall grins, his laughter fading into a warm smile. “Hey, at least you’ll have a good story for the kid someday.”

You snort, wiping your cheeks. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go over great.”

As the laughter subsides, Niall’s expression grows serious again. “You're going to have to tell Louis.”

You shake your head, the weight of that reality settling over you. “Not yet. I don’t even know how to tell him.”

Niall squeezes your shoulder reassuringly. “You don’t have to figure it out alone. I’m here, alright? Whatever you need.”

His support steadies you, and you nod, a small spark of determination flickering to life. “Thanks, Niall,” you say softly.

He smiles, giving your shoulder a final squeeze. “We’ll figure it out. One step at a time.”

...

The hotel dining room buzzes with the usual morning energy: clinking cutlery, muted conversation, and the aroma of coffee filling the air. You sit with the boys, doing your best to seem normal as you pick at a piece of toast. The nausea has become a constant companion, and exhaustion drags at you more with each passing day.

“Still not feeling well?” Liam asks, glancing at your plate with a worried frown.

You force a smile. “It’s just a bug. I’ll be fine.”

“You’ve been saying that for weeks,” Zayn points out, his tone sharper than Liam’s, though there’s concern in his dark eyes.

Harry leans back in his chair, studying you closely. “You need to see a doctor. You’re barely eating, and you look knackered.”

“Thanks, Harry,” you say dryly, hoping humor will deflect their growing concern.

Louis, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet throughout breakfast, lifts his coffee cup to his lips but says nothing. His eyes linger on you, though, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

“I’ll be fine,” you insist again, grabbing your mug and taking a sip even though the coffee turns your stomach. “Just need some rest.”

The boys don’t look convinced, but they eventually let it drop as the conversation shifts to tour logistics. When breakfast wraps up, everyone begins dispersing to their rooms.

As you step into the hallway, Niall gently catches your arm. “Hey, can we talk for a sec?”

“Sure,” you say, letting him steer you toward a quieter section of the corridor.

Unbeknownst to either of you, Louis lingers just out of sight around the corner, pretending to check his phone.

Niall keeps his voice low as he speaks. “How are you holding up? Really.”

You glance around nervously, making sure no one is nearby. “I’m okay,” you lie, though your voice wavers. “Just... trying to figure things out.”

He frowns, clearly not buying it. “You’ve got to stop pushing yourself so hard. This isn’t just about you anymore.”

“I know,” you whisper, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s just... it’s a lot, Niall.”

“Have you thought more about telling Louis?”

The question hangs in the air, and your heart sinks. “I don’t even know where to start,” you admit. “How do I tell him that I’m pregnant and it’s his baby? That it happened in a bloody bathroom stall?”

Niall snorts, though his expression quickly turns serious again. “You’re going to have to tell him eventually. He deserves to know, and you deserve to have his support.”

“I know,” you say quietly. “I just… I’m scared, Niall. What if he freaks out? What if it changes everything between us?”

“He might freak out,” Niall says honestly. “But he’s Louis. He’ll step up. You’ve got to trust him—and yourself.”

Neither of you notice the shadow around the corner or the way Louis freezes in place, his breath catching as he processes what he just overheard.

“I’ll tell him,” you say finally, your voice shaky but resolute. “I just need to figure out how.”

Niall nods, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ve got your back.”

You manage a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Niall. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

As the two of you part ways, Louis remains rooted to his spot, his mind racing. He had only stopped to grab his jacket, not to eavesdrop—but now, he can’t unhear what’s just been revealed.

Pregnant. His baby.

The words loop in his mind, crashing over him in waves of shock and disbelief. He grips the wall for support, his heart pounding as he tries to process what this means—for you, for him, for everything.

...

The hotel suite is unusually quiet, the remnants of breakfast scattered across the coffee table as the boys lounge around. You’re absent, having slipped away earlier, and the rest of the group assumes you’re just taking some much-needed time to yourself.

Louis, however, can’t sit still. He paces the room, his jaw tight and his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. His thoughts are a jumbled mess, but one thing is clear: he needs answers.

Niall, sitting on the armrest of a couch, notices the tension radiating off Louis. “Mate, you alright?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

That’s all it takes for Louis to stop pacing and whirl around to face him. “No, Niall, I’m not alright,” he snaps, his voice sharp enough to make everyone else in the room sit up straighter.

“What’s going on?” Liam asks, frowning.

Louis ignores him, his blue eyes locked on Niall. “How long were you planning on keeping it from me?” he demands, his voice rising.

“Keeping what from you?” Niall replies carefully, though his face pales slightly.

“Don’t play dumb with me!” Louis shouts, taking a step closer. “I know. I heard you talking to her this morning.”

The room falls into stunned silence, and Zayn and Harry exchange wide-eyed looks.

“What are you talking about?” Harry finally asks, his tone laced with confusion.

Louis doesn’t even glance at him. His focus is still entirely on Niall. “She’s pregnant, isn’t she? And it’s mine.”

Niall’s mouth opens and closes a few times, but no sound comes out. The rest of the boys look utterly shell-shocked, their eyes darting between Louis and Niall.

“Is it true?” Liam asks, his voice quieter now, though no less serious.

Niall lets out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t my place to tell you, Louis,” he says, his voice firm despite the guilt flickering in his eyes. “She needed time to figure out how to say it herself.”

Louis’s laugh is bitter, almost disbelieving. “Time? You don’t think I deserved to know right away? That I deserved to hear it from her—or at least someone—before overhearing you whispering about it in a bloody hallway?”

“I was just trying to be there for her,” Niall says defensively, standing now to meet Louis’s glare. “She’s scared out of her mind, Louis. This isn’t easy for her.”

“You think this is easy for me?” Louis shoots back, his voice cracking slightly. “Finding out I’m going to be a dad like this?”

The words hang in the air, heavy and raw.

Zayn leans forward, his brow furrowed. “Wait. Are you saying Y/N’s pregnant, and it’s yours?”

“Yes,” Louis snaps, throwing his arms out in frustration. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Harry sits back, his jaw slack as he processes the revelation. “Bloody hell.”

“Look, I get that you’re upset,” Niall says, his tone softer now. “But she needed time to figure things out. I was just trying to support her until she was ready to talk to you.”

“She should’ve come to me,” Louis mutters, his anger ebbing slightly but still palpable. “I deserved to know.”

“And she knows that,” Niall replies. “But she’s been scared, Louis. She didn’t want to mess everything up. She didn’t know how you’d react.”

Louis takes a deep breath, his hands raking through his hair as he processes Niall’s words. “I don’t know how to react,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “This is... massive.”

“It is,” Liam says, speaking up for the first time since the confrontation started. “But it’s not something you have to figure out alone. We’re all here for both of you.”

Louis looks around the room, his frustration slowly giving way to uncertainty. “I need to talk to her,” he says finally, more to himself than anyone else.

“Then do that,” Niall says gently. “But give her some grace, mate. She’s dealing with a lot.”

Louis nods, his expression still tense but less combative. Without another word, he turns and walks out of the room, leaving the rest of the boys in stunned silence.

...

You’re standing at the sink in your hotel bathroom, clutching the edge of the counter to steady yourself as another wave of nausea passes. The fluorescent lights buzz faintly, adding to the headache pounding at your temples.

Splashing cold water on your face, you glance at your reflection, pale and drawn. You’d thought you could keep things under control, at least for a little while longer. But the toll on your body is becoming harder and harder to hide.

A knock at the bathroom door startles you. Before you can answer, Louis’s voice cuts through.

“Y/N, it’s me. Open up.”

Your stomach twists for an entirely different reason now. His tone is firm, no trace of his usual teasing lilt. You grab a towel to pat your face dry, stalling for time.

“I’m fine, Louis,” you call back, trying to sound normal.

“I’m not leaving,” he says, and you can hear the resolve in his voice. “We need to talk.”

With a resigned sigh, you open the door. Louis is standing there, arms crossed and a look of determination on his face. The blue of his eyes is intense, searching yours for answers you’re not ready to give.

“Can we do this later?” you ask weakly.

“No,” he says, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. “I know.”

Your breath catches. “You know what?”

“I know you’re pregnant,” he says, his voice quieter now but no less firm. “And I know it’s mine.”

The air feels sucked out of the room, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him.

“How—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“I heard you and Niall talking this morning,” he admits. “I wasn’t eavesdropping—it just happened. And now I need to hear it from you. Is it true?”

You look down at your feet, your hands trembling. “Yes,” you whisper.

Louis exhales sharply, leaning back against the door as he runs a hand through his hair. “How long have you known?”

“About a week,” you admit, your voice barely audible. “I wasn’t sure at first, but I took a test. Niall’s the only one I told.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his voice cracking slightly. “Why did I have to find out like this?”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you sink onto the closed toilet lid. “I didn’t know how to, Louis,” you confess. “It’s not exactly an easy thing to bring up. And I didn’t know how you’d react. I was scared.”

“Scared of me?” he asks, his brows knitting together.

“No,” you say quickly. “Not of you. Just... of everything. What this means for us, for the band. I didn’t want to ruin everything.”

Louis crouches down in front of you, his hands resting on your knees. The unexpected tenderness in the gesture makes your chest tighten.

“You’re not ruining anything,” he says softly, his voice steadier now. “But you can’t shut me out of this. I deserve to know what’s going on, Y/N. This is my baby too.”

The weight of his words hits you, and you nod, wiping at your eyes. “I know. I’m sorry, Louis. I was just... trying to figure it all out.”

“Well, you don’t have to do it alone anymore,” he says, his hands squeezing your knees gently. “We’ll figure it out together.”

You look up at him, surprised by the conviction in his voice. “You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” he says, a small, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. “We might not have planned this, but it’s happening. And I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time in days, a flicker of hope sparks in your chest. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Louis stands, offering you his hand. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get out of this bathroom. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

You take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. And for the first time, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you won’t have to face this alone.

Louis doesn’t let go of your hand as he leads you out of the bathroom, guiding you to sit on the edge of the bed. He stays standing for a moment, running a hand through his hair as if trying to gather his thoughts. When he finally sits beside you, he turns to face you fully, his expression serious but gentle.

“I know this probably feels overwhelming,” he starts, his voice softer now. “But I need you to know something. I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. Not now, not ever.”

Tears prick your eyes again, and you bite your lip, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his words. “Louis, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupts firmly. “This isn’t about what I have to do. This is my baby, and you... you’re everything to me.”

Your breath catches, and you stare at him, unsure if you heard him correctly. “What do you mean?”

He exhales deeply, a small, nervous smile tugging at his lips. “I mean I’ve been in love with you for ages, Y/N. I’ve just been too much of a coward to say it.”

“Louis...”

He laughs softly, though there’s a trace of vulnerability in his eyes. “It’s true. I’ve hidden behind all the jokes and the flirting because I was terrified you didn’t feel the same. I thought if I said something, I’d ruin what we have. And then that night at the club happened, and I thought maybe... but you said it was a mistake, and I didn’t want to push.”

You shake your head, a tear slipping down your cheek. “It wasn’t a mistake,” you admit, your voice trembling. “I only said that because I was scared. Scared of ruining what we have, just like you were. But I’ve been in love with you too, Louis. For so long.”

His eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks utterly stunned. “You mean that?”

“Yes,” you whisper, reaching for his hand. “I mean it.”

He lets out a soft, incredulous laugh, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “All this time, we’ve been dancing around each other like idiots.”

You laugh too, though it’s choked with emotion. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

The two of you sit there for a moment, letting the weight of the truth settle between you. Then Louis’s grin turns mischievous, his blue eyes sparkling.

“Can you believe our kid’s going to have the most ridiculous conception story ever?” he says, his voice teasing.

You can’t help but laugh, the tension breaking slightly. “Conceived in a bathroom stall at a nightclub,” you say, shaking your head. “That’s not exactly the romantic story you tell at family gatherings.”

Louis chuckles, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “No, but it’s our story,” he says, his tone softening again. “And I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

The warmth in his gaze makes your heart swell, and before you can overthink it, you lean in. Louis meets you halfway, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s nothing like the heated, impulsive one from that night. This one is slow, deliberate, and full of everything you’ve both been holding back.

When you finally pull apart, he rests his forehead against yours, his hand still cradling your face. “I’m all in, Y/N,” he says quietly. “For you, for this baby. For everything.”

A tear slips down your cheek, but this time it’s one of relief, not fear. “Me too,” you whisper.

The two of you sit there in the quiet, holding each other as the enormity of the moment settles in. For the first time in weeks, you feel like everything might just be okay.

...

Part 2

[razorblade180]

Summer:Zzzz

Weiss:*rubbing her head*

Jaune:Messing with our child again? She’s gonna wonder why her hair is frizzy.

Weiss:Today she asked me if I had a favorite kid.

Jaune:Oh?

Weiss:Said it felt like hanging out with Nick was easier for some reason. Despite the fact she strong arms me every time I try to bond with her.

Jaune:She’s at the age. It happens.

Weiss:I know. It’s probably wrong but I was a little happy. She wouldn’t say it but she was clearly jealous of her own brother; as if I don’t love them both. Although, it’s also a little sad she doesn’t realize just how much I love her.

Jaune:She gets that from me unfortunately. Takes awhile for that to sink in, but she knows she’s loved. You cry about her enough.

Weiss:Shut up. I cry a healthy amount over my daughter. Being a mom is hard. Especially when you don’t have a good reference. I hope I’m doing well enough.

Jaune:*kisses cheek* You’re a wonderful mother. Talented too. Not to mention beautiful. Way more attractive than your husband.

Weiss:I’ll have you know my husband won “Sexiest Man on Remnant” recently. Even if he argues about it, the world has admitted he’s factually hot.

Jaune:I feel like a woman of you power could’ve rigged the vote.

Weiss:Pfft, why? I want my husband to myself. It’s rather annoying he’s gonna be on a magazine soon. Although it’s a good chance to laugh at everyone wishing to have him.

Summer:You’re so petty. I guess you really are my mom.

Weiss:Oh, you’re up. *removes hand*

Summer:Hey now, I’m subjected to hearing you flirt and now the head rubs stop? Unbelievable.

Weiss:*continues rubbing* My, my, so spoiled. My daughter indeed.

[mapetitefeedeslilas]

Phoenix and Hangman as Friends-In-Law

AU where Phoenix is with Javy and Jake with Bradley. Phoenix still pretends she doesn't like Jake that much and only deals with him on accounts of being her best friend's husband and her husband's best friend. They are not friends, only friends-in-law.

Both Coyote and Rooster have retired from active duty and have civilian jobs for the Navy, more family friendly 9 to 5s so they can take care of their respective kids.

Phoenix is climbing the ladder Ice-fast, racking up promotions and being highly regarded by everyone.

Hangman is on a very Maverick-like path: he is an unbelievable pilot, but an absolute nuisance that talks back to just about every admiral and pulls insane stunts in the air.

Since they are friends-in-law, Phoenix becomes, in spite of herself, his guardian angel, trying her best to keep him in the cockpit and not have him stripped of his wings. She knows he is a talented pilot, but will never admit it to his face.

Every once in a while Bradley would get a phone call at a weird time of the day and he knows he is in for a forty minute screaming rant from his best friend about YOU KNOW WHAT THAT DAMN HUSBAND OF YOURS DID THIS TIME?!, to which he would patiently listen to whilst starting to bake Phoenix's favourite cake. A couple of hours later he will arrive at the Trace-Machado household where an amused and resigned Coyote is waiting for him and whatever delicious dish he has brought to make sure Phoenix doesn't make a widower out of him.

[maikissed]

and the day after that, and day after that

jude bellingham x reader a bit angsty, a little bit of drama and a lot of monologue, i like drama

You took a minute to wonder when has it started, really, what pivotal moment changed the perspective, the trajectory of new feelings, harsh and alerting, making you nervous and full of doubt that whatever follows, would bring anything good of it. Because you noticed, it was hard to pinpoint the moment when, but you did. It was there, in the softness of his eyes when he looked at you, payed attention to your words and actions, the gentle smile displayed on his lips, slightly curved on the side in a adoring kind of way. The way he touched you when he meant to, on your shoulder, your neck or your arm. Touches sometimes unnecessary but present, warm and lingering. Or brief, but still there. Filled with something different from those in the past. Innocent, yet intentional. You felt, knew, it was different.

Maybe it was somewhere around the time when he was coming back from Dortmund for vacation, so full of pride and joy, fuelled by many successes of his and his team. The world started to hear about him and he was floating in praise. It kept changing him, not exactly in a negative way, but it kept his head higher. He knew his worth, simply the rest of them started to learn it now. That gave him a peck of confidence, you noticed him grow in this. And it’s been remarkable, to watch him develop in every way so much.

When he was about to take a plane to England, every time he made sure to give you notice about his comeback, searching for your arms to be the first that embrace him on his welcome party. Parties in a meaning of a little friend gathering. Sometimes real parties, when you all were feeling like it. You were noticing the attention back then, different, prominent. You started calling him your boy, still slightly oblivious of his intentions, or you’ve simply turned a blind eye on everything around you, wanting to accompany him on this journey and not cause a fuss about something that maybe is not there for a fact. You kept being a good friend.

And you kept your cool, rolling with all of it just fine. It’s been fine, but everything skyrocketed when his career went on a higher range path as he joined Real Madrid in last July. Now, that was some boost to Jude’s ego. And it’s been astonishing that every time he came back now, he was presenting a different, much developed persona. A man, as you noticed with a flutter of your heart. Man with responsibility, worked up discipline, well-groomed talent and a radiant self-confidence that you knew not many women can say no to. But you were not a woman for his choice, you were too old for him. From the moment when you’d been kids, strutting down the province to buy some ice cream in a corner shop. You as a young guardian, since your little brother and his jumpy friend with big dark eyes and funny ears were too young to pay the cashier the right amount of money for your sweetmeats.

Now, it’s been a joyful night and at the end of it you found yourself standing in front of him leaned back on the huge sofa in your hotel room. You’ve been laughing non stop for the last two hours and you didn’t even remember exactly how both of you ended up in your suite, leaving your friends behind. You breathed in a huff, slightly exhausted by your alcoholic trance, smile still visible on your face. You leaned back on the edge of a little table in the middle of the room and you spotted him doing the exact thing that made you unbelievably anxious lately. He kept watching you, intensively, so passionately you felt all parts of your body as if exposed to him. Like you were a painting, the sight of which he’d rather die than part with. He’s been close to you all night. You could feel him sneaking in. There was a reason he came after you here, wasn’t there?

“Jude” you breathed, nervous, not very much ready for this conversation.

He hummed in question, playing with the soft brink of the armrest of the sofa with his fingers.

“Stop looking at me like that” you stated a longer moment after.

There was a inquiry in his expression after your words. He anticipated you elaborate.

“I can’t shake the feeling that you’re seeing me different than you’ve used to”

You kept your cool. Good.

“What do you mean, y/n?” he murmured, and his face now did not appear unaware of the course of this conversation. Like he was prepared.

“I am not…” it was hard to fight the bile that started to form in your throat.

It was not that hard. The rejection. You’ve done this before. But it was not just some guy. He was your friend. Childhood companion.

“…I can’t be what you want me to be”

He went rigid, his eyes turned hard, lips stiff. He incited you to continue.

“It can’t happen” you voiced it out surely. Your eyes still not leaving his. You had to be resolved and purposeful.

His jaw clicked as he looked down at his hand as if looking for composure. Swiftly he brought his eyes back to your face.

“It’s done already” he stated in a firm voice and you shook a little in horror.

Whatever he meant?

“I’m not playing anything, y/n. It’s done already and I don’t really have the intention to fight it.”  

“What do you mean by done?” you went pale.

Amongst many things that Jude were, he was definitely a man of devotion, conviction and determination. You were shaking in your limbs at the magnitude of these words. These were serious ones.

He laughed lightly at your question. He knew you were playing dumb for your safety.

“I know what I want” he started quietly “And I aim to have it” a dangerous spark in his eyes.

Was this his go? To rile you up?

“What exactly do you want?” you stared to banter.

“You”

He said it so effortlessly but his voice hardened slightly.

“Don’t be ridiculous” there was a snort leaving your mouth as you tried to turn away for his fiery gaze.

You went for a glass of wine you poured yourself earlier, in a need of something that’ll make this easier for you. Many questions appearing in your head of how to save this situation without it shattering everything you’ve had between you.

“You don’t find me enough, then?” he asked from the distance.

At least the distance was safe.

It was your turn to laugh. You almost threw your head back.

“I am too old for you, Jude” you argued, now fire appearing in your eyes as well because all of this was not so definite on your side.

How have you been perceiving him? The answer to this question was far more complicated than his “I know what I want” statement. Because you did not know. All you knew is that the last thing you wanted is for the world to shatter at your feet because you did something as repellent as throwing yourself at such younger boy.

“I don’t give two fucks about…”

“But I do!” you turned sharply to face his way “What about my saying in this?!”

“Voice it out then, fully” he tempted.

Bigger, his eyes turned even bigger. You prayed for your legs to not lead you closer to him.

“It’s wrong, it’s weird. What would your mother have to say about this, the public?!” you hissed, scolding him almost.

He did not liked to be scolded. By anyone, except his mother. Well, not many would like to get into Denise’s black book.

“Oh, please, my mom adores you” he scoffed trying to make you sound unreasonable.

“As a family friend!” an obvious statement “And it would look dreadfully wrong, for a five years older woman to groom a boy such as yourself!” you snapped.

He frowned at the term you named him in such sentence. You definitely wounded him by it, choosing to strike with a necessary impudence.

“To groom?” laughter enveloped his features.

He was not to give up on this. It mildly made you want to come up to him and shake him.

“Yes, that’s a word for it”

“It’s an exaggeration”

“Are you in love with me, Jude?!” that was definitely a question you yearned to hear an answer to. Looking for advantage.

He blinked, swallowing sharply. And your knees went weak because you knew that look on his gentle face. Softer, boyish, fond. The fire died in his eyes for a moment, leaving room for waving devotion. Like an ocean in the darkness.

“Yes” he breathed.

Fuck.

“Do you even know what that means?!” you could slap him in the face as well, probably would be more subtle.

“For fuck’s sake, y/n” he moved forwards on the settee, clasping his hands together.

“It’s a lot Jude, and you’re not in love” were you trying to put feelings and thoughts of your choosing in his head right now? Most likely. “It is not a time or place for a boyish infatuation” you fumed.

He stood up abruptly and you shook in your place.

“Do you want me to prove you it’s far from being a boyish infatuation?” a step forward, putting you into action to take a step back. “Your reaction says a lot about that” he stated noticing you fighting the intention to circle the table.

Breathe in, breath out.

“If it’s lust, it means little and dies quickly” you breathed, your chest falling and raising faster. You were raging, with… something.

“If it was just lust, I would’ve snapped years ago” he burked rolling his shoulders back.

You snorted.

“I am not trying to force anything on you” he took another step your way.

You stood still. Hold your ground, you kept saying to yourself.

“And the last thing I want is for us to fell apart” just few feet away from each other now, you looking up at him “But you’re putting a hell lot of work for this denial, because you’re looking at me different than you’ve used to as well.”

A sharp intake of breath. You realised it was yours. From this proximity he could hear. And you weren’t looking at him, focusing your absent gaze on his chest, searching for composure. Suddenly his fingers appeared under your chin, tilting your head up delicately. You gave in, exhausted, almost.

“Sweet dreams, we’ll see each other tomorrow” he smiled with reassurance in his eyes, honest and with gentleness “And the day after that, and day after that” his thumb grazed your under chin when he whispered these words to you.

You narrowed your eyes trying to get an answer to the true meaning of this promise. But he left your room before your smart mouth could work proper again.

[witchinatree]

i HATE mr bonzo so unbelievably much it's not even funny

i haven't stopped thinking about how much i dislike him and it's been DAYS since mag12. i hate that he still makes me nauseas after that episode. there is no reason for him to be so horrificially monsterous. it's genuinely funny how pathetically evil he is. i find him humorous and am offended that he is frightening. he isn't tragic. he has no sadness. no weakness or suffering for us to sympathize with. he's just some failed children's mascot who eats people. what devastating backstory could they even give him? a kid pissed on his feet one time?? there is nothing these talented writers could ever create that would ever make me feel anything but pure rage towards this horrid clown adjacent mass of flesh and puss. it's devastating when we compare him to any of the TMA avatars. jane prentiss just wanted to be loved, so she let the worms consume her. don't even GET me started on jon. but god damn bulbous bonzo? fuckass chuck-e-cheese drop out who turned to aggressive cannibalism. he does nothing but pure evil with no ounce of remorse that could lead to any amount of sympathy. how dare his nauseating form have any impact on my psyche. he is not worthy of my fear and i hope he explodes in some distant land where his death will not impede on anyone's sanity.

this is NOT hating on the writing in this series at all i think it is wonderful

[12-seconds-to-live]

What If?

Pairing: F1Grid2021! x reader driver!

This is the story of how neither Max Verstappen or Lewis Hamilton became F1 Champions in 2021. 

A girl did.

“What does it feel to be the villian of this season?” “This villian is going to be a world champion”

Abu Dhabi, december 12th - 16:30

"Are you scared?” 

Tik tok, tik tok

I was able to hear the clock tickling on my motorhome. 

A breathe

The eyes of George looking at me

“No, I’m not”

Yes, you are

“You got this and If you don’t...” I sigh

“Please don’t  finish that phrase”

“Sorry, it’s just...”

“I know, there’s a lot on the plate but you know. I don’t have many options right now”

George take my hand “You’re really talented and the best option is winning and you’re making the impossible, like, in a Williams. You’re more clever that all those who want to see you fall. And for next year, did they called you?”

“Not yeat, I guess they’re waiting for the race”

“They’ll look like fools If they don’t call” We share a small laugh

“Thank you for this year, Mercedes is lucky to have you, Lewis will” He smiled

“I’ll still see you from the other side” We stand from the sofa and share a hug “Stay afraid, but do it anyway. What’s important is the action. You don’t have to wait to be confident. Just do it and eventually the confidence will follow”

Abu Dhabi, december 12th - 17:50

"Radio check"

"Loud and clear"

"We are all with you... whatever happens at the end, you're our champion, Williams is back thanks to you and George"

"Thank you, I need to hear that"

"Formation lap in one minute"

LAP 35/58

"Gap at 0.4 behind Lewis. So let’s just…"

"Why is Verstappen pushing me off-track"

"Yeah, yeah copy we aren´t happy with that. They're investigating"

"I'm gotta go menu dash position two. Tell them that he can't have the position back"

LAP 45/58

"Hamilton 26.8, 26.8. And let us know about the tyres for a Safety Car"

"How many laps left?"

"13 when you cross the line, 13 when you cross the line. Gap to Hamilton at 13.9"

"Copy. I'm ok with a set of hards. Do we have a chance?"

"I know you do. Stay still kid"

LAP 50/58

"And we’ve seen Norris with a front-left puncture, so just be careful on the kerbs"

"So we think the problem might be just turn 15, turn 16"

"I’m off kerbs"

"Okay, copy"

"Lewis still has free air"

"The gap is seven seconds and there’ll be eight to go when you cross the line"

"Copy. Status of Lando?"

"He's out of the car and well"

LAP 58/58

I crossed the line and saw all the fireworks over the finish line. I felt different, something like never before, not like winning in Monaco or Monza. I'm a world champion, the first woman of many.

I watched the people in the crowd weaving at me. I heard the screaming over the radio and while I was slowing down I felt tears runing down my face.

"I'm absolutely speechless. YOU DID IT! Thank you, we love you. Our world champion!"

"Oh, my God yes! Yes, yes! Oh, my God! Oh my God!"

"Y/N! I TOLD YOU SO! You are the world champion, the world champion!"

"GEORGE!? This is ours! WE DID IT!

"You absolutely deserve it, kid. Even if you're not going to stay with us next year, we owe you everything! What a year working alongside you"

"They haven't called so..."

"Are you kidding? The news dropped before the race. You're going to be alongside Max next year"

"No freaking way!"

"We are so proud of you. We always will"

"Oh, my God guys. I love you so much. From my teammate, my race engineer and everyone at the factory"

"You have driven like a champion all year. You deserve that. We needed a bit of luck. You got it. You made it happen. And we love you. We absolutely fucking love you" said George and the whole screaming in the garage was getting louder

"It is unbelievable guys. Can we repeat this If you guys want me in the future?"

After the whole podium celebration with Lewis and Max, one thing was clear. Max didn't win his first championship and Lewis lost his eight. My phone was blowing with messages from social media and my family and friends. But my eyes we're locked with Anthony Hamilton chat.

I knew that Lewis wasn't ok. He hugged his dad and even I can't see his face, he cried. He remains stronger on the podium but I can't look at him in the eyes.

I walked to the Mercedes motorhome. Toto was talking to George and stand up at the moment he saw me.

"I'm sorry"

"You don't have to. You drive so well this season that all of us knew that maybe we could lose"

"Oh. Did you guys talk?"

"Yeah, a few words. We have time"

"I'm gonna see him, it's just... I don't know"

"Go, y/n"

I knock at his door and his dad pat me in the back and let us alone. Lewis was laying down in the sofa with a towel covering his face. When he heard the door closing he remove it.

"Hi" I said

"Hey" He smiled

"I'm not going to make dumb questions, just, I'm happy of how this season went. You're been in the sport longer that I've been alive and even if the feeling of losing it's here, don't let it stay. You're still eveeryone's champion, even mine"

I sit down next to him and he took my hand

"I wanted you to win, you know?"

"You what?" I..." I gasp

"Yeah, you've been so amazing. You have the hunger of a champion and now that you made it, well, you're my idol now"

"Lewis..." I felt that I was going to cry

"Don't cry, baby. Go celebrate. I'm fine, I still more seasons ahead to beat you" I smiled to him and give him a hug

"Let me know when you're in London. To spend a day with you, all right?"

"That's a promise"

He hugged me again and I leave the room. A few people of Mercede's staff were around and congratulate me. As I was walking to my car to go to the hotel, I heard a text.

A thank you from Lewis.

Yeah, he's going to be back.

And maybe in the end ... We are all superheroes.

Each of us with a tragic back story

Specific sets of attributes

Some of us fly

Some of us read minds

And maybe some of us-

Are stronger than others,

We all have potential.

I believe the only difference

Between us all is ...

Who will stand up and fight?

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

Your blog is my guilty pleasure lol, it's so validating to read your very matter of fact rebuttals after years of being talked over & down to in the fandom. Being in the fan space & hearing the way people talked about how much more "female gaze coded" Z/tara was made me feel like I was betraying other women by not liking Zuko or Zutara the way "real mature" women did.

Funniest thing is, when i watched the show as a kid as an older sister, someone with talent/skills that nobody else understood, a girl who felt she had to be mature all the time, Kataang instantly became my otp. Katara was living my dream of a fun, cute boy sweeping me off my feet, telling me I was special and going on a magical journey with me-- I had the HUGEST crush on Aang as a little girl. It was so lame growing older and hearing near constantly from the fandom how stupid and unbelievable the idea that Katara actually had feelings for Aang was, and how it's a "male" (aka: bad) fantasy, when honestly Zuko's angsty ass was far from dream boyfriend material in my opinion it made me feel gaslit fjhdidjskj.

Genuine Z/tara fans are fine, I totally get the appeal of the red/blue enemies to lovers sparks fly ship, but the meanest and loudest of your crewmates and the way they act like their tastes are the Correct ones has been just. ridiculous for many years. And why do those types always feel the need to start the conversation by bashing Kataang every single time?? I started with a positive opinion of their ship when I entered the fandom as a teen, even liked a few arts and whatnot as a "what-if," but all the nonsense has left me with a bad taste in my mouth.

So yeah, thanks for this space to complain about the experiences we've had lol. I've had one too many conversations about ATLA & how good it is interrupted with the other person going "well except for the Main Romance, that was shit and Z/tara should have been endgame" not to be Worn Out. Like if in their opinion the show is *perfect* except that One thing.... maybe the problem lies elsewhere?

Yup, that's definitely a pattern I noticed: zutarians are SO many and SO loud, that even though a pretty large part of the fandom disagrees with their takes (regardless of enjoying the canon ships or not) most of them just... didn't talk about it because they didn't want to be harrassed or talked down to or be hit with the "well, we are the majority therefore we're right" argument.

It's part of why I was innitially shocked at how much support this blog got. I thought I just gonna be in my own little bubble of the fandom, but nope, I got sooooo many messages of "FINALLY! Somebody said it!"

And looking back, I should've noticed something was off. There's a reason ATLA's ending was not one of these disasters that basically nukes and kills 90% of the fandom and live in infamy as one of the worst falls from grace ever, How I Met Your Mother style, even though both shows had the fan favorite ship not end together.

It wasn't just that one was well-written and the other wasn't (though that clearly affected the audience and critical reception of these endings, both at the time and through the decades).

HIMYM was a case of "The actual endgame ship was loathed by nearly everyone while the rival pairings were almost universally beloved."

ATLA was a case of "70% of the fandom likes this ship - of these fans, 25% are multishipers that also like the canon ships, 25% only like the ship in fanfic but don't actually want it to be a thing, 25% loves it but can accept it not being canon at point because they acknowledge it'd be rushed, and the 25% are the ones that would burn down Bryke's house if they could, so in reality only a fraction of the fandom didn't accept the Kataang/Maiko endgame, while the overwhelming majority was either happy about it or indifferent to it"

And that's without taking into account that Avatar got new popularity boosts through the years that lead to plenty of people that had Zutara being hyped up for years being disappointed when they realized "Oh, it was popular because of fanon shit, not because it actually would have made sense story-wise" or people who reached that same conclusion after rewatching the show.

I think that's why Zutarians have such a victim complex and want to pretend Bryke and Kataang/Maiko fans are "oppressing" them - they've been dominating the conversation for years, and not only got no results out of it, they're now losing that "leverage" too. They're no longer in an echo-chamber, they need to use actual arguments that make sense if they want their opinion to be almost universal and they just can't do it because their ship was never that good to begin with.