#the bears were making me feel like i was making a difference and just.......... i feel powerless. and small. and utterly defeated. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

waynes-multiverse · 2 days ago

Text

Time After Time – Chapter 7

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), 1942 says hi, SB being a nice and kind human, freely invented historical gossip, major angst alert & a bit of fluff

Word Count: 10.5k

Posted on Patreon April 11, 2025

A/N: Three angsty converstions in this one, three women, and one very upset Ben! Plus, a deep dive into Mrs. Brooks! If ya can't tell by the word count again, I clearly loved writing this part 😂🫶 ✨ Chapter title comes from The Wizard of Oz (1939)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 7: Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My!

It had been an agonizing hour of pacing, second-guessing, and questioning everything that had led you here – to this strange, impossible life you had stumbled into.

A huge fucking pile of steaming hot shit, basically.

You hadn’t been able to sit still since Ben’s parents returned, your thoughts racing in a thousand different directions. Each time your footsteps neared the door of the guest bedroom, they became anxiously quiet and soft, however, not wanting to alert anyone to your presence. Every moment in this mansion felt like a misstep, a mistake you couldn’t undo.

The knot in your stomach twisted tighter.

You should’ve left a long time ago, but you had gotten too comfortable here – too cozy and snuggly with Ben, like he was your goddamn security blanket. But you cared about him and cared about what would happen to him, so the last thing you wanted at this point was to cause any more trouble for him, especially with his father.

So, you decided to leave.

You started throwing a few outfits from your closet onto the bed, only wanting to take the most necessary items before realizing you didn’t even own a bag big enough to stuff it in. But you had your magical remote control back, so your plan was to hit pause on the whole fucking mansion, grab a suitcase from somewhere, sneak out, and maybe rob a bank for some pocket change on your way out of dodge.

Yup, good plan.

But what about Ben? Were you leaving him behind, too?

Realistically, you knew it was the smartest choice. As wonderful, otherworldly, and addicting as that newfound, blooming feeling in your heart was, you knew it wouldn’t lead anywhere but into turmoil. This relationship didn’t have a future.

Period.

Either you’d lie to him for the rest of both your lives – however long that would be – or you’d hurt him. There was no other option.

Could you tell him? Could he handle the truth? Vought didn’t even exist yet. Right now, the Nazis were working on Compound V. To Ben, people gaining superpowers would be an alien concept.

‘Hey, uh, by the way, I have superpowers that let me control time, and I’m also from the future, and we don’t actually like each other there. And oh, yeah, you’re still alive in 2023 because some crazy Nazi geneticist will inject you with this serum that turns you into an invincible asshole.’

Nope, you couldn’t imagine that conversation going over well. He’d be either incredibly mad or not believe you at all. Then what?

Fuck.

With fingers trembling, you moved toward the window, glancing out at the muddy street, knowing the path to your escape lay beyond the mansion’s high gates. You were in a mess of your own making – a mess that had to end before you caused any more disruptions. His father was back, and that in itself was a disaster waiting to happen.

It had all been doomed from the start.

But then, just as you were about to gather your courage to finally get the fuck out of here, a knock at the door startled you from your thoughts and broke the tension in the air. Cautiously, you approached it, hand hovering on the knob as you braced yourself for the inevitable.

However, as you twisted it and opened the door a crack, your eyebrows shot up in surprise as you spied your visitor. It wasn’t Ben, his father, or even his mother.

“Dottie?” Your brow furrowed in confusion before you noticed the silver tray with a plate of food and a cup of tea in her hands.

“I brought you something to eat,” she said as she stood in the doorway, her expression one of tentative curiosity. You quickly wiped your palms against your skirt, standing a little straighter as she entered and set the tray down on your nightstand.

“Did Florence or Frances send you?” you asked warily. You knew you weren’t her favorite person, but she shook her head.

“No, just figured you were hungry since you’re missing dinner. I didn’t think Florence wants you starving up here,” she replied, her lips curling into something between a smirk and a sigh. “You dodged a bullet there, by the way. Family dinner is a bit… tense tonight. Lots of awkward silences and judgmental glares. Not that it’s something new per se…”

You were close to a migraine the way you strained your brow, blinking at the young maid in bemusement and shaking your head. “Thank you, uhm… I honestly didn’t think you cared about me… or even liked me,” you noted with an uncertain smile.

Dottie eyed you with a hint of mischief and approval in her gaze, a secretive smirk playing on her lips. “You’re not like the other girls who have come and gone through here. They fall over themselves trying to impress Ben, you know? But you don’t play that game. It’s… refreshing. You’ve got some fire in you. I respect that.”

“Fire?” You cocked an eyebrow, sitting down on the edge of the bed to nibble on your food. You were almost too nervous to eat with your ever-knotted stomach.

Dottie gifted you a warm smile. “Yeah, I’ve heard how you talk to him. I also overheard what you said that night about me at dinner. You stood up for me. Just wanted to repay the favor.”

Your lips hiked a smile. “You’re welcome. And thank you… again.”

Your head bobbed, your fingers playing with a piece of bread roll. You were unsure if you should be flattered you were considered special or uncomfortable with the apparently long list of girls that had waltzed through this house.

Dottie seemed to notice your unease and plopped down on the mattress next to you. “Anyway, I thought you might need someone to talk to. We all like you, you know? The whole house. Especially George. He thinks you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met. You’re different.” She shrugged and sent you another encouraging smile.

Cheeks blushing, you swallowed thickly and met her gaze. “So, things are tense downstairs?”

“Oh, yeah. The old man is furious because Grace’s father called him in upset, saying his daughter had been crying all night because of what Benjamin did to her,” Dottie told you and rolled her eyes back, scoffing. “All fake, of course. Charlotte, the maid of the Du Pont’s, said she was completely fine and consoling herself with one of the Kennedy boys when they were visiting in Cape Cod.”

“Whoa, hold on…” You vividly shook your spinning head and held up a hand, blinking at Dottie’s waterfall of information. “Du Pont? As in the chemical industry empire?”

“That’s the one,” Dottie sang in bitter nonchalance, a bit of judgment swinging in her voice. She clearly wasn’t a fan of the people she worked for – the elite families that not only excluded people like her and you but also disregarded you as human beings altogether.

“And you guys talk among each other? I mean, the staff?”

Dottie snorted a laugh, heavily nodding. “Yes, we gossip a lot. These people always think they’re better than us, but they got more shit on them than you can find in a pigsty.”

You weren’t as shocked by the revelation as you probably should’ve been. In this house, the gossip was as much a part of the walls as the portraits and velvet curtains.

“And Grace got with a Kennedy?” you asked, not resisting the curiosity bubbling inside of you and seeing Dottie nod. “Which one?”

“I think it was the oldest – Jack,” she replied.

You gaped at her. “John F. Kennedy?!”

Dottie giggled at your reaction. “Yes, I believe so. Do you know him, too?”

Innocently, you pursed your lips and shook your head. “No, no, not all. Just heard of him, you know?”

Jesus fuck, Kennedy might have gotten around as much as Soldier Boy. And if those rumors of The Legend were true, did Soldier Boy kill the future president for personal reasons?

Now you understood why the Kennedy assassination had attracted so many conspiracy theories. Well, you could check, theoretically, and see for yourself…

Nope. Don’t open that Pandora’s box!

“Look,” Dottie said after a pause, chewing softly on her lower lip in thought, “I’m sorry if I’ve been a little cold toward you. It’s not personal. I just don’t like the way Ben’s been acting recently. It’s... complicated.”

Your brows drew together as you watched the young woman next to you. “Complicated?”

She let out a dry laugh. “Honestly, complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it. You don’t know the half of it. You’re not the only one who feels out of place here, you know?”

“What d’you mean?”

Dottie leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a quieter, more intimate tone. “Ben’s a good guy, but he’s got a bit of a soft spot for… the wrong things. Florence talks about him like he’s still that little boy who needs his daddy’s approval. I know how it happened, you know – how he ended up with Grace? It wasn’t his idea. It was his father’s. And you know what? Grace wasn’t exactly an unwilling participant in that either. She begged her father to arrange the engagement.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected. You’d known about Grace, but you’d never heard the full story. “She begged?”

Dottie’s lips twisted into something halfway between a grimace and a smile. “Yeah, she begged,” she confirmed, hazel eyes glinting with a mixture of bitterness and amusement. “She thought she could change his mind, get him to fall for her. They had a fling, sure, but she knew Ben didn’t want her like that. They had a big argument about it a few days before. She stormed off, screaming he’d regret it.”

The weight of Dottie’s words pressed down on you, but before you could respond, she carried on.

“His father then announced the engagement at one of his parties here before even telling Ben about it. I mean, he didn’t even ask,” Dottie shared in exasperation. “Ben couldn’t stand it, so he rebelled in the only way he knew how. He found me, we got drunk and pissed off and then ended up in a closet together,” she said matter-of-factly, her tone flat and almost casual, but you could hear the bitter undertones of a scorned woman. “Ben had always been nice to me, you know? We’d gotten along, so when he came to me that night, I thought it was different. But he started ignoring me after. Couldn’t look at me – like I didn’t even exist... So yeah, I guess you could say I’m a little mad at him.”

You hesitated, studying Dottie’s face, looking for any hint of malice. But there was none – just brutal honesty. And you knew what this was by now. Just like Florence on your first day here, Dottie was warning you before you stepped off the ledge and fell.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Dottie said when you still sat in silence, “I’m not trying to paint him as a bad guy. I’m telling you because I care, alright? I just think you should know what’s going on around here. Ben’s got his demons, and his family is a nightmare. He can’t escape what his father’s set up for him. He’s got a leash on Ben, and the pressure’s never going to let up.”

Her words cut through the haze of your thoughts like a sharp blade. You nodded slowly, unsure how to respond. You’d seen bits of that pressure already.

“No, I get it. I appreciate it, Dottie. Thank you,” you said softly. “But Ben’s not like his father. At least, he doesn’t have to be.”

Dottie shrugged, as if the truth was somewhere in between. “Maybe. But Mr. Brooks got a tight grip on him. The kind of grip that can make anyone do things they don’t want to. Even Ben.”

A pang of sympathy reminded you of Florence’s story once more – and all the other cruel acts you’d witnessed in your dreams. Were you blind or just foolish for believing he could change the path he was on?

“Ben’s not as immune to his father as he pretends to be. He’s not as strong as he thinks. Don’t get it twisted. His father’s got his claws in him,” Dottie emphasized. “You’re not the first distraction Ben’s found. Just-… be careful, alright? You don’t know what you’re getting into, but if you’re going to be a part of it–,” she paused, her eyes flicking back to your scattered clothes all over the bed, “–you better be sure about it.”

“Thank you, Dottie.” You nodded with a heavy lump in your throat.

She gently clasped your hand on the bed in a comforting manner and then sent you a kind smile, pulling out a deck of cards from the pockets of her apron. “How about we distract you for a little while, huh? You know how to play Gin Rummy?”

Your lips rose to a smile. “I haven’t played before, but I’m willing to learn.”

Dottie giggled, shuffling the cards in her hands. “Alright, how about I teach you the rules if you tell me about college?”

“Deal.” You grinned.

The clock read past midnight, the only sound coming from the shuffle of cards and the occasional giggles and whispered stories between you and Dottie. The minutes stretched on as you tried to forget what was happening downstairs, Dottie’s words of warning still running on a loop through your mind.

It couldn’t be a good sign that two people in this house have warned you now, could it? Shouldn’t you listen at some point?

An abrupt knock at the door ripped the two of you from your game and disrupted the fragile peace, Dottie’s eyes widening in panic. You both knew who it was.

“Shit,” Dottie muttered and hurried to gather the cards from the bed, stuffing them back into her apron. She hid in a blind corner of the room as you moved to answer the door, not opening it more than a crack.

“Hey,” you said softly and feigned an innocent smile as you met Ben’s gaze, noticing immediately he wasn’t alright. His usually shining emerald eyes carried a glaze, his smile turning lopsided as he took you in with a leer, but the distinct smell of whiskey that clung to him like a second skin was the dead giveaway.

“You’re still awake. I was hoping you’d be. Came to check up on you, sweetheart.” He smirked with shaky pupils.

Before you could stop him, he stumbled forward into the room on unsteady legs and fell straight into your arms. His large hands found purchase on your hips, dragging you closer against his body. He captured your lips, eager, hungry, and with a sloppiness that told you he had a few glasses too many.

You were close to pushing him away, hands already softly pressing against his chest before noticing Dottie trying to sneak past him, so you deepened the kiss instead, your arms winding around his neck, causing a groan to rumble through him. But on her last step, the door creaked on its hinges, and Dottie froze as Ben’s head snapped up.

Glassy eyes wide, he warily turned to the young maid, brow wrinkling into more creases than a crumpled letter. “Dottie? The fuck are you doing here?”

You placed your hand on his arm, forcing him to look at you and ground him at the same time. “She-, uh, she brought me dinner. Florence sent her. She didn’t want me to starve. You know how she gets about food,” you deflected with a giggle.

“Right.” Ben nodded, eyes flickering back and forth between Dottie and you.

“And you know, I guess I got a little nervous, so she’s been keeping me company. We’ve been playing cards,” you added with a reassuring smile, already anticipating his next question as you watched the cogs in his head turn.

“Oh.” Ben licked his lips for a moment and then looked at Dottie. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dottie said, sending you a quick look of gratefulness.

“And, uhm, Dottie?” Upon Ben’s call, Dottie halted in the doorway, shoulders tense on her way to freedom. “I’m sorry…” he said, surprising you both as you shared a raised look with the maid. “About what-, uhm… what happened, you know?”

“It’s-, uh, it’s okay,” she replied, eyes flicking toward you, clearly unsure of how to respond. You gave a slight shake of your head, and she subtly cleared her throat. “I mean, it’s not okay… but I-, I forgive you.”

You gave her a quick thumbs up, and as Ben looked over his shoulder at you, brow knitted in suspicion, Dottie quickly fled down the hall and closed the door behind her.

Yeah, you might’ve been coaching her a little in those last few hours on how to deal with assholes like him in the future (which you realized was super ironic). But if you couldn’t save yourself from that man’s charm, at least you could save the rest of your gender.

“Didn’t know you and Dottie were friends,” Ben noted, turning his full attention to you now.

“Oh, uhm, it’s a new thing,” you said quickly, and it wasn’t even a lie. You gave a shrug of your shoulders. “I like her.”

“Yeah? What’s she been whispering into your ear, huh?” His voice was rough, his fingers gentle as they brushed along your cheek.

“She didn’t say anything, okay?”

Ben’s lips curled, clearly not believing you. “You know, I didn’t mean to… hurt her.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt those people.”

“Heard that one before,” you muttered, scoffing under your breath. You averted your eyes to the floor, the motion causing Ben’s hand to drop from your face.

“What?” There was no anger in his voice, only confusion.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to look at him. “‘Cause you’re not a bad guy, right?” you said a little louder, feeling the drops of venom like castor oil on your tongue.

And Ben picked up on it, his brows drawing together, facial muscles twitching as he tried to solve what triggered the change in mood. What happened between now and the moment you’d shared in the drawing room only a few hours ago?

You knew you were being indecisive. You knew you were being unfair. But you couldn’t let go of that feeling. That tiny, tingling thing that kept gnawing at every bit inside of you. The feeling that kept screaming at you that something was amiss. It was there – right there.

And you still couldn’t fucking grasp it.

Ben contemplated, then smacked his lips, taking a step closer to you and ironing out his brow a little. “No, I-… Well, I’m no Boy Scout, but you know me.”

Your mouth opened and closed, lips trembling. You didn’t know how to respond. He was both right and wrong. But it all sounded too fucking familiar. It was that maddening feeling of déjà vu all over again.

One long stride of bow legs, and Ben was only mere inches away from you, warm palms cupping your cheeks like you were a precious gift, rough thumbs stroking along your cheekbones, and hot breath tickling your skin like a whispered breeze in summer heat. You melted in his grasp in a matter of seconds like an ice cube on hot asphalt.

“I didn’t mean to freak you out earlier,” he said, deep voice only a low murmur against the shell of your ear as he tucked a strand of hair behind it, careful like you could break in his hold. “Just hadn’t exactly broken the news yet that you’re staying here, y’know?”

“Ben–” You sighed, trying to clear the fog from your mind with a shake of your head.

“But I did now, okay?” he cut through that first brick in your wall of defense. The tip of his nose dragged against yours, coaxing. “I want you here, alright?” His lips ghosted over yours, a faint brush, barely there but enough to make you feel the heat crawling into your lower belly. “Had kind of a rough night. Thought you could make me feel better.”

He claimed your lips with a bruising force before he’d even breathed out his last word. The scent of expensive whiskey and nicotine enveloped you and clouded your mind. He smelled like he drank a liquor store and smoked a pack, but you couldn’t resist the pull – the desire, the chemistry. Your head was floating, but doubt still kept your feet tethered to the ground.

“Ben, don’t,” you said quietly, trying to keep your voice steady, but it wavered despite your efforts. “Not like this. You’re drunk.”

“Don’t give a damn. Maybe I need to be drunk to feel something real for once. I need this. Need you,” he muttered, words slurred, voice rough.

He leaned in then, plump lips sinfully trailing down the column of your throat. The world seemed to stop spinning on its axis, your heart racing in your chest as he slid his hand to the back of your neck, tugging you closer.

For a moment, you gave in and almost let yourself go, forgetting every drop of worry and fear that plagued your mind. His hands moved to your waist, grip tightening as he pushed you flush against his blazing body. But the blinking red alarm inside of you reminded you of the lines you didn’t want to cross.

“Ben…” Your hands pushed against his chest, gentle but firm.

He stopped then, breathing ragged and confusion gleaming in the lush green of his eyes. His gaze drifted to your face, lingering there, as if searching for something he wasn’t sure he’d find. “I want you. Don’t you want me too, hm?”

The air thickened around you, sharp and overwhelming, threatening to suffocate you as you wrung for words. His thumb traced over your bottom lip, heavy against the soft, pink flesh. His pull was magnetic, his need evident.

“I don’t wanna be just another distraction for you,” you said quietly, voice shaking slightly, heart hammering in your throat. You tried to sound firm, but the way his eyes held you made your breath hitch.

Ben stepped back, hurt flashing across his freckled face like you’d just knocked the wind right out of him. His presence felt too large in the room, his emotions pressing down on you.

“A distraction?” His eyes hardened, his expression twisting with frustration and something darker. “That what you think you are? What Dottie told you? She’s been filling your head with this shit, hasn’t she?”

You flinched at the mention of Dottie’s name, not wanting to drag her into your mess. You hesitated with a thick swallow, tension creeping into your shoulders. “It’s not about her.”

“Damn right, it isn’t,” Ben huffed, shaking his head. And then, his eyes landed on the bed – on your clothes spread out, half-packed. He froze, demeanor shifting immediately, color draining from his face. “What the hell is going on here? Are you fucking leaving me?” The baritone voice was suddenly sharp now, carrying an edge that cut through the haze of his drunkenness.

“I don’t wanna cause more trouble for you,” you confessed quietly, panic rising in your chest.

“So that’s it? Just like that? You’re just gonna fucking walk out on me?” His voice was jagged with emotion, gripping a handful of his hair in disbelief.

“No, but I-… I don’t belong here, okay?” you argued, your tone laced with desperation. What else could you say?

“Dammit, you think I don’t fucking know that?” His jaw tightened, and for a heartbeat, there was an unsettling silence between you two. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck Dottie told you, but this-… this isn’t some game to me. You think I do this with everyone? That I’m using you because I’m bored? That I’m just some spoiled rich kid who gets whatever I want?” He stared at you, disappointment, incredulity, and betrayal swimming in his eyes.

You shook your head, your heart thumping painfully in your ribcage. “I didn’t say that. But Ben... I don’t know what I am to you… what this is.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” He scoffed bitterly, running a hand through the disheveled, dirty blond locks. “I’ve told you things… things I’ve never told anyone before. I’ve let you into parts of my life that I don’t show anyone else.”

“I know. I just–”

But Ben cut you off, his frustration spilling over. “I’ve been nothing but honest with you. And this is how you repay me? By fucking running away? You’re not walking out on me. Not like this.”

Your heart stuttered, the words cutting deep and tightening your chest, aware he was right in a way, knowing he’d put himself on the line for you – more than you’d ever expected him to. But you couldn’t ignore the doubts that rose inside you.

“I’m scared, okay?” you admitted, your voice only a whisper, and it made his eyes soften slightly. “I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Ben shook his head, huffing a humorless laugh, almost amused. “Oh, you think I can’t be trusted? That I haven’t given you enough reason to?” He stepped closer, his look pointed. “Kinda ironic, don’t you think? I don’t even know your real name. I don’t know a fucking thing about you, and yet, here you are, accusing me of being dishonest. You really think I’ve been fucking lying to you?"

You didn't respond. Silence.

"If you want to walk away, then go. But don’t you dare tell me you’re just a distraction. That’s insulting. I’ve been nothing but honest with you. I’ve given you everything I can, and you think I’m just trying to fuck around?”

You stood there, speechless, caught between the weight of his words and the fear that still clawed at your heart. Ben stepped closer again, his features softening just slightly, as if trying to calm the storm inside both of you. The promise of something more, something different with him, tore at the part of you that had been holding back.

“How do you know I’m the right person for you? You don’t even know what you want. And you’re right, you know? You don’t know me. Not in the way it matters. Not in the way you should,” you said, barely above a trembling whisper, the tears pricking your eyes.

“Then tell me,” he demanded, voice softer now, almost pleading. “Tell me who you are. Tell me your real name. Anything, really.”

Your breath caught in your throat, head shaking. “I can’t. I never meant to keep things from you, but I can’t tell you either. I’m sorry.”

Ben rubbed his mouth with his fingers, head bobbing in thought. “Look, maybe I haven’t made my intentions clear enough with you, but I care about you. I don’t know everything, but I know that I want you. I want this. All of it. The whole damn mess, alright?”

The raw emotion in his voice made you falter, but you couldn’t let yourself be swayed. You looked up at him, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could be telling the truth. That there was something worth fighting for here. The vulnerability in his green eyes made your knees weak, cracking both his armor and your walls.

Ben stared at you for a long moment, the hurt, confusion, and anger warring on his face. Then, without warning, he took a step toward you, closing the space between you two for good, and you swore you could even feel his wildly beating heart in his chest. He searched your face for something, a connection to hold onto, his hands slightly outstretched like he was reaching for you.

“Maybe it’s not meant to be.” The words stung as they left you, the first tear slipping down your cheek.

Ben’s resolve crumbled then and there. He pulled you into his embrace, softly kissing the top of your head as you sobbed into his chest. And then he just held you like this for a moment. You’d never felt fucking safer while your heart was breaking.

“Hey, look at me.” Gently, he lifted your chin, wiping your wet cheeks with his thumbs. “You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t want to change things?” He held your gaze, eyes intense as the weight of his words hung between you. “I can’t just walk away from everything, but I’m trying. I swear, I’m trying to figure this all out, but you have to let me.”

“How?” Your voice cracked, the fear of getting too close, of falling too hard threatening to crush you.

Ben cupped your cheeks, the kiss on your temple an oath. “I’ll make it work, okay? I don’t know what else to say, but I promise I will. I’ll find a way out of all this... for both of us. But I need you here. I need you with me. I can’t do this alone. I don’t wanna go back to that life without you in it. I just need you to trust me, okay? I need you to believe in me.”

You could see it then, clear as day – he was afraid of losing you, the desperation brimming in the green seas of his eyes. You were his lifeline, the last thing that held his head above water and kept him from drowning in his father.

“I swear I’ll take you with me, wherever that it is. I’ll take care of you. I’ll fight for you. I’ll protect you. All I need is a little more time. Can you give that to me? Can you do that?”

The heaviness of a decision almost decimated you, but for the first time since you’d entered his world, the fear of losing him was stronger than the fear of staying.

You nodded, hesitantly at first before it became stronger – certain. “I’m not leaving you. I’ll stay.”

The space between you evaporated then as he closed the gap, pressing his lips to yours with a force that left you breathless. His mouth was desperate, clinging to the assurance that you were still here. Still with him.

The kiss wasn’t just a kiss – it was everything. It was apology and regret. It was yearning. It was fear.

Ben was kissing you like he never wanted to lose you again, as if each second was a prayer that you’d stay. He pulled you even closer, his hands threading through your hair, his body so tightly against yours like he was trying to make sure you were real. To make sure he hadn’t just imagined this moment.

You melted into him, your hands gripping his shirt, your heart beating faster than it had in days, weeks, months, maybe years. The kiss deepened, grew more urgent, as if he was trying to tell you everything in the language of touch, in the frantic meeting of lips and breath – everything he could never say out loud.

You felt the warmth of his skin, the blazing heat of him, and you realized you both were clinging to the fragile thread that held you together, afraid to let go.

When he pulled back, both of you panting, there was a quiet between you that spoke louder than any words ever could. His eyes searched yours, his thumb caressing your cheek, forehead resting against yours.

Ben licked his lips, still holding onto you as he shut his eyes for a beat, his chest still rising and falling with the remnants of the kiss. “Look, uhm, I hate doing this to you right now, but my father wants me to leave with him for two weeks,” he told you, voice heavy with exhaustion before a dark scoff escaped him. “Wants to show me how business is really done.”

You cupped his cheeks softly, looking up at him. “Don’t let him get to you, okay? You’re smarter than him.”

Ben’s lips twitched with a small smile, nodding like he understood. “My mother’s staying here with you, but don’t worry about it. I doubt she’ll bother you. She doesn’t really care about anything. I told them you’re a friend from school, so just go with that.”

“What school did you go to?”

“Choate. It’s in Connecticut,” Ben replied, a hint of amusement in his smile, noticing how carefully you were solidifying your alibi. “But it’s an all-boys school. You would’ve gone to Rosemary Hall.”

You grimaced. “So, total sausage fest, huh?”

Ben snorted a loud laugh, throwing his head back. “Oh, you have no idea, sweetheart.” He chuckled and pulled you against his chest, resting his chin on top of your head. “You know, sometimes I wonder what school taught you all those words.”

You giggled, burying your face into his dress shirt. “Oh, college taught me those. You would know if you’d gone.”

“Ouch.” A deep and amused laugh rumbled through his chest.

“Didn’t John Kennedy attend Choate as well?”

Ben’s head tilted slightly. You could feel the movement atop of yours. “How do you know Jack?” He inched back slightly, peering down at you with a raised look. “Something you wanna tell me, sweetheart?”

You snorted into his chest, shaking your head. “No, nothing like that, I swear. I just heard of him.”

“Oh, so it was just me you were immune to, huh?” Ben retorted, but you recognized the playfulness in his voice. It was your favorite side of him.

“Guess so,” you teased, giggling.

“Well, thank fucking God you didn’t sleep with him,” Ben muttered as he tightened his arms around you. “I hate that guy. Total fucking pussy.”

“Didn’t he graduate Harvard?” you muttered, feeling Ben’s jaw grind on top of your head. Yeah, you weren’t doing JFK any favors now.

“Well, he didn’t make it into the Army. I can tell you that much,” Ben blew right past your point, making you stifle a chuckle. “Heard he got a placement in the Navy, though.”

“Huh. Kinda sexy,” you quipped. Teasing. “He’ll probably learn a lot of sailor talk.”

Ben’s lips pursed in amusement as he looked down at you and was met with your grin. “Yeah, also probably gonna be a real sausage fest on that boat.”

You let out a crippling laugh, burying yourself in his chest as he joined you. Of course he’d only learn the things you didn’t want him to learn.

Ben’s fingers then snuck under your chin, lifting your lips to meet his. The kiss was soft, gentle – a goodbye. “You’re gonna be okay here?”

You nodded reassuringly. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be here when you come back.”

Ben didn’t say anything, but his Adam’s apple bobbed with a thick swallow, eyes gleaming with a mixture of relief and gratitude before he pressed a kiss to your forehead. It was a tender, almost reverent gesture, and it made your heart swell.

Exhaling a long breath, he let go of you and turned to leave, his shoulders slumping more with every step he took toward the life he didn’t want. He paused at the door, his hand on the knob, and for a moment, he seemed smaller, more fragile, like the weight of everything he’d been holding in was finally starting to break him.

“I’ll never stop fighting for you,” he said with conviction as he looked at you one last time, raspy voice laden with words he couldn’t say. A promise. “Never.”

And deep down, you knew then that no matter how hard things would get over the next decades, you’d never let go, either.

The door closed for the last time that night, and then, Ben was gone.

The mansion felt quieter the next morning, Ben having left with his father for DC before the break of dawn. After getting dressed properly for breakfast for once, you descended the grand staircase, your footsteps quiet on the polished wooden floors.

You spied Margaret Brooks, Ben’s mother, sitting in the sunroom, but before entering, you decided to make a quick pit stop in the kitchen, where the faint murmurs of the staff seeped through the door.

As you stepped inside, the three women were busy at their tasks. Florence was bent over a pot on the stove, her movements brisk and efficient. Dottie was humming to herself as she arranged flowers on the counter. Frances, a bit more weathered and stern, was dusting the shelves, her eyes darting disapprovingly at Dottie, who had a tendency to daydream more than work.

“Good morning, ladies,” you said softly, your voice low enough not to carry too far.

“No breakfast in the kitchen, young lady,” Florence reminded you swiftly, which you countered with a knowing smile.

“Don’t worry, Florence. I’ll be outta your hair in a minute,” you said, making Dottie snort a giggle. “Just-… Before I go in there, can you guys give me the down-low on Mrs. Brooks?”

“The down-low?” Frances cocked a brow at you.

“Yes, the details,” you corrected. Half of your vocabulary was practically useless in 1942. “What’s her deal? Why is she so… withdrawn?”

After Dottie’s revelation last night, you thought you might as well make use of the love for gossip in this house.

Florence didn’t look up from the stove, her hands moving quickly with purpose. “She’s always been quiet,” she replied, her voice neutral but not unkind. “But over the years... well, she shut herself off. Hard to blame her. Her husband isn’t a good man, not to her or to Benjamin.”

Dottie, who had been nervously twisting the flower stems in her hands, let out a little sigh. “Yeah, Mr. Brooks is awful. He treats her like she doesn’t matter. And now she’s kind of… well, I think she just gave up. You know, stopped trying.”

Frances, who had been listening intently, fixed Dottie with a sharp look. “Not everything is so simple, Dottie. Mrs. Brooks has always been a lady – always. She’s tried for years, but the man she married–” She sighed, her voice dropping. “It broke her. And now she watches the boy becoming just like him. It’s no wonder she retreats.”

You could feel the undercurrent of sadness in the house, a grief that wasn’t just tied to the past but to the present, too.

“I see,” you said quietly, your mind racing as you thought of what you could do. You glanced at the three women. “Well, I think I’ll go see if I can say hi to Mrs. Brooks this morning. She must be lonely.”

Florence gave you a distracted nod, her attention still on her cooking. Dottie shot you a hopeful look, while Frances simply grunted in acknowledgment, not sure how much help you’d be.

You sauntered into the sunroom, the air cool inside and the glass panes still thick with the chill of winter. Outside, patches of snow clung stubbornly to the ground, a few spots melting into sluggish pools. However, along the edges of the garden, the first hint of spring dared to show – croci pushing up through the soil, small and defiant against the lingering cold as they waited for the thaw.

It only reminded you of how long you’d already been here. It felt like an entirely different life at this point. Had Ben been serious last night? And what did it even all mean?

He said a lot, but you weren’t sure your head woke up any clearer this morning.

The future was an unknown, and you weren’t used to that feeling.

As you entered, Mrs. Brooks sat at the small round table by the window, her face drawn, her green eyes distant as she stared into the steam rising from her cup of tea. She didn’t seem to notice you at first, and when she finally lifted her gaze, it was with a quiet recognition.

“Good morning, Mrs. Brooks,” you said, smiling softly. “I’m not sure if your son has mentioned me. I’m a friend from school. Benjamin’s been kind enough to let me stay here for a while.”

“Oh, I believe he mentioned something like that, yes,” she said in a soft, tired voice, her lips curling just slightly at the corners. “You’ll have to excuse me. I wasn’t listening to everything last night. I was quite exhausted after the long travel, and that boy never knows when to stop.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. Ben does have a way of going on, doesn’t he?” You smiled gently at her words and sat down across from her. “Ben did tell me a little bit about all your wonderful tea parties, though. He said you liked going to tea rooms as well. What are they like? I have to admit I’ve never been to one myself.”

At the mere mention, Mrs. Brooks’ posture seemed to shift ever so slightly. Her eyes sparkled, and you saw something like life stir behind them, as if your words had opened a door she hadn’t realized was there.

“Oh, tea rooms,” she repeated, her voice soft and reflective. “I used to love them. So charming. So civilized, you know? A proper place to spend the afternoon with a good cup of tea. I haven’t been to one in ages, not since...”

She trailed off, her gaze becoming distant again, but then something changed – her eyes brightened just a little, like a light flickering on.

“You’ve never been?” she asked, her tone a mixture of surprise and mild disbelief. You shook your head. “Oh, my dear, it’s almost a must for a young lady to experience. A proper tea room, with all the delicate china and the soft music in the background – it’s simply marvelous.” She sat up straighter in her chair then, the flicker of a genuine smile appearing on her lips. “I should take you, shouldn’t I? There’s one in the city I adored. It’s been years since I’ve gone, but I’m sure it’s just as lovely as it was. Would you like to go? This afternoon, perhaps?”

You couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope inside of you, seeing that flicker of light in her. “I’d love that. Thank you, Mrs. Brooks,” you said with a warm smile.

“How wonderful! Then it’s settled. We’ll go!” She clasped her hands together with joy. “Do you have something to wear? I could call my seamstress, Ms. Vivian, for you.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. Benjamin already did that,” you replied, hoping for dear life you didn’t have to endure another makeover. You were already sacrificing yourself like a lamb for slaughter by agreeing to this.

“Well, good.” She nodded and sipped on her tea, muttering, “Seems like I’ve done something right with that boy, after all…”

Well, judging by that statement, you were surely in for an interesting afternoon.

The soft tinkling of porcelain cups and quiet chatter filled the air of the elegant, well-lit tea room as Margaret Brooks looked across the table at you, her plump lips curling into a rare smile. She had almost forgotten how much she enjoyed these outings – the delicate atmosphere of the tea room, the soft hum of conversation. She had imagined, for so many years, that one day she would have a daughter to share these moments with.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t come to pass.

Instead, you sat across from her, eager eyes wide as you took in the ambiance. Mrs. Brooks noticed the nervousness in your posture, the way you clutched your teacup a little too tightly and stared at the other girls, feeling utterly out of place.

“Isn’t it charming?” Mrs. Brooks said, her voice light, almost affectionate. “I’ve been coming here for years. There’s something about the smell of the Earl Grey and the clink of silver spoons that makes you forget the world outside. You’ll grow to love it, I’m sure.”

You gave a nervous nod, your lips curving upward in an awkward imitation of a smile. “I’m not really used to places like this.”

You hesitated, glancing around the room at the white-gloved waitstaff and the carefully arranged plates of scones and finger sandwiches, wondering how many distractions Ben had found here and hoping you wouldn’t run into any of them. You could certainly feel the occasional looks and quiet whispers directed at you.

Mrs. Brooks chuckled softly, her gaze warm as she met your eyes. “One gets used to it. It's like breathing. I’ve been doing this for years, and there's nothing wrong with forgetting the world in here, just for a moment.” She leaned in slightly, her tone dropping conspiratorially. “Don’t be nervous, Cindy. It’s only tea and gossip, and we all need a little of both.”

Something in Mrs. Brooks’ tone calmed you slightly. It was as though she was slowly pulling you into her orbit – offering more than just a tea outing, but a sense of belonging, of understanding.

“Look over there,” Mrs. Brooks continued, gesturing subtly with her gloved hand, clearly eager to share more. “Do you see that woman sitting by the window? That’s Mrs. Berwick. She’s very fond of trying to climb the social ladder, always inserting herself into the right circles. Her husband’s a banker, but don’t let that fool you – he’s a dreadful bore."

You snorted a laugh and leaned in, intrigued despite yourself. You couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. Mrs. Brooks had a certain warmth now that softened her more formal edges.

“And there,” she carried on, “that’s Mrs. Hadley. She’s got more money than God, but she’s also got a tongue that can cut glass. No one dares to cross her, but I’ve never cared much for her. She’s the type who never forgets a slight.”

“Seems like they all have their… quirks,” you noted, amused, remembering Dottie’s words.

“Quirks,” Mrs. Brooks repeated with a smile. “Yes, one might call them that.” Her eyes twinkled as she leaned in closer to you, lowering her voice. “But there’s one thing they all have in common: They love to gossip. It’s their favorite pastime. And I’m sure,” she added, giving you a knowing look, “they’ll be more than eager to talk about you.” You stiffened, but Mrs. Brooks, oblivious to your discomfort, sipped her tea and continued. “Don’t mind them. They’re all still talking about Benjamin, I’m sure. The whole lot of them think they have some sort of claim on him. But they don’t, do they?”

At her little wink, your heart almost dropped to the sparkling marble floor. Did she know? But you figured it was easy to suspect if she knew her son even a little.

“Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Brooks! I haven’t seen you here in ages.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized the familiar voice. You’d heard it once before, even if it had been louder and more upset than now.

Grace.

Mrs. Brooks’ expression flickered momentarily before settling into something more controlled. “Grace, dear,” she said with a polite smile, turning her head toward the speaker. Her tone was cool, masking any warmth. “You’re looking well.”

Your stomach dropped when you saw the woman standing at the table: tall, blonde, impeccably dressed in a way that screamed money and status – poised and perfect. By now, you’d heard plenty about Ben’s destined fiancée, but seeing her in person was another matter.

Her blonde hair was sculpted into a flawless wave. She wore an elegant dress with the subtle sheen of luxury and a sharp gaze that seemed to take in every detail of you with calculating precision.

Grace gave a sly smile, icy blue eyes flickering to you. “I couldn’t resist coming by. I simply had to see Benjamin’s current project.” She tilted her head slightly, a deliberate gesture, and leaned down to examine you like you were a specimen under a microscope. “Interesting choice.”

Did that bitch just call you a fucking project?!

You didn’t flinch under her scrutiny, however. You’d been dealing with bitches like that your whole life. The only tragedy about this was that you couldn’t rant about her to your friends – the hot blonde, the gay redhead, and the mute Asian chick.

Fuck. Why the hell couldn’t you remember their names? You swore they were on the tip of your tongue. Was it Andy, Mabel, and Kim? No, that sounded wrong. Dammit!

“I think I’ve seen you before, right? And you are?” Grace asked, her voice dripping with feigned sweetness as she looked at you.

“Cindy,” you replied with a slight edge.

“Ah, Cindy,” Grace repeated, like she was tasting the name. “Such a... simple name. How quaint.” She smiled then, a thin, shark-like smirk, and you were blood in the water. “I must say, I’m surprised to see you out and about. Benjamin has always been so... difficult to predict. But I suppose you already know that, don’t you?”

Unbothered by her baiting, you took a casual sip of tea. “Oh, I know exactly who he is, Grace. Better than you.”

Grace’s smile tightened. “How refreshing,” she said, then looked over at Mrs. Brooks. “I do hope Benjamin’s settled down by now. I hear he’s been a bit of a... free spirit lately. He always had a rebellious streak. He gets bored rather quickly.”

Mrs. Brooks stiffened slightly, but she recovered quickly, placing her teacup down with a slight clink. “My son is a grown man, dear. He’ll make his own decisions, as he always does.”

“Of course,” Grace replied smoothly, though there was a clear, sharp edge to her words.

“‘Sides, aren’t you a bit of a free spirit as well?” you quipped with an innocent smirk. “I heard about you and Jack Kennedy in Cape Cod. How’s that going?”

“Oh, you are seeing Jack?” Margaret chimed in with delight, but you could tell her smile was as taunting as yours was.

Grace’s face fell abruptly. “Yes, it’s… going,” she replied quickly, subtly clearing her throat. Her eyes narrowed slightly, her lips twisting into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes as she leaned in, her tone almost too sweet. “I imagine you must be enjoying the novelty of being with someone like Benjamin. Here you are, in the lap of luxury. It’s a bit of a thrill, isn’t it, darling? But you know, I should warn you – Ben isn’t exactly the most reliable partner. I do hope, for your sake, you’re not just a phase.”

You were about to slap her harder than she’d slapped Ben at that diner. Would it matter to history if you choked her right now?

You forced a tight-lipped smile as you ground your teeth. “Thank you for the warning, but I’m not here to judge him for his past.”

If anything, you were judging him for his future.

“Well, that’s nice,” Grace pressed through her teeth, her polite mask finally crumbling. “But you don’t get it, do you? You’re just the latest distraction, darling. Someone to amuse himself with, and as soon as this little rebellion ends, he’ll come crawling back to someone who knows the rules, and you’ll be just another notch in his belt.”

Jesus fucking Christ, why did he always have to date the biggest bitch in the room? And you’d once thought Crimson Countess was a piece of work.

But you grew up in a trailer park in fucking Jersey. If a girl like Grace thought she could scare you off with a few words, she had another thing coming.

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” You looked at her challengingly, not an ounce of fear in your voice. “Here’s the thing – Ben’s not a puppet for his father. He makes his own choices. You’re not his future, Grace. You’re the past. Trust me on that one.”

Grace’s eyes blazed with a venomous glare. “Well, we’ll see how long this lasts, darling. I do hope you won’t make a fool out of yourself.”

You were about to open your mouth again before Mrs. Brooks cut in, her tone suddenly sharp, a protective edge in her voice. “Enough, Grace. We all know about Benjamin’s history. You’ve made your point, and it’s getting tiresome.”

Grace’s eyes fixed on Ben’s mother, a muscle twitching in her jaw. She clearly hadn’t expected that. “Well, it’s so lovely to see you two getting along. I mustn’t take up too much of your time, Mrs. Brooks. It was nice running into you both. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.”

With that, Grace stormed off, her heels clicking on the sparkling marble. You exhaled a slow breath, slumping back into your chair. But as you glanced at Mrs. Brooks, you saw the faintest glimmer of approval in her eyes.

“You handled her beautifully, dear,” Ben’s mother said, her tone soft but genuine. “Don’t let women like her make you question yourself. They thrive on making others doubt their worth, but you’ve got something she doesn’t – confidence and a damn backbone.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Brooks,” you said, your heart swelling with gratitude. “That woman really knows how to lay it on thick, doesn’t she?”

Mrs. Brooks rolled her eyes in exhaustion. “She’s always been like that. Charming when it suits her and venomous when she feels threatened. I’m almost glad Benjamin’s been so awful to her. God knows I couldn’t have endured another dinner with that girl in my house.”

You snorted under your breath, chuckling.

“You know, I was just like you when I first arrived here – someone who didn’t quite fit in.” Margaret leaned back in her chair with a faint smile, the faraway look in her eyes sharpening, a subtle sadness creeping into her voice. “Before I met Benjamin’s father, I came from humble beginnings, you know? My parents were good, hardworking people. We didn’t have much money – just a small house in the lower part of town. My father was a carpenter, working long hours, and my mother would sew clothes for other people, often staying up well past midnight, just to make sure we had enough to get by. But there was a beauty in that simplicity. I used to take walks through the alleys, admiring the flowers growing between the cracks in the sidewalks. We didn't have wealth, but we had love, you know? And we had each other.”

You listened intently, your heart breaking a bit for her, knowing that wasn’t what she had now with her own family.

“I remember,” she continued, a slight smile tugging at her lips, “how we’d all gather in the kitchen at night. It was small, but it was ours. My mother would hum while she worked, and my father would tell me stories about how he built his first house with his own two hands. He was proud of that. And I was proud of him.”

You couldn’t help but notice the way Mrs. Brooks’ voice softened when she spoke about her parents. There was a sadness there, a longing for something simple and real that had been lost somewhere along the way.

“I can’t imagine you like that. It sounds so different from who you are now,” you said softly.

Mrs. Brooks gave a gentle laugh, her gaze growing even more distant. “I was just a girl back then. I had no idea what awaited me. But when I met Richard, everything changed.” She paused, her voice darkening slightly as she pushed away the memories of her childhood, like the warmth they brought was something she couldn’t bear to hold on to for too long. “He was everything I’d never known. He was wealthy, educated, and had the kind of connections that I could only dream of. He swept me off my feet. He promised me a life of comfort, luxury, and security. And I thought, ‘This is it. This is everything I’ve been working for.’”

Your brow furrowed. “But it wasn’t?”

Mrs. Brooks shook her head slowly, the distant melancholy returning to her features. “At first, it was. But over time, I realized something. The life Richard offered me was a gilded cage. It wasn’t freedom – it was control. I was expected to fit in, to play the part. When I married him, I entered a world where every inch of my life was dictated by money, status, and image. It’s strange how quickly you can forget yourself when you're surrounded by wealth. People like this–,” she gestured with a faint nod around the room, “–don’t care about character. They care about who you know, where you’ve been, and what you wear. And even then, it’s never enough. You always have to be more.” She leaned forward then, her expression softening as she saw you swallowing thickly. “I know it sounds harsh, dear, but it’s the truth. High society is an illusion. People want you to smile, to wear the right clothes, to speak in a certain way, but it’s all just a performance. Your soul gets lost in it.”

“So, you never wanted this life?” you asked quietly, your heart breaking for her.

“I didn’t know what I was getting into. These women here, they’re not your friends,” she replied, her fingers curling around her tea cup. “They’re rivals. Each one of them trying to prove they are the best at being the most perfect version of a woman they can be. It’s exhausting. And no matter how hard I tried, I never truly fit in.”

“You said Benjamin was different when he was young,” you said gently, wanting to know more. “How was he before everything changed?”

Mrs. Brooks’ eyes softened, and for a moment, you could see the mother she had been – a woman who adored her son, who once had hope for his future.

“Benjamin was always sensitive,” Mrs. Brooks said, her voice full of tenderness. “He was a sweet little boy who loved to ask questions about the world. He was curious about everything. He’d sit with me for hours, just asking me how things worked, why things were the way they were. And he had this soft smile that would light up a room. I’ll never forget how he used to look at me, with such trust in his eyes. He would bring me flowers and tell me stories from his little world, and I would see the softness in him, the kind of softness a mother always hopes for in a child. People always said he was a ‘dreamer,’ and I thought he would always stay that way. I loved that about him. But Richard didn’t. Richard thought it was a weakness.”

Mrs. Brooks’ voice cracked slightly, as if the memories were too painful to recount. She looked down at her cup.

“Richard did everything he could to ‘toughen him up.’ He took him hunting, made him go to boarding school at an early age, sending him far away from me,” she continued, her voice drowning in sadness. “He wanted to shape Benjamin into something he could control. He had a vision for his son – one where Benjamin was a carbon copy of him. Strong. Cold. Ruthless. My husband’s world is one of steel, and his love is just as hard. My sweet boy never stood a chance.”

Your heart sank. “And Ben – he didn’t want that?”

“No,” Mrs. Brooks said, a slight bitterness creeping into her tone. “Benjamin didn’t want any of it. But he was young, and he couldn’t fight his father. So slowly, he started to change. He stopped asking questions. He stopped dreaming. And one by one, the things that made him unique faded away. I watched my son slip away from me, and there was nothing I could do about it.”

You wanted to reach out to comfort her, but you felt helpless. How could you fix this? Could you fix him?

“I’m so sorry,” you said softly. “I had no idea.”

Mrs. Brooks gave you a wistful smile. “It’s not your fault, dear. You’re not here to save him. You can’t save him, not from himself. But you might be able to remind him of who he was before the world changed him. I think that’s why I like you so much.”

Your heart tightened as you listened. You could see the sadness in Mrs. Brooks’ eyes, a depth of loss that you hadn’t expected.

Ben’s mother let out a sigh, soft and weary, as though she had been holding it in for too long. “You know, from the moment I met you, there was something about you. Something I never had the chance to share with Benjamin.” She paused, gathering her thoughts as if she hadn’t shared this kind of honesty in years. “I’ve always wanted a daughter for many reasons, you see? I dreamed of having someone who could see this world as I see it. A confidante. You remind me a lot of myself when I was younger. You have a fire in you – a light. And I don’t want my son to put it out.”

Your heart halted its beats abruptly. You were taken aback by her blunt honesty, shaking your buzzing head lightly, trying to make sense of her words. “What d’you mean?”

“You don’t know what your getting into, either. You’re not like them. You’re not meant for this kind of life. That’s why I want to warn you, dear,” she said, her gaze sharp.

Oh no, not another warning… How many was that now? Three? Four, if you counted Grace?

Great.

“Benjamin might love you now, but he’ll be just like his father in the end. Cold. Hard. Empty,” she said harshly, the weight of regret in every line of her expression. “The man you think he is, may not be the man he turns out to be. Benjamin isn’t the boy I once held in my arms anymore. He’s not the man you think he is. I see his father in him more every day. I can see it in the way he looks at the world, in the way he reacts to the people around him. I don’t want you to end up like me. You’ll be the one left behind. Trust me.”

You felt a knot in your throat, your heart pounding with an ominous sound like an ancient war drum. You didn’t know how to respond. Your thoughts spiraled in every direction.

You swallowed hard, tears pricking your eyes like salt in a wound. “I don’t know if I can walk away. I think I love him,” you confessed quietly, barely audible over the chatter of the tea room.

The words shocked you. You’d never said them out loud before, but they didn’t seem to rattle his mother at all.

Her eyes softened, her hand reaching over to clasp yours on the table in a sad understanding. “I know you do. But that’s the problem, dear. When you love someone like him, you’ll always be fighting a battle you can’t win.”

▶️ Chapter 7: Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My! – MAY 9

Ooof, looks like not even Ben's mother has much confidence in him... What did you think of all the warnings? And if Ben was already this upset now, then well, imagine what he feels like when it really happens. Choo-choo, all aboard the angst train! Get ready to meet the man of the hour next week 😉

(Fair warning: Chapters never really got any shorter. I don't know what to tell ya, but half of the next one is smut, so there's that 😂🤷‍♀️)

Coming Up:

“I remember you mentioned a girl from school staying here.” The patriarch of the steel empire carved into his roast with casual violence, sipping his wine like it was penance, a pair of almond-shaped, glacier blue eyes zeroing in on his son. “Didn’t think you meant still staying here.”

You managed a polite smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Brooks.”

He gave a short nod that might’ve been a grunt, reaching for the wine glass before saying, “Likewise.”

Ben’s mother – composed in a deep jade green dress that complimented the glint in her eye – broke the tension with a dry, almost teasing, “She’s been keeping me company. And sane.”

You glanced at her in grateful surprise, but she didn’t look at you. Her gaze was squarely on her husband, almost daring him to challenge her.

Oh fuck. You had a feeling that dinner would derail soon enough. You still remembered how your own mother always looked when she wanted to pick a fight with your father. You could see that same desire in Mrs. Brooks tonight.

Richard’s eyes flicked to you as cutting as a scalpel. “Rosemary Hall, was it?”

You smiled, knowing your alibi by heart. “Yes, sir. We, uh, crossed paths with Ben’s group at Choate once or twice. We’ve stayed in touch.”

“Mmm.” He sounded unconvinced, like he already had a list of questions and was working through them in his mind. “And what is it you do, exactly?”

You gave an innocent shrug of your shoulders. “A little of everything. Read a lot. Try to keep busy.”

Mr. Brooks leaned back with a hum, wine glass in hand. “You read. Anything useful?”

Ben’s hand tensed slightly on the table. You felt it even without looking.

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt. 1:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444 @syrma-sensei

@perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming @hunter-or-the-hunted

@k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways @muhahaha303

@ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith @nesnejwritings

@samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02 @impala67rollingthroughtown

@star-yawnznn @spnaquakindgdom @thej2report @americanvenom13 @lamentationsofalonelypotato

@supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @kr804573 @m0e0v0v @youroldfashioned

#time after time #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x supe!reader #soldier boy x female reader #1940s!soldier boy #40s!soldier boy #soldier boy series #soldier boy fic #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys #the boys x reader #the boys amazon #jensen ackles #jensen fucking ackles #jackles

76 notes · View notes

myfanfic-urfantrash · 2 days ago

Text

Asking them if they'd let you get them pregnant...part 5?

CW: pregnancy talk, a little suggestive, a little angst(?), drug mention(mushrooms)

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four

A/N: I thought about doing some for the ladies where you ask them to get you pregnant since I've started these crack posts but the only ladies I actually like are Beidou and Rosaria soooo I'd probably only do it if requested :o

-------

Aventurine's expression doesn't waver as you ask him if he'd let you get him pregnant using the little dark pink vile in your hands. But despite how calm he looks you're more than aware he's putting up a mask one he uses when he's been caught off guard.

"Now hold on there, my dear lover. Who said anything about me carrying our future child? Why don't you carry them while I take care of you instead?" But you don't budge even commenting on how lovely he would be pregnant with your child explaining how the vile works.

He sighs leaning into the opulent red couch across from you eyeing the vile. It's the only indication that he's a little nervous about this. But as he processes how it would work he recovers a glint in his eye that says he's thought of something good. He takes a single poker chip off the coffee table between you and begins to flip it in the air a clear sign he's come up with a full proof strategy.

"Alright then, my dear lover. Since we're both interested in having children but neither if us can agree on who will carry..." He tugs the dip of his shirt just to see your eyes linger there. This'll be too easy. "How about we make this more interesting?"

Aventurine flips the poker chip between his fingers and hums a smirk on his lips.

"If you win seven different games against me in a row, I'll drink that little vile and bear your children. But..." His hypnotizing eyes trailing your form from top to bottom landing on your lowest part of your belly lingering there then flickering up to meet your eyes.

"If I win. You will be the one drinking that vile and you will be the one getting pregnant." He stretches out his hand for you to shake exuding absolute confidence. "Sounds like a deal?" You shake his hand firmly and the little smirk on his face gets just that much wider.

There's no way he's going to lose.

...He loses every game spectacularly, the odds that should have been in his favor failed him no matter which game you played his composure faltering bit by bit with every loss.

It isn't until the final game, one he rigged a long time ago specifically so he wouldn't lose in thw event he was in a pinch that he silently accepts his fate seeing your winning hand. There's just no beating you and clearly the universe thinks so too.

"Well then..." He lifts the vile in cheers. "Bottoms up." Oh there was a bottom up that night alright.

Kazuha blinks rapidly shaking his head and sitting up from your resting spot on a grass hill overlooking the sea in Inazuma.

"D-Did I hear you right? I know we've talked about children but..." You nod confidently asking him again that if you could would he let you get him pregnant. He sighs. You must be having one of your moments where you ask him something odd in hopes of messing with his composure. He smiles fondly catching a falling leaf.

"If there were a way for us to have a child in the way you are suggesting I would not mind. Though you and I both know that is not possible-" He places his lips on the leaf ready to blow "-Yes it is." "Eh?"

His wide red eyes search your face for answers and when he finds complete seriousness and a strange sakura pink vile in your hand the leaf slips from his hands in shock. He feels his face flush as you explain how the vile works.

"You-" He snorts the entire situation ridiculous."You always know how to make me lose my composure. Though..." He sets the vile onto the grass and takes your hands in his.

"Why don't we wait just a bit more before having children? This isn't something to take lightly after all. And when we're finally prepared..." He leans in to whisper into your ear. "I'll be in your care."

Xiao's expression doesn't change too much after hearing your question except the light pinch of his brow. He sighs shaking his head.

"Ridiculous...you should know that the only known adeptus to have changed their form so readily is Rex Lapis. I cannot alter my form so easily though I do know of some adeptal arts that could do so..." You ask him again if he would be willing and he shakes his head again firmly.

"No. It would be far too dangerous. Not to me but to our child." His looks down opening and closing his hands into fists. "Even if it could be altered and capbable of life this body that has dealt countless slaughter is...unsuitable."

You take his hands in yours and nod in understanding and ask if it'd be any different if you carried instead. He pauses a little hesitant but he nods slowly. "It would be safer for them but..." He stares at your linked hands, hands that have held him so gently all this time never faltering.

"Let me think about this and if you are certain I shall prepare."

Tighnari and Cyno look up at you from the floor where they were playing TCG to pass the time waiting out the thunder storm processing your question.

"Have you raided my mushroom stash again? I told you not to consume any hallucinogenic mushrooms without any guidance unless you want a repeat of five months ago!" He stands up checking your eyes, ears, pulse, and posture while Cyno takes in your form.

"I don't think they've consumed anything and if they did they are remarkably sober." He comments standing up as Tighnari runs a hand down his face realizing your fine.

"Yeah, they're fine, unfortunately they're just crazy, dumb, or both." "Oi!" Tighnari pats your head shaking his head in disappointment. "I'm sure we're all more than aware that our bodies aren't exactly compatible to make children in the way you're determined to."

"We all want children but aren't you thinking about this at all?" You nod your head confidently lifting a rather old tome out of your bag. " I have thought about it that's how I found a way to make this possible."

Tighnari crosses his arms and Cyno joins his side mirroring his posture as they stare at you equally curious and doubtful to the tomes dubious contents. They follow you Tighnari's desk and huddle around it with you as you turn to the section where you found this supposed method.

As they read the pages their skepticism fades into disbelief as you pull out records of this technique actually working and the healthy children that were produced. Tighnari and Cyno look between each other and at you then back to each other. Cyno breaks the silence lifting up a TCG card.

"Best two out of three? Whoever loses carries." "Forget your card games that just means I'm going to be the one carrying them regardless!"

"Ah, so it is a-parent that you'll lose?"

"...Get me my damn deck."

Tighnari does lose but he did pretty well considering they were evenly matched until the final round. He groans as Cyno attempts to make another joke as he rereads the passage making a list of all the ingredients you will all need to gather in order to create life within him.

Now just how will he tell Collei?

#honkai star rail x reader #genshin impact x reader #aventurine x reader #kaedehara kazuha x reader #kazuha x reader #xiao x reader #tighnari x reader #cyno x reader

87 notes · View notes

chimerafeathers · 8 minutes ago

Text

#i don’t go here but i think mirabelle had every right to react the way she did #how was she supposed to know siffrin cared at all if they were acting like he didn’t? #secret goodness only gets you so far if you aren’t willing to be honest about it with the people you love (via @kaiju-lightning)

i don't know to what degree you "don't go here" (what context or information you have or don't have outside of what's in this post) but, if you didn't know, Siffrin isn't like. some asshole with a secret ultra-hidden deep-down heart of gold that no one can see. they're just kind of quiet a lot of the time, and when they do speak up, it's usually either lightly jokey or very sweetly supportive. Mirabelle doubting his motives is VERY much fueled by her anxiety; none of the others (including Bonnie, a pre-teen) sincerely think that Siffrin doesn't care about them, even after Siffrin spends a day burning all their bridges.

more specific spoilers ahead!

there's a flashback in the very beginning of the game where Siffrin remembers Mirabelle checking in with them, trying to make sure he's really willing to be on a dangerous quest with her, and he tells her point-blank that traveling with them all is the happiest he's ever been. they're being completely honest, but Mirabelle doesn't really know that! because like! how could that possibly be true?? they're on a dangerous quest that they may not survive, for a country that he has no ties to, AND THEY JUST LOST AN EYE??? it doesn't make sense that nothing in his life made him happier than they are right now! maybe they're teasing her, or just trying to make her feel better, or something that would make more sense than that.

Siffrin's also in the habit of reminding Mirabelle not to bite her nails too much when she's feeling anxious. they start visibly panicking whenever they think someone is upset (especially if he thinks it's his fault or it's aimed at him). they lost their eye protecting Bonnie and only really cared that Bonnie was safe afterwards. he spends a lot of time trying to be quietly reassuring or keeping people happy with his jokes. Isabeau at one point calls them nice, and says he "always listens to what everyone has to say, and always tries to give advice even though they're not always very good at it"—that's all specifically about pre-time-loop behavior!

it's really not a secret AT ALL that Siffrin cares about the party in general. the "secret" part is how MUCH and how DEEPLY they care. it's the difference between "yeah, we had a great time together! i really enjoyed hanging out with you. we should keep in touch and hang out again sometime" (where everyone thinks everyone else is at, emotionally) and "i care about all of you more than anyone else i've ever known and the thought of you leaving is painful, but i can't bear to ask you to stay with me when you all have lives and homes and jobs and families to get back to and i don't want to keep you from your goals. i'm fine with just 'keeping in touch.' it's FINE"

it's also worth noting that the "secret" part is also kiiiiinda a secret even to Siffrin himself? as in, they're trying so hard to accept the fact that everyone will leave, that it's completely normal and natural for them to go back to their own lives, that they're shoving all their feelings about that into a tiny box and burying it in the back of their mind.

all of this to say, yes, Mirabelle absolutely has a right to be upset when Siffrin hurts her! but the reason she reacts so strongly is that she struggles much more than the others to consistently read Siffrin's behavior as sincerely friendly, because of her own anxiety and hangups. it's NOT because Siffrin is outwardly cold, callous, rude, flippant, or anything like that at a baseline.

hope that clears things up!

i really love how intensely Mirabelle reacts to act 5 Siffrin botched friendquest.

Isabeau is mostly operating out of concern and, eventually, hurt. he already knows something’s up before Siffrin gets to him. he knows something truly awful must be wrong for Siffrin to be lashing out like they are, and as soon as he can’t handle the situation anymore, he leaves and asks (with strained cheer) for time apart to cool off.

most of Bonnie’s anger comes from being upset and afraid that Siffrin would willingly put themself in danger for no reason, when that’s exactly why they’ve been so unsettled since the eye incident. they hate that Siffrin values their own life so little, they hate that they’re the cause of any pain or loss for him, and here he is, putting himself in that situation AGAIN. on purpose. it’s loud and explosive, but it’s familiar, too, being “hated” by Bonnie for this reason.

Odile pushes, and keeps pushing, until her concern overwhelms Siffrin and they strike where they know she’s most vulnerable. she gets physical, just for a moment, grabbing his collar before controlling herself and letting go. her fury shuts down into cold detachment, and she walks away.

but Mirabelle—dear, sweet, gentle, loving Mirabelle, “the most wonderful being on earth,” with her secret “ruthless side” that largely involves lightly badmouthing people behind their backs and then apologizing—slaps them. immediately.

and then COMPLETELY RENOUNCES THEIR FRIENDSHIP.

not just “we’re not friends anymore,” but “we were never friends in the first place.”

that’s!!! pretty extreme!!!!

of course, she ALSO starts by asking what’s wrong. something must have happened for him to act like this. but as soon as Siffrin brushes her off, she jumps past that line of questioning and dives headfirst into re-evaluating everything she thought she knew about them as a a person.

if he could say something like that to her and not see anything wrong with it, then she was wrong to treat him as a friend, wrong to read camaraderie into his teasing, wrong to think they must care about them all under their aloof demeanor.

that’s how Mirabelle phrases it—“I was wrong about you”—but i think that there’s a hidden layer of I was right about you, too.

she talks about the way they tease her like she had to convince herself that he was doing it in a friendly way. she says they talk like they “know better than her” like that’s a thought she’s had for a LONG time.

“Always soooo mysterious, Siffrin, always talking as if you're better than me! As if you know me!!! But you don't, Siffrin!!! You're just as lost and useless as I am!!! So stop!!! Talking!!! As if you know me!!!!!!”

none of this comes across as a new, sudden way to view Siffrin for her. it doesn’t shock or confuse her. it makes her angry, defensive, almost like she was waiting for something like this to happen at some point. the feeling of resentment, frustration, jealousy, being patronized and condescended to—this is something she’s been actively pushing down and rejecting this entire time, but they’ve given her ample reason for it all to boil to the surface. violently.

Mirabelle’s kindness is not inherent or easy. it’s a choice she’s making. she treats Siffrin warmly because she gives him the benefit of the doubt—refusing to act based on anxiety-fueled, cynical speculation, and reassuring herself that his actions are driven by care and friendship even if she can’t quite see it.

“I was wrong about you” doesn’t mean she always and without question believed them to be a fundamentally kind, caring person from the beginning—it’s that her first, colder instincts were right, and she was wrong to convince herself otherwise.

never mind that she asked what was wrong at first. she barely gives them time to speak in their own defense, to explain what they really meant by what they said. all of her suppressed doubts and frustrations are getting aired out now, now that all the trust she’d so deliberately placed in him has been betrayed. her pain feels bigger than this singular moment, so when she hurts him back, she makes sure it extends back through the entirety of their relationship for him, too.

“You're awful. You're not my friend, not my ally, not anything. You never were.”

like the others, she goes back to the clocktower and tells Siffrin not to come back until later. but there’s a finality to the way she ends this confrontation that isn’t quite there with the others. Isabeau and Odile reach their breaking point and remove themselves from the situation, asking for space to cool off but still somewhat leaving the door open for Siffrin to tell them what’s really going on at some point. Mirabelle is the only one who tries to fully cut ties—after everything else she says, her “I don’t want to see you until tonight” reads to me somewhat as “I don’t want to see you anymore unless I have to.”

I can’t wait to never see you again.

even back at the clocktower, Mirabelle doesn’t really defend Siffrin’s place in the party when Odile suggests leaving them behind out of concern for their trustworthiness on the most important day of the journey. Isabeau and Bonnie protest out of sentimentality and faith in Siffrin’s abilities and connection to them, and Mirabelle agrees, but…

“I agree, but... B-But would he even agree to come with us, still? Maybe they won't even come back tonight...”

she doesn’t say much outside of that. maybe the stutter and hesitation here are signs of regret about how things happened, but she lacks Isabeau and Bonnie’s confidence that Siffrin even wants to come back to them in the first place. she doesn’t trust that their bond was real anymore. maybe it never was in the first place, or maybe she broke whatever was there herself.

and she’s still mad when they finally catch up to Siffrin at the King! and she makes sure Siffrin knows that—after saving them, assuring him that he no longer needs to fight, that they’re all there for him. she still cares, of course she still cares—she’s still hurt, too, but they can figure that part out once there’s less world-ending stuff going on.

she’s the first to say that they all reserve the right to still be angry at Siffrin later—and that they’ve already forgiven him.

she’s also the first to say we want to stay with you, too. it’s not just you.

she was wrong! she thought they didn’t care but they care so much, it’s overwhelming, it’s world-ending.

i think she’s gonna be wallowing in guilt post-canon the moment she remembers what she said and did TO SIFFRIN and not just what Siffrin said to her. especially now that she knows Siffrin’s exact hangups, and especially especially if she figures out what Siffrin was trying to say.

they put themself through hell out of loneliness and fear that none of the others cared about him the way he cared about them, he was going insane from repetition and exhaustion and hunger and trying to keep them all safe and together, and all they did in the midst of all that was say something kind of mean to her one time (that turned out to not even be MEANT to be mean it was supposed to be HELPFUL they just SAID IT ALL WRONG) and she SLAPPED THEM? and told him that they WEREN’T FRIENDS AT ALL??? how could she!!! she should have known better!! what they said hurt a lot but still!!!

so when they eventually manage to try to talk about it, they end up almost in, like, a guilt competition.

Mirabelle apologizing for how she reacted, that she shouldn’t have yelled or hit him, that she doesn’t want to be the kind of person who acts that way out of anger and she’s sorry that she made Siffrin expect that reaction from her, she should have known better and believed in him more and they only messed up like that because they were losing their mind in a time loop but what’s HER excuse—

and Siffrin going nononono stop I deserved it—(HUH DON’T SAY THAT NO YOU DIDN’T)—and that he should never have said such awful things to her, ever, and she was under so much pressure already with the weight of the country and everyone’s lives and futures and her religion and their whole party counting on her to do this impossible task because she’s the only one who can, all this unbearable expectation and hope crushing her, and they KNEW that but they thought they could skip to the ending as though her feelings didn’t matter at all, like helping her wasn’t as important as saving a little time—

until they’re just. in tears together, apologizing for all the horrible things they did in between complimenting each other’s strength and kindness and resilience and how much they admire each other and saying that no, everything you did was completely understandable, actually, the only one who sucks here is me. which neither of them will accept coming from the other!!

they’re so similar, in ways they couldn’t really understand, before.

warm, affectionate, perfect Mirabelle, the resolute hero, a beacon of compassion and hope for all those around her, who wears her heart on her sleeve, her fear making her courage shine all the brighter—nothing like the insignificant, forgettable Siffrin, too terrified to be known, too fragile to touch, too selfish and disgusting to bear letting go.

cool, mysterious, unflappable Siffrin, the worldly traveler, as charming and silly as they are confident and skilled, who brushed off losing an eye like it was nothing, accepting the risks of this journey with barely more than a shrug—nothing like the anxious, stagnant, underserving Mirabelle, a fraud and a nobody crumbling under the weight of a mission too important to be entrusted to someone like her, doubting herself, doubting her friends, doubting her mentor, doubting her faith, too weak and brittle to bend and change the way the world needs her to without breaking.

not worth bothering others with their problems. they should be able to handle this alone. stay positive, stay calm. breathe in, and out.

they’ll struggle with it, still—the hiding, the minimizing—but now, they understand each other a little better. they can hold each other accountable for what they leave unsaid.

it’ll get easier, eventually. they have plenty of time.

#sorry i don't mean to put you on blast or anything. but siffrin is genuinely very sweet!#they're just also quiet and easygoing in a way that Mirabelle reads as overly casual or insincere sometimes #isat #isat spoilers #mypost #replies #kaiju-lightning

668 notes · View notes

wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 3 hours ago

Text

Where Softness Lives

Step mom!Wanda x step daughter!reader

Word count: 3K

Summary: You grew up with an abusive mother and a cold father, mother’s day used to mean broken dishes and bruised feelings. Now, it’s different. Wanda shows you what unconditional love really looks like. Gentle hands, lullabies, and whispered affirmations when the tears come back. This year, you planned Mama & Me Day down to the glitter stickers and muffins... but when old trauma hits hard that morning, Wanda meets you with warmth instead of expectations.

Warnings: childhood abuse (emotional/verbal/neglectful), a toxic mother, and an emotionally distant father. It touches on trauma responses, including a mild panic attack, and explores internalized guilt and fear surrounding Mother’s Day. Themes of healing, reparenting, found family, comfort and emotional safety

Authors notes: I'm sorry to any others who had neglectful parents and how hard these days can be <3

You remember the sounds of dishes breaking and yelling. Of pleading as your toys got shoved into black garbage bags.

“I'm sorry Mommy! I didn't mean it! Please! I'll be good! I'll be a good girl!” You plead and plead until your voice is raw, until you're curled up on just a mattress, shaking from the lack of blanket.

You wouldn't get your stuff back for another week when you proved you were good.

You sat across from your step-mom, Wanda, your dad had remarried less than a month after your mom passed. What you did not understand was what Wanda saw in your dad. He was older; much older. In his eighties, Wanda was closer to you in age, her being thirty-five and you being twenty-seven.

A scowl was covering your face, arms crossed. Your father is standing above Wanda, hand on her shoulder. He was almost as sharp as your mom. People used to, well probably do still think he is or was in the mob. A thick accent that never left him,

“Mother's day is next month and I'll be away on a trip unfortunately. I know things have been rocky, but–” you dont let him finish your defenses coming up like walls, your voice carrying until it hits the walls with how loud it was.

“SHE'S NOT MY MOM! I DON'T WANT A MOM! MOM WAS TERRIBLE AND I HATED HER AND I DON'T WANT TO CELEBRATE ANYTHING!” Your fists slammed the table. Then a slap to the face. It stung but you were used to it. Wanda gasped it wasn't the first time he'd smacked you, wouldn't be the last.

You leave the table, holding your cheek, heading out the door with nothing.

You came back hours later, cold, soaked to the bone because it had started to pour on your way back. As soon as you walked through the door Wanda was there. Towel wrapping around you before you could blink. Her hand gently cupping your cheek. The cheek your father hit. You felt like you weren't there. You weren't real as Wanda gently took you to the bathroom.

A hot bath running as she helped you out of the clothes stuck to your body. You felt like a little doll, her doll, no maybe not a doll, a baby…hers.

She helps you into the tub, kneeling next to it and gently washing your skin, she's using her body wash, cherry blossoms, it's grounding. You slowly look at her and she smiles gently. You try and give one back, but you can tell it's not right.

“It's okay baby don't force it. It'll happen naturally.” Her voice is so soft and sweet. You aren't sure what to do with it. No one besides Wanda has ever treated you with this kindness. It doesn't feel real. You want to lash out again, but your energy is gone.

She helps you out, puts you in an oversized night shirt. It reminds you of being a kid, but in a good way. It makes you feel small, childlike. Your head was already a bit floaty before, but she takes you to your bed, gently brushes through the damp hair, softly sings a Sokovian lullaby, and hands you a teddy bear.

You brush your hands over the soft fur, everything about her movements and actions help ground you back from your episode. You lean back into her.

“I'm sorry mama…” It comes out softly and she kisses the top of your head.

“It’s okay Milaya I understand why you did it.” You feel tears in your eyes at her words. She was always so understanding of every lash out you had. From the very beginning when you were expecting a slap or harsh words back they never came.

It had only been a few weeks since the funeral. Since the house stopped smelling like your mom’s perfume and started smelling like lavender and coffee. Wanda had started staying over not long after—your father didn't believe in waiting, and you didn't believe in him anymore.

You came home from a miserable day at work to find a gift bag sitting on your bed. Pale pink with gold tissue paper and a tag that said:

Just because. –W

You stared at it like it was a threat.

Your chest tightened as you reached inside and pulled out a soft cardigan, light gray, your favorite color. Beneath it, a little enamel pin shaped like a cat with a book in its paws. The kind of thing someone only picks out if they’ve been paying attention.

That made it worse.

You stormed out of the room and into the kitchen where Wanda stood, humming as she stirred something on the stove. She turned with a warm smile—one that melted the second she saw your face.

“What is this?” you snapped, holding the cardigan out like it was burning your hands.

She blinked. “It’s… for you. I thought it looked soft. I know you get cold in the mornings sometimes.”

You threw it on the floor. “I didn’t ask for this! I don’t need your pity presents! You’re not my mom, so stop pretending you care!”

The words came out louder than you intended. Sharper. But you didn’t stop. Your fists were clenched, your voice shaking. “Just stop trying! You don’t know anything about me! You can’t fix me with a sweater and some dumb little pin!”

And then… silence.

You stood there, braced for it—your pulse pounding in your ears. Waiting for her to yell. To slap. To throw something. Your body tensed like it knew what was supposed to happen next.

But Wanda just stepped forward.

Slowly. Carefully.

You flinched as she approached, but she only lifted her arms. Gently. She wrapped them around your trembling shoulders and pulled you into her chest.

You froze.

No one had ever hugged you after something like that.

Her fingers moved softly through your hair as she rested her chin on top of your head. Her voice came low, warm like honey. “You’re okay,” she whispered. “You’re safe. It’s okay to have big feelings.”

Your body shook as the dam inside cracked wide open.

All the anger, the grief, the guilt—it spilled out in quiet sobs against her shirt. You didn’t even notice when your hands curled into her back, holding on like you were drowning.

“I didn’t mean to yell,” you choked out, barely audible.

“I know,” she murmured, swaying you gently. “You’ve been carrying so much. But you don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

You turn in her arms, burying your head in her chest, you hear the soft chuckle as her fingers comb through your hair. “It's all okay baby Mama's here. I'm not upset or angry, not one bit. I know why you said it to him. I understand. We'll celebrate in our own way won't we, pretty girl?” She tilts your chin up to meet her soft gaze. You get lost in them for a moment.

“Mhmm I have the day planned out!” You reach over to your notebook and flip through the pages, opening it to a beautifully designed page with times and bullet points. The title at the top of the page made Wanda smile; Mama and me day!

“Oh look at you sweetheart planning everything out for us!” She leaned down to kiss your cheek, but you turned your head, your lips met and you melted. It was unexpected, but not the first time. You reach up to cup her cheek and deepen the kiss.

It was late.

The kind of late where the world outside the windows had gone completely quiet. Just you and Wanda on the couch, wrapped in the soft glow of the fairy lights she’d insisted on hanging around the living room, “for ambiance,” she said. You’d rolled your eyes, but secretly… you loved them.

You’d had a hard day—one of those where everything felt too loud, where the weight of grief and history pressed on your chest like wet blankets. You hadn’t spoken much all evening, just let Wanda pull you into her side, her hand running slow and steady up and down your back.

Her touch grounded you, always. And she never asked you to explain. She never demanded your pain to be pretty or palatable.

You weren’t even sure when your head ended up on her lap, or when her fingers started gently combing through your hair. But they had, and her voice had eventually started humming something soft and unfamiliar. Sokovian, maybe.

“I wish…” you whispered into the quiet.

Wanda looked down. “What do you wish, baby?”

You looked up at her, heart in your throat. “I wish I’d had someone like you… back then. When I was little. When it all started falling apart.”

She smiled, bittersweet and full of something unspoken. “You have me now,” she said, fingers brushing a piece of hair from your face. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Something about the way she said it made your chest ache. You sat up, blinking back tears, looking at her like you were seeing her for the first time. All of her: soft and strong and steady. A lighthouse in the middle of the storm.

“Can I…?” you started, but didn’t finish. Your voice barely above a breath.

But she understood. Of course she did.

She leaned in slowly, her hand rising to cradle your jaw. There was no rush. No urgency. Just patience and quiet tenderness.

When your lips met, it wasn’t fireworks. It was safety. It was breath. It was the kind of kiss that stitched something back together inside of you.

And when you pulled back, Wanda didn’t say anything at first. She just rested her forehead against yours, her eyes closed.

Then softly, like a promise: “We go slow. As slow as you need.”

You nodded, the ghost of a smile forming as you whispered back, “Okay, Mama.”

You had it all planned.

The notebook still sat open on your desk, filled with scribbled hearts and bullet points written in your best handwriting. “Mama and Me Day!” it said in pink gel pen, with glittery stickers pressed carefully into the margins. Breakfast in bed. A walk in the park. Her favorite tea shop. A movie night with a blanket fort.

You even prepped everything the night before. Her favorite muffins were ready to bake. The card you spent three days making was tucked into the kitchen drawer. You went to sleep smiling.

But when you opened your eyes that morning, something felt wrong.

Heavy.

Like a shadow was sitting on your chest.

You lay still, staring at the ceiling. The excitement you’d felt for days was gone—replaced by a hollow ache in your stomach. The kind of ache that made you want to disappear beneath the covers and never come back out.

Your chest tightened. Tears welled up, uninvited.

You weren’t even sure why. It was supposed to be a happy day. Your day with her. Something you’d chosen—something she deserved.

But your body remembered other Mother’s Days. The ones filled with broken dishes, raised voices, the pressure to smile and say thank you when you were already in survival mode. The guilt. The confusion. The cold silence that followed if you didn’t do it perfectly.

You’d been up before the sun.

Tiptoeing around the kitchen, careful not to make too much noise, even though your small hands fumbled with the toaster and the eggs. You’d seen people do it in movies—Mother’s Day breakfast in bed. That’s what good kids did, right?

The toast was a little too brown. The eggs stuck to the pan a bit, and you’d spilled orange juice when you tried to pour it into her favorite glass.

But you were proud.

You’d even made her a card—cut out of folded construction paper, covered in glitter glue and crayon hearts. “To the best mom in the world!” it said, surrounded by crooked smiley faces and a drawing of the two of you holding hands.

And the bracelet—you’d spent all week secretly stringing beads in your room. Purple and silver, her favorite colors.

You carefully arranged everything on a tray and crept into her room, beaming.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” you said softly, your smile stretching wide.

She sat up groggily, eyes narrowing as she looked down at the tray. Her face changed quickly.

“What the hell is this mess?”

You blinked, smile faltering.

“The kitchen better not look like a tornado hit it,” she snapped. She picked up a piece of toast, sniffed it, and threw it back down on the tray. “It’s burnt. The eggs are rubber. Did you think this was good enough?”

You shrank back.

“I-I just wanted to surprise you…”

She scoffed and reached for the card. Her eyes scanned it for a second before she barked a laugh.

“This? You couldn’t even be bothered to write neatly. You think this is sweet? This is sloppy. You’re too old to draw like this.”

Your cheeks burned. Your heart pounded.

“And where’s my real present?” she demanded, like you owed her something grand. “Mother’s Day is my day. This is about me, not whatever crap you put together.”

You scrambled, hands fumbling in your hoodie pocket.

“I made you something,” you said quickly, pulling out the beaded bracelet and holding it out like a peace offering. “I wanted it to match your earrings—”

She took one glance, snatched it from your hand, and without a word walked over to the trash can and dropped it in.

“That’s not a real present,” she said flatly. “Jesus. You really know how to ruin a day.”

You just stood there, frozen.

And after a moment, she turned back to her bed, pulling the blankets up.

“Close the door on your way out.”

So you did.

You returned to the kitchen in silence, cleaned everything up on shaky legs, and sat at the table with your glitter-stained fingers, staring at the trash can where your bracelet disappeared.

And you promised yourself that next year… you wouldn’t try.

That it was safer not to.

A small sob caught in your throat. You pressed your palms to your eyes, trying to stop it before it spilled over.

Then—soft footsteps.

The door creaked open gently, and Wanda peeked in.

She was still in her robe, a sleepy smile on her face—until she saw you curled up, stiff and shaking.

“Oh, baby…” she crossed the room in an instant, crawling onto the bed beside you. Her arms wrapped around you from behind, warm and steady.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I had everything ready, I wanted today to be perfect, I swear—”

Wanda gently hushed you, one hand combing through your hair, the other rubbing slow circles into your arm.

“Hey… look at me, sweetheart.” You hesitated, but turned slowly. Her eyes were soft, full of knowing. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be perfect for me. Not today. Not ever.”

You sniffled, burying your face in her neck.

“But I wanted to make you happy,” you mumbled.

She pulled you closer. “You do. Every day. Even when you're hurting. Especially when you let me be here for you like this.”

You clung to her, shaking.

And after a while, she whispered, “How about we start the day right here, just like this? My favorite girl in my arms, where she’s safe and loved. No schedule. No pressure. Just us.”

You nodded slowly, breathing her in, letting her words settle over your skin like a blanket.

Wanda didn’t let go of you for a long time—not until your breathing evened out and your hands stopped trembling against her robe. You stayed tangled together beneath the blankets, your head tucked under her chin, her arms strong around you like armor.

Eventually, she kissed your forehead. “I’m going to go start some tea, okay?” she murmured. “You stay right here. I’ll be back in just a minute.”

You nodded wordlessly, reluctant to let go, but trusting her to return.

She always did.

When she came back, it was with a tray balanced in her hands—your favorite mug, one of her muffins warmed and sliced, a small bowl of strawberries. She set it on the nightstand and climbed back into bed beside you, pulling the blankets up again like you were in your own little world. Safe. Sealed off.

You sat up slowly and she handed you the tea, careful to wrap your fingers around the warm mug like she always did when your hands were shaky.

“You remembered,” you whispered.

“Of course I did.” She brushed her thumb gently across your knuckles. “You matter to me, baby. All of you. Even the messy mornings.”

A few moments passed, quiet but not empty.

Then you reached over, picking up the envelope you’d almost left in the drawer. You held it out with trembling fingers.

“I wrote you something,” you murmured. “A letter. I wasn’t sure if I could read it out loud, but…”

Wanda took it gently, eyes soft. “Would it be okay if I read it now?”

You nodded.

She carefully unfolded it, smoothing the page out in her lap. Her eyes moved over your handwriting, and you watched her face shift with every word—tender, proud, tearful.

When she looked back at you, there were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling.

“I’m going to keep this forever,” she said, voice thick. “I’m going to keep it somewhere safe, so that any time I doubt myself, I’ll remember that I’ve been the kind of Mama you deserve.”

That cracked something open in you.

You launched forward, wrapping your arms around her middle. “You’re everything I ever wanted,” you choked. “Even when I didn’t know how to say it. Even when I was mean. You never stopped being soft.”

She held you tightly. “Because you deserved softness, even when you couldn’t ask for it.”

You stayed like that for hours.

The rest of the day wasn’t about plans or gifts or outings.

It was spent in the warmth of the blanket fort Wanda built on the couch, watching old cartoons, sharing quiet laughs, her hand stroking your back whenever your body tensed. You dozed in and out on her chest, a teddy bear cradled to your side and her heartbeat in your ear.

Mother’s Day didn’t need to be perfect.

It just needed to be yours.

68 notes · View notes

pxstelmxsings · 2 days ago

Note

Excuse you, i need more girl dad Daryl headcanons.

Lol I need to write for TWD content as a whole. Also, as a general note here, I am using AFAB language, pronouns, and soical norms.

Girl dad Daryl Dixon headcanons coming right up!

1. Look me in the eyes and tell me Daryl wouldn't be hoping for a daughter. You can't because you would be lying to everyone. He wants his child to be a mini version of his S/O.

I also feel like he would be scared of having a son, but that's a whole other decision.

2. He tries his best to find lots of cute little girl outfits, toys, decor items, really anything he can when on supply runs. Despite it being the apocalypse, he will make sure to spoil his daughter.

3. This one applies to any sex or gender of his child; He will always aim for them to have a better childhood than he did. That is a promise he makes to his child when they are born or adopted.

4. Just like Judith, his daughter gets a nickname.I like something along the lines of little shins buster or head bunker. The whole world needs to know she is a Dixon and will beat your ass.

Tbt I think Daryl would give his daughter a bunch of different nicknames based on things she does, says, or eats. If she eats a little blueberries, then blue bear, nicknames like that.

5. Oh, he cries when she first says dada or daddy. Full-blown, happy tears.

6. You best believe he finds a hair guide book and learns all the cute hair styles. I think he would be especially good at putting ribbons into braids.

He picks buns and tight to head braids styles the most often because they are the safest styles to have with walkers and other dangerous people around.

7. This man does not understand dressing up or playing with dolls at all. The joy of it goes right over his head. But you best believe he tries his best to play along to make his daughter happy.

8. She learns weapon safety from a very young age. Even if there were no walkers, Daryl would be teaching her these skills.

9. A protective father 👏 No harm will come to his little girl for as long as he lives.

10. He learns traditionally feminine tasks right alongside his daughter to make things less stressful or scary. It actually becomes quite common to see them fixing shirts or canning vegetables together.

11. Just...in genreal, he gets more relaxed and emotionally more available because of his daughter. She wiggles him out his shell in a way no one else has been able to.

#twd headcanons #daryl dixon headcanons #twd x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader

36 notes · View notes

silksandcravats · 13 hours ago

Text

Bedrest - Dean x Reader

Reader gets injured on a hunt and Dean is less than reasonable about things.

Contents: established dean x reader, reader is injuried (no gore), bickering, angst if you squint, sexual themes referenced but no smut

You jolted as a deep voice called your name.

Of all the places to get shot, stabbed, or otherwise maimed, leg wounds were your least favorite. By a long shot. Because any other wound, while never ideal, would heal with some extra sleep and a little time.

But a bullet straight to the meat of your thigh called for bed rest.

Especially when the bullet was angled just so, ripping through major muscles in the process. It stung like a bitch and had to be methodically removed by Sam while you hissed and swore and twisted in Dean's hold.

And to top things off, Castiel hadn't been seen for months, meaning there truly was no option other than to ride it out.

Dean had been incredibly Dean about the whole thing. He'd somehow managed to blame himself for you getting shot. Seeing you down on the ground sent a sick kind of fear through him. And now he showed his concern by hovering like a hawk and never letting you leave bed. He brought your meals to you, was constantly checking and re-dressing your wound, he even carried you to the bathtub.

It was sweet...at first.

But now you were restless. You'd begun to forget what the bunker looked like beyond the four walls of your bedroom. When you couldn't bear to be in the same room any longer, you'd hobbled your way to the library, careful not to make too much noise.

With some effort you made it.

You knew either of the Winchesters would happily bring you any book you wanted if you asked, but you were desperate to do something yourself. Even just being in a different room was a relief.

So you had carefully lowered yourself to the library floor, injured leg stretched out to the side, and were sifting through titles, looking for something new.

Or at least you had been, before you were inturrupted.

"Shit, you scared me," you turned, clutching your chest and turning to face Sam.

"What are you doing?" He looked unimpressed, arms crossed.

"Oh relax, I'm just getting a book." you waved him off, turning back to the shelves.

"You're supposed to be resting," he continued.

"Sam. Do not!" You tried to sound firm, already knowing he would tell on you.

"You know he's being like this for a reason."

"Oh, bite me," you grunted, turning back to the shelves.

In any other scenario, you'd feel bad for snapping at sweet old Sam this way, he was just trying to help. But you'd been trapped in bed for so long it was making you crazy.

"Sammy!" Dean's gravely voice suddenly echoed through the hallway. "Have you seen-"

"She’s in here!” He called, ignoring your frantic motioning for him to keep quiet.

"Snitch." You shot him a glare.

"Not sorry," he shrugged in response, clearly indifferent to your disdain.

You heard quiet grumbling and swearing as Dean approached.

"What the hell are you doing?" His deep voice echoed as he entered the room, marching straight towards you as soon as he spotted you.

"Wait!" You called, scambling backwards, "Before you-"

"You're going back to bed. Now." He snapped, ignoring your protests and effortlessly scooping you up in his arms. You'd fight back if you were in better shape.

"Please, Dean, it's so boring," you whined.

"I really don't care," his voice was flat as he carried you out of the room. You let out a defeated noise, dropping your head against his chest.

Dean moved especially quickly when he was irritated, so it took him mere moments to carry you down the hall, through the threshold of your bedroom, and deposit you softly on your side of the bed.

He fussed over you quietly, adjusting you into a comfortable position and propping your injured leg under a pillow. When he was satisfied, he stood tall, resuming his role of jailer as he glared down at you.

"You were supposed to stay in bed. I made myself very clear," he scolded.

"Dean, baby, be reasonable," you sighed.

"Reasonable?" He scoffed. "So help me I will tie you to this goddamn bed."

"Oh yeah?" You grinned, raising a brow.

"And leave you here," he finished.

You frowned.

"Come on Dean, what would you do if you were me?"

"I would've stuck to the damn plan. I wouldn't have gotten myself shot," he snapped.

This again.

You didn't respond, not this time. Instead you went quiet, picking at the fabric of the blanket.

He sighed, turning his attention to the floor.

"I won't stand by and watch you die, Dean, I just won't." You spoke finally, breaking the silence.

"I would've been fine," he answered softly, the fight seeming to leave him.

"You can't know that," you shot back.

"I'm not gonna die on you, baby," he answered, moving to sit beside you on the bed, reaching for your hand.

"But you could!" you protested, yanking your hand away.

"If something happens to me, that's my problem. Not yours." He insisted firmly.

And that made you want to scream, because you couldn't bear how, after all this time, he still continued to hold his life in such little regard.

"You look out for everyone all the time, why can't you accept that I-"

"Because it's my fault you even know about any of this shit!" He cut you off sharply. "I'm the reason you're in danger every day. If it wasn't for me, none of this would've happened."

"I'm an adult, Dean! I chose this, I know exactly what I signed up for!" you sniffed angrily, a traitorous tear rolling down your cheek. "You have to understand, you're...you're everything to me."

"I can't lose anyone else I love, I sure as hell can't lose you." He shifted closer to you as he spoke, his hand grasping your good thigh.

You shook your head, taking a shaky breath.

"Dean. If I die, you go on saving the world. If you die," you paused, unwilling to finish that train of thought.

"Hey," he captured your face in his hands, turning you to look at him. He opened his mouth to argue with you but decided against it. His features softened, and his thumb reached to stroke your cheekbone as he spoke again: "Doesn't matter. Nobody's gonna die. Not me, and definitely not you."

Your eyes narrowed.

"Okay, definitely not me either. Alright? Just take it easy for me, will you?"

"Okay," you nodded.

You tried to lean closer to him, but were halted by your forgotten injury.

"Shit," you hissed, leaning forward in pain.

"Never gonna listen to me, are you?" He chuckled, grasping your hips and carefully maneuvering you closer into him.

"Why would I?" you smirked, shooting him a look. "It's so fun when you make me."

"Oh, sweetheart," his voice dipped, "You have no idea what I'm gonna do to you when you're healed up."

I'll come back to edit this but I wanted to go ahead and get it out x

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #spnfandom

41 notes · View notes

joramrinah · 2 days ago

Text

Here is my live reaction to this week's episode, brace yourself cos this is long, and obviously spoilers!!! ahead:

Okay, we have the balloons

They both seem in relatively okay moods I guess

Oh so that's what the balloons were for

Oop, here it is, Ruby's coming to the show, and Deb is way too amused for my liking

Not the bear piss

Omg DJ's so pregnant

Ava, babes.... A make over? For seeing your ex, whilst you have a blooming new exiting relationship with two people, and a tv show which is a great success? It's almost as if you're overcompensating

The face she made is so funny to me idk why

"Where's my hug" The cringe I just cringed

Oh so Ava's expecting Ruby to cause issues

That was so painfully awkward

Even Ava's judging herself for that make up

MIRROR SCENE????

Okay not yet but it was a close call

The poor writers scrambling for jokes

That poor intern

Okay side note but I really like Ava's outfit

NO, DEB PLEASE I'M BEGGING YOU DON'T GO THERE

Oh no, no, noooo

Oh Deb... Why

Okay, i'm kinda mad at Deb but dammit if she isn't adorable with the corgis

Oh so they have noticed Ava's treating the relationship very physical (believe it or not yesterday I tried many times to put my thoughts about that in writing, I had no idea this was gonna happen)

Okay, they actually get points for wanting to actually date her, like have an actual relationship

"Not over your last relationship" They are thinking of a different person than Ava is

Okay, taking my points back, that was bad, like I get why, but still, they could've provided an alternative, like just watching a show or something, try to cheer her up instead of dumping her when she's clearly had a rough day

Deb's exhausted with that gay

OH AVA'S LOOSING IT, but I don't blame her honestly, she endured way more that I could've

FUCKING CALLED IT!!! I KNEW SHE WAS GONNA QUIT, I COULD SMELL IT

OH SHE'S LOOOOSING-LOOSING IT

Deb wanted to postpone the show to wait for her..... My gods can they just make out already

Oh this hit me right in my Swan Queen feels (iykyk)

SHE HAD DEB'S PICTURE THIS WHOLE TIME?!?!? I just read something like this in a fanfic WHO FROM THE PRODUCERS IS ON AO3?!?

THE WAY SHE'S TOUCHING AVA'S HOODIE ARE YOU KIDDING ME?????????

Oh no, no, no, tell me nothing happens to the dog, omg no the coyotes please no

Oh thank fuck he's okay, my heart about stopped

Damn we've not seen Deb this shaken in a while, or maybe ever

Okay Deb had some sort of realisation

Both of them breaking traffic laws for each other, cool, cool

Okay that type of music is played in romantic comedies before the main characters reunite and kiss after one was going all over town and looking for the other, just saying

O??? MY?????? GODS????????????

I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHERE TO START, THE TERRIFIED SCREAM AT THE THOUGHT OF AVA HARMING HERSELF?? THE FACT SHE RAN STRAIGHT INTO THE WATER, WITHOUT A DAMN ABOUT ANYTHING OTHER THAN SAVING AVA? BROOOOOOOOOOOOO

Why does Deb look so attractive like this??

Oh this SHOOK shook Deb, she's saying sorry, telling Ava she can't quit, ASKING FOR ANOTHER CHANCE WITH QUIVERING LIPS AND SAYING PLEASE?!? MY GODS JUST TELL HER YOU LOVE HER ALREADY FOR FUCKS SAKE

"You are my voice" CLOSE FUCKING ENOUGH I GUESS, HOLLY SHIT THE GASP I JUST GASPED, and the way Deb smiled?!?? AND THEY WANT ME TO BELIEVE THEY'RE NOT IN LOVE?!? THAT THEY AREN'T SOULMATES??!? YEAH FUCK THAT

"We have to make it for each other" THIS JUST KEEPS GETTING BETTER AND BETTER

The way Ava's looking at her...

DEB'S LAUGH AND SMILE?!?? THE WAY SHE'S LOOKING AT AVA!?!?!? SOMEBODY SEDATE ME

THEY'RE LAUGHING TOGETHER AGAIN, LIKE REALLY LAUGHING, TOGETHER, I'M FINE, IT'S FINE, TOTALLY FINE

DEB IS FINALLY NOT TRYING TO HIDE HOW MUCH SHE LOVES HER, THE LOOK, THE SMILE AJXBSIANSUWNSBAIB

Ava's been driving around with that bottle for MONTHS

THE SONG?!?!?!?! KING PRINCESS?!?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?

#deborah wants her so bad oh my god #deborah vance i know what you are #ava daniels is stronger than any of us tbh #ava daniels #deborah vance #ava x deborah #deborah x ava #hacks #hacks hbo #avorah #hacks max #hacks tv show #hacks spoilers #hbo hacks #hacks season 4 #hacks s4

26 notes · View notes

faggotnojutsu · 23 hours ago

Text

Autistic!Tobirama yap sesh.

Small warning: I have only watched the dub and I am only about halfway through the manga so bear with me if any of this doesn't fit the tbrm you perceive ┐⁠(⁠ ⁠˘⁠_⁠˘⁠)⁠┌ my bad. Also I wrote a lot of this half asleep... I'll probably get into it even more but there are so many typos in my Google doc so I'll post that after I go through and refine everything.

This is a wee bit long btw... It could be longer.

I have seen at least a handful of complaints about people headcanoning Tobirama as autistic by arguing that the hc is based on stereotypes and I simply disagree. He's blunt, to the point of being taken as detached, doesn't really show any emotion. Socially, he is kind of inept. He's also monotone as fuck (see warning).

That doesn't make the hc born of stereotypes imo, many autistic people are like that, and I think it's a bit lame and out of touch to refer to the existence of blunt, monotone, and dulled emotional output as the "wrong" type of autism rep or hc.

Moving deeper into hc territory, Tobirama lives by and finds comfort in rules. I see him as a man of strict routine, organization (even if it may be chaotic). He has become adaptable to change to some degree, you'd have to be able to deal with unknowns being a Shinobi period. But if his concrete "normal" life planned routine were interrupted or plans went awry ([insert plan] was supposed to happen this way but it's all fucked even though [insert plan] is supposed to be safe) I think he would be susceptible to losing his shit.

Unable to properly focus, unable to communicate well, wanting nothing more to lock himself away and engage in something safe, and oftentimes doing so, even for days at a time, if [insert plan] has just been FUBAR'd.

And that brings me to the next thing. Tobirama's special interests. This man created revolutionary and powerful, highly useful Jutsu. I think he'd find comfort in researching. He could yap for hours about all of the techniques he has studied, the intricacies of how he created or came up with the idea for his Jutsus, etc etc. But he seldom does actually yap because:

A. He doesn't have the time.

B. He doesn't see many people as worthy or understanding enough to deserve his knowledge.

C. He hasn't been made to feel comfortable yapping very often.

But as many autistic people know, special interests can also be a bit consuming. That man would absolutely lock himself away and forgets (or simply ignores the need) to eat/drink water/bathroom/shower.

There's something about his sensory abilities that ties into autistic!tbrm for me. I can't really find the words to describe why. I see a mix of sensory avoiding and sensory seeking for him.

Sensory avoiding: He's a picky eater, certain tastes and textures just can't be redeemed to him. There are certain touch textures that he will physically recoil and gag from because of the painful sensation, specifically if he was unprepared. Certain sounds make him want to shove his katana through his ears to stop the disgusting feeling that said sound produced. He does not enjoy touch from other people unless he is initiating or asking for it, especially light touch, it's icky.

Sensory seeking: He involuntarily stims whenever he's allowed to just turn his brain off. Alone in his own space away from everyone? Bro is chewing on his brushes and rocking back and forth. I think he would also prefer bright lights over dim, partly because I also do hc him as not having very good vision, the fuzziness of dim lights makes him feel frustrated and distracted.

For some madatobi brain rot: the first time Madara watches Tobirama start rocking from side to side with a brush wedged in his mouth and gnawing on it, he is so... so put off. Tobirama doesn't even realize that he's doing it, so when Madara is like 'hey what??' Tobirama just blankly stares at Madara like he's going crazy.

Slowly he realizes that maybe Tobirama isn't just an asshole, he's wired differently. But it takes a lot of 'wtaf is my situationship doing' to come to that conclusion.

Also: If there were a word for autism in their era, Tobirama would vehemently deny being autistic. He's normal actually, the rest of the world is just fucking weird with their societal norms and such.

Uhh that's all for now folks. Feel free to add onto this however you want to :)! I love yapping about nd!founders.

(also little thank you and shout-out to @instant-bull for being my inspiration to actually write this all down)

#autistic!tobirama #tobirama senju #naruto #madatobi #at the end and very briefly but I cant help it! I have fucking worms!

19 notes · View notes

e-dubbc11 · 1 day ago

Note

Okay here is my ask...can you do one where Rumlow becomes a dad? Like from him finding out to baby looking at him for the first time? I'm curious how he would handle FMC having morning sickness, and all the craziness during pregnancy, and especially how he would handle her giving birth (maybe she wants to do it naturally). Thanks new friend!!

I don’t know why I had never written Rumlow as a dad before but I guess I was just waiting for the right ask and I’m SO happy you did because this was a lot of fun to write and I really hope you like it, my lovely friend♥️😘

An Unexpected Surprise

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Brock Rumlow x F! Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy symptoms, pregnancy sex (18+ please or else I’m telling on you), swear words, angst, fluffy bunnies and unicorns

Word Count: 5K-ish

Summary: You and your fiancé are met with, well, an unexpected surprise. Navigating pregnancy was going to be tough but it might actually be tougher for Brock

A/N: It was a while ago but I tried to draw from my own experience of being pregnant for this and bouncing ideas off of my new friend was so fun and she actually gave me an idea for another Rumlow fic which I can’t wait to start. Thank you again!

As always, thank you for reading! I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

This wasn’t supposed to happen yet. You were careful, painstakingly careful.

You always thought of yourself as being prepared for anything and everything which is why this was a complete surprise.

But there it was, right in front of your eyes and clear as day.

Two defined dark blue lines explained why you had been feeling nauseous, why you suddenly had an aversion to chicken, and why your period was late…very, very late.

You were pregnant.

Gazing down at your engagement ring, you were also nervous about what your love was going to say about it. Brock wasn’t exactly the sweet, teddy bear type. Well, he was that way with you but he was also the type to react poorly to a situation and then apologize later for it.

How were you going to tell him? Neither of you was entirely sold on the idea of having kids, but especially having kids right away. His work at SHIELD was important to him and it wasn’t exactly danger free. Brock’s work took him on missions all over the world, it sometimes put him in threatening situations and you never wanted to tell him that he had to give all that up. Not coming home to you would be one thing; it would be difficult to get through but you knew what you signed up for when you said yes but having to tell a child that their daddy isn’t coming home is different and would be even harder.

What were you going to do?

**********

After confirming your pregnancy at the doctor’s office, you finally worked up the courage to tell Brock that he was going to be a father. You created scenarios in your head, tried to figure out how you were going to talk to him if he got angry, upset, or even just completely shut himself off because he was in shock.

He wanted to go out to dinner. Brock felt guilty for spending so much time away from home lately so he wanted to try and make it up to you and after dodging questions like “What? You don’t want anything to drink?” and “I thought you loved the way they make the lemon chicken here?” It was time to tell him.

But when you arrived home, Brock had other ideas. The two of you barely walked through the door before he pulled the sweater over your head, while you reached for the button on his jeans, and devouring each other like you haven’t seen each other in months.

Tangled in each other’s limbs, his lips gently pressed against the soft skin of your shoulder as his calloused hands traveled up your thigh and came to rest on your hip. Your fingers tangled in his wild dark hair while the stubble on his chin delicately scratched your cheek and he purred in your ear.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been workin’ so much lately, doll. Forgive me?” He asked. The sexy rasp in his voice gently vibrated in your ear.

“Well when you ask so nicely, how could I not?” You said with a sly smile. “You’re so soft for me, Rumlow.”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t need to broadcast it. No one needs to know that.” He answered back.

You could feel heat rush across your chest and you could hear your heart beating rapidly inside your ears, knowing that what you were about to say was going to change your relationship with Brock either for the better or not so much.

“I’m pregnant, Brock.” You blurted out.

“That’s not funny, sweetheart.” Replied Brock.

Biting down on your lower lip, your hands started to shake.

“I’m not joking, baby. I’ve been feeling nauseous, I missed my period, so I finally took a test and had it confirmed at the doctor’s a couple of days ago. I’m pregnant.” You said nervously.

All of the color drained from Brock’s face as he sat speechless, staring at you with his whiskey colored eyes, and working out in his head what you had just told him.

“Say something please, Brock. I know we didn’t exactly plan for this–” You had started to say before he interrupted you.

“Plan for this? We didn’t plan for this at all, doll! I thought you were on birth control?!” He asked.

“Well obviously it’s not always a sure thing, Brock! Maybe I missed a couple!” You said, visibly upset.

Quickly, he got out of bed, put his clothes on and looked at you one more time before heading for the door.

His motorcycle roared to life and you heard him drive down the street before the sounds faded and you were left alone, wondering when or if he was coming back.

**********

The next morning, as you sat at the kitchen island, sipping your coffee, you heard the bike pull into the driveway. The blood in your veins began to boil and you could feel your cheeks burning with anger. Your jaw tightened while waiting for Brock to come inside; you couldn’t wait to give him hell for just getting up and leaving like he did.

You heard his keys unlock the door and as you turned to face the door, you folded your arms protectively across your chest. Slowly, the doorknob turned and he stepped inside with a very pathetic look on his face like a puppy that just chewed your favorite shoes.

“Where the hell have you been?!! I haven’t had time to be worried about you because I’ve been busy being pissed off and that’s putting it nicely, Brock!!” You shouted.

“I’m sorry, doll. I shouldn’t have—“ Brock started to say before you cut him off.

“Shouldn’t have what? Left me in the middle of the night? For making me feel like a piece of trash because you left right after you fucked me? I’m going to be your wife, Rumlow! You can’t just leave like that!” You continued.

“I know! And I’m sorry, sweetheart! I don’t know what the etiquette is for when the woman you love unexpectedly tells you that she’s pregnant.” He replied.

You retorted with, “Is it ever fully expected, Brock? You think I wasn’t floored when I saw the results of that pregnancy test, telling me that I’m gonna be a mom? I felt alone and scared! And even more so when you left without a word after I FINALLY worked up the courage to tell you. Where did you even go, anyway?”

Brock tossed his keys on the counter, walked over to the cabinet to get a cup and poured himself some coffee.

“I drove around for awhile, ended up on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and found myself just staring out at the reflecting pool. I know I shouldn’t have left like that but you know I react first and think later. It’s not my best trait and I’m so sorry.” Said Brock, sheepishly.

He reached into his leather jacket and pulled out a small stuffed bunny that he probably bought at the drugstore. Brock handed it to you. It felt so soft as you let the fabric glide through your fingers and your lips curled into a slight smile.

Tears stung the back of your eyes as you walked over to him and snaked your arms around his neck. Brock set his cup down on the counter so he could pull your body flush to his and he locked his hands around your waist. The gaze of his amber colored eyes locked onto yours before he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

Brock let out a gentle exhale that warmed your chilled skin and he softly pressed his lips to your collarbone before saying again, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I love you.”

“I love you too, Brock.” You replied. “You still gonna love me, when you can’t reach me because my belly is in the way?”

“Of course, doll.” He said.

You chuckled a little.

“That is the correct answer, Mr Rumlow.” You said.

His expression softened and became a little more serious before saying, “Well, there is something we need to change right away.”

Confused, you replied, “What’s that, baby?”

“We need to change your last name.” Said Brock.

The corners of your mouth curled into a wide smile as your lips collided with his. You were engaged but had dragged your feet at setting a wedding date yet so even though this isn’t exactly the way you wanted it to happen, you were very happy about it.

“What did you have in mind, handsome?” You asked.

A sly smile stretched across Brock’s lips as he replied, “I have an idea.”

**********

Brock wasn’t exactly a fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants type of guy so when he proposed the two of you elope, you were very surprised but happy at the same time. It would be one less thing to worry about before the baby comes.

After a wedding and short honeymoon in the Bahamas, it was time to prepare for Baby Rumlow’s arrival which wasn’t easy but it was especially tough for Brock.

Between the doctor’s appointments, work, trying to find time to work on the nursery, and fluctuating hormones, the two of you were exhausted.

Brock had been burning the candle at both ends, going on more missions in the early parts of your pregnancy so he could be home more for the later months in case you needed anything.

But now you have reached that stage in your pregnancy where you were horny all…the…time.

“You sure you’re ok, doll?” He asked.

“I’m not gonna break, Rumlow.” You said with a smirk.

Your little belly separated the two of you as you straddled him on the couch. He was surprised you practically tackled him when he walked through the door. Between the morning sickness and the exhaustion, there wasn’t a lot of intimacy in those first three months but that fourth month hit and you were ready to make up for lost time.

After you removed his black t-shirt, your kisses were aggressive, all tongue and teeth, as you gently tugged on his wild dark brown hair and his fingers gently danced up and down your spine. You reached for the button on his jeans as his thick fingers traveled up your thigh, underneath your skirt and touched the wet spot on your panties. Brock kicked off his pants and helped you slip out of your long skirt as you firmly planted your knees on either side of his hips once again.

“You don’t wanna go to the bedroom, sweetheart?” He asked.

The raspy tone to his voice has always been such a turn on for you. The purr in your ear made you extremely wet and there was no way you were going to pause this to go to the bedroom. You wanted him now and let him know it by stroking him, feeling him get harder by the second, while he let out a strangled moan and you shook your head “no.”

Brock pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger before insistently pressing his lips to yours. His days-old stubble gently scratched against your chin as he parted your lips with his tongue and his fingers dipped below the line of your panties but not before he lightly cradled your little bump. A quiet whimper fell from your lips as he parted your folds with one finger, teasing you, circling your clit, and hitting that special spot.

“You’re dripping down my hand, baby. You need this too, don’t you.” He growled.

He curled his talented fingers inside, making you lightheaded as your walls began to tighten around him. Brock’s other hand fit around your neck like a choker as your eyes fluttered closed; he knew you were close as you mewled his name.

“You’re too quiet, doll. Come for me, y/n, let me hear you, then I’ll give you what you really want.” He said in a grating whisper.

His words went straight to your core and your release hit you hard and fast, calling out his name loudly and causing your voice to break. Leaning down, you grazed your teeth along his jawline as his lips curled into a sly grin.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl.” He praised you.

Still coming down from your high, Brock managed to remove his boxer briefs and your panties before lining himself up and sliding into you with ease, smiling as he heard your breath hitch and captured your lips again in a forceful kiss; he let out a low growl as you started to roll your hips and pulling him in close so you could move in tandem. With quick snaps of his hips underneath you, your second orgasm started to stir and your thighs stiffened with every shallow thrust causing you to clench around him.

You were so close to just falling apart, strangled moans and other sinful noises continued to fall from your lips which made him work harder to push you over the edge and chase his own release.

“Brock!” You cried out.

With his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, he spilled into you as you crumpled on top of him, your chests heaving, trying to catch your breath. Brock started to kiss the sculpted hollow of your throat when he felt the tiniest of flutters in your belly, pressed against his.

“Holy shit, what the fuck is that?” He asked in a shocked tone.

“She’s kicking, Brock.” You said then quickly clamped your hands over your mouth.

At your last ultrasound, the tech asked if you wanted to know the baby’s sex and you both decided you wanted to be surprised, well, actually YOU decided. Brock wanted to know because then he could have a little more control and know what to expect but he was overruled. So instead, they put the sex of the baby in an envelope in case you changed your mind.

“SHE?! You little sneak! You looked at the ultrasound anyway after you gave me shit for wanting to know what we were having!” Said Brock with a wide smile.

Biting down on your lower lip, you tried to stop yourself from smiling but you failed miserably.

“Ok, I know I said I wanted to be surprised but I lied. Or rather, I changed my mind.” You replied. “You mad?”

Brock gently placed his hand against your growing belly as the flutters continued. His smile was genuine and he really looked happy.

“Nah, I ain’t mad, sweetheart.” He said with a wink.

His stubble tickled your lips as you kissed him on the cheek and said, “Oh yay, now we can pick out all things pink!”

He quickly replied with a hard eye roll and said, “Can we go easy on the pink please, y/n?”

“How ‘bout pink and black?” You asked.

Brock held his hand out in between the two of you and said, “Deal.”

**********

Baby girl Rumlow was getting bigger by the day and so was your stomach. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to sit up after sleeping, to see your feet, and even just to get comfortable.

“So when do you stop going to work?” Brock asked one evening after your shower.

You narrowed your eyes at him and replied in a confused tone, “What do you mean, baby?”

“I mean, you’re gettin’ pretty big, doll. You gotta be thinkin’ about stopping working until after the baby, right?” He replied.

Oh, he’s so lucky he’s handsome.

“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘BIG?’” You asked through clenched teeth.

He interrupted you, “Ok now, I didn’t mean it that way, sweetheart. You know that. I was only thinkin’ of YOU. I know how tough it’s been lately for you to get comfortable, to walk around, shit like that.”

Without warning, tears welled up in your eyes and before you could try and stop yourself, they were streaming down your face. It had been happening more as it was getting closer to your due date and everything was hitting you all at once. You were tired, hormonal, and absolutely terrified of being a mom but everyone told you it was all normal, although it didn’t make it any easier to try and control.

“Aside from moments like these—“ You started to say, pointing to the tears in your eyes, “I feel fine, Brock. The doctor said that as long as I don’t have any issues or the baby isn’t in distress, I’m fine to work until I’m due.”

“Well, what if I don’t want you workin’?” Said Brock.

“Baby, I’m not on my feet all the time unless I want or need to be. I’m fine.” You said, pouring your tea.

You baby girl started to move around. She was very active in the evening hours and loved to stretch out, jabbing you in the side with her feet and hands. It wasn’t just a quick kick to the ribs and she was done…NOPE! Her stretches caused you to wince and you tried to move her feet to a different spot that wasn’t so painful.

“Oof…” You said, pressing on your belly.

Brock reached out to gently touch your stomach.

“What? What is it? Is it time?!” He asked nervously.

You smiled and chuckled a little at Brock’s concern for you. It was really sweet.

Shaking your head, you replied, “No, no, baby. I’m fine—here…” You said, grabbing his hand and placing it on the side of your bump. “You feel that? She’s stretching. That’s her heel you’re feeling.”

Brock Rumlow was a man of few words and he had even less to say while he was feeling his baby move around. His lips curled into a wide smile as his strong hands followed her hands and feet around your bump.

“That’s…wow. That’s really somethin’, doll.”

You were getting close to your due date and felt enormous but everything was in order, the nursery was done, and you couldn’t wait to meet her. Now all you had to do was settle on a name which was a process because every name you liked, Brock would veto and every name he suggested, you didn’t like.

“She still needs a name, baby.” You said.

Brock inched closer, until you were sharing the same air and you could see his facial features up close. The laugh lines around his whiskey colored eyes were prominent but they made him so ruggedly handsome and hard to resist when he was this close to you.

He bypassed your lips and leaned down to kiss the sweet spot on your neck that you loved so much, the gentle scratches of his beard tickled your throat and neck as he peppered kisses up and down the side of your neck which made you giggle.

He replied, “I’m sure we’ll figure it out. We still have time.”

**********

Although, the time you did have left wasn’t much and it went by very quickly.

You had started sleeping on top of a large beach towel in case your water broke while you were sleeping and you woke up one night a couple of days before your due date to a decent amount of pain shooting across your stomach and an empty spot next to you in bed where Brock was supposed to be.

Shit.

Picking up your phone off of the nightstand, you quickly checked to see if you had any messages from Brock which you did. He said he had a quick job locally he had to do, just to the airport and back to SHIELD, then he would be home.

The contractions were unlike anything you’ve experienced before so more than likely you were in labor…and Brock wasn’t there.

In his texts, Brock said it wouldn’t take long but how long could you wait? He didn’t answer when you called and you tried him a few times so you decided to text him.

I think she’s coming, baby. I’ll meet you at the hospital. If you miss this, don’t plan on coming home…I’m sorry, I love you but I’m hormonal and scared to death.

On your way out the door, you picked up your bag that you remember packing a few months ago, the little outfits you picked out for her to wear home and everything you needed for your time in the hospital.

It was 2:30 in the morning and the city was quiet. You stared out of the car window as your Uber driver raced to the hospital, there wasn’t a lot going on besides the bright lights above the sidewalk, a few people walking beneath them, and you wondered where your husband was. Hopefully he was alright.

Before arriving at the hospital, you had called your doctor to tell him you were in labor or at least you thought you were and you tried Brock one more time before checking in…still no answer.

The contractions were painful and as you lay in bed, hooked up to all the machines, you wondered where Brock was and why did your daughter have to pick tonight when her father wasn’t home to start her journey into this world.

The noises inside and outside of your hospital room were tuned out by your brain and your thoughts. You probably checked your phone every 15 seconds to see if Brock had at least texted but he hadn’t. He still had time though because you were only a few centimeters dilated.

You had been resting for a little while, dealing with the contractions as they came when the doctor came in to check to see how your labor was progressing.

“How are my patients doing?” Asked Dr. Kalla as he walked through the door.

Before the door closed all the way, you thought you heard some commotion, yelling, and something hitting the floor but you didn’t think anything of it.

“Fine, Dr. Kalla. They seem like they’re getting closer.” You replied, just as he started to check how far along you were.

Dignity was out the window when it came to labor and delivery so it only made sense that Brock practically broke down the door while you were being checked by your doctor.

He took one look at the doctor and then yelled, “What the fuck do you think you’re doin’, guy?!!!”

Brock was ready to knock the doctor to the floor when you yelled at him, “BROCK, STOP!! Dr. Kalla was just checking my labor progression! What is the matter with you?!!”

Dr. Kalla was finishing his check when Brock’s friend, Jack Rollins, stuck his head in the room to say, “Rumlow…I’m gonna go park the truck.” He paused, looked at the doctor, then looked at you and continued, “Whoa…heyoooooo!”

“I’m gonna kill you!” Yelled Brock and started to chase Jack out of the room.

Ripping the cool wash cloth off of your forehead, you yelled at Brock, “I’m gonna kill YOU, Rumlow! I’m so sorry, Doctor. He’s a big dumb animal.”

The doctor replied, “It wouldn’t have been the first time a husband has knocked me out. You’re progressing quickly. You can still have the epidural if you want to but I know you said you wanted to do this naturally. Is that still your plan?”

A contraction was hitting right at that moment.

You took a minute to breathe through it before answering, “Yes, that’s still my plan but thank you and again, I am so sorry about him.”

“I’ll be back in a little bit to check you again.” The doctor said.

“Hey doc, I’m really sorry.” Said Brock.

“It’s your first baby, I’ll give you a pass. Enjoy these last moments as a family of two.” He said with a kind smile and closed the door behind him.

Your smile quickly disappeared as the door closed and through gnashed teeth, you said, “I cannot believe you, Rumlow! He’s a DOCTOR!!”

“Well, what was I supposed to think, I rush in here and another man has his fingers inside of you!” He growled back.

Fighting the pain of a contraction, you replied, “Again, he’s a doctor!! You didn’t recognize him?!! He’s been my doctor for a handful of appointments!”

“Alright, alright, doll. I’m sorry, ok? I’m sorry I was out on a job, I’m sorry I almost knocked the doctor’s teeth out, I’m just…sorry.” Said Brock, kissing your forehead.

It really was hard to stay mad at him so you just decided to switch gears and move on.

“It’s ok, Brock. She’ll be here soon, ya know.” You said. “Ow, ow, ow!”

“Seems like she wants out now.” Brock said with a wide smile.

“Are we ready for this?” You asked with a hitch in your voice.

He moved a stray hair away from your eyes and replied, “Ready as we’ll ever be, doll. She’s comin’ whether we’re ready or not.”

**********

The next time the doctor checked, he broke your water, said you were close and it will almost be time to push. Breathing through your contractions with quick inhales and exhales, your eyes fluttered closed at the really bad ones and Brock was there to hold your hand through all of them.

Expecting the doctor, the door opened but it was Jack that walked in.

“I’m here to check the patient.” He joked, holding two fingers in the air.

“Get outta my room, Jack!” You shouted at him through a rather painful contraction.

A devilish grin stretched across Jack’s lips as he replied, “I’m kidding, y/n! I’m kidding! I just wanted to see how you were doin’ and if you needed anything.”

“Who are you and what have you done with the real Jack Rollins?” You asked.

Jack replied, “I’m just gonna say, I’ll be right outside if you’re ready to have another one put in you when this one is out.”

Jack ran for the door as Brock chased him.

“Get outta my wife’s room and you don’t get to come back until the baby is out!” Shouted Brock.

After Jack slipped out of the room, the doctor came back.

“You ready to push y/n? It’s time to meet your baby.” Said Dr. Kalla.

You nodded as Brock kissed the top of your head and helped you get into position.

It was chaotic in your room, to say the least. Doctors and nurses everywhere, Brock holding your leg, telling you to push, and you focusing on desperately wanting to meet your baby daughter.

And after a handful of pushes, some very strong curse words, and encouragement from everyone around you, your little girl finally graced everyone with her presence and she was very vocal about it.

The picture of perfection, little Natalie Elizabeth Rumlow was finally here and she was so worth the wait.

All you wanted to do was stare at her, the perfect tiny combination of you and Brock fit in the crook of your arms like she was always meant to be there. And your husband couldn’t stop smiling.

“It’s obvious I’ve never really held a baby before, isn’t it?” He asked.

You returned a smile and replied, “Eh, maybe a little…but not too bad.”

The door opened slowly and Jack peeked in, holding a stuffed unicorn, “Is it safe? Has the screaming stopped? I’d like to meet her.”

“It’s safe…come on in, Uncle Jack.” You said.

Jack was actually a natural when it came to holding babies.

“If you tell anyone I’m soft when it comes to babies, I’ll fuckin’ kill you, Rumlow!” Said Jack.

That made you both laugh.

Natalie’s first visitor was her Uncle Jack but many more visitors of family and friends followed after him, of course she slept through most of it like newborns do, only waking up to be fed and changed.

And after they all had gone home, it was just the three of you finally alone and you were exhausted.

“You think I’ll be good at this Dad thing, sweetheart?” Asked Brock, watching Natalie sleep.

“I do, baby. But just remember that nobody’s perfect. We’ll both make mistakes, I’m sure.” You replied.

“You’ll have to help me.” He said.

You gently touched Natalie’s head, her wild dark hair reminded you a lot of her dad’s.

“We’ll help each other, baby.” You said with a warm smile.

Brock inched closer to you and planted a gentle kiss on your lips.

“I love you.” Whispered Brock.

You whispered back, “I love you too.”

**********

Three Months Later

“Why?!! She’s just a tiny baby! Why?!” Asked Brock, flustered and pacing back and forth in the exam room.

“It’s just that time, baby. It’s not like she’s gonna remember.” You said. “I told you that you didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to.”

It was time for Natalie’s first shots and it probably was a mistake to bring Brock with you but you thought maybe he could comfort you too. It wasn’t easy watching those needles pierce her skin and seeing her cry but you handled it better than Brock did.

In the car, on the way home, you took a phone call from the doctor’s office.

“Yes, I completely understand. Thank you.” You said and hung up.

Brock asked, “What did they say?”

“Yeah, they said you’re not allowed to come with me anymore!” You yelled.

“So I got a little upset, what’s the big deal?!” He asked with a shrug.

You playfully punched him in the shoulder.

“You made those nurses cry, Brock! THAT’S the big deal!” You said.

“Serves them right for hurting my little girl.” He said. “So I’m really not allowed back?”

“Not unless those nurses recover from their PTSD!” You hissed.

A sly smile appeared on Brock’s face as he said with a chuckle, “Totally worth it. It’s a story I’ll be able to tell her when she’s older.”

Biting back a smile, you couldn’t do anything but shake your head at him. You reached out and brushed his cheek with your knuckles. Brock turned his head quickly to kiss your hand, Natalie was babbling to herself in her carseat, and you were endlessly in love with both of them.

She really was the best unexpected surprise you didn’t know you wanted but now couldn’t picture living without.

Tag List: @munsonownsmyass @gijos @k-marzolf @nutmeg17 @nekoannie-chan @staley83 @bartonsparrow25

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @randomlittleimp

If I tagged you and you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again. As always, thank you again for reading!

#brock rumlow #brock rumlow x reader #brock rumlow x female reader #brock Rumlow fanfic #brock rumlow imagine #brock rumlow smut

19 notes · View notes