#twig mini drabbles

[chilling-seavey]

Maybe sometimes during her pregnancy she feels uncomfortable with penetration but still wants to have sex with George, so he just grinds against her and rubs his dick against her clit until they both cum

ANON THIS IS SO HOTTTTTTTTTT

I love realism so much...I love imperfection...I love this.

This is so good. Got them spooning in bed, her pregnancy pillow tucked around her body and under her belly, and his hands are all over her and he's thrusting between her thighs that are pressed together, letting out pretty groans against her neck and into her hair, and her hand is down there helping him reach the right spots... and it's a little ungraceful but they're desperately grinding against each other to find what feels good until she's shuddering in his arms with a cry of pleasure, drooling onto her pillow a little...and when he cums too, he covers the apex of her thighs and it's sticky and warm and she's giggling so blissfully as he goes to grab some tissues to clean her up

[writingfics-passingtime]

Bucky and queen song

Waving Your Banner

This drabble is part of JJ’s Mixtape - a mini series based on my followers’ favourite songs and characters. You can read more of them here!

Song Prompt: We Will Rock You - Queen

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (flirtatious, no pronouns used)

Word Count: ~1300

CW: swearing, some flirting, suggestive jokes, a bit of tickling

minors dni: this work does not contain smut, but does contain a flirtatious/suggestive interaction between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

Note: Thanks, anon! My initial note-to-self from when you first sent this was, verbatim, "okay but dodgeball would be fucken hilarious with we will rock you" - so we've gone with an Avengers training game vibe with this one

The woods hummed with tension, broken by the occasional crack of a branch or the muffled thud of boots. The Avengers had turned what should’ve been a simple training game into an all-out war, and your team was desperate to gain the upper hand. Somewhere ahead, in the shadow of the tree-line, stood the final obstacle: Bucky Barnes, silent, brooding, and lethal, guarding his team’s flag, the White Wolf circling his den.

You crouched beside Sam behind a cluster of bushes, your pulse steady but sharp as you surveyed the terrain. Bucky was right where you expected him, leaning casually against a tree just outside the flag's perimeter. He looked calm, detached even, but you knew better. The slightest flicker of movement would set him in motion, and if he was after you, there’d be no escaping. Flag perimeters were a no-fly-zone, so you and Sam would have to take it on foot.

“Alright,” Sam said, breaking the silence. “We need a plan. And by we, I mean you, because I’m not getting anywhere near the Winter Soldier.”

You shot him an incredulous look. “You’re faster than me.”

“He’s a wall. A brick wall with trust issues and superhuman reflexes.”

You sighed, pressing your back against the thick trunk of a tree. “Then we need a distraction. Something that’ll actually make him move.”

Sam raised a brow. “Oh, yeah? What’s your genius plan?”

“You,” you said, giving him a pointed look. “You could bait him. Taunt him. Goad him into leaving his post.”

“And get steamrolled by the murder machine? Hard pass.” He scoffed. "Besides, you’re obviously better bait.”

The heat rushed to your face immediately. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on,” Sam teased, his grin widening. “You’ve got that whole… thing going on.”

“What thing?”

He waved a hand vaguely at you. “You know. The whole ‘badass with a secret soft side’ thing. He’ll eat it up. Hell, I think the whole team’s noticed the way he looks at you.”

You glared at him. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

“He does,” Sam interrupted, revelling in your reaction. “Come on, you could probably get him to do whatever you wanted. Just say something like, ‘Oh, Bucky, is that a vibranium arm or are you just happy to see m-”

You shoved him into the bush.

Sam tried to silence his little grunts as he pulled himself out, yanking the twigs from his armour plates. “Fine. You wanna argue about this all day, or should we win?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Just send in Redwing.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

The plan was simple enough: Redwing would create a distraction in a bush behind Bucky, luring him away from the flag, giving you and Sam time to move in and grab it. You moved carefully, keeping low as you crept through the underbrush. The tension in the air was electric, every rustle of leaves amplified by your own awareness of how close Bucky was.

But, true to form, Sam couldn’t resist screwing with you.

As you crept closer to the clearing, Redwing darted toward you and made a ruckus in the bush partially shielding you from view. It was more than enough to give you away, and before you could even curse Sam’s name, you heard it - the unmistakable sound of boots crunching leaves, closing in fast.

Your head whipped around just in time to see Bucky moving toward you with the kind of speed that made your heart stutter. His expression was sharp, predatory, and - gods help you - just a little amused.

“Shit,” you muttered, bolting from your hiding spot.

“Running won’t help you,” Bucky called after you, his voice dark and smooth, laced with amusement.

You didn’t bother responding, too focused on dodging tree trunks and low-hanging branches. But it didn’t matter how fast you ran; he was faster. In seconds, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you clean off your feet.

“Gotcha,” he murmured, his voice low in your ear.

“Not yet, you don’t,” you growled, twisting sharply in his grip.

You elbowed him in the side, breaking free for a split second, but he was faster. He blocked your next move, his vibranium hand catching your wrist and spinning you around. You didn’t go down without a fight, aiming a kick at his shin and struggling against his hold, refusing to make it easy for him.

“Feisty,” he muttered, almost admiringly, his grip tightening as you wrestled.

You managed to get one arm free, landing a half-decent shove against his chest. He staggered back slightly but recovered in less than an instant, his smirk returning, sharper than before.

“Alright,” he said, his voice edged with amusement, “you wanna play rough? Let’s play rough.”

Before you could react, he was on you, trapping you between his body and the wide trunk of a tree. His fingers darted to your ribs, pressing against your sides with infuriating precision.

You jolted, a startled laugh bursting out before you could stop it. “What the fu- hey! No, that’s cheating!”

“Cheating?” he echoed, his grin widening as he tickled you again, this time catching your waist. “You’re the one trying to fight dirty.”

You squirmed, trying to slap his hands away, but the tickling was relentless, and your traitorous laughter left you weak, your arms useless.

“No! I- dammit, Barnes!”

Seizing the moment, he stepped back, grabbed both your wrists and yanked you against him, hauling you effortlessly over his shoulder. You kicked your legs in protest, but his grip was unyielding, his hand steady against the backs of your thighs.

“Put me down!” you demanded, pounding your fists against his unfairly muscled back.

“Not until you’re in jail,” he said, his voice low and smooth, the vibration of it sending a shiver through you.

“This is cruel and unusual punishment,” you grumbled, your cheeks burning as you felt his arm tighten around your thighs.

He chuckled, the sound warm and agonising. “Unusual, maybe. But I’d say you’re enjoying it.”

“Barnes!” you snapped, squirming harder.

His laughter deepened, and he carried you with an ease that was both infuriating and maddeningly attractive. When he finally stopped, he set you down just outside the jail, his hands lingering at your waist.

“Let me go,” you said, though the bite in your tone had softened.

He stepped closer, his body a looming presence as his eyes bore into yours. “Say please.”

You scowled, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Didn’t think so,” he said, his smirk widening as he stepped forward, forcing you to step back - straight into the jail’s boundary.

You glared at him, your chest heaving as he stood just inches away, his gaze dark and intent. “Happy now?”

“Not yet,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp, “but close.”

Before you could fire back, Sam’s triumphant whoop echoed through the trees. You turned just in time to see him flying above your team's base with Bucky's team's flag, waving it over his head like a trophy.

Bucky groaned, his head falling back briefly before he levelled a sharp glare at you. “Distraction,” he muttered under his breath with a shake of his head, the word practically dripping with accusation.

Your lips curved into a coy smile despite yourself.

“You’re too damn good at it,” he said, his tone darker now, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary before he turned and stalked off.

Flushed, you called after him. "This isn't over, Barnes!"

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine, turning to face you as he walked backwards towards his next mission. "Not by a long shot."

[galaxofmuses]

Drabble: A Visit

It was a normal day in the forest,The morning dew still glistening in the sunlight as the Flickies chirped and greeted each other, but then a snap of the twig interrupted the two and flew off. A pair of worn hiking boots appeared out of the wood and revealed a sky blue hedgehog; it was not a youthful sound, but rather an elderly groan. “Ah, these old bones are not what they used to be…” Looking up ahead to see the cottage. With a sigh of relief the mobian approaches the home and passes by the porch to see a rather cute red door and looking over to see the mail overflowing a bit. That made him raise a brow with concern and then look back at the front door, to gather up the courage and knock on the door.  

Within a few seconds, the door opens. The two hedgehogs made eye contact with each other. The youthful mobian looks rather confused as to why they came by in such a frail looking hedgehog and wearing a bomber jacket, a sling leather pack, hiking gloves and thick leather hiking boots. The one thing Sky notices is that the elderly hedgehog’s hands were shaking out of nervousness. 

“Uhh….Can I help you sir?”

The old man couldn’t help, but to look up and try to smile. Oh he was about to hug him, but he hesitated in fear of making things awkward.

“Ah! Sorry Sonny-boy…It…It has been too long…..Skyler.” 

Sky is taken aback from this stranger knowing his real name, only his friends know about his true name. Now things are getting curiouser and suspicious. “How do you know my name?” He quickly looked around and well there was no one else in sight, it was only him. “Well…come on in. I don’t want to talk outside.” With that Skyler lets him inside the cozy cottege. 

With a nod of thanks as he goes to take off the worn off boots on the mini shoe shelves that are on the side of the door out of respect. The last thing he wants to do is to leave a trail of nature and dirt all over the wooden floors. Skyler closes the door and has the nagging feeling that something is up with this unexpected guest. He hasn’t been feeling too great since the Starfall Islands and it has been a few months to recover and struggling to even sleep or eat. 

As Charles eventually sits down on a nearby plush chair and looks around at the living room which has a coffee table, a series of photos of different zones and selfies of Sonic and his friends. The huge soft rug surrounding the sitting area overall was just the cherry on top for this room. In addition to the kitchen right across the room, Sonic did go in there to take out the bottles of green tea from the mini fridge and close it. Walking back into the living room and offering the drink to Charles, the elderly hedgehog thanks Skyler and takes the bottle. Skyler goes to hop on the sofa which is next to him. As the two sip their tea and Sky breaks the ice.

“So…..How did you manage to find this place?....and….You didn’t call me by my alias and know my real name.”

Charles chuckled softly and looked back at Skyler with a mix of emotions, as if there was something across his mind. “Sonny boy…Skyler. I have been looking for you and I need to talk to you about something.” He takes a worn out photo from his pack that he set aside and hands it to Sky. 

The young hedgehog raises a brow in suspicion at first and then takes a sharp breath to take the photo to look. His eyes widened and jaw dropped. The photo contains two adult hedgehogs and a younger looking Charles. What hits Skyler the most is that the female mobian is carrying a child. 

It was him.

 A whirlwind of memories burst through his mind. The words, the voices, the encouragement to survive. Yet even if those moments we’re only for a minute or even mere seconds. Those memories are absolutely precious for the hedgehog. As he shakes off the shock and tries to put his feelings together. Speechless on what to say, yet Charles is a patient mobian and understanding that he dropped such a reveal for this young boy. Skyler slowly looks at the other for a moment and then looks back at the photo to finally notice the baby blue blanket. With that Sky gets up to rush to his room and open the closet that is full of junk. He begins to dig out the mess, but eventually finds the blanket still in one piece, but it might need a bit of care. Running back to the living room as the other was not phased from Skyler’s super speed. He recognized that ability all too well. 

Skyler is trying to keep it together and feels his hands shaking as he hands over the blanket to Charles. As the elder’s eyes widened with shock and seeing the rather well not exactly clean blanket, but yet on the corner that was etched in with Skyler’s name is clear as day. The silence is still filling up the room and while the breeze and Flickies are still chipping happily. Charles eventually gives the blanket back to him.

“....Skyler…..I can’t believe you kept the blanket all this time…I thought…..I thought you would have hated what we have done to you.”

Sky takes a pause to answer why he even made this decision and then looks back at his found relative. Looking at the returned blanket he is holding in thought and looks up to finally reply.  “I….I used to when I was young, but….it was the only identity I have, but I kept calling myself Sonic. It didn’t felt right for me hiding my real name forever so….I-I started to embrace it.” He chuckled lightly at Charles and looked back at the family photo. “Even if I have no idea who my parents are….but….T-Tell me who you are.” 

“Well…My name is Charles Luxhart,so please just call me Uncle Chuck, no need to be formal about saying my whole name.”

The familiar family terminology was familiar for Skyler, but that term was used for another one that he cares about. Refocusing from this reunion and now he is pondering with so many questions and so many concerns. Then his communicator made a beeping sound, it was his friends, then it dawned on him that the messages reminded him. 

“Ah Snaps! I forgot! I gotta do something today! A-Ah sorry Cha-U-Uncle Chuck!”

Charles cracked a smile at the familiar emotions that are quite familiar like his brother. And shakes his head. “It’s okay Skyler, I figured I dropped by at a bad time..well I did come here uninvited after all and dropped so much on ya.” He takes out a card and hands it over to him. 

“Just give me a call anytime when you are ready Sonny-boy and I’ll come looking for you. Oh and thank you for the drink.” 

As Sky takes the card and looks at the very dainty and neat handwriting with his name and phone number. Almost forgetting about the photo and returning it back to them. Charles takes the photo back with a nod of thanks and well silently  finishes the bottled tea and sets it on the coffee table. Skyler nods and tries to cover up with a smile as he always does. “Yeah. Hey, I'll open the door for you.” As the two reach the front door and Sky turns the knob to open the entrance once more. “So…How did you even travel here? It might have taken a bit of a trip from the train station to here.” There wasn’t really a proper transportation to the dense woods so there was no way that Charles would have even walked miles away to get to this cottage home. 

The elderly mobian grinned. It was quite a familiar sight for the younger one. “Heh…I actually used my plane to get here. Don’t worry about me, I’ve explored through denser woods than these. Also your neighbors are quite nice as well.” On cue as some Flickies passed by on the blue skies. That made Sky chuckle and after a few more random small talk, they both said their goodbyes. Charles did not want to start the affectionate gesture yet, it was still rather too soon for that moment. With a beat, the hedgehog walks away as Sonic watches him go into the pathway and deep into the woods. 

 As his smile fades out and now he has got a lot of mind that he actually met someone who knows him. A family member who painstakingly found his home and just to drop the news about his parents. His mind is going through so many thoughts and questions, then a ping from his watch plays. Which made him jump a bit. Looking at the message and then his concerns turns into a panicked state. He needed to prepare and change into his usual outfit. Today was the day when his friends were going to start their journeys. 

Meanwhile....

The three we’re waiting for Sonic which is quite…strange for him. Knuckles jokes that he probably overslept or something. While the other two both disagree even if the throught is amusing. Then with amazing timing and speed, Skyler finally shows up and of course the echidna had to say something first. “Well looks like you’re the one who’s too slo-” He stopped once he saw the glaring green eyes of Amara’s fury. That made the treasure hunter change the subject rather quickly. “A-Anyways! So uhhh I ain’t got any emotional words to say. What about you two?”

Wren and Amara looked at each other and it seems like the two were prepared for something, yet they both know that they don’t want to drag the goodbyes for too long either. The young fox piped up first. 

“Well It’s not a forever goodbye, but…I’ll make sure to call or send some photos when I can! Oh and uhh I am gonna drop off Knuckles to his destination.” 

Knuckles silently nods with a smirk across his face and that made Sky grin back in return. Oh how much he is going to miss that echidna’s big brotherly vibes and Tails’ bickering about his commissions and Eggman thwarting the planet again. Amara takes a deep breath and looks at the two and then Skyler.

“Well…I did finally revise my menu and also I am finally having my own food truck. Ah! It took so long, but I think it is going to fit well for my business. But! All three of you need to be careful and especially you Skyler!”

Sky couldn’t help, but to chuckle nervously and adjust his quills which are still tipped with the strange black corruption.

“H-Hey! I’ll be fine! I’m more worried about you three!”

They all burst into laughter and the four had a bit of more small talk and what other plans they are going to do. Eventually Wren and Knuckles left with the Tornado as the two hedgehogs watched them fly away. As Skyler and Amara continues to watch the boys go into the distant skies. As the two finally departed on their separate ways. Now Skyler is pondering about the Uncle Chuck and now the curiosity starts to pick up of what happen to his parents.

WIth a nod of determination he speeds off back home and with the image of the family photo in mind.

'I gotta know what happened to them....I know we're gonna talk again Uncle Chuck.'

[drgon-wings]

Smaugust Day 12 - Glow

Another day of Smaugust, prompt list by none other than @pencilcat! Hope you enjoy the short story!

Warnings: a bit of a panic attack but nothing severe.

Summary: Kelp is wandering through the dark rainforest trying to find Blueberry when he hatches a brilliant plan.

Kelp walked through the rainforest, tripping on tree roots along the way. Blueberry told him to meet at a clearing, but where was that? The canopy blocked out the last of the sun’s rays.

I shouldn’t have come so late!

Earlier, he was adding to his collection when he lost track of time. Before he knew it, he was sprinting down the hallway, almost running headfirst into the queen herself!

As he ventured forward, he suddenly heard a twig snap. He turned.

"H-hello?"

No reply.

Perhaps I’ve just imagined it.

It was nearly impossible to see where he was going. Strange calls echoed eerily, along with more twig snapping.

Maybe I should head back. She’s probably asleep anyways.

As he turned around, he tripped on something. Was it a tree root or a leg? A leg that intended him to fall so he could easily be killed? Suddenly, it felt as if a million eyes glared at him. He cocooned himself with his wings, holding his head in his talons.

Oh no, what if a crocodile attacks? Or a jaguar? Or even a bear? Or a… Or a—

A sudden thought crossed his mind. A brilliant idea

As he got up, he focused. He felt his body grow warm as his scales lit. They were like mini suns, almost blinding him. But the path was clear and illuminated, and he moved on.

He flashed his scales a few times, hoping to attract attention. Several more and—

Rustle.

What was that? He tensed. A jaguar?

A dark figure darted from the treetops, and Kelp practically screamed.

“Hush, hush! You’ll wake up the others!”

“Oh, phew.” He exclaimed. “It’s just you.”

“Yeah,” replied Blueberry. “I didn’t see you at the clearing, so I tried to look for you. I almost gave up when I saw your flashing!” 

“What’d you need me for anyway?”

“Well,” she started. “I wanted to take you for a surprise night flight, but since we’re here, why don’t we do it now?”

“Yeah.” Kelp replied. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Two silhouettes reigned the starry night. 

P.S.: I originally wanted to make this a drabble (100 words in length), but I ended up writing a lot and it didn't feel like throwing out much of the plot just to make it fit 100 words. Also, I originally wanted to make a short comic for this but never found the time. I might draw something for the story in the future but that's just a maybe. But yeah, first short story on my blog!

[the-wayside]

Writing for Instinct is not going well, perfectionism/dumb brain/might actually be shit, but my friend (sadist if you ask me) challenged me to do a short fire drabble, 300 words, then post, no arguments. The prompt was picnic.

I overshot at 480 and they technically don't go on a picnic but I like a mini introspect as much as the next self involved twig.

***

It’s a sunny Tuesday when Kinn catches Porsche in the halls of the compound, big hand on his waist turning him back around and a big smile that only Porsche gets to see lighting up his face.

Porsche runs a cursory glance over Kinn, humming and eyes narrow. He’s still on shift for another two hours and they can’t have another quickie in one of the cleaner’s closets again because Ken almost caught them last time when Porsche’s foot slipped from where it was perched against one of the industrial mops, pants around his right leg, looking entirely unprofessional.

And Kinn isn’t giving off lusty workplace procrastination.

“Come with me,” He offers Porsche the hand he slips off his waist and Porsche takes it without even thinking, trailing behind Kinn who is clearly on a mission, but not one he deigns to share with Porsche.

The compound has so many twists and turns that it’s easy to find a new place you’ve never been to on every floor. Kinn shuffles him into the elevator, still smiling, softer, with a tinge of pride and satisfaction that Porsche can’t help but be infected with.

He laughs because he can’t stop it from bubbling up.

“Kinn.” His voice comes out breathless and kind of giddy because that’s how being with Kinn makes him feel. Just his presence can send a gentle warmth through his stomach and up into every nook and cranny of him, finally settling in his heart

“Where are we going?” Porsche tries again.

Kinn kisses his cheek, ducking quickly and smiling when Porsche slaps his hand against his own cheek, faux scandalized.

“We’re going on a picnic.”

He looks so proud and Porsche feels love swell up inside him like a balloon that pushes at all of his sharp jagged edges and makes him soft in a way that only being with Kinn can make him.

“In the compound?”

Kinn hums, “Mmm, there’s a garden you haven’t seen.”

It’s so sweet Porsche doesn’t know what to do, “Yeah?”

Kinn nods, not realizing the waves of feelings he’s unleashed in Porsche. For the longest time, Porsche always felt like he was somebody’s and nobody’s. He was fun for a night but never for a weekend. Never meeting the parents, never standing by anyone’s side long enough to do things like have spontaneous picnics. Never good enough to date.

And here was the heir to a mafia conglomerate excitedly dragging him for snacks in the middle of the workday. It’s absurd and…perfect.

God…I love him.

Porsche tugs on Kinn’s hand and tips his face up like he does when he wants a kiss. Kinn obliges him with a soft press of his lips against Porsche’s as the elevator dings open.

“You better make it quick,” Porsche tells him, “I’ve only got 30 minutes for lunch.”

Kinn laughs, “I’ll talk to the boss.”

[cullxtheherd]

Hey! Here’s a random mini fic or drabble request; something I’ve been thinking about a lot. How about teenaged Jacob Seed. What was he like? How did he interact with his baby brothers? Feelings?? Anyway that’s vague asf I know but it makes me angsty to think about.

hi! uhoh okay skdjksfkdff this is uhh sfdjnfkfdg- good luck! if you are sensitive to depictions of (mostly) graphic physical/domestic abuse etc/more please: avoid this piece, thank you!

The dust is hot and thick, midsummer sun beating harshly on the back of his lily-white neck. Jacob angles, forehead pocketing into his shoulder to wipe away a layer of sweaty accumulation. “Oh,” He mumbles, sneakers kicking up dirt while he hums out a rhythm, “I wanna’ dance with somebody.” Hands slipping up on the straps to his backpack he readjusts, grip higher near the loose across-the-chest buckle, “I wanna feel the heat with somebody.”

It is almost shameful, the tune that he sings, lips formed in a wavering line; he’d be beaten if his father found out. Not only was he a deeply racist and hateful man, but the song's message wasn’t exactly Sunday School approved, either. Sniffling he resigns to humming as he cuts through the woods surrounding their home. 

With no real, pressing reason to hurry home today he takes his time- by his calculations his father should still be on the road, peddling the last case of Bibles. Crunching down on a particularly well mouldered log he nearly loses his balance, arms spreading out wide to counteract his momentum. Feeling well proud of himself he hikes along, over a large group of rocks that aren’t even in his path.

Jacob, normally a young man that is inundated with responsibility and duty to his brothers and, consequently his mother, takes occasion to swordfight bugs with branches and tramp in the stream in his well beaten and leaky sneakers. He imagines his shadow coming to life and chasing him- fends it off with a stick too. 

Here, during these private, simple moments he is the champion, the victor. He saves his brothers, his friend - a crush at school - all of them: even by penalty of himself. 

Sliding down the mossy backside of a partially downed tree trunk he stills, posed precariously and listening: crunching, hard footsteps. Running. 

“Jacob!”

In a split second he is down, on his feet and moving as quickly as he can, “Joseph!” He can hear the footfalls turn, redirecting and before he has time to truly panic, he has eyes on his middle sibling, “Joe!” Two large and lanky hands grasp at narrow, bony shoulders, “What’s wrong- are you okay?”

“I’m-” The scant thirteen year old croaks between rushed and weeping breaths.

“Where’s the baby?” 

Unable to jump-start himself, Joseph hyperventilates, entire body stuttering with rushing, unhindered emotion.

Jacob shakes him, jostling him to attention, “Where’s John?!”

“Home, but,” Making progress is difficult but he musters, lower lip sucking into his mouth for a moment before he can continue, “Daddy’s got Momma and-” His brother turns but Joseph reaches out, gripping to stop him. Under the worried, frantic gaze of his brother his voice nearly goes silent under an oncoming sob, “It’s real bad Jake- never seen it this bad before...”

Jacob isn’t sure of the last time he’d run through the briars so quickly and they scrape against his cheeks, scoring deep, bloody lines. Adrenaline running high he barely notices after the first three or four and when he bursts through the line of overgrown brush, on to the dirt-and-gravel drive his mind is one too many steps ahead to even think about the thorns. 

The porch and rusted out station wagon go by in a blur, a flash of ginger down the hall as he approaches the back room. Suddenly and all at once he can hear again: the shouting, cursing, bloody mess of it all is in high definition at last. 

The bedroom door to the nursery is half off its hinges. A shoe lay abandoned on the threshold. John cries from somewhere within. Between the ear rattling screams of flesh on welted flesh the dial tone of a phone drones on, uninterrupted and he, long and lanky and disproportionate as he is at sixteen, enters quietly. 

“Isaac,” His mother is more than a sight, mouth blossoming and voice heavy with blood, “Please!” Though she is clearly exhausted from her ordeal, sluggish and dizzy, she blocks him from her infant son.

Jacob no longer cemented in his semi-adolescent fear hammers across the room, a wrench across his fathers back. Years ago Isaac would have tossed his son aside easily but, lately, Jacob has been very nearly victorious. 

And, so, they struggle: huffing and beating and hollering out- grunting and spitting at each other as they can. By the time he manages to land a successful enough string of punches he is bleeding heavily from his eyebrow, nose and mouth. 

Jacob wrestles an arm under Isaacs chin from behind on a blind counter move, flexing with the help of his other arm. “Give it-” He nearly eats the side of his fathers hand, “Give up old man!”

Vaguely he registers Joseph tending to his mother and youngest sibling while he struggles on the ground amongst the rubble. John squeals his little lungs out somewhere behind him and, despite barely having any energy left, he finds himself incensed. Grip tightening he manages a bitter unhumorous laugh, “I’ve won and you know it!”

The fight between them unfortunately lasts until Jacob can feel Isaac slacken under the newfound enormity of his grip and he keels over on his back, catching his breath. “J-jhh-” His lungs wheeze for a few beats, “Joe?” HIs legs are pinned by the dead weight of his unconscious father, “Joey?!” 

In return the absolute void of sound that he receives is more soothing than worrying and he heaves a sigh of relief. This deafening, ear splitting variety of silence means that his younger sibling had followed their well practiced evacuation plan. Slightly renewed on the fact and stored reserves of teenage resilience he gets himself up, carelessly pushing Isaac out of the way. 

Moving through the woods around the house is easy, miniature Maglite poised carefully as he navigates. “Joe?” He calls quietly within earshot of their little safe haven. “You here?” Flashing his light in the agreed upon pattern he is met with a repetition of signaling light coming from the brush.

“Jacob- Jake!” His brother is excited, voice wavering under rushing endorphins, “We did it!”

Jacob knows that this will be a much longer, drawn out process than this tiny, one-note victory. In fact he is already placing personal bets on how long after the high of escape wears off it takes his mother to return, cowering- like a dog. “Yeah,” Not willing to burst Joseph’s bubble he smiles through broken and cracked teeth on his left side. “We did.” Ducking into their fairly well hidden fort he takes visual inspection of John and then Rebecca, his mother. Gritting his teeth is painful but he does it out of habit, wincing around his deeply Southern accent, “Y’awl right, Momma?” 

She opens her mouth, jittery and bruised, “Don’t know what I ever did to deserve such good, perfect, blessed boys such as you three, hmm?” 

John squeals in her arms, startled by the confusion of it all and he reaches unabashedly for Jacob.

Reaching for the baby he’s never felt like more of a piece of shit. Sure. He’s saved the proverbial day, but it’s only for now- just this time. She’ll be back before the dawn and, without question, she will drag them sniveling along with her. And, now, more than ever before Jacob knows: he will have no choice but to break them up. 

And, so? For now they huddle in the pre dawn hours, just a few, scant days after John’s first birthday, in the shelter of twigs and mud and unregulated, Georgian wildlife. A few tins of beans to spare between the four of them and not a pot to piss in- the certainty of their fate is clear to him now: John will need noticeable bruises for Bible school. Their teachers will have to get involved- won’t have any choice once there’s sufficient evidence. And? 

Jacob must let them go to see them thrive.

[sooibian]

Paragons of Virtue

image from pinterest

🚸 pairing: sehun x fem!reader

🚸 description: “the dog ate my homework!”

🚸 themes: innocence, friendship, fluff

🚸 au: childhood au

🚸 word count: + 1.7k

🚸 a/n: the EXOs are 12 year olds! no, really. in this universe they are! this one-shot kicks off the ‘Back To School With EXO’ series of drabbles/one-shots for all individual members. hope you enjoy!!! @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt​ you have the craziest elementary school stories! thank you so much for sharing

_______________________________________________

Your parents never ‘mistakenly shred your homework to bits just to show you how a paper shredder worked'. Neither did your homework ever ‘blow away in the wind while you were walking to school’. Because a: you hardly ever walked to school - your mother drove you everyday and b: your worksheets were always neatly stacked and sealed in shiny new folders (you’d even devised a foolproof method of avoiding unsightly smudges of fingerprints on the transparent ones). If academic learning was your one true love, simple but highly functional stationery was a close second - colour coded writing equipment, neutral notebooks (the ones with animated characters were a guilty pleasure), even your year old geometry tools were as good as new. 

A stringent schedule did now allow for any embarrassing dents, cracks, or cavities wherein lived the perennial ‘I did not have the time for homework’ excuse. Come hell or high water, you were always at the top of your game.

Additionally, your greyhound was a well-behaved, not-so-little fella, so the dog never ‘ate your homework’ 

….until he did. His choice of breakfast this morning was your Geography worksheet. Ravenous, he obliterated your hours of work in a matter of seconds. You fought tooth and nail to salvage it but his grasp on the paper was ridiculously strong. 

So just like that, all of your hard work was reduced to shreds of chewed-on paper. 

If there was one thing worse than ditching school, it was turning up without having the homework done. So you clutched your stomach with clasped hands and cried wolf, “Mom, my tummy hurts! I don’t think I can go to school today!”  Just then the corner of your mouth twitched ever so slightly and her keen eyes didn’t miss the movement. 

This awfully weird sudden convulsion happened every time you told a lie. 

Stupid twitchy mouth was a dead giveaway. 

The car ride to school, although a short one, felt like an eternity. Mother told you a story about a gardener boy who became king only because he told the truth. But you were no gardener boy! And you didn’t even want to be a king --- queen! All you wanted to do was to lie low and maintain your grades (and a spotlessly bright impression in the staff room - like a shiny new pencil holder, or a stainless steel writing pad). 

The wall clock loomed over the green chalkboard, ticking away frighteningly. If you told your mother about your tummy ache now, your mouth wouldn’t twitch.

The bell rang. Your heart sank.

It was time for the short ten minute break.

Feeling helpless, you put your head down on the desk only to be startled by a sudden tap on your shoulder. A lanky boy stood blinking at you, his eyes covered with unruly bangs and lips stretched into a rationed grin. 

It was the science teacher’s son - Oh Sehun. 

Vacantly, you blinked back - hands still folded upon the desk, posture crouched  somewhere in between sitting up straight and spiralling back into the comforting state of denial.  

You wonder how he manages to read at all with a vision obstructed by a cloud of black frizz. 

You’ve never bothered about Oh Sehun before (or anyone else for that matter), except for the one scarring thing you’d once witnessed him doing - truth be told it had left you a little concerned. It was really stormy one day after school and the grounds were empty. You’d stayed back to complete an assignment and he was  probably waiting for his mother to wrap up her teacherly duties. 

The wind motioned in circles, swirling dry leaves and whatever else it could muster in its rotations. Oh Sehun stood in the middle of this ‘mini-typhoon’. Hands outstretched, mouth open, eyes shut, eyebrows raised, head thrown back toward the dark skies, he pronounced, “I am the God of Wind! Bow before me you lesser mortals!”, to absolutely...no one.

He’s blissfully unaware that you’ve been witness to his indignity and you’d like to keep it that way. For one, he’s always stood second in class and never vied for your top spot (his consistency, you think, is commendable) and secondly - and most importantly - he is the son of an authority figure.

The boy's still hovering. Shifting his mingy weight from one foot to the other. Despite your inner turmoil, you plaster a polite smile onto your face and ask, “Can I help you with something?”

“No, but I think I can?” grin still rationed, eyes still clouded, uninvited he takes the empty seat to your left.  

“You can what..?” Your eyes follow his frame as he parks his bony bottom on the worn out wooden bench.

“Help you with something? There’s obviously something wrong with you today.” He rests his chin in his flattened palm and purses his lips. Blinking.

Am I that obvious? You have an indescribable urge to shake his hair out of his eyes - to get an idea of what he’s thinking exactly.

“What makes you think there’s something wrong with me?”

Moon Taeil, the class rep, is dusting the chalkboard clean for Geography but you know his ears are on your conversation.

“Your hand didn’t shoot up once during any of the lessons today...are you okay? Do you need to go to the nurse’s room?”

Your face flushes out of embarrassment and this is….an invasion of privacy. This scrawny boy is making you uncomfortable. But you know that you could use a friend right now. Is this what friends do? Share embarrassing secrets?

“I didn’t do my Geography homework”, you start and beneath the mop of hair you notice his eyebrows skyrocket to his hairline so you hurriedly explain, “I mean, I did the homework but...”

Blink. Blink.

“My dog ate it”, your hand slides down the pocket of your skirt and you pull out shreds of paper.

You fully expect Sehun to laugh, but he doesn’t. Instead he raises his twig-like index finger and says, “Wait.”

He dashes out and returns with his backpack dangling down one shoulder and slumps back into the seat to your left. He takes out a spotless transparent folder and hands it to you.

It’s his Geography worksheet.

“There’s no way I’m copying this! I, obviously, can’t now...Madam Park will be here in like, five minutes.” You’re mortified at your desperation.

“I want you to have it. Also, Madam Park is on leave today onwards since she’s going to have a baby and all that... A new teacher is coming in who, obviously, won’t know what your handwriting is like. You can submit my worksheet instead.”

“A new teacher?” Your mouth goes dry, completely aware of how important first impressions are.

He nods.

“But why?” You notice he’s left the space given for personal details blank.

“Loyalty.”

Eyes narrowed, you shrug, utterly bewildered.

“Toward my classmates. We’re all friends first. And if this is so important to you, you can have my worksheet.”

He can’t be serious (or not serious)! 

“Are you some sort of a “Homework Peddler”? Won’t people take advantage of your -” generosity, you wanted to say, “of--of you?”

“I’m not stupid, A+...I have a system.” He relaxes into the chair and you can practically see the ‘bow-before-me-you-lesser-mortals’ aura around him. 

Students are trickling back in and you’ve consciously kept the cruel clock out of your sight. Sehun doesn’t go back to his seat, instead he settles besides you.

I don’t want to be queen.

“What’s that?” He quips.

With the corner of your mouth twitching again, your gaze drops. You take the sheet from his hands and gently put it down between your outstretched arms on the desk, “Nothing...thank you.”

His lips curl upward. Faintly.

The after-break cacophony dies down as the new teacher introduces herself as Madam Jung.

In exchange for her introduction, she wants all of yours. So to submit worksheets, she individually invites every student before the class to introduce, and to say one good thing about themselves. 

She starts from the row to your right and your stomach clenches.

One good thing? I am incapable of making friends. I am careless about my homework. There’s nothing good about me! 

Your eyes flit between Sehun (who is annoyingly unperturbed) and the worksheet which boasts of his loyalty and illegible chicken scratch.

When you realise it’s your turn next, you glance over at Sehun one last time (who is now twirling a pen between his fingers). He feels your eyes on him and catches your worried gaze and nods as if to say that it’s okay.

Feeling yet another telltale convulsion rise, you quickly scribble into the personal details space as Moon Taeil drones on about his fourth “good quality” and Madam Jung seems mighty impressed.

Before stepping in front of the class, you shove the worksheet back into Sehun’s hands. He first gapes at it which has his own name written on it and then at you - your surprisingly confident stance. Chin up, shoulders back, although your breathing is a little heavy.

Madam Jung encourages you with a motherly smile and you return it.

After introducing yourself you say, “I don’t think I have any impressive qualities, dear friends”, from the corner of your eye, you catch Sehun intently studying your face, “unlike some of you here who are complete embodiments of friendship and loyalty...”, you nod in Sehun’s direction. His wide grin makes his eyes crinkle. He sticks his tongue out and sinks into his seat, making himself tinier. 

“...but I’d like to think of myself as an honest person and, Madam Jung, I hope you’ll believe me when I say that my dog...” a now wide-eyed Sehun is shaking his head furiously, “ate my homework.”

You produce scraps - a week’s worth of toil - and lay them on Madam Jung’s desk, and the class erupts in laughter. Pursing your lips, your eyes catch Sehun’s who wordlessly encourages you to laugh along. 

Shoulders relaxed, you look at your classmates with an inexplicable sense of achievement. The kind Madam Jung chuckles, shaking her head and patting your back and your new friend (you dearly hope you can call him that now) - Oh Sehun - stands up amidst the cheerful ruckus, applauding you.

[offhirdiad]

Okay, so basically I blame Vetra for this. But we were talking about how endgame for Blue Lions route was kind of missing some things that we would’ve liked to see. So while thinking about it I kind of realized that Dimitri could’ve, especially in writing, had a great parallel when he finds out about the Flame Emperor versus the final boss in the last chapter. Thus, this mini drabble from Dimitri’s mind was born! It’s not great and I would’ve added more, but I didn’t want it to be word-for-word canon and I wanted to expand on his thoughts a bit. Either way I’m still proud of how this turned out!

          Though it were only a memory, Dimitri could remember the incident as if it was mere seconds ago. The mask falling to the ground revealing the familiar face of his step-sister and the sickening crunch of the ceramic under his boot was still fresh. It had allowed misty red to drape itself across his vision, and without thought he was tearing through the Adrestian soldiers as if they were nothing more than small twigs blocking his path.

          Her head. That’s all he wanted. To avenge the fallen, the lost, and those that did not deserve to go through such a tragedy. All of their voices screamed in his head at once to take her down. To kill. It drove him forward like an animal making the final move on their prey. But instead of teeth sinking into flesh it would be his lance.

          All of the pent up emotions since that unfortunate day at Duscur had led up to this. Every word he could muster to insult the emperor made its way to his tongue as he worked to get to her, but in the end it had done nothing for him. Just as every other time she had left in a puff of smoke with her remaining soldiers. The last time he had shook this hard was after witnessing the massacre. His young form then couldn’t hold back the sobs from despair and pain, but here all he could do was tremble in his blind fury.

          She was gone. But he swore that he would find her and that he would end her himself.

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

          On this day in particular though, things are different. That rage that once devoured his entire being only sits like embers in his chest. Dimmed down enough to keep true to himself, but fueled enough to keep him pushing forward. Their final battle was approaching as the Kingdom Army made their way through the masses of mages and beasts in their advance to the throne room.

          Victory was in sight and he was finally going to make up for all of these tragedies that had befallen them. He would finally take down Edelgard.

          Continuing their push, there’s no doubt something is off. It’s not unusual for a mage to cast spells further than someone wielding an axe, but the dark ominous cluster that he just barely dodges isn’t like anything he has seen before. For while he may not be a mage he wasn’t ignorant to their tomes. But soon enough he finds out his answer.

          It comes with great effort of making the final stretch to the throne. The ornate room gives way at the other end to a set of stairs leading up to a monster that wears Edelgard’s face. For a moment, it has the king stepping back in shock.

          Edelgard, always immaculate and pristine, was now overtaken by this hideous creature. The distended limbs and the peeling flesh of her once flawless face was enough to make his entire body recoil, but he holds himself fast as the rest of his army files in behind him.

          “What have you done?!” His voice is one of exasperation that is only enhanced by the gasps of those that echo around him. “Tell me you really haven’t done this.”

          That flame of anger threatens to rise as it burns a bit brighter in his chest. The sight of this demonic creature, the fact that she was so willing to give her body up for this cause she believed in, was beyond him. While he may not agree with her ideals, fighting as she is now was nothing compared to what he could only identify as selling her body and soul for this war. What he once tried to understand he found he couldn’t any longer. This had gone on far enough, and eventually that flame turns into a constant flicker to steel his resolve.

          “These wrongs that you claim to correct can no longer be if this is your idea of forging a better world.” He steps forward now with his lance aimed directly at the creature. “Your values are dead, and all I can do is pity what you have fallen to. I will not let you destroy more lives, and if that means going to hell with you then so be it!”

          All it takes is one intake of air to reassure himself that he’s still in control. There is no hazy mist threatening to cloud his vision or his judgement. The person who he knew and wanted to try negotiating with was gone. Instead, it was only a husk with a mask of Edelgard’s face. This time he surges at her without the goal of taking her head, but instead taking back what was lost.

[chilling-seavey]

i have such a TWIG moment, George coming back from a double header race late in the evening and when he comes home he sees you in the kitchen tidying up, knowing your son is already in bed. but to his surprise he sees the barely visible baby bump you acquired over the two weeks

I love this sweet idea 🥹 call me picky about my timelines but baby2 would be doing most of her growing during winter break but lucky for your idea here, anon, Winterfest blurbs confirmed baby3 so 🤭 let's progress...

Warnings: Lighthearted banter about body changes

It still impressed you how you managed to wrangle two kids all on your own while George was away for race weekends, especially those multi-headers. Perhaps your two little blessings were just at that age now where they worked with you more than against you, but you still found yourself completely wiped at the end of the night. You silently praised the resilience of single parents.

Your third pregnancy—compared to your first two—was not planned, and maybe it was that deep-seeded truth that made that first trimester feel all the morning exhausting. More often than before, you were debating his suggestion to hire a nanny just to take the brunt of the work off of you when he was away. You had once been adamant that it wasn't what you wanted but, damn, you were seriously starting to count down the days until George was home.

The night he finally arrived home from a double header (you swore if it was a triple you might have lost your mind), it was well into the evening and the kids had already been put to bed. They had put up a bit of a fight, wanting to wait up until George got home, but you promised them he'd check on them and give them a kiss when he got home and that seemed to be enough to pacify them.

As you wiped down the counters from dinner, you noticed the headlights of his car pulling into the driveway through the kitchen window. You kept yourself busy as he parked and grabbed his bag from the trunk. You wanted to finish the chores so you could spend the remainder of the evening with him before your exhausted body would have you falling asleep at the drop of a hat.

And before you knew it, George was in the doorway to the kitchen, resting against the frame, arms crossed casually over his chest. You glanced over at him with a sweet smile, wringing out the cloth into the sink.

"Hi," you greeted softly.

"Hi," he echoed.

George pushed himself off the doorframe and strode over to you as you dried your damp hands on a tea towel and you turned to face him to accept his quick kiss to your lips. His homecoming was second nature to you now.

"Good flight?" you asked, dropping the towel onto the counter so you could drape your arms around his shoulders.

"Mm, fine," he answered absentmindedly, his hands settling on your hips and then moving around over the front of your robe. His fingers gently played over the fabric.

You stared at him for a moment like that, just taking him in in the warm light of the kitchen, even if he was more focused on his hands than your face. You were just glad to have him back in your arms.

Finally, as if explaining his momentary awe, he stated, "You popped since I've been gone, look at you."

You glanced down at yourself too, already having noticed the way your pants had been getting harder to do up and the fact that the fabric belt of your robe was tied in more of an awkward spot than normal to accommodate your rapidly changing body. With a small hum, you agreed, "It started fast. Took almost double this time to start showing with our little guy."

"What are we at now? Nine weeks?"

"Mhm."

"Wow."

"Big already, huh?"

George chuckled lowly, playing into your banter as he finally tore his eyes away from your stomach to look you in the eye, "You're gonna be massive, love."

"Jesus, George, thanks," you laughed before retaliating with a, "Only due to the fact that it's your big ass baby inside me."

His arms slid farther around your waist to pull your body flush against his and he smiled at your playfulness as he stared lovingly into your eyes, "And I'd put fifteen more inside you if I could."

"We agreed we'd stop at two," you reminded him with a poke to his chest but there was no true heat behind your words, "This third one was enough of a surprise as it is. The last thing we need is more."

"But you look so pretty," George moaned in dismay, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, and he nipped at your earlobe. His breath fell warm against the shell of your ear, "And I can feel your little baby belly against me."

You giggled at his statement with your body pressed up snug against his, chest to chest. He smelt like airplane but the fading hints of his aftershave powered through and you ducked your nose right up under his jaw and just breathed him in. His hands slid down and gave your ass a squeeze over your robe.

After a moment of just holding each other, George took a half step back out of your embrace. You set your hands on the edge of the counter behind you and watched as his hands went back to the faint swell of your belly through the fabric of your robe. His fingers toyed with the belt before slowly pulling it undone.

"Sweetheart..." you chuckled faintly, moving a hand to grasp onto the front of your robe to keep it closed.

"Just want to look at you," he protested, lifting your hand up to kiss your knuckles before pulling open the front of your robe.

You watched his handsome face in silence, a fond smile on your face as he admired you in only your underwear in the middle of the darkened kitchen. The under-cabinet lighting created a soft, warm glow across the room and left both of you in long shadows. George still looked incredibly gorgeous...he always managed to look good, even after lengthy flights.

Just then, he crouched down onto the tile floor in front of you, splaying his hands over your bump, and he whispered to it softly, "Hey, little one. It's your daddy. You're growing so fast, aren't you?"

You smiled down at him and raked your fingers through his hair, your heart thudding in your chest at the sight of him like that. Watching him be a father was your greatest joy, and how blessed you were that life brought you him.

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[petri808]

Mystery Solved

Naluween week 10-28/29 day 4/5 cemetery/spell short Drabble

“Are you sure this is the right cemetery Gray, it’s a pretty… creepy old place.”

“Exactly.  Did you think the guy would hold it at one closer to the city?”

“Well no….”

“Let’s just find a place to hide, I was told he comes around 1 am.”

Lucy hunkers down next to Natsu for the air is growing chilly and the jacket she had brought with her wasn’t keeping her very warm.  It had been a couple of hours and if her watch was correct, it would soon be time for the black wizard to show.  She sighs, leaning her head on Natsu and closing her eyes.  Well they could just wake her up when he did.

Another hour passes, and out of the blue, they hear some crunching sounds in the distance like twigs breaking.  Gray stands up, whispering, “you two stay here, I’m gonna check it out.”

“Why you?”

“Because you don’t understand stealth,” he grits his teeth at Natsu, “just stay with Lucy.”

“Tch!”  Natsu crosses his arms and sits back down next to his teammate.  He didn’t want to admit to anyone, but the cemetery was starting to creep him the fuck out.  Too many weirdly shaped shadows shifting around in the half moonlight, and the sounds of critters scurrying, crawling, echoing off the headstones into his sensitive hearing, it was making him shudder.

“Are you cold?” Lucy asked the questions before remembering, wait, Natsu doesn’t get cold in a snow storm so why would this bother him?  She snickers, “or are you getting scared?”

“I’m not scared!”

Another loud cracking sound opposite of the direction Gray had headed in.  Natsu stiffens.  A whirling sound funnels through the cemetery, akin to the ghostly lamenting that children are often warned of, its icy winds chilling Natsu to the bone.  He sinks down closer to Lucy, grabbing for her hand.  “S-stay cl-close to me, j-just in case s-something attacks.”

She rolls her eyes, “Sure.” ‘yeah attacks…’

Bright white orbs appear amongst the trees, whizzing through the rows of headstones, as sounds of disembodied chanting fills the air.  Was the black wizard here?  Lucy scans the area as far as she could, but cannot see anything concrete, no other persons, not even a sign of where their friend might be, just more icy winds and dancing orbs. Even she was starting to get scared.

Ancient words that they could not understand flow through the darkness, was it the spells Gray talked about?  Oh Mavis, was that wizard going to raise the dead here, because Natsu wasn’t keen on the idea of fighting some half rotting, skeletons.  A deep, guttural sound reverberates throughout the air.  “What the fuck was that!”  

Lucy tries to pull her hand free from Natsu’s, “let go, you’re crushing my hand!”

Another growl followed by a shrill bellow, and they both freeze, that was close.

“I’ve got him!” Gray’s voice cuts through from a distance, “I’ve got the wizard.”

“Oh good!” Lucy let’s out an exhale, “we can go home now.”

But something is still wrong, the weird chanting hasn’t stopped nor the other phenomena cavorting around the old cemetery…  In fact… They’re getting closer!  The balls of light streak past Natsu’s head, circle, and wink out, only to pop up in a new location.  Leaves stir into mini whirlwinds, whipping around but never touching them, just, taunting the poor couple.  

Lucy is not faring much better but Natsu is damn near panicked at this point.  Give him any monster, an evil wizard, a fucking dragon, not something he can’t even see!  The slayer clings to Lucy and is too afraid to move.  “Make it stop!”  He buries his face in her chest, “make it stop!”

For several more agonizing minutes this onslaught continues, and just as they thought they couldn’t take it anymore, the winds still and the lights blink away a final time, dying away along with the strange incantations.  

Natsu peeks out, “Is…  Is it over?”

“Seems like it…”

She looks down as he looks up from his hiding place, his cheeks pinking when he realized where his face had been crushed against.  “S-sorry,” Natsu chokes out.  

“Tis, okay,” she blushes. Under the circumstances, she couldn’t fault him too harshly.  “We should just go home since it sounds like Gray already took care of the evil guy.”

“Yeah...  But c-could I stay at your apartment tonight?  I don’t think I wanna be alone.”

“Um, okay, but you’re sleeping on the couch.”

He pouts but nods his head, helping Lucy to her feet…

As they watch their friends leave the area, from behind a few trees, Gray, Gajeel, and Levy snicker to themselves.

“We make an awesome team when it comes to a scary scene.”

“Cold winds, dancing lights, a deep voice…” Levy chuckles, “we should do a haunted house for Halloween.”

“Gehe, think those two will ever figure out they just got pranked?”

“Doubt it, but pyro missed a damn good opportunity to get closer to Lucy, just didn’t realize he’d get the most freaked out!”

The trio laugh, “yeah, never figured Salamander was so easy to spook!”

But unbeknownst to the trio Natsu could hear them perfectly clear, ‘tch, fools,’ he snickers in his head, of course he was just acting scared, it got him up close with Lucy’s boobs didn’t it?  ;)-

[notafuckingissue]

Tony Stark Loves Pirates

When Tony was born, Howard wasn't exactly confused. No, he was a genius. Geniuses didn't get confused. He was more… annoyed? Looking down at his son, he turned to the doctor and just asked it directly. Maria was horrified.

“Well, where's the rest of him?”

He wasn't talking about the fact the baby was small, a little smaller than expected.

No, he was talking about how he only had half of a left leg.

“What, did you leave the rest of the leg inside or something?”

It didn't take much to figure out what was really going on. A birth defect, one they somehow hadn't caught before his birth.

Howard's son had a birth defect.

His son was defective.

Naturally, he couldn't have that. So he fixed him. Not to make things easier for Tony, as Maria might have thought. But to save himself the shame of having an incomplete son. And so Tony was outfitted with the best prosthetic that money and mind could create.

It didn't stop Howard from looking down on him, or Tony from feeling insufficient, incomplete,

Defective.

When he was 6 years old, a beacon of light appeared.

That was when he discovered pirates.

Pirates who sailed on great big beautiful ships, and fought valiantly.

Pirates with fake legs, because theirs were missing too.

Suddenly, Tony felt a little less defective.

He fully embraced his new love of pirates, cutting out an eyepatch from the fabric of the black dining room curtains.

His mother was none too happy about that.

When Jarvis found him crying Tony explained everything to him, the pirates and their eye patches and peg legs.

The next day Jarvis brought Tony a toy sword and proper eyepatch. He was overjoyed to see Tony finally feel like he belonged.

Howard took away the eyepatch, said it would ruin Tony's eyesight (he was already imperfect enough, he didn't need to screw it up more) but Tony kept the sword hidden.

He would play with the sword out in the garden while Jarvis watched him, his parents away for some fancy event or another. Swinging it towards the low hanging branch of a tree, he broke a twig clean off of it and immediately brought it to Jarvis. His eyes glimmered with pride and joy as he explained what had happened. He was slowly proving to himself that just because he was imperfect, didn't mean he couldn't still accomplish things.

Jarvis could tell the kid would grow up to be one hell of a fighter.

As Tony grew up, and Howard continued to be disappointed by him, he sought solace in the novels depicting those adventures on the high seas he loved so much. Books were the one thing Howard had yet to take away from him.

After his parents passing, he finally ventured into Howard's office. The memories of times he had entered before without permission weren't fond. He opened the various drawers, searching through the contents until he stopped at one drawer in particular.

The drawer contained many toys Howard had taken from him during his younger years.

A barbie doll, one of the ones that bent at the knees, with the bottom of it's right leg missing. He had been playing with the daughter of another family his father was doing business with, and she had given it to him. She didn't like to play with it anymore because it was broken, but in Tony's eyes it was perfect. He had made a little prosthetic leg for it to match his own.

A toy magic wand, from the goodie bag of a birthday party he had attended, taken away simply because it was pink and heaven forbid Howard's son play with some girly toy. He couldn't afford to mess up any more.

And at the bottom of the drawer, the eyepatch Jarvis had gotten him.

Tony gently dug it out of the drawer, and held it to his chest as he cried.

Because he finally understood why.

Howard had taken these things away, not to try and prevent him from becoming less perfect.

But to try and stop Tony from thinking that what he was was okay.

And now Tony was determined to prove him wrong.

Just because he had a defect, did not make him defective.

He had upgraded his prosthetic many times over the years, being the mechanic he was. There was one iteration that had included a mini cooler the size of a soda can, just because he could. Rhodey’s reaction was amusing.

They took his prosthetic away while he was in captivity, and he hadn't felt that powerless in a long time. Not to mention the car battery attached to his chest.

Another part of him made of something else.

When he became Iron Man, that sparked a whole new field of ideas. He made a prosthetic that housed an extra power source, in case he needed a boost. Started making them red and gold to match the suit rather than trying to keep them muted colors.

He even started wearing shorts again, for the first time since he was a child. He didn't need to hide himself anymore.

Then one day, a child walked up to him. He felt a tug on his jacket and looked down to see a young girl, empty jacket sleeve hanging from her shoulder.

“I just wanted to say… you're my hero.” Suddenly Tony found himself in a one-armed hug. But it wasn't just the action itself that made tears being to well up in his eyes.

It was the fact that the girl was hugging his left leg.

Part of it was just because of her height, but the girl knew from personal experience how much it meant to Tony that she was showing him love for what so many had called “his only imperfection.” Nobody had ever done that before.

A few weeks later the little arm was finished, complete with the signature Iron Man red and gold. And a hand carved inscription.

You're stronger than iron. -TS

Soon there were people of all ages with official Iron Man prosthetics, courtesy of Stark industries. And one for Bucky too. As well as some slightly unrelated Iron Man hearing aids for Clint.

Stark Health Technologies became its own entire branch of the company, overseen personally by Tony. It didn't take long for the workload to become more than he could do by himself, but he still made sure to make at least some of them personally, and made sure people got upgrades and resizing when needed.

And if he sometimes wore an eyepatch underneath the helmet of his Iron Man suit? His sensors more than made up for it.

Author's note:

(If I accidentally said something offensive or insensitive somewhere in this please tell me cuz idk what I'm talking about)

So not to take away the focus from my boi Bucky but I got the idea of ProstheticLeg!tony stuck in my head and had to write it down. I might try to draw something with this later but I'm still trying to figure out how tf to draw.

1.2k words if you're curious.

If you enjoyed this kinda half-assed drabble I wrote at midnight like it or some shit I'm a hoe for validation.

(Oh and I don't own Tony Stark or anything else Marvel owns lmao)

(And idk why you'd steal this but like don't)

notafuckingissue

[iwillbeinmynest]

Brave: (Verb.) - Bucky x Reader

Authors Notes: Another quote I saw and wanted to write out….This was supposed to be a drabble…

Notes/Warnings: Violence, physical assault, use of guns, mentions of blood and death, self doubt.

Quote: “Scared is what you’re feeling. Brave is what you’re doing.”

Word count: around 1.5K

Your hands trembled and you clenched them into fists. You wanted nothing more that to turn around and run, to escape the chaos unfolding before you, but you can’t, they need you.

 You watched as an RPG rocketed towards the Quinjet and your breath caught in your throat. “Tony!” You shouted, knowing your earpiece would relay your voice to him. “RPG headed for the jet, east side!”

 Tony, who wasn’t too far away ,whirled around and fired off mini-rockets to intercept the explosive. His tactic worked and the RPG exploded a few yards off the jet. Without any acknowledgement to you, Tony turned right back around to fighting off some ground thugs with grenade launchers.

 You sat, still shaking on your ledge, and watched the battle below you. Your job as look out had you positioned a mile from the fighting. you sat in the tree line and checked on the rest of the team. Steve and Wanda were tag teaming a group of eight Hydra agents on the street. You could see Sam and Nat clearing an abandoned building of thugs, men flying out windows left and right. Vision and Thor were dealing with a small cluster with flame throwers. And Bucky…

 You lost sight of Bucky. Your heart sped up to a dangerous rate as you scanned the field below you. You couldn’t see him. He was supposed to be with Clint but he wasn’t there.

 “Clint,” You spoke desperately. “Where’s Barnes?”

 Clint fired off and arrow from his spot on top of a nearby building. “Don’t know. He took off with out a word.”

 You cursed internally and kept scanning for him. “Barnes, I need your location. I can’t watch you if I can’t see you!”

 A twig snapped behind you and you whipped around just in time to see a branch flying towards your head. You ducked out of the way and the branch collided with the rock you had been leaning on.

 It was then that you saw the masked Hydra agent go for the pistol on his hip. Out of sheer instinct, you charged him and rammed your shoulder into his stomach, shoving him to the ground. You jumped on top of him and ripped his mask off. The man’s face was distorted and scarred and you paused.

 He took the opportunity to punch you in the side and you screamed. You landed a hit to his face after managing to stay on top of him, despite the impact of his hit to your ribs. You punched him again and again and with each hit your vision clouded with tears.

 You cried because your hand was bleeding from the crack of each hit to his jaw or cheekbone. You cried because each breath you heaved confirmed that he had broken at least three of your ribs. And you cried because this wasn’t supposed to happen.

 You were the eyes of all the missions. You were supposed to stay outta sight and away from the fighting. You weren’t nearly confident enough in hand to hand combat as you should have been and no matter how many training sessions you had with Bucky or Nat you just didn’t have the ability to fight like an Avenger.

 You wore yourself out pretty quick. You were tired and your hits became softer because, frankly, you were convinced that at this point, punching your attacker was doing more harm to you than to him.

 The scarred man under your knees punched you in the ribs again and you screamed out even louder as you rolled to the ground beside him. He climbed on top of you and squeezed your ribs with his knees, causing you maximum pain. He raised his fist up to strike and you closed your eyes.

 Your body jerked and you shouted but there was no strike to your face. You heard a pair of grunts and realized the man’s weight was no longer on your pelvis. You opened your eyes. Your attacker was rolling around trying to fight someone else off. Someone big.

 A flash of metal and you knew. Bucky. He wailed on the Hydra agent until the man quit moving. That man never stood a chance against Bucky, he should have just surrendered. When he knew the threat had been eliminated, and the man was thoroughly knocked out, Bucky rushed over to you and cradled your head in his hands. You winced and tears rolled down the sides of your head to the dirt below you.

 “I’m so sorry.” His eyes were wide. “I saw him from the building and thought I could get here in time. I’m so sorry.” Bucky looked you over and frowned. You sniffed and tried to stop crying. “Your ribs are broken, at least four of them and possibly your hand.” He informed.

 You looked up at Bucky and your heart stopped when you saw your attacker standing over Bucky with a gun aimed for the back of his head. With out thinking you reached up and grabbed Bucky’s collar with one hand while reaching over his back and grabbing the sub-machine gun that was always strapped there.

 You squeezed the trigger and held down as bullets were completely emptied from the magazine.

 When the gun stopped firing you could hear Bucky shouting your name and you opened your eyes- you hadn’t realized you’d closed them.

 “Hey!” Bucky’s eyes were wide and desperate. “Let go of the gun, Y/N.” He implored. “It’s okay, you can let go, now.”

 Your body shook and you winced to pry your bloodied hand from the grip and trigger. The instant you let go, Bucky rounded on the Hydra thug and blocked your view of the body. He was dead. There was no denying that, now.

 “Close your eyes.” Bucky instructed.

 “What?” You stared at his back.

 He gave you a sharp look over his shoulder. “Close your eyes.”

 You closed them and cradled your hand to your chest. You listened as Bucky huffed and started dragging something heavy. Was he dragging the body? Did you kill that guy?! Of course you killed him, you emptied the mag. Somehow you hadn’t really thought it through. You just knew Bucky was going to die and you couldn’t let that happen. You started crying again.

 You weren’t cut out for this.

 You jumped when Bucky touched your arm and your eyes flew open.

 “Easy,” He cooed. “Just me.” And you relaxed, letting out a shaky breath. The man was gone, at least you didn’t have to see the damage you’d done.

 Bucky helped you sit up just in time for you to see another RPG headed for Wilson. You pressed your hand to your ear and winced. Broken hand, right.

 “Stark, Wilson’s got a bogie on his six!” You exclaimed and grunted from the pain breathing caused you.

 You and Bucky watched as Stark, once again, diverted the blast away from his teammate. You sighed when you saw Sam fly out of the smoke, unscathed.

 “You okay?” Bucky asked when you slumped over.

 You sobbed and tried to keep it together. You shook your head. “I can’t do this.” Bucky stayed quiet and let you continue. “I’m not a fighter, I’m not a marksman, I just have good eye sight. And even then I couldn’t find you. I don’t belong here.”

 There was a pause before Bucky spoke. “You’re wrong.”

 You looked up at his and tears rolled down your cheek. “I’m too scared to do this.”

 “Scared is what you’re feeling. Brave is what you’re doing. You just got attacked, held your own until I got here, then saved my skin and used what was available to eliminate the threat. And on top of it all you just saved Sam’s life, too. You can do this because you just did.”

 “Alright team,” Steve spoke over the coms. “Mission accomplished. Meet back at the drop site asap. Lets go home.”

 You swallowed hard and your lip quivered.

 Bucky looked at you gently, with a sincerity you only saw when he thought no one was looking. “I can’t make you come back with us. I can’t make you stay but, Y/N, we do need you and you can do this.” He stood up and offered you a hand.

You tried to take a deep breath but sharp pains had you wincing again. Bucky helped you up lifted you into his arms. “I can take you to the jet or I can take you somewhere else. Your call.”

 You rested your head on his shoulder and swallowed more tears.

 “I wanna go home.” You said as steadily as possible.

 You felt Bucky’s shoulders slump but he didn’t argue. “How do we get there?”

 “We go to the jet.” You answered as you closed your eyes, finally able to relax.

 Bucky straightened and headed for the rest of the team. “Good call.” You could hear the smile in his voice. “Proud of you.”

 “Well, the way I see it.” You smiled at the start of your own joke. “I’ve saved your life today, you owe me. I’m not gonna bail before you’ve made it up to me.”

 Bucky’s chest rumbled with an internal chuckle. “Sam owes you, too. You should milk that for all it’s worth.”

 “Oh, don’t worry. I will.”

Forever Tags:

@heismyhunter @sgtbxckybxrnes @pickledmoon @whimsicalrebirth @marvel-lucy @thisisthelilith @james-bionic-barnes @thedreamingowl @poemwriter98@kimistry27 @annie-lujan @buckyandsebsinbin @lilasiannerd @gypsy-storm-15 @cassiopeiassky @earinafae @the-stuttering-kiwi @obsessedwithatwell @shortiiqt16 @shifutheshihtzu @elaacreditava @nikkitia7 @theonewithallthemilkshakes @gallifreyansass @storytellingwanderer @palaiasaurus64 @iamwarrenspeace @engineeringgirlcve @magnolia-wanders @carameldaemoncakes @canumoveyourseatup-no @melconnor2007 @movingonto-betterthings @bxckytrxsh @fantasticmiraclehologram @kapolisradomthoughts @iamwarrenspeace @melconnor2007 @yesiamdeliciouslycaffeinated @mcu-avengerrs

[pokemonreaderinserts]

Can I request that includes a male braixen

Since I’m unsure what you’re requesting, I’ll give you some headcanons, and a little drabble, okay? Enjoy~–Admin RyHeadcanons- He is adamant and usually refuses the shelter of his PokéBall- He enjoys when you brush his fur, even though he’d never let you know- He’s curious in nature, and will sniff out everything – and this always leads to detours on your adventures- I mean, everything, you can’t even count the amount of times he’s come to you with the empty shells of evolved Methods- He has playful tendencies, and loves to pull pranks using Psychic, or any other telekinetic moves- He’s protective of you, and usually is the first to spot a trainer battle- Even then he’s sizing up the opponent to see if they’re even worth battling- With a haphazard, makeshift tent, he spends every night with you as you cook, recount the day’s events, and sleeping by your side.

Mini drabble under the cut~

“Augh!” You fumble with the metal rods, and Braixen gives you something between a sigh and a huff. “I always wait too late to set up the tent. It’s almost dark, and we haven’t even set up the campfire yet!” Braixen looks pointedly at you, deadpanning at your attempt to split the blame.“Okay, I haven’t even set up the campfire. But you know, Kay, you can help at any time!” You had received your partner when you were very young, and had named him Kaxion, as it seemed to roll off the tongue. Giving up, you tie the poles together, and drape the tarp over it, calling it your ‘tent’.Braixen makes a clicking noise, and begins collecting rocks from around the area, trying to create some semblance of a fire pit. You smile at him, and his help, and move to retrieve your bag. Braixen takes the opportunity to light the fire, pulling his twig from his tail, and allowing the friction to spark, igniting the flame. It wasn’t dangerous, per se, but knowing you, he expected you’d find a way to hurt yourself.After the fire is lit, you sit beside him, and pull you bag up. You take out your berry pouch, and some of the canned food you have. Though it’s not fresh, you decide it would be enough until tomorrow. You’ve even run out of Pokémon food for Braixen, but he enjoyed the canned fish all the same. You cut into the shells of some berries, and take out a couple of cans of preserved fish.Both of you decide upon dinner, and grab a spit, sticking a couple berries on it. You prop the spit against the fire, and you proceed to open the can, Braxien watching intently. “I can’t believe it.. I hadn’t heard of any Munchlax sitings around here, but I guess there are some.. around..” you complain as you open the can gently. “All that food – gone! And I just bought it all yesterday…” Braixen tries to console you, as he feels that sorrow as well. Hearing a soft pop, you pick up the spit, turning it over the fire a little and inspecting the berries. You blow on it before holding it out to Braixen. “I know you’re not a hundred percent from that battle earlier, so you should eat these and gain your strength back.” Braixen blinks looking from the spit, to you. You smile, and offer it to him once more. “C’mon, don’t make me feed you.” You joke, but you’re already pulling one of the berries off. Braixen huffs and looks away from you, taking the spit out of your hands. You chuckle – he’s always been this hard-headed, even as a Fennekin. He begins munching on the berries, though he’s not really into sweet tastes. As he eats the berries, you’re preparing some crackers to go along with the tuna.The Munchlax aside, you talk about the day the two of you experienced. The wild Pokémon you tried to catch. The distance you’ve come since obtaining your third gym badge. How Braixen brought you another one of his finds, this time a scale from a Vivillon. You talk and eat until the fire dims, and you decide it’s time to go to sleep.You repack your bag, and stomp out the fire before stretching. The moonlight gives a faint glow over the both of you, and you smile at Braixen. You know better than to send him back into his PokéBall, so instead you offer him to come back with you. “Let’s go, it’s time for sleep.”He hums, following behind you, an unimpressed noise comes from him as he sees your poorly made tent. You hush him, and roll out the sleeping pad that sticks out of the tent. You lay down, and Braixen immediately follows, cuddling up to you. “Brr..” He purrs gently, so gently that it comes out a soft whistle. You smile, and stroke through his fur. He’s so warm that you barely need a blanket, even in the winter time. “Good night, Braixen. Tomorrow’s another day.”

[chilling-seavey]

this is so possessive of George and his breeding kink but imagine you are trying to wear a tight and skintight dress but it won't fit because of your tiny bump and the way your breast are changing

LOVE IT. LOVE IT SM

The string of muttered expletives coming from the ensuite bathroom had George's eyes drifting to the cracked open door. Standing in front of the full length mirror in your bedroom as he tied his tie, he called out to you, "You alright in there, love?"

"No." came your insistent response, words strained in frustration and exertion.

George padded over to the ensuite door and knocked as he nudged it open a little more to peek inside, alerting you of his presence. Of course, you didn't turn him away, letting him get an eyeful of you immensely struggling to get into your cocktail dress. You honestly looked like some attempt at a Picasso sculpture with your arms flung around your torso this way and that, manicured fingernails clawing at your back and the edge of your dress.

"What in the world is going on here?" George asked with a breathy laugh as he rested his shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.

"My dress won't do up," you huffed, finally getting your hand on the tiny zipper but it wouldn't budge, the fabric sides being held too far apart.

George pushed off the wall and took the half step over to you, "Alright, alright, let me."

You sent a frustrated pout to the bathroom mirror as you dropped your hands to your sides, watching his reflection standing behind you and analyzing the zipper of your dress. His warm fingers brushed over the small of your back, rising the faintest shivers in their wake, and he tugged the fabric of your dress closer together before starting to pull up the zipper. He made it about an inch or two before he was met with resistance.

"See?" you threw a hand out towards the mirror in exasperation.

George glanced up to meet your frustrated gaze in the mirror, the pair of you standing at a 45-degree angle to the vanity. He had this stupid little smile on his face.

"What?" you frowned.

George leaned in closer and let go of your zipper to slide his hands around your front until they rested over the tiny swell of your belly. He answered in the softest voice known to man, "Baby is growing. You're growing."

There was a pause between you as you both stared at yourselves in the mirror and the ever so faint bump revealed under the tight fabric of your dress. Your frustrations eased a bit and you leaned back against his chest, settling your hands on his wrists.

"Oh."

George, without tearing his eyes away from the sight of you in the mirror, licked his lips instinctively. Then, he pulled back to give your hips a squeeze, "Why don't you find another dress then, love? Something looser until we can buy you some maternity clothes."

"But I wanted to wear this dress," you frowned, running your hands over the silk fabric around your waist. The top was still gaping and loose since the zipper wasn't done up but you were adamant that this was the dress you wanted to wear for your special dinner together.

So, like the good husband he was, George had you suck in the best you could so he could yank at the zipper until it finally cooperated with a purposeful zwwwip. Sure, you could hardly breathe and in spots the dress looked like it was about to rip right off you, but you were pleased.

As you stared at yourself in the mirror, your eyes moved from your tiny belly to the genuinely obnoxious swell of your breasts. Once having been held nicely in this form fitting dress, now, to be frank, you resembled a cheap prostitute with how they nearly spilled out of the neckline. Sure, you had known your body was changing with your pregnancy but this damn dress was really the nail in the coffin of realization as to how much.

Your eyes flicked to George in the reflection of the mirror, him still standing beside you and, as if having the same thoughts, his eyes were also trained in shamelessly on your chest. You licked away your amused smile at his expression of awe and then grabbed two handfuls of the front of your dress to try and make yourself look a bit more decent by tugging up the neckline.

"What the fuck." you groaned when the dress that was nearly painted on wouldn't budge.

George stepped up behind you and gently pulled your hands away so he could try, definitely knowing he wasn't going to get much farther but silently wanting an opportunity to touch you without looking too sleezy. But when it was proven that the dress was not going to budge and you were left looking quite...out there...George let himself splay his large hands over the surface area of your breasts as he sighed against your shoulder.

Your momentary frustration melted into an amused smile, resting your hands on the bathroom counter as he gently groped your breasts and then slid his palms down to rub over your tiny belly beneath your dress. He kissed your neck.

"I think baby is being strangulated in this dress," George mumbled against your earlobe, "And as much as I think you look...ravishing...I don't think this is giving the right message for formal dinner."

"Too much boob?"

"No such thing, really, but, yeah," George kissed your shoulder and then rested his chin down to stare at you through the mirror, his arms secure around your middle, "Too much boob."

You jutted out your bottom lip, trying to accept that your favourite dress was now, momentarily, unwearable. It was bittersweet, watching the old you that you were familiar with change to grow life. It would teach you how to fall in love with yourself and your body all over again, in a whole new way.

Before you could even have an inclining of a thought about George's mindset amongst all your changes, he spoke with his hands firmly covering the small swell of your stomach,

"God, you look so fucking gorgeous and I'm so fucking in love with you."

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[chilling-seavey]

I feel like TWIG needs some angst so imagine George finding out that you and your little ones got into a car accident

You are so right, anon 💕 Sorry it took me a bit to get to this one but I had to make sure I was in the writing mindset for angst!!

Warnings: Minor descriptions of car crash, injuries, and shock

It wasn’t quite the same as the real thing; stuffed in a replica of the recent Mercedes chassis facing a large arched screen displaying the virtual circuit of Baku. After almost a decade in the sport, George could have driven those streets with his eyes closed but he knew there was no place for cockiness behind the wheel. Every turn and choice must be meticulously calculated and perfected to pull every second out of the care safely. 

He was just starting another flying lap in the sim when the tone of the speaker tore him from his focus. One of the technicians spoke to him through the windowed wall of the simulator booth,  “George, your phone keeps ringing out here. It’s your wife. Why don’t you take five?”

A spark of concern flickered in his chest, wondering why you were calling multiple times when you rarely so much as messaged him when he was at the factory. He climbed out of the simulator and stepped through the door into the adjacent room that held a few long desks stocked with computers housing impressive data sets and graphs. The employees that took up the seats kept their attention on studying the results of the session while George picked up his phone from where he had left it at the table at the back. 

He noticed three missed calls from you and before he could call you back, his screen filled with your name and contact image with another incoming call. The urgency had his stomach churning and he stepped out into the hallway for a moment of privacy as he answered it.

“Hey, my love, sorry, I was in the sim.” he spoke into the phone, trying not to sound too worried, “Is everything okay?” 

“Hey, yeah, we’re okay,” you answered. 

He could hear the tension in your voice, the slight waver to your words. Somewhere in the distance, there was chatter and the muffled sound of an announcement. 

“I just…” you tried to continue but your words seemed to halt. 

George sat down in a chair in one of the small lounges in the factory, “Love, what is it? You’re scaring me.”

“Sorry,” you breathed, your exhale shaky, “I’m with the kids at the hospital. We, uh…there was…fuck.”

He could tell how shaken you were by the fact you were unable to even piece sentences together but the fact he was only being given bits of the story was sending him into a spiral. With a tight breath, he pressed urgently, “Are you okay? Are they okay?”

“Yeah, no, yeah, we’re fine.” you assured him quickly, “Some bruises but…we’re all fine. Just…got into a little car accident. Came here to be checked out just in case.”

George was filled with equal parts relief and dread. Relief that you were all okay but dread that there had been enough of an accident to have you think about going to the hospital to get checked out. He didn’t even have to think about it before he stood up from the bench and started back down the hallway towards his private room, replying, “Okay…okay, my love, I’m on my way, alright? I have your location, I’ll head to you right now. Stay put, okay?”

“Okay,” you echoed in an exhale lined with a moment of relief, “Thank you. I’m sorry.”

“Oh my God, baby, do not be sorry. I’m just glad you’re okay. I just have to change and I’m coming right to you now.”

“Okay, I love you.”

The shock-stemmed flatness of your voice was chilling.

“I love you too,” George replied easily, his tone extra warm and gentle, “I’ll see you soon.”

He was sure he had never changed faster in his life, tugging off his sim-ready race suit in exchange for his street clothes before he had even alerted his team that he had to go. When he returned to the simulator room to say he was leaving and why, he didn’t even wait for a response before he was closing the door behind him and making a beeline for the stairs of the factory. 

The parking lot of the Brackley headquarters was packed but George’s reserved parking spot wasn’t too far from the front doors of the building. He checked your location on his brisk walk to his car, zooming in on the map to see what hospital you were at and, once he was sitting behind the wheel, he typed the location into the GPS in his car. 

It was ironically a sunny day in England that day, the roads dry and clear as he navigated through the countryside from Brackley to Cambridge. He silently cursed the hour-and-a-half drive as his impatience was settling on his shoulders but he didn’t let it deter him from focusing on the roads ahead. The piece of mind came with the awareness that you were okay.

Once he was parked outside the Addenbrooke Hospital on the southern point of the city of Cambridge, he was hurrying across the lot towards the entry doors, phone pressed to his ear as he called you. You directed him to where you were waiting and once he emerged through the double doors into the waiting room of the wing you were in, his heart was racing. 

You stood from your chair at the sight of him and he rushed to meet you, swallowing you up in a careful embrace. You clung onto him tightly, fingers clutching the back of his shirt and your eyes screwed shut as you buried your face in his neck. He could feel your heavy sigh of relief in his arms as if the tension and stress had been completely dissipated from your body with a simple hug from him. 

Across the waiting room, your two children were distracted by some toys in the corner, playing together, unbothered, as if it were just another day. Watching them for a moment over your shoulder, the only thing George could notice about them was the blue bandaid on your son’s temple.

You pulled away from his embrace a little, voice still a little shaky from the shock as you updated him on the well-being of your children, “She’s the best out of the three of us, basically completely unharmed. Little guy’s cut was from the impact…hitting just the right part of his carseat. I took the worst of it.”

George tore his attention away from the children to look back at you, finally getting a proper look at you up close. It was then that he noticed the bruising over your nose and down your right cheek and jaw, colouring your skin in purples and greens. His eyes trailed down your profile to where you held out your trembling hands, your right wrist wrapped in a bandage.

“Just a minor sprain,” you assured him before he could worry too much. You tried to make light of it with a soft, “The paramedic said it was likely from how hard I was holding onto the wheel when we were hit. She said it was like my ‘mama bear’ instincts took over, trying to keep control of the car the best I could.”

George pulled in a shaky breath and moved back in to hug you again if needing to feel you there, that you were really okay. Your arms smoothly wrapped around his shoulders as he pulled you close, both of you just holding onto each other for a moment. 

“What happened?” George finally asked. He felt as though he had been keeping that question on the tip of his tongue since you had first called him, wanting to know but also wanting to save himself from knowing the cold hard truth. 

You sniffled and pulled back just enough to look at him, although your eyes were downcast as if in shame, “Some idiot made a right turn at an intersection without looking. I braked and swerved just enough to not get entirely t-boned but he hit almost directly on the front driver's side. Hence,”

You held up your sprained wrist.

“Saved the kiddies though.” you mumbled. 

George gently set a hand on your face and pulled you in to press a kiss to your head as if he could pour all his love into that simple action. 

The power behind it had your eyes welling with tears and you whispered out a shaky, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

George tenderly trailed the back of his finger over your uninjured cheek to swipe away a stray tear, “What on earth do you have to be sorry about right now?”

“We took your C63.” you whimpered, another heavy tear dripping down your cheek, “It’s…so fucked. So, so fucked. I know how much you love it…how much you protect it and I didn’t think—”

“Shhh,” George hushed you softly, gently rubbing your biceps comfortingly as he stared into your tear-filled eyes, “The last thing on my mind right now is the car. I hadn’t once thought about the car since you called me. You, the kids…that’s all I care about right now. That’s all I care about ever.”

“Okay,” you choked out through a sob, lifting your hands to hide your face as you burst into tears in the middle of the hospital waiting room. 

George’s arms encircled you and he pressed another kiss to your head, cradling you against his chest and surrounding you with his love and comfort. As much as he adored that car, he truly didn’t care about it in that moment as he held you in his arms. He had trusted you with it, knowing you were always a safe driver, but the one thing that he always knew was the scariest part of driving was that you can’t control what anyone else on the road does.

As he held you, he whispered words of reassurance to you, reminding you with a serious, “We can fix up a car…we can get a new car…but I can’t get a new you.”

His comfort had the damns breaking, causing you to let out your bottled up emotions into his neck with a sobbing, “I was so scared.” 

His heart nearly broke at your confession and he rubbed his hand over your back, comforting you in the only way he knew how and the only way he could offer, “I know, my love. I’m here. I got you.”

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[chilling-seavey]

George’s first birthday as a dad 🫢😌

I love this, anon 🥺🥺🥺

Baby boy Russell was an early riser, always had been, really. So it was no surprise when George was woken up at the crack of dawn on the morning of February 15th to the sweet call of "dada" over and over through the baby monitor, almost as if the eleven-month-old was entertaining himself.

George barely had his eyes open and he was already tossing the covers off to get out of bed. You, barely awake now beside him, reached out a hand to grasp his arm, offering with a voice thick with sleep, "Let me get him so you can sleep longer."

"It's okay," George assured you as he tucked his feet into his slippers over the cold hardwood floor, "I want to see him."

He was out of the room before you could offer any protest.

The nursery was only a few steps down the hall in your quaint Monaco apartment and George opened the door and stepped inside the darkened room. The baby's soft chant of "dada" halted for a moment when he heard someone come in, but, the moment George turned on the floor lamp in the corner, the little one was breaking into a smile at the sight of him.

"Dada!" he squealed, kicking his legs excitedly from where he laid in his crib, "Dada, dada—"

"Good morning, little buddy," George cooed with a grin, bending over the side of the crib to lift him up into his arms, "What a lovely birthday greeting for dada."

The baby snuggled contently into his chest, perched in his arms, reaching out a tiny finger towards his father's sleepy face and offering a babble.

"Was that you saying 'happy birthday'?" George chuckled, "I think it was!"

His joy was infectious and the little boy giggled right back, earning him a plethora of peppered kisses to his chubby cheek, still slightly flushed from sleep.

George brought the baby back down the hall to your shared room, finding you barely awake and momentarily scrolling on your phone. You glanced up when they entered, smiling softly at the sweet sight of father and son, and you set down your phone, "There are my boys."

"Little man is in a very happy mood today," George announced, dramatically lifting the baby from his chest and into the air. The little one squealed with joy and George brought him back down to kiss his cheek before lifting him back up doing it again.

"Well, it's the most we could ask for for your birthday," you smiled at them, barely heard over the squeals and giggles of the eleven-month-old.

George set the baby in the mess of sheets on your shared bed, your son crawling over the mountains and valleys towards you as your husband climbed back into bed with you. The little one was already fisting at your shirt to try and get under it and, after months of being a mother, you knew exactly what he was looking for.

Scooping him up, you cuddled him in your lap and lifted your shirt to let him start to nurse contentedly. George snuggled closer at your side, wrapping an arm around yours that held your little boy, and he rested his cheek on your shoulder, staring down at him.

You glanced over at your husband with a calm expression, content and at peace, with a gentle, "Happy birthday, daddy."

George's eyes raised to yours, a twinkle in those baby blues, and he leaned up to kiss your cheek with a fond, "Thank you."

With his very same eyes, the baby stared up at the both of you as he nursed, taking in the comforting familiarity of his parents in their happy home. He took his little hand from the fabric of your shirt and reached out towards George, making little gabby motions. George chuckled and set his fingers in the baby's outstretched palm, earning him a hand-hold.

"He's a Dada fiend right now," you stated playfully, "He'd probably even prefer you to breastfeed him if you could."

George snorted at your comment, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of the little boy's fingers around his two, "Nah, that's his special time with Mumma."

Your little family stayed cuddled up in bed for a little while longer while your son nursed, his fingers wrapped firmly around George's like he didn't want to let him escape. Despite it barely being 7am by then, there was no chance of sleeping longer as a demanding baby meant it was time to get the day started.

All George wanted for his birthday was to keep it lowkey, to spend some time with his little family, and maybe have some time to play F126 with his friends in the afternoon. He always gave so much to you and your son that you were more than happy to grant his wishes.

So, the morning was spent with George playing with your son in the living room while you made him a special birthday breakfast. Your current goal was trying to get him to walk and George kept lifting him up onto his wobbly feet and holding onto his chubby little hands to encourage a few steps. He could cruise just fine but nothing on his own just yet. Time would come.

You ate breakfast at the table as a family, your son in his highchair with a few tiny pieces of French toast and fruit for himself. Since the F1 season was upcoming, George was on a limited diet of very limited junk food so his breakfast was far more hearty than sweet. He appreciated it all in the same, loving how well you knew just what he needed. Besides, if he was going to splurge for a slice of cake after dinner, he would have to be good the rest of the day.

As always, George went down to the gym while your son went down for his first nap of the day. This gave you time to tidy up from breakfast and make sure you had everything ready for the rest of the day. When he returned from the gym, you had taped up a few blue streamers in the living room and a string of matching letters that read 'Happy Birthday'. In a world of riches and luxury in which George had been thrust into since his entry into F1, it was always the simple things that meant the most to him.

And as promised, he later had time to race on the sim with Alex and Lando and Charles. Not a stream, just them. Despite all living in Monaco and the fact that it would be easy to get together in person for the day, George selfishly wanted his little family all to himself. At least online he could easily leave whenever he wanted, no hurt feelings.

Of course, Dada-Obsessed baby boy was fussy until you brought him into the office where George had his set up. He welcomed his son gladly onto his lap, making sure he was content and secure like that, and you said a quick hello to his friends before leaving them to it.

The baby ended up falling asleep on George's lap, snuggled up against his stomach and chest with a little hand gripping his shirt. Honestly, it was a miracle he could with the rowdiness of the friends but perhaps it was the comforting warmth and presence of George that had his son easing into his second nap of the day.

To wrap up the day, you went out to a family-friendly restaurant for dinner for the little one's last block of awake time before bed. You made sure to tell the waiter it was George's birthday so you got to witness his pink cheeks as the staff sang him 'happy birthday' and brought over a free slice of cake.

You shared the slice and, later, shared the responsibility of getting your baby ready for bed. Finally, with your son down for the night, you and George lounged on the living room couch together under the 'happy birthday' banner. The silence was comforting for a moment, many things on your minds.

"I know birthdays look different now," you said softly, breaking the silence with a reflective tone to your voice, knowing the changes since having your son compared to the excitement that came with birthdays in the years before, "it's always going to be different now."

"Different doesn't mean bad," George countered, his fingers playing through the ends of your hair, "This different is very good. Today was perfect."

You tilted your head to look at his face from where you rested on his shoulder, "Really? Today went how you wanted it to go? We didn't do much."

"We don't have to do much," George looked back at you, "You know I'm not that into huge festivities and surprises. The greatest gift ever was our son, just spending time with him and you is all I ever want. That's priceless to me."

You hummed, "I just want you to feel special."

"You do make me feel special. Every day, and especially today," he kissed your temple, "Thank you."

You eased under his affection.

"Besides," he added with a heavy exhale tinged with dramatics, "30 is on the horizon so rowdy festivities sound more and more awful."

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