#why must i get my meds through ups | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lostdreamr-blog1 · 2 months ago

Text

Pinky Promise 4

Word count: 1.7K

Pairings: Jake Seresin X Reader

A/N: Round 4 of Pink Promise! Part 5 is in the works now! Thanks for reading!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

When Jake received the text, “Want to get drunk tonight?” on a Wednesday, a heavy feeling settled in his stomach. Something must have happened. He leaned against the cool countertop of his kitchen, weighing his options. The last time he saw you, time had slipped away unnoticed, and now it had been over a week. He fired back a quick reply, “Name the place and I’ll be there.”

He showered and changed out of his work clothes, heart racing as he waited for your next message. He hoped he could talk you down from whatever ledge you were teetering on and still make it home at a reasonable hour.

Jake drove to the small bar on the outskirts of town, a spot you chose to avoid running into other pilots. You didn’t dislike them; you just didn’t want to put on a show for Bradley’s sake. As he stepped inside, he spotted you immediately, alone at the bar. Your profile told a story that made him stop in his tracks. The dark circles under your eyes and the way your hair lost its usual shine spoke volumes. But it was your defeated posture that cut him the deepest—your shoulders hunched as if you were trying to disappear.

A sigh escaped his lips as he chastised himself for not checking on you sooner. He slid onto the stool next to you. “Hey, darlin’. Sorry if I made you wait.”

You looked up, a flicker of light returning to your eyes. “I haven’t been here long. How was work?”

“Same as always. Your brother has been more moody than usual,” he replied, signaling the bartender for a water.

You chuckled softly. “Natasha turned him down. He’s not taking it too well.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, surprised. He hadn’t known Bradley was interested. “Did he say why?”

“She gave him some excuse about not wanting to mix work with pleasure or some bullshit like that. He deserves better anyway.”

A comfortable silence settled between you for a few moments before you broke it with an unexpected question. “You ever think, ‘Man, I suck’?” You took a long sip of your drink, completely unfazed by Jake’s water.

He smirked. “Not particularly. I know I’m one of the best, so there’s not much room for doubt.”

You rolled your eyes. “That was such a bagman answer.”

Jake chuckled, but his expression turned serious. “I do have days I question why I’m still doing this. I love flying, but the risks are starting to feel bigger than the rewards.” He leaned back, hoping his honesty would coax you into sharing what was weighing you down.

When you finished your drink, he leaned closer. “What’s going on? It’s been a while since you’ve been out during the week.”

You turned your gaze to the empty glass, avoiding his eyes. “You’d be surprised how many times I drink during the week. But I think I’ve realized recently that I’m not built for med school.”

Alarm bells rang in Jake’s mind. “We’ll talk about the drinking in a minute. What’s happening with school? I thought things were going well.”

You signaled the bartender for another drink, and Jake slid his water toward you. “It’s not what I thought it would be. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s just… not something I enjoy.”

Before you could reach for your new drink, Jake intercepted it. “Let me guess: instead of asking for help, you decided drinking was the better option?”

You nodded, your defenses slipping away. Why be responsible when it was easier to forget?

He sighed, “Did I ever tell you how much I hated flight school?” you shook your head, prompting him to continue. “I was excited to be a pilot. It’s been my dream for as long as I can remember. But when I got into the schooling side of it, I was crushed. I nearly quit a few times, but I told myself to push through. I kept thinking the freedom to enjoy what I love would be waiting on the other side.”

You slowly nodded your head at his admission. “I made the mistake of telling Bradley I hated it a few weeks back. He didn’t give me any fuzzy words of encouragement.” Jake clenched his fists, anger simmering at Bradley’s judgment. He knew how much your brother’s words affected you, no matter how much you tried to brush them off.

“Listen, sweetheart. I know you love your brother, but when stuff like this comes up, you need to reach out to me. I will never be too busy for you. I pinky promise.” He extended his pinky, a hopeful smile breaking through your somber expression.

“One of my greatest achievements will be having a big bad Top Gun pilot pinky-promise me,” you said, hooking your pinky with his and squeezing it lightly.

For another half-hour, you both sat at the bar, laughter mingling with the bittersweet confessions. When Jake finally stood to leave, he insisted, “I’m driving you home. It’s dark out, and I’d rather not take any chances.”

You opened your mouth to argue but quickly realized it was futile. With a resigned nod, you followed him outside. The night air was cool, but Jake’s presence felt like a warm shield against the world.

He opened the truck door for you, a small gesture that sent a ripple of warmth through your chest. As he gently closed it once you were inside, the moment felt almost too perfect, like a scene from one of those old movies that made you cringe. And that’s when your thoughts began to spiral.

You wanted to convince yourself that your troubles began and ended with school, but deep down, another darkness gnawed at you. It all felt so blissfully normal during your last study session at Jake’s apartment. The aroma of his homemade pasta mingled with the faint sound of an old movie playing in the background—one you secretly loathed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You sat there on the couch, sharing bites and laughter, and thought, “Damn. If only I could have this every day.”

That’s when the drinks had returned, and the recluse lifestyle set back in.

Falling for Jake wasn’t supposed to be on your radar. He was everything your brother loathed—everything you thought you shouldn’t want. With his polished career and a social life that sparkled with ease, he seemed to glide through life. You, on the other hand, felt like you were sinking, caught in a riptide of your own insecurities.

As Jake parked and walked you to your door, you couldn’t help but admire yet another annoyingly perfect trait of his—how he always walked you to the door, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’ve been awfully quiet this whole ride here. You sure you’re okay?” His voice was low and laced with concern. He glanced down, catching the way your fingers nervously toyed with the hem of your shirt.

You hesitated, torn between the urge to unload the weight of your heart and the instinct to keep it all bottled up. “Just… a lot on my mind,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Want to talk about it?” His eyes searched yours, and in that moment, you felt the walls you’d built around yourself begin to crack, revealing the tangled mess of emotions you’d been trying so hard to suppress.

You looked away, the cool night air brushing against your skin, and realized that perhaps, just maybe, letting him in could be the first step toward something beautiful—or the beginning of yet another spiral.

The mature thing to do would be to lay it all out there, to let him in on the storm brewing inside your head. But maturity had never been your strong suit. “I think it’s a conversation for another night,” you said, forcing the words out as you unlocked the door and stepped inside. You turned to find Jake’s gaze heavy with concern, and your heart sank a little.

“I promise I’m fine, and it’s nothing.” You flashed a small smile, but it faltered under the weight of his skepticism.

“And when I leave here, are you just going to ignore me and slip back into that shell you’ve been hiding in?” He crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe, exuding a mix of frustration and genuine worry.

You felt the familiar urge to run, to dodge the uncomfortable truth. You’d always sidestepped conflicts, always preferred to sweep emotions under the rug. But before you could catch yourself, the words spilled out. “I think I’m falling for you.”

It was the kind of confession that felt like a punch to the gut, and before you could process the fallout, you slammed the door in his face.

Silence filled the space, thick and suffocating. You leaned against the door, heart racing, half-expecting him to knock again or shout something—anything. But the only sound was your own breathing, rapid and shallow. What had you just done?

You were spiraling again, your mind racing through all the ways this could end badly. You pictured Jake standing there, processing your words, his expression shifting from surprise to hurt.

Why did you always have to make things so complicated?

After a moment, you heard a soft knock. Your heart thudded in your chest. “Hey,” Jake’s voice came through the wood, calm but tinged with confusion. “Can we talk about this? Please?”

You hesitated, grappling with the tumult of emotions. Part of you wanted to open the door and let him in, to unravel everything you’d kept bottled up. But another part, the one that had always chosen the path of least resistance, screamed at you to keep it shut.

What if you had just ruined everything?

A/N: Somehow this turned into a mini series...thoughts? Do we think Jake will feel the same? Part 5 in the works :) Thanks for reading!!

Tag List: @rosiahills22 @sunlitsunflowers @dempy @mamaskillerqueen @luckyladycreator2 @atarmychick007 @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @topguncultleader @alilstressyandlotdepressy @avengers-fixation @chaoticcassidy @alldaysdreamers, @hotch-meeeeeuppppp, @mrsevans90, @spidey-d00d, @rororo06, @lilstarfish88, @jasmine-in-the-night,

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #hangman top gun #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #jake seresin fanfiction #topgun #chelsea writes

183 notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 months ago

Text

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 12: Please Call Me Only If You Are Coming Home]

A/N: Only 1 chapter left!!! 🥳 Be sure to vote in our final poll, which will be pinned at the top of my blog per usual 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Homecoming” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.8k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

“What the hell do you need that for?” Cregan says to Helaena in the next aisle over, sounding alarmed. You are raiding a Kwik Stop just outside Colusa, California, following Route 20 west towards the Pacific Ocean. But when Helaena replies, her voice is perfectly soothing, lyrical, too serene for the way the world is now.

“It’s not for me. It’s just in case anyone ever finds themselves in need of one.” And this makes sense, even though you can’t see what it is she’s taken off the disorderly, ransacked shelves; Helaena is always picking up trinkets to keep stowed away in her burlap messenger bag until their utility becomes essential.

Cregan is relieved. “Oh, okay, gotcha. Whew, you almost gave me a heart attack there, Miss LaeLae…”

Ice is stretched out and dozing on the cool tile floor. Luke and Rhaena are keeping watch by the front of the store. Aegon is standing by the decommissioned Icee machine and showing Daeron which route he’s marked on his map and why.

“Why do I need to know this?” Daeron is asking.

Aegon snorts. “In case I get killed, dumbass…”

Fluttering pieces of paper hang taped to the glass doors of the empty refrigerators: Don’t go towards Sacramento; People in Santa Rosa killed my brother for his car; Andrew Lounsbury, if you see this we are headed to Aunt Sarah’s house, meet us there! Meanwhile, in your own aisle, Aemond is watching you as your fingers flit through packages of Starbursts and Jolly Ranchers and Life Savers Gummies, separating the trash from the ones that haven’t been opened yet. His expression is wary, uncertain. “What?” you ask him.

“Are you…okay?” Aemond says, low enough that no one else will hear.

Of course you aren’t; you keep walking into rooms and looking for Rio, and he’s not there. But you know what Aemond means. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Did I hurt you? Are you…” He steps closer, the blue of his eye gleaming with attentive, penitent concern, sins he is certain he must have committed. “Are you sore, are you bleeding at all?”

You smile, just the ghost of a curve at the edge of your lips. “No, really, I feel fine.” And in your body, this is true. There is a tension that has vanished from your muscles, a softness in your bones, not shards of glass shifting beneath skin but living things like the branches of trees, flexible, green, damp life awash within.

“I was trying to…you know…take it slow and be super gentle, but then…by the end…”

“Aemond, you did everything right.”

And he exhales all the iron-heavy dread he’s been carrying around since he woke up this morning to find you already gone—showing Aegon how to flip Bisquick pancakes as Cregan browned them in a skillet in the woodstove downstairs—and you realize how much you’ve scared him. “I’m really sorry about…” He touches his chin restlessly. “I should have asked you if you wanted me to pull out, I just got, uh…kind of…distracted.”

Your smile grows; now you can feel it in your eyes, warm and luminous. “It’s alright. I did too.”

He is hopeful. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t have told you to stop. And anyway, I think we’re safe.” But of course you’ve lost track of the days, and in your dark trance of grief and Tramadol you were entirely unaware of the rhythms of your body, pangs of desire or clear ample wetness, biological cues, primal timekeeping.

“Cool,” Aemond says, now trying to sound casual. “And next time…are you thinking that I should try to…maybe…just to be sure…?”

You shrug, then tell him the first thing that comes into your mind, that flashes in your skull like lightning bugs at dusk. “I’m thinking that life is too short and too rare to put effort into preventing it.”

Aemond’s eyebrows go up, but he doesn’t seem disappointed. “So we’ll see what happens.”

“If you’re onboard.”

“I’m totally onboard. I just want to take care of you. I…” He glances down at his palms—open, clean—and then looks back up at you. “I’ve never had anything that felt right before. Not my family, not myself, nothing. But this feels right. And it’s where I want to be forever.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” And this is what everyone thought: Jace, Baela, Rio. But you make the oath anyway, a hollow promise that echoes like a windchime.

“Me either,” Aemond vows.

You turn to leave the aisle and your backpack hits the shelf, knocking something off the top and onto the tile floor, where it lands with a thump. You gasp, and people come running; but it’s only a box of Honey Buns that was stashed somewhere too high for you to see. “It’s nothing,” you assure them. “We’re all okay, no need to get excited.”

“Death by Little Debbie,” Aegon says, chuckling nervously, his heart still racing.

You pick up the box and think of Rio with abrupt, violent clarity: he’s playing with French-speaking kids on the beach outside Djibouti City, he’s drinking cans of Guinness with you under a full moon on Diego Garcia, he’s reaching out from the pier to pet finless porpoises in Chinhae, he’s bleeding to death on a floor in Winnemucca, Nevada. Your vision is blurring with tears; your throat is knotted and scalding.

“I want him back,” Aegon says softly.

“I know. I do too.” You open the box of Honey Buns and pass one to Aegon first, then distribute the rest. There are only six total. Helaena tries to give hers to Cregan, but he rips it in half so they can share; Aemond insists you take the last one. You eat it wordlessly, sugar melting into your bloodstream.

“I think I saw a minivan down the side street,” Luke says as he chews his Honey Bun, waving his binoculars with his free hand. “It’s probably out of gas like all the others, but…”

“We’ll check it out,” Aemond replies, and everyone follows him as he departs from the Kwik Stop.

It’s a green Kia Carnival with a zombie trapped inside: once a young man in a Nirvana t-shirt, now a ghoul that paws at the glass with its oozing hands and licks the windows, long animal drags of a decomposing tongue. But the fuel cap is still closed, and while the van is turned off you can see the keys dangling from the ignition.

“Think there’s any gas left in the tank?” Daeron says brightly. The Targaryen beach house, following the indirect route you must take to avoid the cities, is about 250 miles from where you are now in Colusa. That’s two weeks on foot, or as few as five hours by car.

Rhaena goes for the driver’s side door. “Let’s find out.” She yanks on the handle to discover it’s locked. Cregan uses his axe to shatter the window, and the zombie tumbles gracelessly out onto the pavement, rancid skin and necrotic muscle ripping from its bones. As it crawls towards the siren call of fresh meat, Ice barks viciously and Cregan swings his axe. The blade slices easily through the monster’s skull, and its flailing, murderous limbs go still.

Rhaena reaches through the broken window to unlock the doors, climbs into the driver’s seat, and turns the key in the ignition. There is a blessed sound: the thunder of a living engine. “Half a tank!” Rhaena cheers.

Aegon gags as he opens the passenger’s side door. “Oh, it reeks so bad…”

“We’ll roll down all the windows,” Aemond says curtly.

“There are organs on the floor! What the fuck is that, a liver?!”

Aemond gives it a cursory glance. “Looks like a spleen.”

“I don’t want to sit near a spleen! I don’t even know what a spleen does!”

“Then throw it outside somewhere!” Aemond snaps. “You’re thirty years old, you can’t clean a minivan?!”

Aegon grumbles as he uses sheets of Burger King coupons from the glovebox to toss zombie guts into the grass. Aemond wipes down the hard surfaces with antiseptic. Luke keeps watch and Daeron shoots down several zombies as they lurch out of nearby houses and towards the Kia Carnival. You ask Helaena for the box of 9mm bullets in her messenger bag and she gives it to you. You load your Beretta M9, stow the remaining bullets in your backpack, and take aim at the approaching zombies to make sure you still know how to get into the rhythm, that you can still be a killer when the circumstances require it. You are out of practice, but you’re beginning to feel more like yourself again. Aemond brought you back. They all did.

When the minivan is as clean as possible, everyone hurries inside and Rhaena drives west on Route 20 under the afternoon sun. At the intersection with Route 53, Aegon directs Rhaena to follow it south around Clear Lake, then to take Route 29 west through rolling hills that were once filled with vineyards, wineries, music, weddings, horse farms. Now the land is hushed, and wild, and dotted with silhouettes that sway drunkenly and swipe at vultures when they try to gobble tattered strips of putrid flesh that unravel from bones like the bandages of a mummy.

The Kia Carnival rides Route 175 west and then Route 101 south, where the earth turns dry and rocky and barren, reminding you of northern Nevada and piling stones of heartache in your belly. In a place called Pieta—an old 1800s railroad depot, according to a plaque mounted just off the road—Rhaena slows down to get a better look at something that doesn’t make any sense. There is a souvenir shop of rocks and gems, now long out of business, and in a shed beside the main building hangs a gruesome specimen that you can see through the open doors. It has two arms and two legs, but it’s not a zombie. Its flayed flesh is a vibrant, healthy red; parts of the thighs and chest have been carefully carved away like cuts of meat are sliced from beef cattle. It is suspended on meat hooks. It is being butchered.

Cregan notes uneasily: “That ain’t an opossum or a bison.”

“I think it’s human,” Aemond says, horrified.

“Guess we’re not stopping for the night anytime soon,” Rhaena quips, then floors the gas pedal.

One of Aegon’s mixtapes spins in the CD player. From the speakers flows Somebody To You by The Vamps.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you see anyone now?” Aemond asks.

Luke speaks without looking away from his binoculars. “And for the fourth time, my answer remains no.”

After a night’s rest in a cabin at Camp Liahona Redwoods in Sonoma County, you followed California State Route 1 down the coast of the Pacific Ocean until the Kia Carnival finally ran out of gas just south of Olema, a small town founded in the 1850s. A ten-mile hike has brought you to the cliff where the fabled Targaryen beach house is perched with a few hours left before sunset. The ailing daylight is golden, the wave crests glittering, gulls cawing as they swoop through the salt-lashed air. From the road that twists like a snake through the slopes of Bolinas—thick with redwoods, Douglas firs, oaks, cypresses, tall grass that whips in the wind and tufts of eucalyptus—Luke is searching the property. It is less a house than a mansion, a museum, a monument, a work of art: sharp rectangular lines and glass walls, balconies, fountains, a pool, a garden.

Cregan whistles. “A place like that has to cost a million dollars.”

“Try fifteen million,” Aemond says distractedly, and Cregan gawks at him.

“Well, from what I can see it looks safe,” Luke declares, lowering his binoculars. “No zombies.”

“You really think they’re in there?” Daeron asks eagerly. “Mom and Criston?”

“Yeah, kid,” Aegon says, squeezing Daeron’s shoulder; but his voice is morose, like he knows he has surrendered to something, a path of least resistance, a hostile planet’s gravity. “Of course they are. Let’s go say hi.”

At the end of the driveway, the five-car garage is open. There is an Alfa Romeo, a Porsche, a Ferrari, a Ducati motorcycle, and a white Chevy Tahoe, which Aemond says belongs to Criston. And there are other items of interest mounted on the walls.

“Yes!” Daeron says as he runs to a quiver full of arrows for his compound bow. Aegon lifts a golf club out of its bag and makes an imaginary putt, getting reacquainted with the feeling of his hands on the grip.

“This is an iron,” Aegon says when he catches you watching him. In the shade of the garage, he pushes his neon green plastic sunglasses up into his windswept hair. “It’s metal all the way through and gives you good control over the shot. Drivers are for long-distance, and wedges and putters don’t have enough power. But an iron is just right.”

“Are you going to teach me how to golf?”

Aegon grins, his first real smile all day. “You think you can handle it, SunChips?”

“I don’t,” you answer honestly, and he laughs.

“If you teach me how to shoot, I’ll teach you how to golf.”

“An unfair trade! My skill is useful.”

Aemond knocks on the door that connects the garage to the main house. “Mom? Criston?” There is no response; all of you wait for one, listening intently through the crashes of waves and reverberating gull shrieks. Ice begins to pace agitatedly and nudges Cregan’s hands. He looks at Aemond, half-fear and half-sympathy.

“No,” Aemond says. “No, she’s wrong.”

“She might be,” Cregan replies, steady and ever-agreeable. Helaena is wringing her small, gentle hands. Everyone is watching Aemond to see what they should do next.

He pounds on the door again, this time with a closed fist. “Mom, we’re home! Mom? Criston? It’s me! It’s Aemond!”

Still, there is no answer. Aemond tries the doorknob, and it turns unimpeded. It is unlocked. He opens the door, peeks inside, and then crosses through the threshold. The rest of you trail him like he has eight shadows, the last in the shape of a wolf.

You step into the living room: wide open windows, the ocean breeze breathing through the house. The air tastes like sand and saltwater, sun and blue skies. There are three-story glass walls that overlook the water, a staircase leading up to the next floor, pristine white couches, black end tables topped with vases full of dead flowers, grey marble floors, bejeweled golden crosses that glint cruelly in the bloody late-afternoon light, family photographs on the mantle of the fireplace. There are many pictures of Aemond, and some of Helaena and Daeron as well. You don’t see a single photo of Aegon. He notices you scanning the snapshots in the frames and looks away, ashamed.

“Mom?” Aemond calls, his voice ricocheting through the vast, open space, clinical like a hospital or a morgue. “Criston?”

“Grandpa?” Helaena says meekly. Cregan is clutching his axe and peering around vigilantly. Ice whines and paces, her strange yellow eyes glowing like flecks of gold in a stream. Rhaena tries to soothe her with ear scratches; Ice begins to howl, low long mournful sounds.

You catch Aegon’s attention when he glances at you again. “This isn’t right,” you whisper. “If they were here, they would have heard us by now.”

Aegon turns to his brother. “Hey, Aemond…”

And then there are footsteps from upstairs, slow and shambling. Everyone looks, and it appears at the top of the steps like a mirage or a night terror, like a wrathful god glaring down from Mount Olympus. Long, filthy strands of white hair hang from what is left of its scalp. Its gore-stained teeth are bared. Its eyes are cloudy like the poisoned atmosphere of another planet, one gasp enough to singe your lungs and infect your bloodstream. The snarls pour out ragged and rasping from its disintegrating vocal chords. The man was wearing a suit when he died, and the pale blue shirt is now splattered with crimson and bits of rotting flesh. The black leather shoes on its feet clop as the zombie descends the staircase with staggering, unnatural steps, its decaying arms grasping for the mortals who wait below.

Daeron says numbly: “Dad?”

Aemond’s eye is wide and dazed. Ice is growling. Helaena is screaming and fleeing towards the wall; Cregan embraces her and she clings to him. “Aemond? Buddy?” Cregan shouts. “How do you want to handle this?” And what he means is: Do you want to kill it, or should someone else? Do you need time to process what’s happened? How can we help you?

“Aemond?” you say. You touch his arm; he doesn’t react. Rhaena draws her Ruger but doesn’t shoot yet. She is looking to Aemond for permission. Luke is standing in front of Rhaena and forcing her backwards as the zombie nears the bottom of the staircase. Now you can smell it: dark wet rot, spoiled meat, blood and oily fat and organs putrefying in a threadbare patchwork of flesh.

“Dad!” Daeron wails, and he’s covering his face with his hands because he knows what this must mean for the rest of his family too.

“Aemond?!” Rhaena yells. “Aemond, what do you want us to do?!”

You reach for your M9 as the zombie’s leather shoes settle on the marble floor. This seems to shake Aemond from his paralysis.

“No,” he says. “I’ll do it.” He grabs his Glock and aims, but his finger hesitates on the trigger. And you can see the ghosts of the people who have died by his hands lurking in the crystalline blue of his remaining eye: Alys, Jace, Baela and her baby…and now Viserys Targaryen too.

In the lull, in the indecision, Aegon roars and swings his golf club. The metal head collides with the zombie’s skull. Weak corroded bone collapses; blood and brains the color of black mold leak out onto the polished marble.

“It wasn’t enough, huh?!” Aegon screams, then hits the zombie again. The corpse crumples to the floor, but Aegon isn’t done yet. “You couldn’t just fuck everything up when you were alive, you had to keep torturing us from beyond the grave, you sick bastard, you selfish prick, what is wrong with you?!” He whacks the carcass with his golf club again and again. “I hate you! I hate you! You deserved so much worse than this! We crossed an entire goddamn country, and Jace died, and Baela died, and Rio died, all so we could get back here, and now it’s all for nothing because you’ve destroyed everyone you’ve ever touched! I fucking hate you!”

Aegon strikes the zombie one last time—the skull is a pulverized soup of gore and bone fragments—and before anyone can reach for him, he has bolted up the steps to search the rest of the house. You find them in their final resting places: bones in the hallway interspersed with gold rings and a medallion of Saint Irene of Thessaloniki, bones in the shower pierced with stainless steel surgical screws from hip and knee replacements, bones in the master bedroom entangled with shreds of a bloodstained silk nightgown and long locks of auburn hair. Daeron is sobbing, and Cregan takes Helaena outside to the garden to calm down, and Aemond wanders through the rooms in shock. You don’t know what to say to him; you remember how nothing anyone said made a difference when Rio died. But Aegon is furious. He tears away from everyone and goes to his bedroom: racks full of CDs, neon green blankets, an acoustic guitar propped in one corner. Then he ravages his hiding places—inside drawers, under his mattress, on tiny shelves he carved into the walls behind golf and Green Day posters—and collects mint tins. Then he pours out the white powder inside onto his desk and arranges it into lines like contrails behind airplanes, like wagon trails across the earth.

You try to stop him. “Aegon, wait, please don’t—”

“Get the fuck out,” he hisses, and for the first time you see the cold reptilian sheen of something like hate in his eyes. “You don’t have to pretend to love me. I can be alone. I’m used to it.”

“Aegon, I’m not—”

“They’re gone. You can leave too.” Then he slams the door and locks it.

~~~~~~~~~~

While Aegon is upstairs getting high and Helaena is downstairs inventorying supplies in the massive walk-in pantry, the rest of you use shovels from the garage to bury what is left of the bodies in the backyard, unceremonious shallow graves, the soil too rocky for anything more elaborate. Rhaena uses her jagged sliver of slate to mark stones with their names and a few kind words about each of them; but Viserys’ stone is left blank. Then Rhaena returns inside to help Helaena prepare for dinner, while Daeron inspects the perimeter of the house with Cregan and Ice. Luke uses a telescope near the pool not to gaze up at the rising stars but to study the neighboring properties.

Aemond murmurs as he stands in front of the four graves: “I should have gotten here sooner. Maybe I could have saved them.”

“You still have a family,” you say, begging him to believe that there are things worth living for. “You have Aegon and Daeron and Helaena, Rhaena, Luke, Cregan. And you have me.”

Aemond stares out over the Pacific Ocean. The sky above is red and lavender, fire and dreams. “How do we get to Diego Garcia?” He is only half-joking.

“Well you just find a boat and row about 10,000 miles that way.”

He sighs and drags his trembling fingers through his hair. It has always been his job to know what happens next, and now he doesn’t. Gulls squawk and wheel in the air. His right cheek glistens with tears.

“I never saw the ocean until I joined the Navy,” you say, and Aemond looks over at you, curious but not wanting to react in the wrong way and scare you into going quiet again. He’s always mining for details of your past, and you’re endlessly evading him. But perhaps you have been too secretive. He wants to know these things because he wants to know you, and you have no idea how long you’ll be here to shed your mysteries. If a story dies with you, it dies forever.

“Really?”

“Yeah. My mother…Mama, I always called her Mama…she went to Virginia Beach a few times while I was growing up, and that was her favorite place in the world. But she never took me with her. She’d go with my aunt or my oldest brothers. So when I got to basic training on the shore of Lake Michigan, that was the closest thing to an ocean I’d ever seen, and it absolutely amazed me.”

“Lake Michigan,” Aemond repeats, trying not to sound like he’s mocking you.

You smile. “And then of course I ended up in some more impressive places. But compared to Soft Shell, Lake Michigan was a whole different planet.”

“Soft Shell?”

“Like softshell turtles. They’re one of those animals that are so ugly they’re almost cute. We have a lot of them in Kentucky. Well, we used to. Maybe people ate them all when the food ran out.”

“Soft Shell, Kentucky,” Aemond says. “What was it like? I mean…I know you left, and I know you had good reasons…but I’ve never been to Kentucky. I’ve never really been to Appalachia period.”

“It’s beautiful. You get all four seasons, and you’re out in nature all the time, and it feels old, like hardly anything has changed there in thousands of years. You feel connected to the earth. I loved the forests and the mountains. I don’t think I realized how much I loved certain things about where I’m from until I’d been gone for years. I didn’t leave because I had to get away from Kentucky. I left because I had to get away from who I was when I was there, you know? Someone lonely and helpless. But how my family was isn’t Kentucky’s fault.”

“No,” Aemond muses. “I suppose not.” You begin walking together back towards the house.

“Ready for more bad news?” Luke asks, and gestures for you and Aemond to peer through the telescope. Aemond lets you go first, and immediately you see what Luke means. There are zombies in the surrounding hills, and not just a few. There are hundreds, stumbling around aimlessly and posing no current threat; but you are not safe here.

“We don’t have enough people to defend ourselves,” Aemond says once he’s taken a look, tapping his chin in that way that he does when he’s fearful but trying to hide it.

“No, we don’t,” Luke agrees.

“And there aren’t many natural resources here to subsist on. Even the fishing prospects aren’t great without a boat or a pier.”

“Right,” Luke says.

You wonder if Aemond is thinking the same thing you are. He might not know what has to happen next, but you do.

~~~~~~~~~~

The dining room table—large enough to seat twenty—is illuminated with candles, meticulously arranged with china and silverware, and cluttered with canned soups from brands you’ve never seen before: Amy’s, Pacific Foods, Health Valley. There are cases of Perrier and San Pellegrino to drink, and bottles of Chateau Lafite Rothschild red wine. Everyone else is here except Aegon. You are just about to go find him when he comes rushing down the staircase and into the dining room. He is wearing clothes from his closet here: a salmon pink polo that emphasizes his sunburn, khaki shorts, a white puka shell necklace, Sperry Bahama sneakers. The left shoe just barely fits over the bandages still protecting his healing left leg. There are fingerprints of white powder on the front of his shirt.

“Oh, look!” he announces. “Isn’t this precious? A family dinner?”

“Aegon, please sit down,” Aemond says briskly.

“Come on, it’ll be just like old times. We have all four of us kids, and then…Rhaena, you can be my dear departed Grandpa Otto, you just have to scowl at everyone…and Luke can be Criston.”

Luke is confused. “What—?”

“No no no! Don’t worry. It’s a very easy part. All you have to do is gaze worshipfully at Aemond and talk about how brilliant he is. There’s really not much to it, and honestly you do a lot of that already. And then…” Aegon floats by you, skimming his palm down the length of your hair. Something about the weight of his hand gives you goosebumps: careless, careful, fleeting, intimate. He sighs: “My beautiful, tortured mother.”

“Aegon, sit down,” Aemond orders.

“Father!” Aegon cries out suddenly, spotting Cregan at the head of the table. Cregan looks around the dining room, baffled. “You’ve joined us! How unusual! Did your Titanic replicas spontaneously combust? Did the world end? Well, actually, it sort of did…”

“Buddy, I have no earthly clue what you’re trying to—”

“Now this is a tough part,” Aegon says forcefully. “Patriarch of the Targaryen dynasty, big shoes to fill! But don’t worry, I’m here to help. I’ll give you your lines. All you have to do is repeat after me, okay?”

Cregan studies him and does not assent.

Aegon slams both palms down onto the table. “You’re so fucking stupid, Aegon. You’re a humiliation, Aegon. Why can’t you be smart like Aemond, or sweet like Helaena, or obedient like Daeron? Why did my firstborn child turn out to be such a fucking waste?”

“I’m not going to say that,” Cregan replies quietly.

“Say it,” Aegon seethes.

Now Daeron is weeping between spoonfuls of Amy’s tortilla soup straight from the can. “I want to go home.”

“We are home,” Aemond says.

“This isn’t home anymore, Aemond,” Daeron sniffles.

Aegon is still trying to feed Cregan lines. “Have you found a wife yet, Aegon? No, of course you haven’t. You’ve got hands like a rat and a disposition to match. You’re an overgrown vermin, you’re a plague to every house you enter. Who would fuck you out of anything but greed or pity?”

“Aegon, please stop,” Aemond pleads, wincing and rubbing his forehead.

Helaena folds her arms atop the table and rests her head on them, hiding her face. Luke and Rhaena keep their eyes downcast. Daeron reaches for a bottle of red wine, but Aegon swats his hand away.

“Nope. Illegal. You’re not 21.”

“Aegon, seriously, I’m so over that joke—”

“Shut up. You can’t even get a tattoo without parental consent.”

“Our parents are dead!” Daeron shouts. “They died terrible deaths and they’re never coming back and you’re making everything worse!”

“Then get rid of me! Put me out on the street and I won’t be anyone’s problem anymore! I’ll get murdered or eaten and it’ll be the best thing that ever happened to you!”

Helaena breaks down sobbing, and before Aegon can register what’s happening Cregan scoops him up off the floor and throws him over one broad shoulder. Then Cregan lugs him upstairs as Aegon struggles and yowls and punches at Cregan’s back, all in vain. You can hear a lot of commotion and then finally Cregan reappears, sweat beading on his brow but otherwise composed.

“I tied him to his bedframe with an extension cord,” Cregan says. “I don’t think he’ll be making any more trouble this evening.”

“Thank you,” Aemond replies, defeated.

“If he’s going to be up there all night, he’ll need water and food,” you say. “And enough blankets to make sure he’s warm.” It gets chilly when the sun goes down here, as low as the 50s. You grab two bottles of Perrier off the table and stand to bring them upstairs to Aegon, but Cregan gently takes them out of your hands.

“I’ll make sure he’s well supplied, Miss Chips,” Cregan insists, and you are convinced he thinks he’s doing you a favor. He doesn’t want Aegon to have the opportunity to upset anybody further. And yet a part of you is undeniably disappointed.

Aegon has been gone for ten minutes, and you miss him already.

~~~~~~~~~~

In Aemond’s childhood bedroom, a huge, impersonal, spartan space, the very few pieces of furniture all in the same color scheme of white and navy blue, you cannot say anything to bring his family back to life, or his friends, or the possibilities of what his life might have been before the dead began to walk. But you remember what he did for you when Rio died and you were sinking in dark, numb despair, and so you take Aemond’s hands and place them on your body—skimming under your t-shirt, circling around your waist—offering yourself like a sacrifice that you both desperately need, like a shot of antivenom that will only buy you hours. He draws you into his lap, and beneath your palms and your lips and your thighs, you can feel him coming back to you, filling up with light like a horizon at dawn.

“I’m still here,” you whisper as he throws you down onto the bed, eases himself into you, carries you away like a ship coasting out into open water. I don’t ever want to be anywhere but here.

Aemond holds you after, ensnared in sweat-damp sheets and entwined fingers, and he confesses: “I knew it was possible that they might not still be alive. Logically, I knew that. But it was like I never allowed myself to feel it. And now it’s…it’s…it’s all at once and it’s too much. I can’t fathom that I’ll never see them again. But I don’t even have time to mourn. I need to figure out where we’re going next.”

“Aemond?”

His lips to your forehead, his voice a drowsy murmur: “Hm?”

“I have to tell Rio’s family what happened to him.”

He pulls back to look at you. “You want to go to Oregon?”

“What if Odessa really is safe?”

At first he is bewildered; then he begins to consider it. “Criston’s Tahoe is in the garage. If we siphon the gas left in all the vehicles, we might have enough to get us halfway there.”

“That’s a lot better than none of the way there.”

“We’ll all have to vote on it. The trip will be dangerous.”

“Everything is now.”

“Almost everything,” he teases, his hand sliding down between your legs, taking you far away again.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the morning, you find Aegon at the cliffside smoking one of his Marlboro Golds, slow meditative drags, eyes bloodshot with lack of sleep. That’s alright. He can nap in the Tahoe. Rhaena won’t need his directions for a while; you’ll stay northbound on Route 1 for 200 miles before cutting inland as you near the Oregon border.

You sit down on the sandy, shrub-strewn ground beside Aegon and wait for him to speak. It takes a while, but you don’t mind. You’ve always had patience; you’ve always been a better listener than someone who fills silences.

At last Aegon says: “I don’t want to be like this anymore.”

“Then stop.”

He smirks bitterly, glaring out into the sunrise, orange light like fire on his sunburned face. “You make reinvention sound so easy.”

“It’s not easy. But it is simple. You decide to get out, and then you do it. You don’t let anything convince you to give up or change course. The only way out is through.”

“I have a proposition.”

“I’m still not interested in fake dating you.”

He cackles. “No, it’s something else.”

“Okay. Let’s hear it.”

Now Aegon is serious. “I don’t ever want to split up again. Not in a year, not in ten years, not in twenty. Never.”

You smile as you watch the reflection of the dawn in his eyes, murky faraway blue like oceans all across the globe. “I didn’t know you thought so highly of commitment.”

“I want to take care of you until you die. I want you to take care of me until I die. And that’s as far as commitment goes with me.”

“Deal.” You offer Aegon your hand.

He shakes it. “Deal.”

Two hours later, Criston Cole’s white Chevy Tahoe is loaded high with supplies—including several of Aegon’s golf clubs and his acoustic guitar—and heading north on Route 1, a Fall Out Boy song from one of Aegon’s mixtapes blaring through the speakers:

“When Rome’s in ruins

We are the lions, free of the Colosseums

In poison places, we are antivenom

We’re the beginning of the end…”

You rest your head on Aemond’s shoulder and wait for the sapphire-and-gold Bay Area to become the misty, primordial emerald green of the Pacific Northwest.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #hotd fanfic #hotd fic

199 notes · View notes

planetpedri · 2 months ago

Note

Hello hope you're well. Could I maybe please request Pablo Gavi x reader who is sick and also with this prompt "You must love me a lot." "Obviously, idiot" "What now you're insulting a sick person?" Only write this if you want and feel free to include or exclude any of the prompt. Thank you😁

Lovesick — Pablo Gavi.

Pairing: Pablo Gavi x Fem!Reader

Summary: Being sick was the worst, but luckily you have the best boyfriend in the world.

Word count: 576

Disclaimer/s: reader has a bad cold , otherwise just fluff!

A/N: need this man sooo bad.

Waking up to your head throbbing, was the worst thing in the world, to say the least. Nose stuffed and itchy, the universe clearly wasn’t on your side. Turning over in bed, your lip pulls into a smile. Your boyfriends worried face is the first thing you’re met with, and although you were sickly and nauseous, he still left you with a fluttering stomach.

“Good morning.” He grins tiredly, his voice raspy from sleep. Gavi turns on his side, rolling over to give you a kiss, which you quickly decline.

Dodging his lips, you are quick to explain why when you see the hurt flash across his face. “I’m sick! I woke up and my throat’s burning and my nose is stuffy! I’m not purposely avoiding a kiss, just don’t want to infect you.”

Gavi doesn’t look pleased in the least, not because of the kiss, but because the worry that took over. “You’re sick? How? You seemed fine yesterday.” His eyebrows knit together, hand reaching out to press against your forehead.

“I know, it’s hot, was the first thing I checked. I must’ve got something when I was visiting my family a few days ago and it just kicked in.” You shrug, shuffling to sit upwards but wince, pain shooting through your head.

The brunette takes that as his cue to get up, “lay down, stay there.” He instructs, pulling a shirt over his head and fixing his tussled sleep hair.

“What’re you doing?” You ask, eyebrow lifting in curiosity as you watch your boyfriend maneuver around the bedroom.

“Going to get you water and some meds.” He answers, not giving you another chance to speak as he makes his way out of the bedroom.

Laying back down, you snuggle up in bed to get more comfortable. You make sure to turn away from the blindes, the less light, the better.

It’s not long before Gavi is kneeling on the ground beside your bed, “drink this, take this, and i’ll call your mom to get that soup she makes when she comes over.” He gives you a small, comforting smile.

Your lips jut out, “aww, you must love me a lot.” There’s a teasing tone in your voice, but you really did mean it. Gavi always cared for you without you even having to ask.

“Obviously, idiot.” He huffs, lips pulling into a small smirk.

A gasp leaves your lips while you take the pill and glass of water from his hands. “Oh, so you’re insulting a sick person now?” You feign offense, head shaking in disbelief.

Gavi laughs, “take the meds and get some rest. I’m going to go call your mom.” He leans forward, like an instinct to kiss you, but purses his lips and leans back. “Right, no sickness for me.” So instead, he presses two fingers to his lips then plants them on your soft lips. The makeshift kiss would have to do for now.

“You’re adorable when you want to be, y’know that?” You hum, taking a second to pop the pill into your mouth and taking a sip of water to hide the growing grin on your lips.

Gavi, now standing, raises an eyebrow. “I’m always adorable, what are you talking about?” He’s walking backwards towards the door, hands cupping his cheeks to add a dramatic effect.

Despite how much it hurt, you laugh, your smile reaching your eyes as you watch his figure disappear behind the door.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @spidybaby @gadriezmannsgirl !

#pablo gavi #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi x you #boyfriend gavi #fluff #fc barcelona #blurb #football #tooth rotting fluff

194 notes · View notes

deanstead · 9 months ago

Text

Low Effort

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Requested: no

Summary: Y/N gets a surprise visit, which triggers some unpleasant symptoms

Word Count: 1k+

Tags/Warnings: mentions of stomach cramps, slight allusion to anxiety, negative emotions

A/N: Long time no see! This is a thing I needed to get off my chest and needed to get the emotions out, so it’s just some Jay comfort/fluff. Also, a warning that I haven’t written in so long, this kind of feels a bit meh, so I hope I haven’t lost too much of my writing touch LOL

JAY HALSTEAD MASTERLIST

You closed your laptop shut, just as your phone lit up with a notification about a new message from Jay.

Sorry, got held up. 10 minutes. Tops.

You smiled, typing a quick response of acknowledgment to tell him not to hurry before you got up, grabbing your bag. You were too fried to continue anything else so you figured you would just go and wait for him. Fresh air was better than whatever was coming through the office vents.

As the glass doors of the main entrance on the first floor slid open and you felt the chill of the Chicago winds hit your face, you sighed. Fresh air was definitely better.

“Y/N.”

You glanced up, your eyebrows naturally bunching together at the sound of a woman’s voice.

As your eyes met hers, you froze for a moment, your brain still processing the fact that she was here.

“Amy?” Her name slipped past your lips before you could stop yourself, even though the only emotion you were feeling at this moment was surprise. There was nothing positive or negative about it.

Amy could feel it in your voice as well. “Can we talk? I’ve missed you.”

You frowned as a cramp shot through your lower abdomen.

“I thought we were better friends than this. Low-maintenance, remember?” Amy said, and you could hear the tone in her voice, the one she used when she was upset or disappointed.

The feeling of indignation shot through you once again.

“Yeah, low maintenance, not low effort.”

Your voice was low but you didn’t let the emotion sway it. You spent years telling yourself that it was just a low-maintenance friendship, that you were both just busy, but you couldn’t ignore the way she’d reappear in front of you only when she needed your support, or when the guy she was seeing was out of town.

You glanced up at the street but hadn’t seen Jay’s car yet.

You exhaled. “Look, Amy. You have your priorities, I get it. Just don’t expect me to drop mine when you blow back into town or when your boyfriend doesn’t have time for you. It doesn’t work that way.”

You felt the cramps intensify and knew what it was. You called it “emotional cramps” with Jay, joking that as long as he kept you happy you’d be fine. Yet, here they were again. Maybe it was because you hadn’t had them in a while, you felt them more intensely now.

You put a hand on your stomach as you looked up at Amy. As expected, she had an indignant look on her face.

“How could you say that, Y/N? I know the fact that I was seeing Trevor was a sore spot with you because you weren’t seeing anyone so I didn’t want to make things harder for you. But now…”

You couldn't even respond as the pain ripped through you once again and you bent forward slightly, your knees buckling a little. You braced yourself for the impact of your knees hitting the concrete sidewalk when you felt his arms around you.

“Babe, what’s wrong?”

Jay.

Amy seemed stunned for a moment before she spoke again, “It must be her…”

“Why’s it acting up?” Jay asked, his entire focus on you as you glanced up at him and quietly shook your head.

Jay glanced up at Amy. They didn’t know each other since you’d met Jay sometime after contact between you and Amy had dwindled to almost nothing. By the time you and Jay had started dating, you’d made up your mind to let go of Amy and this friendship, and it had merely nagged at you a little at the back of your mind from time to time so you hadn’t brought her up.

“Come on, we’re going to Med,” Jay said quietly, pulling you upright.

You glanced at him. “Don’t you dare carry me,” You warned.

Despite the worried look in his eyes, Jay smiled. “We’re going to Will.” He repeated, almost like he was daring you to argue.

You didn’t argue. Partly because all you wanted to do was get out of there but partly because you knew it was useless. Besides, the pain was more intense than you remembered.

Without a second glance back, Jay helped you into the car and drove off, both of you leaving Amy still standing on the sidewalk.

You knew what had triggered the attack, so after getting medication for the pain and cramping, you’d been feeling much better.

“You know I’d be feeling even better if you would stop hovering, Detective.” You said, directing the comment at your boyfriend.

Will smiled as he tapped on the iPad in his hand and glanced at his brother. “She’s fine. Her tests are normal, and it was probably just a one-off stress-related attack.”

You nodded. “I’ll follow up with my therapist, I promise.”

Will ruffled your hair affectionately and you growled because he knew you hated it.

“I’ll get the discharge started.”

Jay was quiet as he leaned over you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, before you glanced back down.

“Amy’s an old friend.” You said, after a while. "At least, she was."

Jay didn’t say anything, so you continued, telling him about how Amy was when she started dating anyone, and it only progressively got worse. “And it’s not about seeing her often, you know? It’s just…”

Jay nodded. “You didn’t feel like she cared.”

You sighed quietly. “I just… it got to a point where I realized she didn’t care. I was a friend when she needed me, and when she didn’t, I just… didn’t exist. And apparently, to her, that’s me being sore.”

Jay just took your hand in his, gently stroking your fingers.

“But I just realized it was better to have no one than to be treated that way, so I just…”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Jay said quietly. “Listen, someone who gives you low effort doesn’t deserve you. I don’t care who they are. Anyone who makes you feel this way doesn’t deserve even one percent of you.”

You looked up at him and smiled, a little sadness hidden behind it.

“I guess seeing her today just brought it all back, you know? And then it triggered all those emotions and then my stomach cramps decided to join the party.” You made a face.

Jay smiled quietly back at you. “But you know what? You’re not alone. At least not anymore.”

You smiled and leaned forward for a hug. Jay perched by the edge of the bed, pulling you gently into his arms and you buried your face into his shoulders, feeling his arms encircle your entire body.

“I know.” You whispered.

Jay kissed the top of your head. “Good.”

THANK YOU FOR READING!! PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THIS!!

If you want to support me, buy me a coffee!

#resa.fics #jay halstead #jay halstead x reader #chicago pd #chicago pd x reader #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead oneshot #jay halstead fanfiction #jay halstead x you #jay halstead x y/n

573 notes · View notes

illdowhatiwantthanks · 3 months ago

Note

hii I love ur Casey fics sm!!

could I please request a Casey Novak fluff where Olivia is ur mum and you get into an accident or something with a perp, whatever u prefer to write and they find out when they’re both at the hospital with you thank youuuu <3

Hey, anon! Thanks so much for this request! This is actually the most fun I've had writing in a while. I was literally laughing out loud writing this. Hope you enjoy! ❤️ –illdowhatiwantthanks

When Worlds Collide

Casey Novak x fem!reader / Olivia Benson x daughter!reader Warnings: hospital times, age difference relationship, under the influence of pain meds, explicit language (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 1.4k

Summary: After a car wreck puts you in the hospital, your worlds collide. In this case, your worlds being your girlfriend, ADA Casey Novak, and your mom, Captain Olivia Benson.

Olivia signed in at the nurse’s station, her handwriting messy from her shaking hands. She knew you were an adult. She knew you could take care of yourself. But what mother wouldn’t be scared out of her mind after getting a call that her daughter was in the hospital after a car crash. The nurses at the station outside the ER had assured her that you were okay, just banged up. But, well, she was your mom. She’d stay worried until she could see with her own two eyes that you were alright.

“Olivia?”

Olivia jumped at the voice, recognizing it immediately.

“Casey, hey,” she said, noticing her ADA’s unkempt appearance. She’d clearly just come from the gym or home or somewhere like that, as evidenced by her running clothes. She looked anxious, too. “What are you doing here?”

“My girlfriend’s here,” she explained, voice shaky as she signed in, too.

“Jesus.” Olivia shook her head. “Must be something in the air today.”

“Are you here for work?” Casey asked, following Olivia through the double doors that led out of the ER waiting room.

She shook her head. “No, actually. My daughter was in a car wreck.”

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” Casey empathized. “I hope she’s okay.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They both stopped outside of Room 112, each shuffling awkwardly for a moment.

“Well,” Olivia started. “I hope your girlfriend’s okay. I’ll let you get to her.”

“Same with your daughter,” Casey added, nodding emphatically.

But, still, neither moved.

“I’m sorry,” Olivia tried again. “This is actually my daughter’s room, so I’m gonna go in now.”

Casey gaped at her, face burning. “This is your daughter’s room?”

“Yeah?” Olivia confirmed, not understanding the confusion.

“No, this is my girlfriend’s room,” Casey insisted.

The two looked at each for a long moment, gears turning until they finally clicked.

Olivia fumbled with her words. “I– you… are you…?”

Casey threw open the door and stared at you, your eyes wide and your smile even wider–you were clearly high on pain meds. “This is your daughter?” she asked Olivia, gesturing toward you.

But you answered all their questions as soon as you spoke.

“Look at this!” you observed out loud, as if you truly could not believe it in your drugged state. “My two favorite women in the whole world are here! At the same time! Wow!”

Casey sat heavily in a chair near the bed. “Oh my god,” she groaned. “Y/N, what?! Your mom is Captain Olivia Benson?!”

Olivia stood at the edge of the room, face burning, looking back and forth between you and Casey, as if she couldn’t decide who to yell at first.

“Olivia, I had no idea. I swear,” Casey said, trying to defend herself.

Your eyes narrowed, as if you were in on the world’s most obvious secret. “I had an idea,” you whispered to Casey in your loudest voice.

“Why didn’t you say anything then, you asshole?!” she yelled, trying and failing to be mad at you. It was so hard when you had that bandage on your head, with your dopey grin, and your eyes so, so clearly full of nothing but love.

“I like to walk on the wild side,” you slurred.

“No you fucking don’t!” Olivia finally yelled. “You’ve been a goody-two-shoes since before you were born. You have a 4.0 in graduate school, for god’s sake. What the hell is happening right now? Are you mad at me!? Are you going through a late-bloomer rebellious stage?”

“Oh, Mom,” you said, giggling at her. If you had looked at Casey, you would have seen her absolutely horrified by how nonchalant you were being. “Lighten up. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“And you!” Olivia railed, starting in on Casey. She sat still, penitent, staring at the ground, as if preparing to accept a well-deserved lecture. “What the hell are you doing with a 20-year-old?!”

“24!” you protested.

“You’re my age! She could be your daughter!”

“I mean, I’m a little bit younger than you,” Casey grumbled.

“Mom,” you whined. “Don’t scare off my girlfriend. I like older women, okay? It’s no big deal.”

“I’m not old,” Casey protested quietly, shooting you a glare.

“Of course you’re not, babe. You’re perfect,” You tried and failed to pat her on the arm, instead just waving your hand in the air.

“I just…” Olivia let out a shaky breath. “I think I need a minute. I’ll… I’ll be back in a few.”

“Uh-oh,” you said, raising your eyebrows at Casey as the door swung shut. “Do you think she’s mad at me?”

Casey sighed and stared at you, brushing a strand of hair affectionately off your forehead. “Maybe a little… I think she’s more mad at me. I’m gonna go talk to her. I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, don’t leave me!” you called pitifully, grasping for her hand.

She smiled and laughed a bit, bending to kiss your forehead. “Are you listening to me?! I said I’d be right back. Calm down.”

Another dopey grin, and you brought her hand to your lips to kiss her palm. “Sorry. It’s hard to listen when you look so pretty.”

Casey beamed at you, her face reddening a bit. “You’re a dork,” she added before pushing the door open to go find Olivia.

Casey almost walked right into her as she stepped out the door.

“Oh,” Casey said, startled. “I was just coming to find you.” Suddenly, the thought that Olivia might have been watching through the sliver of glass in the door made Casey’s heart sink. “Did you, uh…” Her face was beet red by now. “Did you see–”

“Yes,” Olivia interrupted, her voice softer than before.

“I really am sorry, Olivia.” Casey wrung her hands. “I had no idea she was your daughter. If I had known, I would have…” “Would have what?” Olivia prompted, watching Casey closely.

Casey sighed, deciding that honesty was the best policy. “I don’t know actually. I was going to say that I would have made sure you were okay with it, but… I don’t know if that’s true. I really care for her.”

Olivia nodded, seeming to ponder Casey’s words for a moment.

“Do you love her?” she finally asked.

“Yeah, I do.” Casey’s voice was quiet, hesitant. She wasn’t quite sure how Olivia would respond, but she wasn’t about to lie or hide. Olivia’d had enough hidden from her recently.

Olivia sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Okay.”

Casey looked genuinely shocked. “Okay? Really?”

“I mean…” Olivia shrugged. “She’s an adult. It’s not really my place to tell her who to date. And, well, I can’t say you’d be at the bottom of the list of people I know that I’d want her to date.”

This felt a little insulting, considering their long work history, but Casey decided to let it slide given the circumstances.

“But if you hurt her?” Olivia’s voice turned dark for a moment, her glare so piercing that Casey almost had to look away. “Well, I know you know what kind of gun I carry.”

“Jesus, Olivia! I’m not gonna hurt her!”

Now that they were both quiet, they could hear you calling from inside the room.

“Mooooommmm,” you yelled. “Don’t scare my girlfriend, pleasseeeee! I love her! I want her to kiss me!”

Your face lit up when they walked into the room together. “Mom!” you called. “Did you know Casey is an ADA? That’s hot.”

Olivia rolled her eyes and sat on the side of your bed opposite Casey. “Yes, my love,” she said. “Believe it or not I did know about Casey being an ADA.”

You giggled to yourself conspiratorially, as if you’d just orchestrated the world’s best joke. “I know!”

“But Mooommm,” you continued. “Did you know I love her?”

“Now I do,” she grumbled.

You let your eyes fall on Casey, reaching out for her hand.

“I love her hair and her eyes and her face.”

Casey smiled at you, and you continued, letting your eyes wander down her body.

“I love her lips and her–”

“Okay!” Casey interrupted, blushing. “I think we get it, honey. Please stop talking now.”

But you were just so happy. Your head felt fuzzy and light, and the room was bright and warm, and your two favorite people were here.

“This is the best day of my life,” you said, tearing up. Casey held onto one of your hands, and your mom held the other, and for just a brief moment you saw them make eye contact, and it was as if they decided together that there was room for both of them to love you.

#casey novak #casey novak x reader #casey novak x fem!reader #olivia benson x daughter!reader #casey novak fanfic #olivia benson fanfic #svu #law and order svu #svu fanfic

224 notes · View notes

bellarkeselection · 5 months ago

Note

Could you do a will halstead x reader where they’re engaged and she’s a detective in intelligence, she’s been having stomach pains for about a week but put it down to cramps or stress whenever someone asked especially when Will asked but then at work she collapses and when they take her to med they find out the pain was appendicitis and Will’s like why didn’t you say something before

Didn’t Want You to Worry

@annieradcliff

“Y/n, are you sure you're okay in there?” My fiancé Will asked on the other side of the door. We had both gotten dressed and ready for work, me as an intelligence detective and he an ED doc. Unfortunately I felt harsh pain hit me so I went and sat down in the bathroom waiting until they went away.

I assumed it had to be cramps or something like that. Except I didn't think my period was supposed to come for another two weeks. “I'll be fine, Will. It's just some cramps is all. If you need to go to work that's fine.”

“Okay. You know I can stay home if you want to and take care of you if you're not feeling good.” He explained through the other side of the door.

Pushing myself up off the ground I felt them disappear allowing me to open the door and give him a half smile. “Seriously it's nothing. My period is probably coming earlier or it's just stress from the long case we've been working on.”

“Okay just call me if it's gets any worse.” He leans forward planting a kiss on my forehead before he left our apartment.

Making my way to work I was simply sitting down at my desk moving through fingers files on the computer till another wave of pain shot through my body. “Ah! Son of a bitch.” I winced gripping the wood of my desk underneath my fingernails.

Voiets office door opened and Will's brother Jay came out coming over to talk to me. “It's crazy to think you're going to be Mt sister in law in a few more weeks. Hey are you alright?”

“Just some pain stomach pain today - are you bringing Hayley to the wedding?”

Jay sat down on the edge of my desk scanning his eyes over me. “Do you want me to get you some advil?”

“No, I can get it myself. I have some in my locker. I'll be right back.” Standing up from my desk chair I had managed to walk into the hallway before my eyes grew heavier and my body fell forward where I collapsed into the nearest door.

I could hear Jay holler my name, coming around the corner to see what had happened. “Y/n! Oh geez. Voiet call an ambulance.”

“Jay - I'm - okay.” I croaked out barely able to keep my eyes open.

He brushed hair out of my face seeing I was struggling to stay awake. “Just hang on, Y/n. We're gonna get you to Med.” After that I must have blacked out because the next thing I knew I was waking up in the ED, laying on one of their hospital beds.

I began looking around the room noticing that there was an iv in my left hand and the screens were popping up with all different kinds of numbers clearly reading my vitals. “Where is she. Where is she, Msggie!” I recognized Will’s voice coming down the hallway.

“She’s in here.” Maggie drew open the curtain to my room.

Will bolted inside the room rushing to my bedside. “Y/n! Oh my god I knew something was wrong this morning. Why were you trying to act like it wasn’t?” His eyes scanning over mine almost a mile a minute.

I shake my head wishing he wouldn’t worry. “Will, I just got light headed. I'm probably dehydrated. Just give me some liquids and I'll be on my way.”

“Y/n, Jay told me you collapsed st work. That isn’t something minor.” Will spat me with worry in his voice.

I huffed crossing my arms over my chest seeing the curtain move again and Dr. Manning enter the room with an iPad in her hands. “Hi Y/n, how are you feeling?”

“I'd feel a lot better it I was out of - he-ah!” I gasped holding my stomach trying to curl myself into a ball on the bed.

Will rubbed my lower back keeping his other hand on my shoulder eyeing his friend. “Nat, what's wrong with her?”

“I wish I could say it was something minor but it’s not. You are actually going to need surgery. You have something wrong with your appendix. That’s why you’ve been feeling so much pain for the past couple of weeks.”

Will sent her a look asking. “Can you give us a minute, Nat. Y/n, why didn’t you tell me sooner and just have been lying about it.”

“I didn’t want to worry you. You already have enough on your plate with getting the wedding venu and everything else. I didn’t want to add onto the stress when I really believed it was my period cramps or stress myself, at least until this morning.”

Will closed the gap between us, cupping my face in his hands kissing me deeply. “I’m gonna be your husband, babe. You don’t have to keep things from me. I’m always going to be here for you.”

“Thank you, Will. I - I really appreciate you saying that to me,” I sniffed through happy tears relieved that he would be for me no matter what came our way. Our jobs in day to day life was hard enough, but we’d get through everything together. “I love you, Will Halstead.”

He smiled down at me, kissing my forehead sweetly. “I love you too, soon to be Mrs. Halstead.” I must have gotten pretty lucky to end up calling him my husband for the rest of my life.

#will halstead x reader #will halstead #will halstead imagine #nick gehlfuss #chicago med #chicago med x reader #chicago med imagine #will halstead fanfiction #will halstead fluff #ask box is open for anything #requests open #comments really appreciated #Chicago med fanfiction

210 notes · View notes

clockwayswrites · 5 months ago

Text

Part 1 Part 2

Danny & Cass, Black, Electric whirring @barbiethecryptid

cw: fear toxin

Danny is running. His feet are loud against the asphalt, loose toe of his bettered, red sneakers slapping the street loudly a moment before his foot hit hard.

They’ll hear him.

He has to keep running. He can’t let them catch him.

Why isn’t he— he can’t! He can’t change into Phantom.

If he’s Phantom they’ll know.

Molecule by molecule.

They can’t know.

He can’t be Phantom.

Never again.

Never—

A figure lands in front of him. Tall, broad shouldered.

“Dad,” Danny croaks out.

“It’s okay,” Jack says, hand outstretched as he comes slowly forward. There’s something in his hand. A syringe.

Danny stumbled back. “No! Stay away from me!”

“I’m here to help.”

“No! You’ll know and you’ll kill me and I don’t want to die again!” Danny choked on hims words as a sob tore out of him. “Please, Dad, I don’t want to die again. Please don’t kill me.”

His dad stilled.

Danny took the chance to run. He turned down an alley only for another figure to join him. But that was—

“Birdie! No, get out of here!” Danny grabbed her hand and pulled. “My dad’s here and he— I don’t know if their scanners will pick you up or not but you have to run.”

Black bird didn’t budge.

“Birdie, please,” Danny begged.

Something sharp bit into Danny’s neck. He legs felt like rubber. He clung to Birdie.

“Please, we have to run.”

“Cass, honey.”

Cass twisted to face Bruce. Batman. Or was he Bruce or Batman? His cowl was down, but the rest of the uniform was still in place. His expression was all Bruce though. Cass didn’t know.

She pressed back against the metal edge of the med bay bed, fingers still twisted in Danny’s. She refused to let go of his hand. She didn’t want him to wake alone.

“Cass, I’m not angry,” Batman Bruce said. His body was practically, purposefully screaming it; his arms were carefully relaxed against his side, palms empty and facing out. His shoulders were dropped so that he looked slightly smaller. His eyes were soft. “I’m not going to make him leave. I just need to understand a little bit of what’s going on.”

Cass searched his eyes. They didn’t lie. It’s why he hid them in the cowl, she thought. His eyes couldn’t lie.

Slowly, Cass shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, tucked next to Danny’s ribs and still holding his hand. She gave a small nod. Bruce could ask. The hums and beeps of medical machines loud in the silence as Bruce gathered his thoughts. He took the seat in the room and leaned forward to rest his elbows onto his knees, hands clasped. All of his attention was on Cass.

“Is he from your life before you escaped?”

Cass’s hand tightened around Danny’s and she shook her head quickly. She didn’t like to even think of Danny going through that.

Bruce must have felt the same by the breath he let out. “Alright. So he isn’t related to you? He isn’t a sibling?”

That was harder to answer. Cass tilted her head. Slowly, she tapped her finger tips to her chest and then motioned to Bruce and back to herself and then to Nightwing Dick who had come to stand in the doorway.

Bruce’s face softened. “Not by blood, but he’s family to you the same as we are— a family made.”

Cass nodded quickly. Yes. Yes that exactly.

“This is who’ve been visiting in the city, isn’t it?”

Another nod.

“Have you told him about being Black Bat? He knew who you were in mask.”

Cheeks puffed up angrily, Cass shook her head.

“Okay,” Bruce spread his hands. “It’s likely he’s a meta just from his readings. Does he have a home to go back to?”

In an aggressive motion, Cass pointed up at the ceiling, towards the manor.

Bruce just chuckled as he stood. “Okay honey, I’ll have Alfred make a room for him. You need to shower, we all were exposed to the fear toxin, but then you can stay with him.”

“Well this is going to be an interesting breakfast, I think I’ll stick around,” Dick said with a no good smile.

It made Cass’s own lips twitch into a little smile of her own.

“This one is not my fault,” Bruce said as he stepped around his oldest.

“Sure Bruce, like that matters. Can’t wait till the press release, he’s even got the right coloring,” Dick said and let Bruce past. Dick’s smile was wide as he looked at Cass. “You go shower, Cass. I’ll stay with him.”

Cass jumped off the bed and hurried off, wanting to be back with Danny quickly.

#dp x dc #batpham #prompalomp

497 notes · View notes

skywalker1dream · 6 months ago

Text

Title: Love, Laughter, and Appendicitis

carlos sainz x reader

note: is 4:30am and i cant sleep so i was like why not write something and here it is...hope you like it, hope you are having a good day or night, dont forget to drink water and eat healthy...:)

Warnings: Fluff, Mention of Medical Procedures, Mild Language. thats it, i think?

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

You sit in the stiff, uncomfortable chair beside Carlos' hospital bed, fingers entwined with his. The sterile smell of antiseptic fills the air, mingling with the faint scent of the flowers you'd brought earlier in the day. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor is a constant reminder of where you are and why you're here.

Carlos had been rushed to the hospital with a sudden bout of appendicitis. The surgery had gone smoothly, but the waiting had been torture. Now, as he lay recovering, his handsome face was relaxed in sleep, the worst of your worries were behind you. But you couldn’t help the anxiety that lingered, your eyes tracing the lines of his face, searching for any sign of discomfort.

Carlos Sr., his father, sits on the other side of the bed, a comforting presence in the otherwise clinical room. He’s been through this before, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to your still-frayed nerves.

Carlos stirs, his eyes fluttering open. You lean forward, your heart leaping as he wakes. His brown eyes are glazed, a side effect of the pain medication, but they light up when they find yours.

“Mi amor,” he slurs, a lazy smile spreading across his lips. “Did you bring the giraffes?”

You blink in confusion, glancing at Carlos Sr., who chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Giraffes, Carlos?” you ask gently, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

“Sí, giraffes,” he insists, trying to nod but wincing slightly. “I wanted to ride one. In the… in the… where are we?”

“We’re in the hospital, love,” you say softly, squeezing his hand. “You had surgery, remember?”

He frowns, then his face lights up again. “Oh! The appendicit… appendici-thingy. I remember. It’s gone now, right?”

“Yes, it’s gone,” you reassure him, biting back a smile. “You’re going to be just fine.”

Carlos Sr. shakes his head, laughing quietly. “He’s never been good with pain meds,” he says, his voice filled with affection.

Carlos looks over at his father, his expression suddenly serious. “Papá, you promised to get me a hot air balloon. We need to go to… the moon.”

You can’t help but giggle at the absurdity of it all. Despite your worry, Carlos' delirious ramblings are endearing, his usual composed demeanor replaced with childlike wonder.

“We’ll get you that hot air balloon,” his father promises, playing along. “Just rest for now.”

Carlos seems satisfied with this answer, his eyes drifting closed again. But just as you think he’s fallen asleep, he squeezes your hand, looking up at you with a lopsided grin. “You’re so pretty, did you know that? Like a… a… pretty butterfly. No, wait… prettier.”

Your heart melts, and you press a kiss to his forehead. “Thank you, my love.”

He blinked slowly, his eyes focusing on you with some difficulty. "Hey, cariño," he slurred, his voice dreamy. "Did you know… you have the prettiest eyes? Like... two big... beautiful... stars."

You couldn't help but smile at his words, despite the situation. The anesthesia and pain meds were clearly affecting him. "Thank you, love," you said softly, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead.

Carlos Sr. chuckled from the other side of the bed. "He's going to be talking nonsense for a while. Don't worry, it's normal."

You nodded, but you couldn't stop the bubble of laughter that escaped your lips when Carlos continued. "And... and did you see the... the purple elephants? They were... they were dancing! So funny."

"Purple elephants?" you asked, your amusement growing. "I must have missed them."

Carlos laughed, a sound that was both loopy and endearing. "Yeah, they were... they were here. But they said... 'Carlos, you need to... to rest.' And I said... 'Okay, but only if... if my beautiful wife can stay.'"

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, a mix of relief and overwhelming love. "I'm right here, Carlos. I'm not going anywhere."

He sighed contentedly, squeezing your hand with surprising strength. "Good... 'cause... 'cause I love you so much. Did I tell you that today?"

Carlos Sr. shook his head, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "I think you have, but it's always nice to hear," he said, clearly enjoying the show.

You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Carlos's forehead. "I love you too, Carlos. So, so much."

He beamed up at you, his eyes drifting shut again. "Good... 'cause... you're stuck with me... forever."

"As long as you don't go chasing any more purple elephants," you teased, feeling the tension in your chest finally start to ease.

few minutes later:

Carlos blinked slowly, his expression earnest despite his haze. "No, really," he insisted, his words tumbling out in a jumbled mess. "You’re like... like a goddess. My goddess. And we’re married. Did you know we’re married?"

Your worry melted away as you watched him, replaced by a warm, affectionate amusement. "Yes, Carlos, I know we’re married."

He nodded, as if this was the most profound revelation. "Good, good. Because I love you. So much. More than… more than racing."

His father laughed again, clearly enjoying his son's delirious state. "That's a bold statement coming from you, Carlos."

Carlos turned his head towards his father, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Papa? You’re here too? Are we having a party?"

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, a mix of relief and endearment washing over you. "No party, love. Just making sure you're okay."

Carlos's eyes grew wide, and he tried to sit up, only to be gently pushed back down by you. "Easy there, don’t hurt yourself."

He pouted slightly, a comical sight on his usually composed face. "I wanted to dance with you. Can we dance later?"

You nodded, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "Yes, we can dance later. When you’re feeling better."

Carlos sighed contentedly, his eyes drifting shut again. "Okay. I like dancing with you. And kissing you. Lots of kisses."

Carlos Sr. patted his son’s leg affectionately. "Rest, Carlos. You can do all the dancing and kissing you want once you’re better."

You watched as Carlos's breathing evened out, a serene look settling on his face. He sighs contentedly, his grip on your hand loosening as he finally drifts into a peaceful sleep. You sit back in your chair, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. Despite the unexpected twist in your day, Carlos’ silly, medicated declarations have put you at ease.

Carlos Sr. stands, stretching. “I’ll get us some coffee,” he says, patting your shoulder. “You’re doing great.”

“Thanks,” you say, smiling up at him. “And thank you for being here.”

He nods, giving you a reassuring smile before leaving the room. Alone with Carlos, you watch his chest rise and fall with each steady breath, your heart swelling with love for this incredible man.

Despite the chaos, the worry, and the gibberish about giraffes and hot air balloons, you wouldn’t trade this moment for anything. This is your life with Carlos, unpredictable, sometimes ridiculous, but always filled with love.

As Carlos sleeps, you allow yourself to relax a bit more, sinking back into the chair and letting the tension drain from your body. His peaceful expression reassures you, reminding you of all the wonderful moments you've shared and the many more you will create together.

A nurse comes in quietly to check on Carlos, her presence a gentle reminder of where you are. She smiles at you kindly, her movements efficient and unobtrusive.

"He’s doing well," she whispers after checking his vitals. "The meds will keep him a bit loopy for a while, but he’s on the mend."

You nod, grateful for her reassurance. “Thank you.”

Once she leaves, you return your attention to Carlos. His hair is slightly mussed, his lips still curled in that adorable, lopsided grin. You can’t help but reach out and run your fingers through his hair, your touch light and tender.

Carlos stirs again, blinking slowly as he regains consciousness. His eyes focus on you, and he smiles sleepily. “Hey, beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep. “Did we get to the moon yet?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Not yet, my love. But soon, I promise.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and comforting. “Good. I need to plant a flag there. A big one, with our faces on it.”

“That sounds perfect,” you say, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “We’ll do that.”

Carlos Sr. returns with two cups of coffee, handing one to you before taking his seat again. “How’s our astronaut doing?” he asks, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“He’s planning our next adventure,” you reply, sharing a smile with him. “We’re going to the moon.”

“Of course you are,” Carlos Sr. says, laughing. “He’s always been a dreamer.”

Carlos, still half-asleep, mumbles something unintelligible, and both you and his father chuckle softly. You take a sip of your coffee, the warmth and bitterness grounding you, reminding you that you’re not alone in this.

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

The day passes slowly, the minutes ticking by with a strange blend of anxiety and calm. Nurses come and go, checking on Carlos and making sure he’s comfortable. Each time he wakes, he has something new and ridiculous to say, each statement more endearing than the last.

As evening falls, Carlos finally starts to become more coherent. His eyes clear, and his grip on your hand tightens. “Hey,” he says softly, his voice more steady now. “How long was I out?”

“Most of the day,” you say, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand. “You needed the rest.”

He sighs, nodding slowly. “I feel like I’ve been talking nonsense.”

“You have,” his father says with a grin. “But it’s been entertaining.”

Carlos groans, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you say quickly, squeezing his hand. “It’s been kind of cute, actually.”

“Cute?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow. “I’m glad you think so.”

You lean in, kissing him softly. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He smiles against your lips, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek. “I am, thanks to you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whisper, feeling your heart swell with emotion.

Carlos Sr. stands, stretching. “I’ll give you two some privacy,” he says with a knowing smile. “But don’t stay up too late. You both need your rest.”

“Thanks, papa,” Carlos says, his voice warm with gratitude.

As his father leaves the room, you settle into the chair beside Carlos, holding his hand and basking in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Despite the day’s chaos, you feel an overwhelming sense of peace. Carlos is here, safe and on the road to recovery, and that’s all that matters.

“Ready for that hot air balloon ride to the moon?” you tease, resting your head on the edge of his bed.

He chuckles, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “As long as you’re with me, I’m ready for anything.”

And in that moment, you know that no matter where life takes you, as long as you have Carlos by your side, everything will be just fine.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #fanfic #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x female reader #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz f1 #carlos sainz #cs55 #cs55 x reader #cs55 imagine #cs55 fluff

222 notes · View notes