#SEEING YOURSELF IN A CHILD WHO HAS BEEN PLACED IN A SITUATION JUST LIKE THE ONE YOU WERE IN AS A CHILD | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sttoru · 1 month

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⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you’re heavily pregnant with sukuna’s child and so desperately need to have your specific pregnancy cravings: mangoes. when you realise you’re out of them, you turn into an emotional mess.

tags. true form!sukuna x wife!female reader. fluff, sfw. pregnancy. size difference (reader referred to as small). reader gets called ‘woman, brat’ wc: 1.8k

you’re crying in your chambers, the volume of your cries overshadowing sukuna’s arrival at the estate. you hiccup and sniffle as you sit in the corner of the master bedroom. there really doesn’t seem to be an end to your mental breakdown.

you’re prone to mood changes because of your pregnancy, already being seven months along. your belly is as round as a globe as it sticks out from under your kimono.

you hold onto your lower abdomen while mumbling to yourself. “not fair,” you rub your blurry eyes with your free hand.

the bedroom doors suddenly swing open. you lift your head from your knees and make eye contact with your husband who looks rather . . . upset. more upset than you are at the moment, that’s for sure.

you whimper as his big and intimidating stature dwarfs over yours while you’re stuck in the corner. when you look up at him, you cry even louder. seeing that familiar face after two whole days of suffering in this place alone gets you even more emotional.

after sukuna entered the room, his gaze had immediately fell upon your quivering figure. he raises an eyebrow as you cry louder once you spot him, the sound breaking his ear drums. he lets out a sharp exhale, a hint of annoyance seeping into his tone.

“enough with the tears,” sukuna grumbles as he crosses the room in a few long strides. his presence is both imposing and protective as he looms over your small figure.

his eyes flicker over your body—taking in the sight of your round belly. he can’t deny that the view makes his shoulders relax, relieved to see his wife do well after two days without seeing you.

sukuna kneels down before you, his eyes narrowing as he notices the tears running down your cheeks. who knows how long you’ve been sobbing? the realisation that no one has checked on you while you’ve been crying like this irks him.

the king of curses will make sure that every single servant - and especially the ones assigned to you - pay for not noticing your sour mood sooner.

“damn it, woman,” sukuna curses under his breath, his words laden with both irritation and a sense of concern, “what’s gotten into you now, hmm? why the blubbering mess?"

you hiccup, gasping for air as sukuna kneels down to your level, something he rarely does. one of his hands reach out to wipe a tear from your cheek, his expression stoic and unreadable while he does so.

“welcome home,” you utter, remembering to greet him properly. you wipe your own tears away and try to explain the situation without it sounding absurd. “i—i went down to the kitchen to get som-something,” you stammer, trying to spit it out before sukuna’s irritation spikes.

“but they didn’t have the food i craved—they’re out of mangoes,” your wailing starts again just at the thought of your non existent fruit. it felt like the most devastating moment in your life when the maids told you that they were out of mangoes.

sukuna’s annoyance quickly dissolves upon hearing your explanation. the revelation that you’re crying over mangoes seems so unbelievable, so absurd, that he couldn't help but let out a dry huff of laughter. an amused smirk tugs at the corners of his lips.

the pink haired man brushes the remnants of the tears away from your face. his rough fingers pause at your chin, giving it a light tap. “mangoes, huh? y’re out here bawling y’r fucking eyes out like a baby for some damn mangoes?”

despite his tough exterior, sukuna knows that pregnancy hormones often amplified emotions, making even the smallest things a cause for crying. and right now, you’re stressing and sputtering over some mangoes.

“mangoes,” you nod and cry softly, watching as sukuna rubs your cheeks with his manly fingers, enjoying his rough touch. you easily guess by just the increased toughness of his calluses that your husband has worked hard while he was gone.

though, mangoes are your current pregnancy craving and not having them meant war to you. it’s all you can focus on—even if your beloved sukuna is right in front of you.

“i need them,” you whine and pout. your hormones made it difficult for you to calm down.

you do, however, try your best to stop crying. you clean your face with the sleeve of your kimono and bite on your bottom lip to refrain from bawling your eyes out for the nth time. “i want my mangoes,” your voice is hoarse as you glance up at sukuna, “please?”

sukuna hates to admit it, but his expression softens upon hearing the hoarse tone of your pleading voice. the view of your tear-streaked face and the knowledge that you’re experiencing pregnancy cravings makes it difficult for him to maintain his usual firm demeanor.

the king of curses sighs, his annoyance replaced by a reluctant acceptance of your plight. “tsk, damn it,” he mutters, lazily resting his head against the palm of one of his hands, “y’re really gonna make me fetch you some mangoes?”

here you are, a grown woman crying and begging like a kid for a sweet, juicy mango. he’s seen you in many states - happy, sad, tired, excited - but never quite as emotionally overwhelmed just for a piece of fruit. sukuna’s large hand reaches out to pat your head in a surprisingly gentle manner, a rare display of his softer side.

you pout at sukuna and lean into his touch as he pats your head. you come up with something witty to say, as you always do. “well, you’re the one who got me pregnant,” you comment in a teasing way, sticking your tongue out at your husband.

no matter what sour mood you’re in, you can still be sassy. though it doesn’t last long before your bottom lip trembles again. “i can’t do anything about it. the baby craves mangos,” you whine as you rub your baby bump to emphasise your words.

you are eating for two people after all—for you and the baby.

sukuna’s smirk widened at your retort and the playful gesture. even in your distraught state, you had the audacity to sass him. damn cheeky little woman.

the pink-haired man chuckled darkly, his hand clumsily ruffling your hair again before pulling away. “‘n i don’t regret a thing. even if i gotta put up with y’r cranky ass.”

you roll your eyes at sukuna’s reply. you know you’re an emotional mess, but you couldn’t care less. anything for your mangoes—those juicy ones that you could eat a dozen of in one sitting.

“the maids said that the mangoes were out of stock in the towns ‘nd villages nearby,” you continue while you carefully stand up from the corner. you’re trying your best to stay rational. you’re extremely hungry and haven’t eaten ever since breakfast. that’s how stubborn you are being.

“but i’m hungryyyyy. want my mangoes,” you sigh and nearly stomp your feet out of frustration.

“yeah, yeah—fuckin’ hell,” sukuna groans, watching you slowly stand up, your pregnant belly protruding like a perfect sphere. it’s a constant reminder of the effect he has on you, and somehow, it makes him proud.

he helps you stand up by holding onto your arm, sharp eyes focused on your body to make sure you don’t strain a single muscle.

after you manage to stand up straight, you walk with sukuna to the kitchen to find something to eat—perhaps some other fruit will satisfy your cravings for now.

sukuna follows behind you, his steps long and leisurely while your shorter strides keep the pace with him. as the two of you walked towards the kitchen, he continues to listen to your repeated mantra. it’s driving him insane.

“mangoes, mangoes, mangoes. i get it, brat,” the king of curses swears he can feel the vein in his forehead throb. you’re lucky that he . . . tolerates you as his wife.

it’s something more than just ‘tolerating’ you, of course. but openly admitting to loving you, even in the slightest, is something sukuna would never do.

if someone would ask him why he goes the extra mile for you, his answer would be that it’s simply because you’re carrying his heir. however only sukuna knows the full truth, the sappy secret he’ll forever keep to himself.

before you arrive at the kitchen, you bump into uraume. they glance from sukuna to you and bow. “good day,” they greet you with as much respect as they do to sukuna. they’ve been doing so ever since you gained your title as his wife.

the king of curses folds all four of his arms over his chest. his lower pair of eyes are still focused on your impatient self, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. he just knows you’re holding yourself back from asking for your active pregnancy craving again.

sukuna clicks his tongue and nods his head at you while he speaks to uraume. “keep an eye on her while ‘m gone. feed her what she wants,” he says in his deep voice, his tone commanding and firm.

uraume remains quiet for a second. sukuna had recently came back from a mission and is once again heading out for some ambiguous reason, but they know better than to question their master.

“where are you going, hubby?”

you of course, get a free pass. you don’t hesitate at all before questioning your husband. sukuna scoffs when he hears your voice ask him that in such an oblivious manner. you should’ve known where he was departing to.

“where’d you think, smartass?” he pinches your nose, causing you to swat his fingers away out of instinct. he gives up on your nose and moves to squeeze your cheeks together in a gentle yet firm manner.

you huff at his antics. sukuna grins at your frown and pout before releasing your jawline with a faint push.

“you better hold on ‘til i come back with y’r stupid mangoes,” he scoffs while turning around to walk to the entrance, “and when i do, i don’t wanna hear ‘nother squeak, understood?”

sukuna seems to have made another mission for himself; find his heavily pregnant wife mangoes before she goes absolutely insane.

your face lights up and you nod repeatedly. your heart melts when you realise that sukuna is actually putting effort to satisfy your needs. he may be harsh and stern at times, but his actions speak louder than his words.

“okay! love you, ‘kuna!” you call out to your lover while he disappears behind the gates. as expected, your words are met by silence.

that’s fine with you. not hearing an ‘i love you’ back doesn’t hurt you as much as it did at the start of your relationship.

you know sukuna cherishes you in his own special way. if he didn’t, you’d be dead long time ago. on top of that, he would not go out on a hunt for mangoes right after coming back home if he didn’t like you.

you know sukuna would let the world burn for you.

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #[STTORU’S QUEUE]

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yeyinde · 2 months

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baby blues

John Price + the panic of fatherhood x reader

pregnancy. babies. soft. sappy. angsty. slight allusions to rough sex. John being possessive and smitten. allusions to childhood trauma. the fear of children is somehow more potent than the fear of god. girl dad John. mentions of Price's divorce lmao

Most assume he'd take to fatherhood like he'd been born for the role; handcrafted to cradle a swaddled babe in his arms. The perfect father figure. But as he hovers over your sleeping form, the little bundle nestled in the sleepy bracket of your arms, he's overcome with a sense of dread that punches hard enough to shatter bone.

The reality is this: Price doesn't understand kids. He wants them. Covets them with a viciousness that almost immediately sets alarm bells off in the heads of those who were opposed to the idea of children, parenthood. Giving birth. But when it comes to being a dad, a role model, an effigy to siphon wisdom and knowledge off of, he flounders. Hesitates.

All he has as an idea of fatherhood is bruises laughed off by the neighbours as him being a clumsy boy. A man who drank in the living room, silent in his fury, his belligerence, until something—anything, really—set him off. He always seemed like he was itching for a reason to punish.

And god, was he ever fucking good at it.

If anger issues are hereditary, then Price picked up the generational slack of his seething ancestors.

It's this, and the plethora of scars and burns that decorate his skin (well hidden, tucked away like a dirty secret because if Old Man Price was anything, it certainly wasn't stupid; he knows how to hide the ugliness of himself away, and how to turn a boy into a punching bag without causing too much damage, too much alarm) that make him ache something fierce when he sees his chubby little child for the first time.

Price doesn't know how to be gentle. All he has are worn, rough hands and a constant stench of smoke. A voice that makes grown men tremble. An ire unmatched thus far in his life.

Until you. Little spitfire. His hellion. You stood on the tips of your toes just to tell him off for being a stubborn pig! and then taught him how to hold you. How to be tender. But even now, he can see the wear on your skin from his bites. His propensity for violence that he morphs into desire. Into lust.

How is he supposed to be a dad when he's this caustic? This mean?

The answer doesn't come. All he gets is the rhythmic sigh of your breath as you sleep, well and truly exhausted after giving birth to their child. All alone. A constant in your lives, it seems. Aloneness. His work takes him away, throws him into dangerous situations. And you carry the brunt of it.

It caused the rupture of his first marriage and is a needling fear he carried with him when you started pursuing him some odd years ago. To think that he'd be standing here now, gazing down at you with your heavy eyes and your soft cheeks, rounded with the additional weight you gained during your early trimesters. A plushness he's trying to keep on you for good—all softened edges, flesh that gives when he touches you, marshmallows out between his fingers when he squeezes.

You look good like this. Motherhood, despite your misgivings (it took three years of him hinting and hounding you before you'd relented with a sure, what's the worst that could happen? We're terrible parents and raise a terrible kid? Or we end up the catalyst for a list of psychological issues and get reamed out during their therapy sessions later on in life?), suits you. Fits you like a glove.

A fact you'd been quietly overwhelmed by in the first few months, grieving the loss of something he couldn't ever understand, or experience. A piece of yourself morphing into the mother that raised you. A kaleidoscope of feelings that you choke on when he asks, unable to render them into coherent words.

But you're good at that, aren't you? Good at culling expectations, at superseding the limits others place on you. Even him.

Especially him.

When he'd said, don't know what you're gettin’ yourself into, love, you took it to the chin like he challenged you to a brawl, and set out to show him why you knew what this was, what he was, and why it didn't matter much.

Even now—

Giving birth all alone. Overcoming the isolation of being shackled to a man who married his post first. Sisterwife to his career. Second in all things.

Even this.

He was in Iceland when he got the call. Laswell, of all people, was on the other line telling him his own wife was in the delivery room. Water broke. Baby is on the way.

And you—

Don't worry, old man. Just do what needs to be done and we'll be waiting. Always.

—well. You certainly are. Alone in a hospital room with the curtains drawn to blot out the sun as you sleep, cradling this thing he made with his fingers shoved deep into your mouth, uttering foul under his breath as he crushed you to the bed, rutting you like an animal—the most tender he could ever be—and he's suddenly all too aware of his own inadequacies. His shortcomings. Failures.

He's not a dad. He's not the sort of man people think about when they think healthy father figure. He likes cigars and whiskey, and sometimes aches for a mission that will let him cut his knuckles on teeth—bloodletting; exorcising his demons out on the people he's sanctioned to kill. How is he supposed to guide a child when he threw a man over a railing without a second thought—

The bundle stirs. Wrinkled, red face scrunching up tight. Little thing is just like you, huh? All softness and give. All—

They cry, and it's shrill. Loud. It jars him.

Not the sound, but the anguish he feels piercing through his chest as they bellow out their confusion to the world, this lost little thing. Strapped with a father who was beaten black and blue and told to be a man when he cried.

But right now—anger is the furthest thing on his mind. He can't fathom that emotion when his child is whimpering in your arms, chubby little fingers grasping at the air. Seeking comfort.

Waking you feels cruel when you've spent the better part of two days awake. Four, really. You couldn't sleep when the contractions hit, wide-eyed and worried about everything. What if something went wrong? If they hated you? What if you hurt them—

Worries he tried to assuage, but couldn't deny he felt them, too.

All he knows how to do is hurt. But as he reaches down for this little thing squirming in your arms, he tells himself to be tender. To be the man his dad never was.

And they're soft. So fuckin’ soft. Tiny, too. His hands dwarf them, engulfing them completely. He tries to blame the way he trembles on the denial of nicotine for so long, but the mist in his eyes, and the burn in his throat, call him a liar. He doesn't know what to do. Even with all the hours spent thumbing through manuals and books and scoffing under his breath at the parenting courses you dragged him to (but paid rigid attention to every word the heavily bangled woman said to him), he feels lost. Unsure. The ground is shaky. Control slips. And that's maybe the crux of it all—

Babies can't be controlled. And it's the loss of this, what makes him whole, keeps him steady, that has him feeling rubber-limbed and fawn-like.

“Quiet, now,” he murmurs, and then winces at the rough drag of his voice in the silence of the room. Too firm, too forceful. All the gentleness he has in his bones was devoured by your greedy mouth when you cracked him open like the legs of a snow crab, marrow slurped up until he was hollow. Empty. His tenderness rests inside your belly. What else does he have to give—

But the warm bundle in his awkward, clumsy hold stops their shrill cries. A girl, he remembers you saying. Crying. Sobbing into the phone when he called, all ugly and gross. He heard you sniffle, snot undoubtedly dribbling from your nose as you wept to him about how fucking cute their baby was. Their little girl.

She's soft. Smells of a newborn, too—something powdery. Sweet. Warmed milk, fresh bread. The clinical books that made you squeamish, the ones that outlined every anatomical and chemical change to your body, mentioned that newborns smelled distinct to each parent. A phenomenon meant to encourage protection and bonding.

It made you shiver, muttering my little parasite under your breath, even as your hand curved possessively over your bulging belly.

He knows that's what this is. Chemical. His mind is evolving, shifting. Changing. And it's then that he feels something hot thicken in his throat. Something ugly, and bitter. The scars on his knuckles, the cigarette burns on his fingers are a sharp reminder of what his father felt and ignored.

He scoffs, then, irritated at himself. He's a grown man and still—

Still thinks of him.

“Won't be like that,” he says, still rough. Still firm. She blinks up at him, eyes rheumy and wide. “Not with you.”

Never. Never. He pins the word to his pericardium, letting it rot his tissue. He'd rather die, he thinks, than ever hurt this little girl. But despite that, he knows he will. Inevitably. Just like he does everything good—or bad—in his life. Leaching from the goodness of others, sucking them dry and letting them moulder. A disappointment everywhere except the battlefield where he screams himself hollow and rents the air with his ire. Incorrigible. Immovable. An object of cruelty. Unforgiving in all aspects. A curse that follows him home, into his marital bed when he pins you down, and makes you profess your love for the beast inside of him. Never satiated, never quelled, until you're shackled at his side. Tucked away from the world he knows is too cruel to people like you who end up a corpse he has to step over on his way for empty retribution.

He thinks, too, about all the ways he's going to ruin this chubby little thing in his arms, and wishes, suddenly, he was a better man.

“Gonna hate my fuckin' guts when you're sixteen, aren't you?” In response, this little thing just opens its red maw and blows bubbles. He huffs. “You're gonna be nothin’ but trouble, mm? Steal my car. Crash it because your mum's gonna teach you how to drive and she backed into the garage six times already. Gonna gang up on me. Both of you. Little nightmares.”

He's not sure what else to say, and thinks, already, that he said too much. Bared his belly to her too soon. She'll have this memory, buried down in the deep recesses of her psyche of her father falling to pieces while he held her. An impossibility, he knows, but can't shake the feeling that this, in itself, is an epoch. A marker for what's to come. All the ugly, the hate. The screaming matches that make him curl his hand into fists as she levels his failures at him. Not to hit. Never to hit. But to stop the tremble that won't stop. That has already started. The shake in his joints that tell him to run before he hurts. Before he ruins this precious mass of his blood and your tissue in his arms.

“Gonna—” he isn't crying. Isn't. But there's a thickness in his throat as he thinks about how quickly she'll grow up. Age marked in the crows feet that gather around your eyes. The laugh lines. “Gonna be a fuckin' menace, and I'll—” he chokes, then, when she reaches up with a pudgy, red fist and snags the strap of his vest he didn't even bother taking off before he fled here. Fat, tiny fingers curling into the spot he grabs to ground himself from lashing out. “Fuck.”

He'd burn the world for her, he knows. Sacrifice everyone and everything just to keep her warm. Both of you. It begins and ends with this little thing that has your eyes and his nose.

But he doesn't know how to translate that into love. Into affection.

It comes out caustic. Abrasive. Possessive.

And he is.

Now that he has her in his hands he knows that nothing else will ever compare. That they'll never be empty because she'll always fit in his palms no matter how big she gets. There's only ever been enough space in his heart for you. Chiselled into with a fuckin’ pickaxe because you wouldn't wait for it to grow on its own.

But there's give, he realises. This domicile you carved yourself has a room attached. A place for her. And she fits like a glove. Sliding inside. Cocooned against his pulse.

He loves her. Endlessly. Forever. She deserves better. More.

But when he tells her this, she makes a noise and it sounds like a giggle.

“Laughin’ at me already, mm?”

She giggles again, and he likes that her laugh is a little ugly. A little mean.

“Scarin’ the wits outta me,” he confesses, shifting her weight as she occupies herself with the clasp of his vest, disinterested in the man that breaks into pieces around her now. “I don't know—fuck, I don't—”

You come to in a panic. It starts as a slow roll to the side before your eyes flash open, wide and furious even as sleep congeals in the corners, pawing at the empty spot where the lingering warmth of your child presses into your chest. Anger, fury, darkens over your brow, and the apoplectic rage that simmers in the gaps of your dread, your fostering panic, softens him. Makes him melt. The burn of your ire, your fear, liquifying his bones.

He falls in love with you a little bit more at that moment. When the snarl rucks your upper lip up, up, teeth bared to the world as you whip your head around in frantic, desperate dismay, searching for the little girl he knows you, too, will burn the world for.

“I've got her,” he says, whisper-soft and low. Cadence even, clear. Tries to quell the howl he can see hammering its fists against your throat before it rips from your lips and scorches the world around you in a hail of horrifying anguish. “She's safe.”

It says something when you immediately go still at the sound of his voice, muscles going lax, slack, as you slowly turn your head toward him, blinking against the fog clotting your vision. Something that cuts him to the core. Rents his chest in halves. One side for you, and the other for her. Nothing left to spare.

This feeling brimming in his chest sweetens when you startle at the sight of him, them, lashes shuttering like an old camera as if you were trying to sear the image in your head forever. Branded on the back of your eyelids. (A sentiment he knows all too well considering the stream of photos added to his camera roll of you and her nuzzled together.)

“You—” your voice catches, breaks from sleep. Fatigue. You swallow, slowly licking your lips. “When did you get in?”

Your eyes are glued to them. Unblinking. Widened with pure affection, the intensity of which makes him want to touch you, hold you.

“A few hours ago,” he murmurs, glancing down at his—

It cuts a jagged line through his chest. Knicks his bone with how deep it goes. False starts pressed tight to his heart.

—his daughter. Fuck’s sake.

He's choked. Strangled. Rendered mute, immobilised. It guts him, this. Daughter. The ring of it echoes in his head, filling the recesses of his mind. Embedding itself within his head. Congealed over. Fixed in place.

“I have a fuckin’ daughter,” he breathes at length, the air knocked from his lungs. He's not sure why this is what breaks him, but it does. And it's you, then, holding the fracturing pieces together, hands reaching out—in a startling mimicry of his daughter, and fuck, doesn't that just eviscerate him—and curling against the heaving brackets of his ribs, boxing him in.

“John,” you say, but your voice wobbles. Wavers. When he peels his eyes away from the sleepy yawn she lets out long enough to look at you, there's tears flooding your lashline. Threatening to break. “Fuck,” you say, crass and beautiful, and he's overcome with the urge to tuck you into his other arm, keep you both cradled in his hands. “Don't make me cry or my stitches will tug.”

“We've got a daughter,” he says again, just to hear it uttered aloud. We. Yours. His. It messes with him. Bludgeons into his core. “We've—”

“She's beautiful, isn't she?”

Your words shatter him, but the pinch of your hands on his waist keeps him from buckling.

“Yeah,” he rasps, voice thick. Ugly. It's mangled in his throat. All fractured and raw. “Just like her mother.”

He shows his affection in the burn of his embrace. In the way he holds you tight, refusing to let go. Keeps his words callous and firm. Soft utterances, declarations of love, tucked away in the sure, greedy way he clings to you in his sleep. Yields to you like no one else. Lets you in.

And he supposes he ought to say it more often if the way your face crinkles up just like his daughter when she cried, tears spilling over your rounded cheeks.

“Don't,” you heave, ugly and brittle, and he thinks you're the prettiest thing he'd ever seen in his life. “Don't or I'll rip my stitches—”

He huffs. Nods only once, and then steps toward you. “Do you want—?”

“Keep her for a little while,” you mutter, leaning back into the bed, eyes lidded by fond. So in love with him, the picture they paint, it's almost sickening. “She likes you.”

He snorts. “She's only three hours old. Give her time.”

You're quiet for a beat. Pensive. Mulling something over. It's never a good thing when you're silent, and the unease that grows in his belly is justified when you heave out a long, tired exhale through your nose.

The way you look at him is raw. “You're not your father, John.”

And isn't that just the worst lie he'd ever heard.

He scoffs, then. Shifts his weight, still cradling his daughter tight to his chest. “Mm, 'dunno about that.”

“I do.”

“Jus’—” leave it. Keep going. Keep feeding him lies as he stands here and pretends that he wasn't a horrible bastard for wanting this from you. From taking it. Strapping you with a man who's always, always, one foot out the door—

“No.” You say, soft and sure. “You're not him. I know you're not because you're still here.”

“So was he.”

You don't acknowledge the interruption. Content, it seems, to rattle off lies and half-truths into the stifling air. Your eyes close, the curve of your lashes leonine. Breathtaking.

“Do you want me to take her?” You ask instead of the multitude of things he can see piling behind your eyes. Some of the ugly. Jagged glass. Others powder soft.

He shakes his head. “You need your rest,” it's a half-truth. Fatigue clings to you still, swathed in the purpling of your skin. The slow, heavy blinks you take to try and fight the tug of an artificial sleep.

But the real reason is this:

He's just not ready to let her go.

Thinks, viciously, suddenly, that if he does, this moment built between them in budding, liquid blue will cease forever. Severed too soon. She'll carry the same resentment in her heart he feels for his own father, and he'll die in a shallow pit thinking about how badly he wanted just a second longer.

Generational, right? Trickle down hatred. Ancestral rage. It's what your grandma talks about sometimes over tea and fried bread, half disbelieving you brought a white man into her home, and making a show, a facade, of wisdom even though he spotted the how to raise a child notebook she hastily shoved into the kitchen drawer when you arrived. Taking over in place of your own mother, stepping up. And yet—

She just doesn't get it, you said, rubbing your hands over your belly when she steps away after another long-winded conversation about traditions, spirits, and dead languages. Raising a child like yours in a world like this. She's just. I don't know. Ignore her.

(He doesn't. But you don't have to know that.)

So. He clings to her a little tighter. Holds her a little firmer. Brings her close to his chest and hopes she can hear the echo of his heartbeat and know that this tired, old song is just for her.

(The heart itself for you—)

And maybe—

Maybe he's not quite ready to see you be a mother. Some perverse part of him is already trembling at the promise of watching you nurture and feed her, the tantalising whisper is enough to make the air in his lungs turn humid, sticky. Tar, you remind him sometimes, having seen the ugly spatter of black in the grainy photos the doctor in Hereford likes to shove at him. Never too late to reverse the damage, John.

Or maybe he wants you for himself just a moment longer. An hour. A day. When you're still you, shackled and bound to a man who reeks of stale tobacco, and started sneaking cigarettes in the dead of night like some pimply, awkward teenager when you first came to him, cheeks wet and eyes wild, and said:

“John, I'm—”

Pregnant.

He did it, of course. Put that baby in you. Made it with his teeth buried into your throat and your hips canting up to meet him, taking everything he had to offer. Animal aggression. Nothing tender in the way he chewed you up, made you beg him for it. But still—

Wanting and having are worlds apart, aren't they?

Faced with it, the consequences of his actions, he's at a standstill.

You hum, and when your eyes slide open, he feels the mallet against his head. Cracked open. You fossick about until you find what you're looking for. Cheeky fuckin’ thing—

“Fine. Just pull up a chair before you keel over, old man.”

“M’fine,” he grouses in that voice that serves as a dice roll between making you feel hot or homicidal depending on the mood he catches you in. Muttering something under your breath that sounds like a whispered plea for guidance (“tss, gimme strength.”)

But even with the waspish denial, he's inching closer to the spare chair left in the corner, looping his ankle around the leg to slide it closer. The squeal of rubber on aluminium makes him grimace, eyes darting down to his sleeping girl, nestled in his arms. Her brow pinches in the same way your grandma’s do when she's annoyed by the news. Her bingomates. The way he refuses her offering of burning tobacco and lemongrass whenever he goes away for a while, unable to really commit to this little, broken family that feels more like home than his own ever did.

(“aint my place,” he says, and she scoffs.

“fuck, s'matter wit’cha?” is her counter, the harsh line between her brows now perfectly superimposed on his daughter’s face. “tss. ain't yer place, eh. are you tryna piss me off? fuck, you make me mad—”)

He sees that spitting anger in you. Generational, he knows. The same inherited attitude his daughter will inevitably have. The one that singles him out as an outlier. Outnumbered. Three, now, to one—

There's got to be a reason why his chest bubbles, innervated by the thought of a Sunday dinner when she's old enough to watch her grandma make intricate bracelets, necklaces, earrings, and pins with thread and glass beads as you, her mother, cuss at the stove that doesn't burn as hot as it used to, flipping over golden dough in a sizzling pan.

Orange juice in old cups your grandma kept since the nineties. Something soft playing on the radio. The peeling, waterlogged wallpaper flakes off the wall when you slam the pan down too hard. The way the spill of the sun through the rusting window rents the room in half. Pale yellow and oak. Little orange blossoms in soft pink above the speckled granite countertops. Everything awash in a gossamer of sleepy-eyed affection.

Just like it is now. But—

He looks down at her, head full of lead. Cotton.

Complete, maybe.

“Don't know how to be a dad,” he confesses to you, and thinks of how much easier it is to slam a sledgehammer into a metal door than it is to peel back the veneer sometimes. “Don't want to mess up.”

“You'll be fine.”

The crinkle of the plastic mattress, the scratch of the sheets sliding across the bed is louder now than it was before. He cuts the gentle sounds with an abrading hum that clicks off his teeth.

“Get some sleep,” he says again instead of the awful truth that buoys in his throat. Things like you don't know and I tricked you this whole time into thinking I'm a good man and look what you’ve let me do to you. “You need it.”

Another noise. In his periphery, he watches you lean back against the upright pillows, lips parted on a soft sigh. He feels—

Small, then. An oxymoron considering he has to duck his head to get in and out of the room, towering over most he meets daily. But the inadequacies gut him. Vivisect him. He should be more comforting to you, he knows. This whole thing has been difficult. Tiresome. Cut into and having the life you grew inside of you cut out—

“Did good,” he rasps, still staring down at her even as he pulls the chair as close to your bed as he can get. “With her.”

You snort. It's inelegant. Ugly. Brittle, like you're holding back tears.

When he glances up, he finds that you are. “You're strong,” he adds, and knows he should have started with this first. “Doin’ this all on your own.”

“I had help.”

It's awkward trying to adjust himself in the seat with his daughter perched in his arms, but he finds a way. Settled, then, with her still sleeping away, he lifts his hand from her back, keeping her cradled in his arm with the other, and reaches for you.

The starchy sheets catch on the bramble of hair on his knuckles, the back of his hand, and the static jolts tickle against the rough scar tissue thickened over his knuckles, some still fresh, scabbed from the latest mission he'd been deployed to. You watch him, misty-eyed and tremulous, as he draws nearer, eyes flickering like a pendulum between the bundle nestled on the thick of his arm, to him, watching you back. Greedily taking in every spasm, every blink.

Something inside of him cracks. Softens. He thinks, breathless, that you've never been as beautiful to him as you are right now. Bubbles of snot in your nose. Eyes reddened, dropping from exhaustion. A dizzying mess. The sort that speaks of tireless work, of physicality. Muted pain brimming in the backs of your eyes when you pull on your stitches.

“Got a pretty wife,” he says, and it's not enough. He knows it isn't. Looks away before the fracture lilt to his tone breaks him in two. “And—” it's hard to say. He forces himself to. “And a beautiful daughter.”

The tears stream down your face at this quiet, clumsy admission.

“Don't—” you sniffle, hoarse. “Or I'll tear my stitches.”

“M’not doin' anythin’, love.”

“Fuck you, John—”

He leans back in his chair with a hum, eyes slipping shut. A brief respite amid the panic still clinging tight to his ribcage. “Love you too.”

It's quiet. Nothing but the soft drag of each breath his daughter takes, the tremulous sniffle you give as you try to dam the tears sliding down your cheeks. His heart hammering in his ears. He commits it all to memory. Glueing it to the fibrils of mind where it'll stay, embedded in tissue, for as long as he is of sound mind.

Much like the grainy, black-and-white ultrasounds stuffed in his breast pocket. Tucked inside the drawer of his desk where he keeps the pictures of you. Keepsakes he's unnecessarily possessive over, elbowing the rowdier men who try to needle him for sparse information on the little wife he hides at home and the baby they'll never meet. Something just for him. Unshareable to the rest of the world because they don't deserve you.

The feathered snores tell him you're finally asleep, and he thinks about resting for a moment as well—the bone-deep exhaustion he feels jetting from Iceland to home, to the hospital catches up to him with a vicious kick to temples—but the weight in his arm keeps him awake. Hyperviligent.

There's this urge clawing at him, making ruins of his chest, and he answers its worried insistence by opening his eyes just a sliver to stare down at the little bundle in his arms only to find she's staring back at him. Eyes wide. Comically too big for her chubby face.

She has your complexion, but his dark curls. Her eyes, though, are the perfect equilibrium between pools of sapphire, burnt blue, marbled with the dark gleam, that vibrant shade of yours that he's so fond of, the one that's often accompanied by a smart-ass remark. Seeing it gaze up at him with such incipient adoration knocks the air from his lungs. Has his heart shuddering in the brackets of his chest.

It's love, he thinks first. Instantaneous. Apodictic. And then, cold, callous—

Chemical.

Just to hurt himself, maybe. Just to let it cut deep. Scar. Because as he stares down at her, he knows it doesn't matter. No amount of hatred, of anger, will ever rip her away from him. His daughter. His family. His.

Like her mother. The root of it all. The catalyst. The start.

Shackled to this gaping chasm that devours endlessly, never satiated. Always starving.

Needy. Full of greed.

Because even now he covets. Craves. Muses to himself about how he can convince you to have another the moment the opportunity arises and you're healed. Whole. Aching for it.

He wasn't joking when he said he wanted a football team.

But for now—

The soft sighs you make in your sleep, ones that almost sound like his name, and the comforting weight of his daughter in his arms are enough to make the beast inside purr. Preening under its own conquest, its own victory of successfully turning your body into a home he can rest his weary head on. Sacrosanct.

He looks at her, then, and feels the dread ease into pride. Into elation. An emotion he knows should have come first, but it's here now, and that's all that really matters.

“Gonna be trouble,” he grouses, watching her pink mouth gape wide, blood-red maw grinning up at him in delirious glee only babies can imbue. Unhindered by the ruination of the world around them. Unfettered.

Something he couldn't protect you from, but knows you're both on the same wavelength when it comes to her. At all costs, you'd said, hand against the burgeoning swell. And he kissed you until he couldn't feel his lips anymore. Until all he tasted, all he knew, was the taste of you.

“Of the best kind, though, mm?”

In response, she coos. And he hews the sound into his chest where it sits beside the brand of when you first said, i love you, too, John.

So, he relaxes. Whispers soft, conspiratorily. "Think you might need'a brother, mm? What'd you say about that?"

And she giggles.

#john price x reader #captain price x reader #i am at a loss for words #this is gross and sappy mlahhhhh #sprinkled with the slightest indigeneity #captain john price x reader

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ghostaholics · 1 year

Text

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄-𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn!reader (aside from a single idiom whose origin uses masculine language/pronouns - every man for himself) ➸ SUMMARY: Against all odds, the Lieutenant accidentally falls asleep on your shoulder. Unfortunately, there are witnesses to the precarious situation (just your luck that it would be Gaz and Soap). ➸ WORD COUNT: 2k

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄: don't poke the bear.

Danger in your line of work typically consists of trying to walk away from a mission while still being left completely intact (i.e. the goal is to make it out alive, in one piece). You’ve survived a great number of ordeals: cornered into a shootout with a dwindling supply of ammo, tiptoed your way through a field of pressure-sensitive IEDs, dove towards probable death (with an awfully high probability of splattering onto hot, concrete hell like a bug on a windshield) because your helo was sent tail spinning courtesy of a perfectly-aimed RPG – and really, the list goes on.

It's been child’s play, in the grand scheme of things. An extensive catalogue of life-or-death scenarios accounts for your entire military career. And sure, this might be a bit of a stretch, but you'd wager that none of those instances thus far have been as high-stakes as the current predicament you’ve found yourself in.

Jesus-fucking-Christ. Why’d Ghost have to fall asleep on you?

𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: avoid sitting next to him on the plane ride home. You've had to learn it the hard way.

And the kicker is that this whole thing could’ve been avoided; it didn’t have to be your problem. You could’ve sentenced any one of the other soldiers to your seat. Every man for himself, right? Get off scot-free, have a normal trip back to base with plenty of legroom so that you’re not cramped. Theoretically, it would've been beautiful – a passenger's paradise, the closest you could get to a first-class ticket.

But no.

Instead, play the Good Samaritan; extend your hand out with an act of benevolence. What’s the harm, right? So, you'd spared the poor guy, said you wouldn't mind switching places with him because he'd looked as white as a damn sheet at the idea of being crammed beside this behemoth of a lieutenant who's infamously every FNG's living nightmare.

Yeah, well hindsight is 20/20. Had you known what was going to happen, you would've had no reservations about throwing him under the bus. Sayonara, mate.

Law of the jungle, plain and simple.

To make matters worse, he is, in fact, exhibiting terrible flight etiquette. His head (which is dead weight and feels about as pleasant as a fucking bowling ball, mind you) has taken up every inch of real estate on your shoulder and is practically tucked into the curve of your neck; you’ll need to take a trip to the chiropractor’s after this – several, probably. The edge of his skull mask is digging into you. And, the cherry on top: get this – he’s man-spreading, so his left leg's trespassing into your own territory and brushing against your thigh. Utter lack of regard for personal space.

Incredible.

You’d still rather die than wake him up, though. You're not sure what'll happen if you do, but that's a risk you're not willing to take.

All things considered, an achy shoulder is a much better alternative than incurring the wrath of one angry Lieutenant. He's more subdued in this kind of context. To be completely honest, if you weren't already well-acquainted with him, you'd find it endearing.

From here, it's easy to see the simple rise and fall of his chest, steady and even. Slow inhale in, slow exhale out. He's at peace, a rhythmic lull that matches your own breathing. You can't quite put your finger on the exact moment he fell asleep. (He's got a habit of shutting his eyes and folding his arms over his chest when he isn't in the mood to converse with the other soldiers onboard. But God willing, he would never voluntarily loll his head onto your shoulder.) For what it's worth, he deserves the rest – never been one to do it this soundly as countless missions have taught you that he's usually a light sleeper. You remember him roughly prodding the toe of his boot at Soap's arm once when the Scot was conked out and his snores were a bit loud for Ghost's taste.

Rather odd then, that the Lieutenant even managed to allow himself to doze off like this. It’s too loud, too unsteady – the droning of the plane engine doesn't exactly make for good white noise and the turbulence outside is jostling the cabin around. Moreover, this puts him in a position of vulnerability, and he’s not the type to let his guard down so easily.

But somehow he did it with you beside him.

You try not to think about the implications of that.

𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄, 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄.

Because, Soap's just woken up from his nap, the first among the entire company of soldiers in the cabin still sleeping, excluding yourself. His seat's parallel to yours, straight across the walkway within direct line of sight, so he’s got an unobstructed view of you and Ghost. Soap sends a questioning glance in your direction, eyebrow quirked. A look that says, The hell's going on?

The level of your voice is down; it's at a conservative decibel to avoid rousing the others. Yet you convey your distress with the same amount of passion as if you were stuck in the middle of a losing firefight. "MacTavish, help."

Soap works with bombs for a living. Surely, he's capable of defusing situations too.

Alright the man’s a demolitions expert, but that’s semantics.

He blinks like he's trying to make sense of the situation. Though, it's pretty obvious what the problem is here. You're not sure why he’s got to take a moment and contemplate it. You need a solution, now. And he's moving at a snail's pace.

For a second, you think he might sympathize with your plight.

But then his mouth morphs into a shit-eating grin and when he nudges Gaz awake, you know right then and there that you're absolutely fucked.

More witnesses.

Great.

Because that’s just what you need, isn’t it?

Gaz drags a hand down his face. He pans over to his right to figure out why he’s been jolted awake so suddenly, and sees Soap who’s inexplicably, nauseatingly jovial before his eyes land on you.

Much like Soap’s original reaction, Gaz can’t help but offer a quizzical expression. The confusion is evident. His brows are drawn together because he knows that the L.t. wouldn't fall asleep on your shoulder.

Soap's shifting, sliding his hand into his pocket before pulling out his phone. He messes with it – a few taps here, a few swipes there. And then before you're registering what's happening, he's aiming it straight at you, like one of those mums getting a snapshot of their kids in matching jumpers during the holidays.

"Say cheese."

An indignant gasp leaves your mouth. "If you so much as—

"Soap, no. Don't do that." Gaz says from beside him, plucking the phone out of his hands. He tsks him with a click of his tongue. Stern disapproval in spades. The meaning is clear: it’s a big thumbs down from the Brit. He’s not endorsing this type of behavior. “Gone mad now, have you?” he asks in admonishment.

You release a sigh of relief. Finally, some moral support. He's reliable. Your faith in him is unshakable. Always could count on Gaz to get you out of—

"Have to shoot with a wide angle, see? Or else it'll look wonky," he corrects, flipping the phone horizontally before handing it back to Soap.

"Aye, thanks mate.”

Gaz's smile isn't as excessive as Soap's but the smirk gracing his face tells you he's relishing in your misery all the same.

Fucking traitor.

"Knobheads—"

They’d risk their own hides to save you from certain death. You've seen it in Cairo, Valencia, and Seoul. Good men. Good hearts in the right place as well. However, they're also the type to embarrass you at every opportunity – public humiliation being somewhere on that roster as well. And for that, you want to strangle them.

"Rude,” Soap comments pointedly.

"Bite me, MacTavish."

"Just wake him up if it's bothering you," Gaz supplies unhelpfully.

"If you were in my shoes, would you do it?"

"'Course, not," he snorts. "I don’t have a death wish.”

“Well, I also prefer my head on my shoulders, thank you very much," you whisper furiously, nearly hissing at him.

And Soap is admiring his handiwork, when he coos, “Aw, the two o' you make quite the pair." He briefly twists the screen so that you can catch a glimpse of it, and even from this distance, you can confirm that he's captured the shot. Annoyingly well, to add insult to injury. Angle? Spot-on. Lighting? Brilliant. It's interesting, has character. Black and white photography. He's managed to make a stunning composition and your upper lip is curling up into a sneer of disgust at his artistic eye. How infuriating.

"I'll send this to the Cap. He’ll get a kick outta it."

"Sod off."

"He'll appreciate bein' included."

Gaz matches the energy with an equally gleeful smile, now delighted by the idea. “Hey, and the L.t. he looks—”

“—cute," Soap has the audacity to finish for him.

What.

There are many words that you’d use to describe Ghost.

Cutthroat, maybe. Imposing. Glacial. Taciturn. A stringent set of ideals that makes him the perfect soldier: disciplined, honed, fierce. Intimidating, if he's not fighting on your side – someone you'd much rather have on your team than against, unless you fancied death. He can be a stone-cold terror on occasion. The man’s been penned as a walking horror story by those in the military. Given his iron-hearted demeanor, you'd be hard-pressed to disagree with that statement; there's not much room to call his steel-encased resolve into question.

So, yeah. Above all else, he's certainly not cute.

Your eyes narrow at them. "Congratulations, the both of you have officially made the top of my shitlist."

Soap, indifferent to your crisis, asks, "Want a copy for your wallpaper?"

There's another heated remark waiting on the tip of your tongue, because there's no way in hell that you would and you're ready to tell him off, about to give him an earful.

But somebody else beats you to it.

“Wipe that picture, or I’ll wring your bloody necks.”

Ice surges through your veins. Goosebumps break out across your skin. Because that voice belongs to one person. Oh, Christ. Never in a million years would you want to be on the receiving end of it.

There's anxiety warping in your chest. You're scared stiff, paralyzed with fear in a way that implores you to remain stock-still. The coarse fabric of your trousers bunches underneath your palms as you try not to freak out. This isn't your fault. None of it is.

And here's the worst part: Ghost hasn't lifted his head from your shoulder yet.

But Soap's unfazed. He blinks a couple of times, seems like he's weighing his options – as if there's something else he could choose besides following his lieutenant's command – yeah, right. He wises up, settling for a simple answer in the end. "Alright, Ghost." His smile makes a reappearance, sweet and well-meaning. Troublemaker. "Any chance you'd like a copy before I do away with it?"

"What kind of fuckin' question is that, Johnny?" he grumbles. "Obviously."

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄:

"I take it you don't think I'm cute then. Have I got that right?"

"I'm sorry... mind repeating that again, sir?"

"You didn't have anything to say about Soap's comment."

"I have a feeling that whatever I answer will get my arse handed to me, L.t."

He's smiling in response – like sunshine trapped behind clouds. Despite it being obscured by the mask, you can see his eyes crinkling at the corners, which makes the black charcoal that's lining them begin to crease a bit. "Permission to speak freely, Sergeant. You have the floor."

Your mouth parts in surprise. Well, then. Maybe you stand corrected. And so, you appraise him momentarily, giving it some serious thought. There's more to Ghost than you give him credit for. He's terse and rough around the edges, but respected for a reason. Admirable. Someone you think highly of and has deserved your approval. The mask undeniably provides an air of intrigue. “I suppose you can be,” you start off, gradually warming up to him being more approachable. “When you’re not terrorizing the new recruits, that is.”

#i got lazy again #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod fic #cod mw x reader #cod mw 2 #cod modern warfare #call of duty fic #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley fluff

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creekfiend · 2 months

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I wanted to make a bonsai kitten recovery post that outlines some of the stuff that I've been doing. Because I don't think that you need to ✨see a therapist✨ to start dealing with a lot of this stuff and I get really frustrated when that is the answer that everyone is constantly giving. Firstly a disclaimer, because I know what website I am on: this is a guide for things that have worked for me! I am not everyone and if there are things on here that do not work for you or even that you think are stupid, that is fine, but please do not make it my problem. If you are reading it and you're like "that sounds like it would actually be detrimental to my specific mental health because of my specific issues" then please disregard it. Use your critical thinking skills and do what you think is right for you!

My second disclaimer is that I didn't make any of this up myself; most of these are collected from various places either in therapeutic guide books or various websites about emotional regulation etc. Some of it is stuff that I have extrapolated from those places based on experience with what works for me or does not work for me. A lot of the way that I treat myself when I need to get my body and brain into a place where I can think about stuff productively is actually directly from gentle parenting guides, because frankly cptsd recovery stuff is very often like parenting a toddler. And the toddler is you. ALL THAT SAID,

The first skill that I had to get good at, that many of the other skills depend on, is to learn how to understand when I am Reacting to something. If I am Reacting it is extremely likely that that's going to only escalate the situation and make it much worse. I HAVE to be able to tell if I am Reacting emotionally to something in a way that is coming from a place of fear and panic. This is important because it involves not being prescriptive about your emotions. You could be Reacting to something that you do not logically feel is at all justified in making you feel that way and that doesn't matter! You can't be doing math equations to try to come to the answer of how you SHOULD be feeling; you have to be observing your mind and body to see how you factually ARE feeling and then respond to THAT. This can be really hard to learn how to do especially if you were abused as a child. (If you cannot think of yourself as someone who is abused as a child perhaps it would help to think of yourself as someone who simply was not taught various emotional regulation skills for mysterious reasons that have nothing to do with your parents' inadequacies.) I need to be able to glance inward and see what the physiological reaction that I'm having is and identify whether or not I feel like this is the biggest emergency in the world that needs to be addressed right now immediately! That is a sure sign that Mr Fight and Mr Flight are in the building and it is bad to make declarative statements or important decisions when that is the case. So, I have to work on dismissing them first. That is literally the first step to any of this. One of my friends calls this "fire mittens," which is to say, if you are wearing mittens that are on fire and you try to touch stuff, the stuff will also become on fire. You have to put the fire out first before you can touch other things.

Once I have determined that I am indeed Reacting and in a physiological state of fear, I have a document in my notes app that is a "what to do when you are in fight or flight mode" guide and it has several helpful things that I will try to outline here.

Firstly, the really important thing for me for trying to get back into an emotional state where I'm capable of making decisions and being thoughtful is to feel safe and comfortable. So I actually have some stuff in my document that is straight up just like "go in the blankie nest. put on this specific music album. light this specific scented candle." etc. You might want to have a specific food or drink that is comforting to you or some other sort of stim toy that helps you regulate. If there's any calming medication or supplements for anxiety that you take as needed, now is also the time to do that. Physical sensory grounding is really important for this. This is probably especially true if, like me, you are neurodivergent, but I think it is also true for everyone because we are animals! And you can't just think about it, you have to actually do it. Which sounds obvious but is the thing that has often tripped me up in the past. Once you start getting into the habit of actually physically doing this it DOES become easier though.

One of my rules is that if I want to respond to something but I am in fight or flight mode, I don't get to respond to it for at least 24 hours. I'm only allowed to respond once I've gotten myself out of fear mode. If it is some kind of comment on Facebook that has set me off, often this means that 24 hours later I realize that I actually don't want to get into it to begin with, which is great. If it's something that is pretty serious and interpersonal with a friend, sometimes that means I have to communicate to them that I'm going to take a while to process it and then get back to them. IMPORTANT: You CANNOT do this passive aggressively or else it undermines the whole thing. You can't phrase it in a way that will make your friends think that you are guilt tripping them for "making" you feel a way. It is VERY tempting to do this when you are in the first stages of trying to form this habit and you simply need to resist the urge because it will render this step worthless. I know. It sucks.

If I am feeling fearful and insecure about friends or loved ones, I also usually try to spend some time thinking about the people that I love and care about. Because often this stuff manifest for me as insecurity that the people that I care about do not care about me, or that they think that I'm being annoying, or that they are secretly thinking mean things about me. It's obviously not good for me to constantly be imagining that the people in my life who I care about are actually avatars of my own insecurity who are here to tell me that I'm secretly fundamentally unlovable! But crucially also it's ALSO not fair to those people to imagine them as that. They are not that guy, they are their own complex human beings with their own lives and experiences and interiority. So sometimes I do thought exercises where I will imagine my friends or loved ones doing things in their everyday lives and I will think about them as people and I will think about the things that they like to do and the things that they say and the places that they go, and I will try to imagine them fondly in those circumstances. This helps to remind me that they are just people and that the scary puppet wearing their faces is not real. To this end I sometimes will have a document of screenshots of things that they have said to me that I can use to reality check myself. I personally find reality checks to be essential for a lot of this. Things can feel true when they are not true at all. Things can feel wrong when they are actually true. The point of most of these exercises is to gently remind myself that those feelings are normal for me to be having, but that I do not need to let them dictate my responses.

It is crucial throughout all of this that you are nice to yourself. You can't talk to yourself in a mean way while you're doing this, or you will not get to a point where you are feeling safe enough to react from a place of not-fear. You can't make yourself feel ashamed or defensive for your emotional reactions. This is the particular area where I find gentle parenting protocols helpful. You HAVE to be patient with yourself.

Ok that's all for now bc I ran out of steam but I will try to think of more to add on another day maybe. Godspeed everyone

#dysfunction junction #bonsai kitten problems

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lavendermin · 2 months

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Stop, about the Mimi being protective of pregnant reader....I imagine it carried out even when the baby was born...like when rhe baby is in bed giggling and Mimi circles around them then growl when jy wants to see his baby..I also think mimi would take the baby w her and JY and reader was STRESSED when their baby is gone only to find their baby fell asleep in the warmth of Mimi🥹

You’re so right 100%

Jing Yuan is often busy so your company mostly consists of Mimi for most of the time and the few regular faces you’ll see at the estate. And now that you’re pregnant, Jing Yuan takes extra precaution appointing several of his most entrusted contacts to keep you safe when he isn’t by your side.

cw | pregnancy, suggestive

Who would have known that Mimi, the majestic white lion, who was at first mostly indifferent to you is now suddenly glued to your side like a needy lap cat. And you could only pinpoint this shift in behavior with the progression of your pregnancy.

You started noticing the small shifts two months into your pregnancy. Mimi would follow you from room to room when Jing Yuan wasn’t around. Its icy blue eyes would bore into those who came to speak with you, a little guarded. But Mimi was intelligent—Jing Yuan had expressed this himself to you on many occasions since knowing him. It would not harm anyone that wasn’t a true threat.

When someone asks to feel your belly, Mimi will make a low rumbling sound as a threat. Still, early on it’s no problem and it’s a little situation you easily dispel with comforting assurances and scratches behind Mimi’s ear.

It only becomes a bigger issue when you’re about five months into the pregnancy. Jing Yuan has just come back from a rather long expedition for official business—forty-six days to be exact. And his heart is light with the notion that he finally gets to hold his lovely wife, so wonderful and pregnant, for the first time in weeks.

“My love, it’s good to see you back safe and sound,” you greet, hobbling over from where you were resting on the couch with Mimi obediently at your feet. You look positively radiant like this, your tummy rounded with his child and your body soft and glowing.

Strange, Jing Yuan thinks as he removes some of his armor and regalia. It isn’t lost on him how Mimi follows closely by your side, almost supporting you as you walk to make sure your balance is ensured.

“Ive counted the days until I could see you again,” he grins, hand settling on your hip.

As he leans in to properly greet you with a kiss, Jing Yuan is nudged away. Rather forcibly, he might add. Mimi huffs as it wedges itself between yourself and the general.

“Snow Lion,” he commands with a look.

Mimi looks away with an annoyed flick of its tail, unmoving and nudging your hand to pet its mane. Usually Mimi is well-behaving and certainly well-trained. You can’t help but laugh and bend down to place a smooch to the top of the lion’s mane.

“Husband, I do believe little Mimi is a tad upset you left me alone for so long.”

“This hasn’t been a problem before, so it should not pose an issue now,” he ponders, a little bewildered.

After a few affections and sweet words from you all is well and Jing Yuan is able to properly dote on you like the starved man he is. Well…not without Mimi in the same vicinity as you both catch up over dinner and a stroll through the gardens.

That same night poses another issue. With your soft body under his rough hands, Jing Yuan is eager to please you tonight to make up for lost time while he was away. He’s barely gotten you worked up with desperate kisses and heated touches when he hears it.

Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.

At first, he pays it no mind. Eager to see you fall apart and taste you on his tongue again. It’s you who halts his advances as you break a kiss with a chuckle upon hearing the scratching again and a few low rumbles.

“Love, I think Mimi wants to come into the room,” you mutter against his lips. Jing Yuan sighs, burying his face in your shoulder.

Though he’s painfully hard and just wants to ravage his pregnant wife, he relents and throws on a robe to open the chamber door. The white lion wastes no time walking over and onto the bed, curling up next to you.

“My bed and wife taken over by my own lion,” he sighs, crossing his arms as he watches the lion purr contently against you.

It becomes a regular habit that you unfortunately spoil Mimi with. Your baby is quite fond of Mimi’s purring after all and likewise Mimi is fond of feeling the baby’s kicks.

Jing Yuan is still luckily spared the ability to love you how he wants when time allows but not without your coaxing Mimi that everything is ok and to stand guard at the door instead. At the very least, you have one more form of protection. He has to convince himself of this at least when he sees you fast asleep against Mimi when he returns late some nights. He’s nonetheless fascinated that such an intelligent creature has found instinct in protecting someone who is expecting. Perhaps luck truly favors the bold.

In the months that follow, your baby is born without issue and Mimi is still just as overprotective if not more of the newborn. Surely it understands that your daughter is a frail cub that cannot be left to the elements. And perhaps it’s due to Mimi’s constant purring against you during your pregnancy, but whenever your daughter begins to whine or cry Mimi will diligently lay near her and purr gently to soothe the baby.

And it works. Every time.

You’re almost a little shocked.

And of course, when Jing Yuan goes to check up on your daughter Mimi will growl defensively. It will never act on it, no. He isn’t a threat.

It’s more of a warning. Ensure this cub’s safety or else.

“Snow Lion, she needs to be fed. These worries are not good for your heart,” he scolds without much bite to his words as he rocks the infant gently, formula bottle in hand.

(I do like to think that since Jing Yuan canonically now refers to Mimi as Snow Lion upon discovering it’s a lion, you will prefer to use Mimi because you think it’s cuter. The lion definitely shows more biased response to you using Mimi because of your coos and affections.)

It’s all well and good until the day your daughter goes missing (for like a solid five minutes in the estate). She’s missing from her crib in the few minutes it took for you to grab a new change of clothes for her as you got ready to give her a bath. You immediately call for Jing Yuan since she’s nowhere to be found in the nursery or your room. She’s disappeared along with the blanket she was in.

And somehow Jing Yuan gets the immediate suspicion the lion is somehow involved when he notices Mimi’s absence from your side. He remains calm.

“What time is it, my dear wife.”

“Wh- it’s a quarter past noon. What–”

Jing Yuan takes your hand with a reassuring smile and leads you across the estate to one of the main sun rooms overlooking the garden. It’s where the afternoon sun filters just right through the large glass windows and thin curtains—Mimi’s favorite sunbathing spot.

And no doubt, the lion is there, curled up against the sun’s rays as they filter warmly into the room. Your daughter is bundled up and gently laid upon a little nest pile of blankets within the warmth of the afternoon sun. She sleeps soundly, small hand clutched tightly around a lock of Mimi’s mane.

You both sigh in relief. It certainly isn’t a conventional babysitter, but Mimi is nothing if not intelligent and loyal.

#mii writes #jing yuan x reader #ask stuff 💌#💌 anon #cw pregnancy #cw suggestive #Mimi said no freaky nasty on MY watch #Mimi and your baby would be inseparable

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kamaluhkhan · 2 months

Text

TIME TO PRETEND

pairing: luke castellan x gn!poseidon!reader word count: 5k chapter summary: you're the eldest child of poseidon and the hero of the last great prophecy. you left your demigod life behind after defeating kronos. now, years later, you find yourself back at camp half blood for the summer.....which means dealing with luke castellan, and all that history (tension?) left unresolved between you. warnings: some nicknames for reader are based on female characters (mermista, sailor neptune) but they're still written as gender neutral. reader has tattoos. mention of alcohol + death (post-titan war). spoilers for the entire pjo (book) series, mostly references to the last olympian. timeline is all over the place but set in the early 2000s for vibes. no betrayal (au where chris was the one who sided w kronos and led the titan army) so slightly ooc luke <3 author's note: welcome to another product of my pjo hyperfixation !!! i wanted to finish the nemesis!reader series first but it's summer and i felt like reworking my tsitp series in a camp half-blood setting with bb luke. so prepare for childhood friends to lovers drama! summertime vibes! nostalgia! angst! would love to know what y'all think about this and if you want a part 2 so feel free to scream at me in the comments. otherwise, enjoy and thanks 4 reading 💙

♪: time to pretend by mgmt

YOU’VE GOT MAIL!

1 new message

from: LukeNotSkywalker

to: Mermista86

subject: you are GETTING that record deal

Hey,

Your demo CD just came in the mail — and, Connor as my witness, I’ve already listened to it five times!!!

It’s amazing. You’re amazing. The label would totally lose out if they didn’t sign you.

Things have been pretty chaotic around here, with the summer term happening soon. Speaking of which: are you coming back? Chiron gave me the list of returning campers and counsellors this morning and said he hadn’t heard from you, so I thought I’d ask. I know you’ll be busy with the band, but if you get the chance, it’d be really great to see you.

Anyways, I’m leading the next Shield & Sword session, so I’d better go. Talk soon ;)

- L

FOUR YEARS LATER

TURBULENT WATERS? ALT-ROCK BAND MIDNIGHT SIRENS HIT ROUGH PATCH AFTER LEAD GUITARIST GETS INTO VIOLENT ALTERCATION

the cover is the nail in the coffin: a blurry picture of you, an electric blue guitar forgotten at your feet, lunging forward into a crowd, with your bandmates on stage behind you in shock.

you’d gone all this time without any major incidents, and one stupid chimera managed to burn down everything you worked for in one fell swoop.

“that’d be $8.50,” the cashier informs.

you tear your attention away from the magazine, instead fishing through your pocket for some change. meanwhile, the cashier furrows their brow, leans down slightly to get a better look at you underneath your sunglasses and baseball cap.

“hey, do i know you?”

“nope,” you say instantly, slapping a $10 bill onto the counter. “keep the change.” you gather your pile of necessary roadtrip supplies (slushies, m&m’s, and goldfish) before rushing out the door, your half-brother trailing behind you.

you slide into the driver’s seat, set each slushie in a cup holder, and hand the rest to percy once he’s slipped into the passenger side.

“seatbelt,” you remind him. you shake your hair out after removing your baseball cap disguise. “i promised your mom i’d be responsible.”

percy does as he’s told, though not without mumbling about how he’s practically an adult and a demigod who’s been in much more dangerous situations than a car ride up to long island. you just tell him to put on some music, even though he has a point. he’ll be 18 in august and you’re only five years older, but the fact is that you gave sally jackson your word.

plus — you’re his older sibling, so gods forbid you let him get hurt. a seatbelt seems like a band-aid solution for one of the most powerful demigods out there, but still.

percy flips through a few radio stations while he sips his blue raspberry slushie. when he doesn’t find anything good, he opens the glove compartment and surveys your music collection before sliding a cd into the stereo.

instantly, the familiar sound of david bowie’s voice eases the tension in your shoulders.

“good choice?”

you nod and percy smiles triumphantly. you reach over to steal a few goldfish from the bag he just opened and ruffle his hair playfully, for good measure.

you’re perfectly happy, driving along a long island highway while getting lost in the glam rock world of ziggy stardust, but it isn’t long until percy interrupts:

“are you finally gonna tell me what happened, or do i have to read it from some trashy gossip magazine like everyone else?”

“well, your dyslexic ass can barely read so….”

you look over at him briefly, and laugh when you see him stick his slightly-blue tongue out to you.

“at least my dyslexic ass is actually decent at ancient greek. luke told me you failed the reading test, like, a million times.”

your heart twinges at the mention of your old friend.

friend.

if you could still call him that.

thankfully, percy doesn’t give you much room to dwell on the past, too focused on your drama-filled present.

“so, what is it? you got kicked out of the band? lost everything? have nowhere else to go?”

you roll your eyes at his dramatics. “i did not get kicked out.”

“then, what happened?”

“just the usual.” you shrug. “monster attack, mortals who can’t see through the mist. i tried to explain it away after — something about how i saw someone in the crowd attack another person and i stepped in to help. most people bought it, but the media loves drama and the label’s worried i’m a flight risk now. apparently, everything will blow over if i just keep a low profile for the next few months. so….no. i didn’t lose everything.” you take a deep, like when anyone other than children of poseidon are about to go underwater and they’re not quite sure when they can come up for air.

“i just don’t really have anywhere else to go,” you finish.

“damn.” percy offers you a blue shark gummy (or whale - you and percy had already debated the shape of the candy that sally packed for the trip, and the jury’s still out). you gratefully accept. “well, i know it’s not the best reason, but i’m excited to spend the summer together.”

despite everything, you find yourself smiling.

“me too, kid.”

“it’d give me a chance to kick your ass in sword-fighting.”

“you wish!” you nudge his shoulder, both of you giggling. once the laughter’s died down, you glance at percy once more. “hey – did you tell anyone i was coming?”

percy shakes his head. “why?”

you take a long swig of your drink until you’re on the brink of brain freeze.

“no reason.”

it’s just after lunch when you arrive at camp half-blood.

you weren’t sure what you were expecting — maybe not some futuristic technological developments that had been discovered within the years you were gone, but definitely not for camp to look pretty much exactly the same as when you left.

instantly, you find comfort in the familiar scenes: a dragon, peleus, guarding the magical borders; dryads and satyrs picking strawberries in the fields next to the forest; chiron standing near the central guidepost, greeting and guiding every camper in the right direction.

chiron smiles down at percy and practically does a double take when his eyes land on you.

“mx. l/n! it has been a while. are you here to drop off your brother, or do you plan on staying for the summer?”

before you can answer, someone appears behind him.

“perce! hey!”

“hey, luke.”

luke gives him a side hug, and percy shoves him away with a laugh when he ruffles his hair. it’s then that luke acknowledges you, though he looks like that’s the last thing he wants to do.

“i thought i’d never see you again. what are you doing here? ”

chiron turns to you expectedly. “i believe you have yet to answer that question of mine as well.”

“staying for the summer…” you adjust the shoulder strap of your backpack, uneased by luke’s cold demeanor. “i hope that’s okay.”

“of course!” chiron’s smile grows wide, eyes crinkling. “you’ll resume your position as head counsellor of cabin 3.”

“so i’m dethroned? just like that?” percy guffaws.

you nudge percy’s shoulder. “fulfill the next great prophecy, and then we’ll talk.”

percy rolls his eyes playfully. luke, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to appreciate your tongue-in-cheek remark. his jaw tightens, and he suddenly finds a deep interest in the clipboard he’s holding.

chiron clears his throat, likely sensing the tension. “yes, well, i’m sure you remember how things work around here. if not, mr. castellan has been keeping this ship afloat. he's always here to help.”

“always.” luke smiles, but it’s elastic, threatening to snap at any moment. someone calls his name, and he walks away to deal with whatever chaos is waiting for him.

summer — age 15

you weren’t exactly conscious when you first arrived at camp half-blood.

apparently, coach hedge, a satyr and protector, found you just in time and had to practically drag you up half-blood hill after a particularly gruesome fury attack.

when you woke up and saw luke sleeping next to you in a chair, his curls overgrown and falling onto his eyes, you thought you had died and gone to elysium.

you took in your unfamiliar surroundings. some sort of infirmary, with only your best friend next to you, the one you hadn’t seen in almost a year since you’d parted ways.

then, you remembered what was happening before you passed out; it was more likely that you were being tricked into a false sense of security by that fury, who definitely planned on devouring you later.

with a newfound sense of urgency, you decided it was time to get out of there before it was too late. you were reaching for your knife when you felt a hand grab your shoulder. without losing a second, you twisted your body around, weapon at the ready.

whoever it was watching over you sure looked like luke. he was wearing a bright orange shirt and leather cord necklace with one clay bead. another point of difference was the jagged scar that cut across his left cheek.

“it’s just me,” he said, gently. “you’re fine here. you’re safe.”

you weren’t convinced, kept your knife in front of you to keep distance. “prove it.” you narrowed your eyes. “tell me something only luke would know.”

“you’re left-handed.”

“that’s a great observation,” you scoff.

“storm is your favourite x-men character.”

“that’s a very popular opinion.”

“your aunt would make us mango lassi after swim camp when she got home from work,” luke tries for the third time. “and, my mom - she used to call you ‘starfish.’”

your heart skipped a beat.

that was the confirmation you needed.

the knife dropped from your hand, clattered on the wooden floor, as you pulled luke in for a hug. you were greeted by a familiar scent, that pear shampoo luke loved because it made his hair so soft, mixed with the smell of fresh pine trees.

“it’s really you,” you mumbled into his shoulder.

despite sleeping for gods know how long, you were exhausted. you rested your weight into luke, but he didn’t seem to care.

“it’s really you. i thought i’d never see you again.”

“where are we?” you asked, breaking away to face luke. you ignored the wooziness you felt throughout your body; luke seemed to sense it, his grip around you tightening. “are annabeth and thalia here, too? how’d you get here?” your thumb traced the unfamiliar scar on his face. “what happened? are you okay —”

“i-i’ll answer all your questions, but you lost a lot of blood.” luke guided you to lay back down in bed. “we’ll explain everything. just get some rest.”

a third scenario entered your mind: this was all a dream. you’d close your eyes and when you opened them again, luke would be gone. you’d be alone again.

you couldn’t let go of luke’s hand, even as he tucked you back into bed. you tugged his wrist, silently urging him to join you.

“will you stay with me?” you finally croaked when he continued standing.

luke looked at you, and you nodded once as final confirmation. then, he removed his shoes and slipped into the bed next to you. it was luke, all sweet pear and soft curls and strong heartbeat, and you held on to him in fear that he might slip away.

“always,” he whispered.

during the orientation video you were later shown, you learned that camp half-blood’s motto is keeping young heroes safe (mostly) for over three millennia!

luke had used that word, too. safe.

chiron told you this was to be your new home as he walked you to the poseidon cabin. he told you that you were safe now, though you noticed how the word almost got caught in his throat. he gave you a sad smile you didn’t quite understand.

you did wonder, at first, if those words were true: this place, a home for you and other children of gods. somewhere safe.

and, well.

you came to understand chiron’s general melancholy a few weeks later, and every week after that. he was used to training and sending heroes off to their potential death, and you would be no different. stolen lightning bolts, deadly quests, cryptic prophecies. a pending war between divine forces you had been entangled with long before you knew. heartache and betrayal and loss beyond measure.

but, there were other things, too.

annabeth, fitting in perfectly at the athena cabin, continued being her genius self, leading her team to victory every capture the flag game. she was extra patient in helping you with ancient greek, especially after chiron had given up.

chris rodriguez, luke’s half-brother, would tell you jokes from across the dining pavilion, knowing that you hated sitting alone at the poseidon table. michael yew, son of apollo, taught you how to play guitar at the bonfire one week; you’d ask for more and more lessons until you could start playing on your own. charles beckendorf made you a celestial bronze sword that shone like that burst of light when the sun hits the ocean at sunset. it transformed into a ring that you would never take off, unless in battle. you might not have gotten along with mr. d, but you spent free time picking fresh strawberries with his son, castor. you made matching friendship bracelets with silena beauregard, who was really the only person you confided in, about how you maybe possibly felt something other than friendship when it came to luke. she told you about her crush on clarisse larue, the daughter of ares whom you would always partner with during sparring practice. you taught ethan nakamura, who didn’t have his own cabin as the child of nemesis, how to properly hold a sword. thalia’s tree stood tall at the top of the hill where you almost bled to death, protecting you and everyone inside the magical borders. you, annabeth, and luke would share a picnic there every thursday.

you had been on the run for so long, always looking over your shoulder for monsters, sleeping with one eye open to be one step ahead of death, jumping from one place to the next so quickly to avoid danger.

so, yes.

it was nice to stay in one place, where you knew you were as safe as demigods could be. it was nice to spend your time learning and training and laughing instead of just surviving.

it was nice to have a place to call home. and people to call it home with.

now

the first week passes in the blink of an eye, and it’s like you never left.

tie-dye, volleyball, strawberry picking, kitchen duty, and cabin inspection.

luke has everyone on a tight schedule — one, you notice, conveniently places the two of you at opposite ends of camp at all times.

still, you catch up with clarisse and the stoll brothers, spend time with annabeth and percy, say hi to pollux and katie gardner and others you vaguely recognize as five years older than what you remember. there are also a lot of faces you don’t recognize at all.

of course, you try not to think about the faces you wished you could see: friends you grew up with and would never have a laugh with again, younger campers you had trained who would never grow up. all lost because of the gods and the titans and a prophecy you never asked to be a part of.

it’s a side effect of being back here; their ghosts are harder to ignore.

again — trying not to think about it.

anyways.

climbing wall, armory, sword-fighting practice, archery field, and free time on the beach.

to conclude: capture-the-flag, a friday night camp-half blood tradition.

you’re praising annabeth for her latest strategy that led to blue team victory when you notice luke. he was also on the blue team, but instead of celebrating with the rest of you, he’s speaking to someone who’s wearing a red helmet. they seem to be in a heated discussion, one that luke is not wanting to continue. his tells are the same, after all these years: the impatient tapping of his foot, his eyes searching for an out.

you give it to him.

“sorry, i need to borrow this guy.” you say, grabbing luke’s wrist. “camp emergency.”

if the person said anything, you didn’t hear it, because you were already dragging luke away from the crowd, towards the armory shed.

“what’s the emergency?” luke wonders, brows furrowed in concern. he has deep shadows under his eyes, too. keeping the ship that is camp half-blood afloat has clearly taken a toll on him.

“you wanting to get out of that conversation. you’re welcome.” you wink at him; luke flushes, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s annoyed, or if he's just flustered. “so, are you gonna keep ignoring me the whole summer?”

you put your helmet on one of the shelves and turn back to luke. you expected him to start removing his armor as well, but he doesn’t. he just glares at you, arms crossed over his chest.

so, he’s annoyed, then.

“what do you expect?” luke hisses. “you can’t come back here and pretend that everything can be like it was when we were kids. things are different now, especially between us.”

you decide to take him up on his challenge.

“oh? tell me, luke, what exactly is different between us?”

luke shakes his head in disbelief. you remove your chest plate, and that’s when the tattoo on your waist becomes visible. it’s a magnolia, like one of the flowers that bloomed on the tree outside may castellan’s house.

something in luke softens, then. he sighs.

“you could have at least given me a warning.”

he storms off, and you’re left half-armored, wondering what he meant by that.

you figure it out once a few of you settle down for a late-night, underground poker game, and you’re trying not to stare at luke’s hands.

it starts with you telling yourself that you’re just trying to predict what cards he’s holding, figure out if he’s bluffing, and if he’s about to lose everything he’d so confidently bet on.

but then you notice the silver thumb ring that thalia got him for his 17th birthday. you notice an array of hair ties and elastic bands he keeps just in case a camper needs them, and woven bracelets given to him by his admirers. you notice how the tattoo on his wrist is covered. (it’s hidden well, but you know it’s there — you’d gotten one of a wing, the kind that might be found on a pair of magical red converse, at the same time)

you also notice the forest green painted on luke’s nails, the same shade worn by the person beside him.

van, the new head counsellor of the hephaestus cabin. you’d seen them at staff meetings, but you somehow did not notice that they were dating luke.

he moved on — is that why luke needed a warning? is that what's changed between you?

it’s fine. whatever. so what if luke has a new partner? it’s not like the two of you were anything, officially.

luke has a new partner. they’re wearing matching nail polish. they’re one of those couples.

well, van is also wearing a nickleback shirt and luke hates nickleback, unless that fundamental part of his personality changed, too.

“yo, sailor neptune. you in or not?” travis brings you out of your daze, by using a nickname luke once called you.

back before becoming heroes, when you and luke were just kids, you’d watch cartoons in his living room on saturday mornings — x-men, she-ra: princess of power, teenage mutant ninja turtles, sailor moon. a lifetime ago.

you look around the table and see that everyone has been waiting for you to take your turn. even luke raises an eyebrow at you.

“yeah.” you clear your throat and throw some chips into the centre. “i’m in.”

you have decent enough cards to keep you in the game, and you’re comfortable that you can play the odds in your favor. the stoll brothers are good liars, you know that, and so is luke. malcolm pace is good at strategy, but thankfully not as good as his half-sister annabeth. pollux, who had invited you to the game, already folded along with butch, the son of iris who has a rainbow tattoo on his bicep to prove it. beside you, lou ellen, daughter of the hecate, contemplates her next move. clovis has fallen asleep, true to their title as head counsellor of the hypnos cabin. you can’t get a read on van, but they keep raising the stakes so confidently, and you’ve always liked a good challenge.

soon enough, it’s only you and van in the bet. when it comes time to reveal your cards, you curse yourself for overplaying your hand.

“good game,” van says to you as they collect their winnings. “you really had me going there.”

“yeah.” your smile is strained, but it’s there nonetheless. “tried my best.”

“guess the curse of achilles doesn’t help as much in poker as it does in capture the flag.”

“excuse me?” you raise an eyebrow.

luke, who had one arm casually draped around van’s chair the entire game, pulls away. “van, maybe don’t —”

“it’s not like it’s a secret, luke. they’re the prophecy kid, everyone knows they bathed in the river styx to be able to fight kronos. it’s camp legend.”

other than you, luke, and van, everyone else is occupied with something else. connor busies himself shuffling the cards, while lou ellen, malcolm, and pollux get up for more drinks. it seems like butch and travis have their own bet going to see who can balance the most chips on clovis’ forehead without waking him up.

van waits for an answer. you’re a little queasy, and it’s not from the wine pollux managed to snag from his dad’s office. you’re suddenly faced with the reality that your life is reduced to a legend. you try your best to swallow that feeling, of being made into a greek tragic hero while your heart is still beating, and your life is still a mess.

“that’s relevant, why?”

“just that some people might consider the invulnerability thing an unfair advantage in physical competitions like capture the flag,” van explains. “increased strength and all that.”

“that would mean nothing without a good strategy,” you counter.

“that’s what i said,” luke grumbles.

you recognize van now as the person luke was arguing with earlier. it must have been about this.

about you.

“okay, y’all were best friends, so luke is obviously going to take your side.”

you’re not sure what stings more: friends or were.

“although, he never really talks about you, which is weird because you’re, like, famous in and outside camp.”

ouch. that definitely stings the most. luke winces slightly, almost like he feels it, too.

“alright, alright,” connor interjects, shuffling the cards in his hands. “another round?”

you’re the only one who decides to call it a night. everyone says goodbye; even van, who’s blissfully unaware of the effect their words had on you. luke avoids your gaze. the game continues without you.

percy’s snoring provides enough cover as you sneak into your shared cabin. you try to sleep, but it doesn’t come easy.

you feel the spot underneath your rib, the one spot you’re truly vulnerable, ache.

summer — age 17

for the first time in your life, you couldn’t breathe underwater. you were swimming in acid, and your skin was melting away.

at least, that’s what it felt like to bathe in the river styx. achilles could have mentioned that, but all he gave was a cryptic warning about anchoring yourself to what makes you mortal.

you really tried at first. you thought about your friends at camp. you thought about percy, about your aunt back when she was still around. you even thought about may castellan, burnt cookies and saturday mornings.

the pain was too much, though.

you were forgetting where you were, who you were. with every passing second, you were dissolving into nothing.

“if you wanted to go for a swim, you should have told me. i would have worn my swimsuit.”

luke’s voice echoed across the waves. you tilted your head up to see him sitting on the dock above you, his feet dangling into the water. he had rolled up his jeans to just above his ankles so they didn’t get wet, but his shoes were still on, which was a bit strange. the sun made his eyes look like burnt amber, his teeth sparkling as he smiled at you.

okay. cool.

you were at camp. it was mid-afternoon, free period. the two of you had been at the edge of the lake, until you became impatient and jumped in, fully clothed. behind him, you could see that annabeth, thalia, and percy were waiting for you on the shore. they were each wearing orange camp shirts, which was also strange; you couldn’t remember a time when you were all there together, as campers.

“we better go, sailor,” luke said, amusement laced throughout his words. “come on. those cabins aren’t gonna inspect themselves.”

luke extended his hand to you. when you hesitated, he added:

“i can’t do this without you. will you stay with me?”

you reached up and grabbed luke’s hand.

always.

you emerged from the water, catching your breath as you collapsed on the sand.

“oh gods. are you okay?”

your cousin, nico diangelo, son of hades, knelt down next to you. he tried to check your pulse, but you waved him away. your eyes searched for luke, but he wasn’t there, despite feeling the ghost of his hand in your own.

oh.

you weren’t at camp; you were in the underworld. it was nico’s idea for you to take on the curse of achilles so that you’d be strong enough to face kronos.

“did it work?”

you got up, a bit uneasy on your feet at first. nico helped steady you, his hands cold on your skin.

you felt….stronger wasn’t the right word. you felt adrenaline coursing through your veins, like you could swim across the biggest ocean without pausing once. like you could defeat an entire army and not break a sweat. maybe even take down a titan or two while you're at it.

you needed to see luke again, to meet him and the others in manhattan before it was too late.

“let’s hope so.”

now

you always loved mornings at camp half-blood. the beach was particularly beautiful at sunrise, the water peaceful.

the morning after that impromptu poker game, you need that peacefulness to wash over you. you’re awake after a rather sleepless night, deciding to go for a quick run before breakfast. you get dressed and grab your mp3 player, as quietly as you can to avoid waking up percy (who, truthfully, could probably sleep through a hurricane anyways).

you jog from one end of the beach to the other. you set a steady rhythm, somewhere between the beat of your music and the sound of waves gently washing over the shore. when you make your way back down to where you started, you notice someone sitting nearby.

luke doesn’t say anything when you first sit next to him. he’s wearing a dark blue hoodie over his usual orange shirt, a cigarette tucked behind his ear. you imagine that he confiscated it from a camper on the way here.

“morning,” he finally whispers, eyes fixed towards the ocean.

you shiver, and not just from the cool morning air. you’re reminded of the last time luke spoke to you so softly, the last time you’d caught an early morning sunrise together. such a contrast to where you are now.

“morning,” you finally reply.

as the sound of waves fills the silence between you, luke surprises you by taking a lighter out of his pocket. he lights the cigarette and takes a puff. then, he hands it to you.

it’s such an odd, though not unwelcomed, gesture. a peace offering, you figure, but it’s just so not luke that you can’t help yourself.

“is golden boy luke castellan, offering me contraband? what planet am i on?”

the hint of a smile creeps onto his face. “like i said: things are different now,” he echoes his words from the night before, but this time you don’t sense any hostility.

you take a drag of the cigarette. your fingers brush against his when you return it to him.

you decide to offer a peace offering as well, and present to him one of your earbuds — he accepts. you have to slide across the sand to move closer to him, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

i’m feelin’ rough, i’m feeling raw / i’m in the prime of my life….

as the song plays, you glance to see luke nodding along, tapping a finger on his knee to the beat. he lets the cigarette smoulder in his other hand.

we’re fated to pretend / to pretend / yeah, yeah, yeah….

when the song is over, luke turns to you.

“new group?” he brings the cigarette to his lips, then gives it back to you.

“kinda.” you inhale, letting the smoke warm your lungs before explaining. “this is considered they’re breakthrough album. they’re from connecticut, actually.”

“oh, yeah? guess that’s where all the talent is from.”

luke bumps his shoulder against yours knowingly. you feel your cheeks heat up at his praise, his witty sincerity.

this is familiar — you and luke, at the beach, sharing music. it’s familiar, and for a few moments, you can act like there isn’t a wall between you, of unresolved feelings and harsh words. you can pretend that nothing has changed.

“you know, nickleback are from connecticut, too. which means you just called them talented.”

luke coughs on some smoke as he exhales with a laugh. “what? no i didn’t!”

“in a roundabout way. i always knew you were an undercover fan,” you tease.

“i have better taste than that.”

“do you?”

“you’re fucking with me,” luke deadpans.

you crack a smile. “yeah, i’m fucking with you.”

“gods, you scared me for a second,” he laughs, and you can’t help but follow. luke glances at you and the sunshine highlights his smile, his dark brown curls, the ever-changing color of his eyes. golden, radiant.

you shiver again, looking away. before you know it, you feel something draped across your shoulders.

“i’m not sure van would like it if i was wearing your hoodie.” you joke, but your words are laced with a bitterness you hope luke doesn’t catch. unlucky for you, luke still knows you too well, whether he likes it or not.

“you don’t get to do that.”

“do what?”

luke scoffs. “be jealous.”

“well, you don’t get to tell me how to feel.”

“so, you are jealous?”

you exhale sharply; you can practically feel the wall between you two reappear.

“it’s too early, lu. and i’m too hungover to deal with this.”

there’s nothing more left to say. you get up, throw his hoodie on the sand, and walk back towards your cabin, the beach and luke further away with every step you take.

it makes sense that way: you were always the one to leave first.

#feel free to comment + reblog <3 #saf writes #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #luke castellan x you #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo x reader #pjo fanfic #pjo series #luke castellan angst #tsitp #the summer i turned pretty

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purinfelix · 2 months

Note

Hi! Never done this before but lets try: What about Gavi, who has spent most of his childhood sharing a room in la masia and now struggles to fall asleep without someone there vs a gf who was an only child and doesn't know how to sleep with someone in the room?

it's so sweet, knowing that you love me ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

pairing: gavi x reader w/c: 516

a/n: anon this was such a cute idea omf ... i hope i did it justice !! <333

"What?"

"I should get going soon," you repeated slowly, growing more confused by the similarly confused look on your boyfriend's face.

"Why would you go? It's so late, why don't you just stay the night?" he questioned, as if it was common sense despite you having never stayed over at his place before.

"Don't you only have one bedroom?"

"And?"

"So where would I sleep?"

"My bed?"

The two of you paused and the growing silence between you spoke volumes about your confusion, each of you trying your best to understand where the other one was coming from. Looking into Gavi's eyes, covered slightly by his furrowed eyebrows, part of his request started making sense to you. You remembered that he had grown up in the dorms of La Masia and so the style of sleeping you were used to, being solitary, must've seemed ridiculous - whereas you could say the same for his.

Still, you found yourself agreeing to his request for you to stay the night - partially because he raised a good point about how late it was and you couldn't find the energy to trek back home, but mostly because you were touched by how easily the idea of opening up his home to you came to him. You watched as he retrieved a spare pillow for you, squishing it next to his on the bed which, the more you looked at it, the less confident you became with his idea.

Laying down next to him, you tried your best to straighten your body out so as to avoid touching him at all, a task your limited space made more difficult. Despite having been together for months now, there was still a shyness and an intimacy to the situation that stopped you from being as touchy as you normally would - holding hands in the street was one thing, but here, in his bed, was a completely different situation.

That was, of course, until you felt your boyfriend's warm hands wrap around your waist and pull you towards him. Letting out a soft gasp at his actions, you felt your cheeks burn up.

"Mmf, sorry," he mumbled against the nape of your neck where he had buried his face, "I've just been wanting to sleep with you like this for so long."

"But you see me all the time, what difference does this make?"

"I've always found it easier to fall asleep with someone near, and I don't really want to be near anyone more than you."

The matter-of-fact tone your boyfriend spoke with, despite already being half-asleep, finally made it all click for you. You felt yourself break into a shy smile, feeling slightly stupid for how stiff you had been earlier. Soon, the rhythm of your boyfriend's soft breaths slowed - signalling that he had fallen asleep surprisingly early. You still smiled to yourself, his arms wrapped around you seemingly tighter than when he was awake. Personally, sleeping in the same bed as someone else had never been your ideal situation - but this was a compromise you were more than happy to have made.

#pablo gavi #gavi x reader #gavi x you #gavi fluff #gavi oneshot #gavi imagine #gavi fanfic #football #fc barcelona #fanfic #football fanfic #purinfelix #jet writes ★#jet answers ✧

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mr-bas00nist · 2 months

Note

Oooh I’d love to see gojo seem cocky with their boyfriend saying how he’s such a top and will dom the crap either just to you or in public too

This could either go:

A. He’s been lying and gets punished the second he gets home for being a brat

B. They’re about to have their first time and gojo tries to dom but fails and we top him instead 💙

Show Him Who’s Boss

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.-Gojo Satoru x Dom!Male!Reader (B has been chosen 🫵🏽)

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.-Cw: Degradation, daddy kink, fingering, choking, spanking, handjob, facial and edging

It was no mystery that Gojo Satoru was a confident bordering narcissistic man. Being fed the ‘I’m the best’ mindset since a child. Satoru in a way was like that kid who never graduated from being the fastest in elementary. Although, it wasn’t his fault, he had every right to be narcissistic with how skilled he was.

But that didn’t mean he had the right to be a narcissist in every situation. When he met you, he was immediately drawn in by your confidence and smugness. He’d never admit it, but he loved men who didn’t back down from him. Deep down he kind of wished someone would put him in his place.

Each date you two had that made it even more clear. Satoru loved how you carried yourself and he loved being attached to your hip. It was the fourth date, you two were at a fancy restaurant courtesy of Satoru. It was the fourth date so a lot of small worries of coming off awkward or too strong were thrown out the window.

That was pretty obvious when you two easily landed on the topic of sex. Both having no nervousness with the topic. “So, your usually the dominant one in your sexual escapades is that right Satoru?” You asked with a questioning tone as you raised an eyebrow.

He sat up a bit as he felt his cheeks flush. “Hmm? Oh ya, I make a lot of guys cry.” He smirked to himself. You couldn’t help but question that. He talked about it like a virgin would and you tilted your head.

“Wow, bet guys fall face forward onto the bed for you huh?” You spoke sarcastically, obviously he didn’t pick up the sarcasm. “Yeah! You get it, bet you’d love to be dommed by the strongest huh?” He smirked and it took you everything to not roll your eyes.

“Well, why don’t we head back to your’s or my place and test that hypothesis hmm?” You spoke in an innocent sounding tone as he smiled brightly to himself. Like it was the first time someone agreed to go back home with him. “Waiter!” He shouted waving the man over.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Satoru’s penthouse was a sight to behold. It was obvious though that the man enjoyed the more luxury things in life. You knew that from the first date with the white haired male. You took your shoes off as you walked in looking around.

Satoru looked over you excitedly as he could feel himself twitch through his slacks. He’d been waiting for this moment all night! “Bedroom’s this way.” He smirked to which you smiled putting your hands in your pocket as you followed closely.

As you entered the air conditioned bedroom, Satoru closed the door behind you guys as he tackled you in a kiss. As you two sat on the bed you immediately noticed his sloppy technique. It wasn’t sloppy like someone who was just desperate, it was sloppy like someone who’d never made out with someone before.

“Slow down won’t you Satoru?” You inquired to which he stuck his tongue out with a smile. “Whattt??? Can’t keep up???” He laughed to himself, confidence radiating from his expression. “No, feels like you’re trying to eat my face off.” You retorted to which he flushed as he looked away with an awkward smile.

“Well? You have me under you. What now Satoru?” You asked as he paused for a moment. What did he do? He looked like a deer in headlights. “Oh uh- yeah, you’re not gonna be able to walk when I’m down handsome!” He exclaimed as he gripped your belt.

He pulled your jeans just below your pelvis as he saw the large bulge in it. He immediately gulped as he anxiously reached into your boxers as he pulled out your semi hard cock. He looked wide eyed, like it was an alien artifact. “You look awfully nervous Satoru. Like it’s gonna bite you.”

You smirked as he gave you a look. “Usually the guys I uhm… fuck, don’t have any this big.” He lied through his teeth. He sure wasn’t the strongest liar. But you played along. “Think you can give me a handjob?” You teased.

He immediately took it as a challenge as he nodded. He put his hand on your shaft as he began stroking with no real technique. He spit down on your cock as he looked up to see how you were feeling. You just stared at him with lustful eyes.

He immediately looked down embarrassed as he continued stroking your aching flesh. You let out soft moans at his surprisingly soft hands. It was a few minutes from his messy technique of fisting, spitting and toying with your cock when you felt that knot in your stomach. You were just about to hit your high when he stopped completely.

Your eyes snapped open with annoyance as you looked over to his smug smirk. “Heh, bet you really wanted to c-“ he let out a yelp as you pressed him down into the mattress. “Listen you fucking virgin, your about as convincing as a kid who broke his parents vase. I was gonna let you off the hook, do your own thing but then you have the nerve to edge me???”

He was immediately taken aback by your harsh tone, and if he wasn’t hard then, he was rock hard now. “I-I’m not a virgi-“ he let out a yelp as you slapped his face. He immediately felt himself twitch as he almost came in his pants. “I suggest you stop lying to me, because if I smell bullshit, I’m coming for your ass (haha).”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Which is how you got Satoru naked and cryIng over your lap as you spanked his ass. “I said count you dumb bitch.” You rolled your eyes as you gave a particularly hard slap to his sore cheeks. Both globes of flesh were adorned with a pinkish shade of carmine. Pretty gossamer tears sliding down his cheeks as he wailed. “E-eighteen!” He shouted.

You roll your eyes giving another slap. “Stop yelling, don’t want your neighbors to here how much of a bitch you are. Unless you do. You seem like the type.” You rubbed his ass as he muttered a small nineteen. His cock was leaking pre cum on your thighs as it twitched at the sound of every harsh degrading word.

“Now, be honest…. Your a virgin right?” You questioned. Satoru could either lie and say no, or he could tell the truth. What would give him the better outcome is the question. With a shaky deep breath, swallowing his pride, he whined out. “Yes…” he peered up onto your smug face.

“Good answer.” With a final slap, he spoke a shaky twenty out to which you just rubbed his sore cheeks. He was taken aback as you set him up on your lap straddling you. You slipped two fingers into his wet mouth as his eyes rolled back slightly. He slobbered all over your fingers with a soft moan.

After a few moment you pulled out as you prodded them against his ass. He jolted a bit as you gave him a look. “Stay still or I’ll spank you again.” He immediately stilled out as you slowly put one finger in. You dragged softly against his walls as you peered up at him. His flushed tip twitching.

One finger went to two, then to three as you began finger fucking him against the bed as he let out nosy moans. You smiled as he cried out, head against the pillow with legs around your hips. “M’ gonna- gonna!” Before he could cum you slipped your fingers out to which he sobbed.

“Oh shut up.” You rolled your eyes as you lubed yourself up, also squirting some on his hole. You lined yourself up with him as you looked at him, he gave a small nod of consent as you slipped in. He cried out as you stretched him to the limits. “Shit, you’re tight.” You licked your lips.

Once you were fully inside you wasted no time thrusting in and out as Satoru cried out. God was he vocal with moans and squeals. He couldn’t help it though! You were hitting his prostate soooooo goooooood!!!

You gripped his boney hips as you pulled him down onto your cock. “D-Daddy! Shit- fuck- more!!” He cried as you rolled your eyes. “Do you ever shut the fuck up?” You questioned as you put your hand around his throat as you applied pressure. Not enough to hurt but enough to make him feel lightheaded and to get him to shut up.

You smirked at his pathetic display as you felt him twitch around you. You stopped once more as you edged him again. “God- please!! I’ll do anything!! Anything, just please lemme cummmm~!” He whined out to which you hummed in acknowledgment.

“You gonna let me dom you every time from now on and admit you’re my bottom bitch?” You smirked down at him to which he nodded rapidly. You moved one of his legs over your shoulder as you wrapped your hand back around his throat. “Guess you can listen.”

Each thrust felt like it was hitting Satoru’s brain. You were so deep inside of him, he swore he felt his guts moving for you as you rammed into him. “How’s that feeling ‘Toru?” You licked your sweaty lips as his eyes rolled back. He was long gone.

You have his ass a slap as you brought him back down to earth. “‘Sho good! Feels good daddy~!” He exclaimed as drool poured down his glossy pink lips. Blue eyes filled with tears from the intensity. You went to wrap your hand around his cock and as you gripped it he was sent over the end.

He abruptly clamped down halting your movements as his spent cock spurted out strand after strand. “There it is, let out all that spunk baby.” You slowly pulled out of him as you straddled his chest while stroking your cock. You let out a few groans before you came all over his face.

He let out a small groan as your seed painted his sweaty face. His blue eyes peered up at you as you grabbed your phone, taking a photo of his cum adorned face. “So pretty like this ‘Toru.” You complimented as you observed the photo in all its glory.

The flash on the camera made his eyes close a bit from the brightness which gave him that dazed-fucked out look. There were spurts on his cheeks to hips lips and one on his left eye which resulted in him keeping it close. If you could frame the photo you would. You’d have to ask him first.

He shakily brought his thumb to his face as he swiped your cum into his mouth with lewd noises as he stared dead into your eyes. He popped his lips after as he stuck his tongue out to show you he swallowed. You let out a small groan at the sight as you felt yourself growing hard again. You slapped yourself against his face as he mewled.

“Round two baby.”

A/n: First Gojo request! Hopefully you guys like how I write him and this satiated a hunger lol.

#dom male reader #dom reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo x male reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #jujustu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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marksmelodies · 10 months

Text

nct dreams reactions to meeting your baby who looks just like their dad for the first time

—————————————————————————

dad nct dream x fem reader

warnings: suggestive, mentions of sex and pregnancy

minors dni

note: i went crazy on jaemins part bc he’s so girl dad coded

—————————————————————————

mark:

“they’re here” mark looks at you

today was the day jae was going to meet some of his uncles, getting yourself situated on the couch holding your baby, mark let the guys in, immediately they all stand around in awe at the sight of yours and marks child

“woah he looks just like mark” chenle says

“well isn’t he the cutest thing ” jaemin gasps

“you wanna hold him?” you look to chenle as he seems completely indulged at the baby in front of him

“yeah of course” he says as you stand up handing him your child

“hi jae it’s your coolest uncle chenle, im gonna spoil you so much” he smiles as the baby looks up at him with his big brown eyes that look exactly like his fathers

“yeah right he’s going to love me more” haechan whines

one by one the boys carefully pass jae around

“mark your genes are strong, hes literally your spitting image” jeno says

“yeah man that’s my mini me” mark laughs

as the boys all get the chance to hold him you place jae in his crib, not long after he starts crying, mark picks him up slightly rocking him side to side calming him down

“isn’t he already the best dad ever” you say to the guys

“i remember meeting mark when we were kids and now he’s all grown up and a dad” jaemin says

“yeah man it’s really emotional seeing you two start a family together, it’s beautiful really” renjun states

“i still claim the credit of setting you two up so technically you all should be thanking me” haechan laughs

“oh shut up i would’ve ended up with her whether you were there or not haechan” mark jokes

you and mark look at your baby in awe

“we did good” he whispers as he kisses your head

“yeah we really did”

renjun:

after buckling your baby boy into his car seat you walk to the passenger side getting into the car “all set” renjun asks before leaving the driveway

you and renjun were going to introduce the guys to Chaoxiang, as you pull into the parking spot you get chaoxiang out of his seat before placing the binki into his mouth

“babe you have everything?” you ask renjun who’s carrying the baby bag

“yeah we’re all good” he says heading to the dorm, a few seconds after knocking an excited mark opens the door

“hey come in, we blocked off apart of the room and baby proofed it” he says leading you to the area

“thank you guys” you say as you place the baby carrier onto the counter

renjun taking chaoxiang out of his carrier caused him to cry due to the sudden movements but renjun quickly calmed him

“oh my god he’s adorable” they say in unison as renjun gives the baby to mark

“he’s definitely renjuns kid” mark laughs

“he has all of his dads features” you say

“even the eyebrows are the same” jisung laughs

as the boys are all talking to renjun about fatherhood mark sits down next to you

“i bet this month has been rough on the both of you” he says

“yeah it’s definitely a big change but i wouldn’t have it any other way” you sigh

“you have a beautiful family y/n i cant wait to watch it grow” mark says

“thank you mark”

renjun walks up to you giving you a quick kiss

“they’re already asking when we’re trying for another one” renjun laughs

“oh god i don’t even want to think about being pregnant again for the next 3 years at least” you laugh

“you’re doing such a good job mama, i’m proud of how strong you’ve been” he gives you another kiss

“thank you jun, you’ve been so helpful and supportive throughout all of this, i love you so much”

“i love you more sweet girl”

jeno:

you were currently at the dorms watching a movie with your boyfriend and his members

as the movie plays as jeno lays next to you rubbing your pregnant belly, feel yourself getting thirsty, looking over to jeno his eyes are focused on the screen

“i’m going to get some water” you say getting up and walking to the kitchen, chenle was standing by the microwave making popcorn as you tip toe around him to get a cup from the cabinet

chenle was facing you as you put ice into your cup, all of a sudden you feel liquid tricking down your leg and onto the kitchen floor

“oh my god” you lock eyes with chenle

“my water just broke” you say as chenle eyes go wide noticing the pile of liquid on the floor

“JENO” chenle yells on the top of his lungs

jeno quickly gets up from the couch walking into the kitchen, he knows exactly what happened by the look on both yours and chenles faces “ baby we need to go to the hospital” he says walking into his room quickly grabbing the bag you packed for when you went into labor

the boys are now up from their spots in the living room standing around the kitchen anxiously

“i’m sorry clean it up” you say looking at the liquid that’s still on the floor, grabbing some paper towels

“are you kidding y/n don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault, don’t worry about it” renjun says grabbing the towels out of your hands

“alright i think i got everything, let’s go meet our babygirl” jeno says to you as you head to the hospital

after hours and hours of painful contractions it was finally time to push, jeno standing right beside you as you squeezed his hand with every push

“you’re doing so good one more big push for me” the nurse says

finally the cries of your babygirl are heard as she enters the world

you look up to jeno crying as he smiles wider than you’ve ever seen, tears rolling down his face as well “you did such a good job, i’m so proud of you” he pushes the lose hair sticking to your sweaty forehead out of your face, placing a kiss to your head

the nurse looks at your baby in her arms and then to jeno and then at you“oh she looks just like her dad” the nurse smiles and handing the baby off you you “here she is mama you’re beautiful babygirl” the nurse says

“she’s so tiny” you stare at her in awe as tears continue to stream down your face

after spending one on one time with your daughter you give her to jeno as he takes her small frame into his arms “hi baby it’s your daddy, i can’t believe you’re finally here, you look so much like me” jeno giggles

after resting for a while the boys came to visit shortly, all standing in the hotel room looking at the baby in your arms

“jeno she has your nose” jaemin smiles

“and your eyes” chenle adds

“she has your lips and eyebrows too” renjun says studying the baby’s face

“she’s so incredibly beautiful, just like her dad” you say looking up at jeno as he kisses your lips

the guys get a chance to hold her, they all feel an overwhelming sense of love for her

“you’re already so loved” mark whispers to her

“we all promise to protect you sweet girl” jaemin says once the baby is in his arms

chenle takes the baby into his arms as he looks at her and all of her beauty, trying to blink the tears forming into his eyes he quickly hands the baby back to you before walking away wiping his tears

“awe chenle why are you crying” the boys tease him, he takes a minute wiping his eyes that are now red “ she’s just so precious, im so happy to be her uncle” he scoffs and shakes his head at himself for being so emotional

“she already loves you so much” you say to chenle as you and jeno try to hold in your tears

“you guys are going to be amazing parents” they all say

“such a beautiful family, im so happy for you both” haechan says

haechan:

“hey sweet girl” haechan says as he holds his baby in his arms as she looks up at her dad with big eyes

“what time are the guys coming over” you ask your husband

“they should be here anytime now” haechan says

the doorbell rings and the boys pile through the door waiting to meet their niece, haechan walks in either the baby as they all coo at the sight of her

“wow shes gorgeous” renjun whispers

“just like her mama” haechan places a kiss to your lips

“she looks a lot like me though” haechan stands proud

“yeah she does, she’s literally your twin” mark laughs

you all let them hold her and talk to her while you and haechan sit on the couch together

“we should let them come over more often, free babysitting” he jokes

“all jokes aside im really proud of you and everything you’ve done for our family, i love you” he says kissing your temple

“thank you babe that means a lot”

you continue talking to the guys as they finally hand your baby back to you

“i’m gonna feed her” you look to haechan before going into the nursery, as you finish up you hear the guys talking about you

“she’s incredible honestly, i could never have gone through what she did and the fact that i didn’t hear her complain about the pain she was in once, she’s literally the strongest woman i know” you husbands voice echos through the house

“she’s such a good mom already, you found a good one haechan im really happy for you and your new family” mark says

you walk out of the room acting obvious to the conversation you overheard as you burp your daughter

“hey love i can do that, why don’t you get some rest” haechan says taking the baby from you as he puts her over his shoulder patting her back

“okay yeah i think ill lay down for a few, i love you ” you say going in for a kiss

as you lay down in your bedroom your mind begins to wonder how lucky you are for such an amazing husband, you knew no matter what life brought to you, as long as you were with him everything will be okay

jaemin:

jaemin sits on the couch with his toddler on his lap watching cartoons

“layla baby come get dressed your uncles are coming over to see you and your sister” you yell to your daughter

“coming mommy” she says running to her room

once you dress layla, brush her teeth and style her hair you let her play in her room making your way to you newest addition to your family min-jun changing and feeding her, you speed walk to the kitchen to clean up the breakfast table and do the dishes before you can get yourself get ready, as you approach the table all the dishes have been cleared and the table has been wiped down, looking to the kitchen you see jaemin scrubbing the dishes in the sink

walking over to him you hug him from behind

“everyday you remind me of all the reasons i married you, thanks for cleaning up babe” you say leaning your forehead against his back as you take in a deep breath, he wipes his hands dry before turning around engulfing you into a hug “ you don’t have to thank me, you’re not responsible for doing everything around here” he kisses your lips

“oh i would so have sex with you right now if i could” you say laughing

“those days of having alone time are long gone” he jokes

“yeah i love my little cockblockers though” you say as layla comes running into the kitchen

you and jaemin look at each other trying not to laugh

“speaking of the devil” jaemin says picking her up ticking her stomach causing her to laugh

“i got it from here babe go get ready” jaemin says, you nod walking into you and your husbands shared room

taking a shower, getting dressed, styling your hair and doing your makeup all the span of 25 minutes is a new power you attained since becoming a mom

“layla come in mommy and daddy’s room really quick” you say as jaemin joins you walking to the bedroom

you both sit on the bed with her as she looks up at the two of you

“mommy am i in trouble” she asks

“of course not sweetheart, daddy and i wanted to talk to you really quick before your uncles get here”

“now you know mommy just had your sister a little over two months ago” jaemin asks

“yup” she smiles

“well your uncles haven’t met her yet they are going come over today to meet her” he continues

“even though their attention might be on your sister that doesn’t mean that they don’t love you just as much, the same goes for mommy and i, today we have to make sure your uncles are careful with your sister because she’s not a big girl like you are yet, she needs a little more help from us” jaemin says

“okay but will daddy and uncle haechan still play dolls with me” she asks

“of course honey, we wouldn’t miss it for the world” jaemin says kissing her head before letting her run off

you lay your head on your husbands chest for a moment taking a deep breath

“you were made to be a dad, it comes so naturally to you” you say kissing his lips

“i can say the same about you, you’re the best mommy i know”

you latch your lips onto jaemins as you stratal his hips, jaemins hands immediately going to your side and your ass

“fuck baby” he hisses as you grind yourself onto his clothed dick

“i want you so bad ” you moan as you nibble on his ear

“what’s up- oh shit” haechan says bursting through your bedroom door

“jesus christ” jaemin says as you two practically jump off eachother

“who the fuck let you in” jaemin says trying to palm the boner in his pants

“my sweet angel layla” haechan laughs

“i thought we told her not to open the door” you say looking to jaemin

“yeah for strangers, sadly this idiot isn’t a stranger” he says

“daddy uncle haechan is here” layla says running into jaemin arms as he picks her up

“yeah baby i can see that, why don’t you, mommy and uncle haechan go wait for the others to arrive, daddy has to take care of something real quick” he says as she runs off again, jaemin stares at you and then at haechan letting out a deep sigh before rolling his eyes heading into the bathroom

you cant help but laugh as you bring haechan to see min-jun

“she’s beautiful” haechan says staring at her

“yet again another mini jaemin” you say laughing

“she looks exactly like him” he says

“you said the same thing about layla” you chuckle

hearing a knock on the door you open it as the rest of the dreamies come flooding in

“uncle jeno” layla runs up to him as he picks her up, after layla says hello to all of her uncles they follow you into the nursery

“layla let’s go play in your room” haechan says

“oh my god i feel like i’m looking at jaemin” chenle says as he hold your daughter

the guys pass around your daughter as jaemin comes into the room

“how come every baby she pushes out looks exactly like you” mark laughs

“my genes are strong what can i say” jaemin shrugs his shoulders

haechan appears in the doorway of the nursery

“i wouldn’t be surprised if next week jaemin comes into practice saying y/n is pregnant again, i walked into them nearly making baby number three today”

“someone should definitely babysit tonight” jaemin says as he wraps his arms around you

“oh stop it” you say smacking his arm

“daddy” layla yells from her room

“coming princess” he yells back before leaving the nursery

“i pray everyday that min-jun doesn’t turn out to be another daddy’s girl” you laugh

the boys stay for dinner as layla sits between haechan and jeno, you excuse yourself early to feed min-jun, jaemin walks into the room as you’re feeding her

“my mom said she’ll watch layla tonight” he says excitedly

“why?” you ask

“i told her we desperately needed some alone time and she offered to take her for tonight”

“jaemin you seriously just admitted to your mother that you want to have sex” you say disgusted

“i mean you are my wife i don’t see what the problem is”

“geez you’re too open and honest sometimes” you sigh “ i mean if layla wants to sleep over there then that’s fine i guess ” you say

returning back to the table you hear jaemin asking layla about the sleepover

“a sleepover with grandma?!” she says excitedly

“yes sweetheart after dinner we can go pack your bag”

“yay i’m so excited” she says

“oh me too” jaemin laughs as the guys just stare at the both of you

“he’s absolutely ridiculous” you roll your eyes

“baby number three let go” haechan jokes

“oh don’t worry he’ll be wrapping it” you say loud enough for jaemin to hear as the guys nearly joke on their food

the boys all say their goodbyes to your girls as they head out

“oh thank god min-jun is asleep and layla almost packed” jaemin says walking back into the living room

“ i’ll drop layla off at your moms” jeno says

“really, that would be so nice of you” you say hugging him

“yeah no problem, enjoy your alone time” he says smirking as he pats jaemin on the back

“layla are you almost done picking out what plushie you want to bring” you husband yells

she comes out of the room with her big backpack on

“uncle jeno is going to take you to grandmas okay” you say your goodbyes as jeno carries her out of the house

closing the door you take a deep breath

“let’s go run a bath sweetheart, i’ll bring the baby monitor” jaemin says

as you lay in the bath together, jaemins arms wrapped around your waist “i didn’t know i genuinely needed this tonight but i definitely did, thanks babe” you say

“just wait till we get into bed, i’ll be giving you something else you definitely need” he says kissing your neck

chenle:

backstage after the performance you text chenle to come meet you in the hallway of the dressing room he walks out kissing both you and his son jiahao

“good job today lele you did amazing” you kiss him once more

“oh my goodness what does his shirt say” chenle notices your sons shirt

you hold jiahao up so that chenle can read what is printed onto the shirt

“you think you’re cool? well my dad is zhong chenle” he reads aloud

“haha i love it babe” he laughs taking jiahao from you kissing your lips

“let’s go see your uncles huh?” he says bringing you and your son into the dressing room

“oh my god”

“he so cute”

“let me hold him”

the boys all yell from inside the room

“calm down you’re gonna scare him” chenle rolls his eyes, handing his son off to renjun, the boys all take a good look at him

“chenle hes your carbon copy” renjun laughs

“yeah he’s got your big head” haechan says

“yeah chenle had the easy part in the making of him yet here he is, after being inside of me for nine months looking exactly like his daddy” you joke

“and you love it” chenle kisses you head

“yeah i do” you nod

“gosh he’s so cute” jisung says looking down at the boy

“of course he his he’s my kid” chenle jokes as jisung rolls his eyes

“sit down my love, rest for a little” chenle says to you, chenle joins you on the couch

“i’m so proud of our little family” he says as you rest your head on his shoulder

“i am too lele, thank you for being such a good dad ”

“i’m only half as good as you are babymama” you slap his arm playfully

“i hate when you call me that”

“i know” he chuckles

jisung

you and jisung were laying comfortably together on the couch until your daughter ha-yun started crying from her crib

standing up you walk over to her taking her out of her bed, sitting back onto the couch with jisung you take the binky out of her mouth as you pull your shirt down replacing it with your nipple

jisung smiles at the two of you as he places his arm around your shoulder

“i love my girls” he says pressing a kiss to your temple, once you finish feeding your daughter you pass her to jisung so that he can burp her

“i think the boys should be here anytime soon” he says getting up placing the baby over his shoulder as he pats her back

you get up and head to the bathroom making yourself look a little more presentable

“babe” you hear jisung yell across the house

“what” you yell back

“ha-yun threw up all over me and the boys are on their way up can you take her for a second” he says

you can’t help but to laugh a little bit

“yeah i got her go get cleaned up”

as the boys arrive you open the door for them telling them that your daughter is in her crib as

they all stand around her

“you can pick her up and hold her if you want” say sitting back on the couch

jeno picks her up rocking her back and forth

“holy shit it’s literally a girl version of jisung” haechan says looking at your daughter

“speaking of jisung where is he?” chenle asks

“ha-yun threw up on him right before you guys got here” you say chuckling

“good girl” chenle coos at your daughter slightly shaking her foot

“i heard that” jisung says walking back from the bedroom

“she’s so adorable” renjun says

“she’s jisungs twin” you respond

“i cant believe our little jisung is a dad now” mark says

“he’s all grown up” he adds

“i still remember the day jisung called me freaking out about him knocking y/n up” chenle laughs

“i wasn’t freaking out” jisung defends himself

“i’m pretty sure you were, i didn’t even get the chance to say hello before you were like ““ holy shit i got my girlfriend pregnant”” chenle uncontrollably laughs

“yeah well it doesn’t matter now i have my beautiful girls, my lovely little family” he kisses you

“you guys really did make a cute baby i cant lie” renjun says

“thank you” you smile

“i still refuse to believe my little innocent jisung helped make this baby” haechan jokes

“innocent is crazy, how do you think babies are made haechan” jisung laughs

“ew i really don’t want to think about you two doing it” chenle makes a face

“you corrupted him y/n” haechan laughs

“guilty as charged” you say kissing him once again

“i have a feeling that this is one of many babies to come into the park family” jaemin laughs

“we’re already talking about trying for another one next year” you say half joking half not

“geeze jisung, make sure to put a ring on it before the next one at least” renjun laughs

“y’all are gonna be real busy” haechan makes a grossed out face

mark hits his shoulder

“shut up dude you’re so annoying”

“i meant busy with two babies” haechan defended himself

“no you didn’t” chenle laughs

“enough about our sex life” jisung says

“you all will understand one day when you meet the one” you smile to jisung

—————————————————————————

hope you enjoyed, this was so fun to write!!

1K notes · View notes

darcylindbergh · 2 months

Note

I’m a queer minor with an unsupportive Republican family and I feel so fucking helpless about the election. What can I do or at least how can I stay safe?

listen to me. i am taking your face in my hands. i am looking into your eyes. listen. your second question is the right one. your safety is your priority. have you ever been on a plane? and they do the little safety routine? and when the masks fall down, they say, "put your own oxygen mask on before helping others?"

as a queer kid, this is a put your own mask on before helping others situation.

there are things you can do to get involved but first and foremost, you gotta be safe. if that means you don't come out and you don't talk about politics and you don't get involved in activism until you can be independent, that's what it means. i know it sucks to hear. it really sucks saying it, tbh. i want you to be big and out and loud and proud, and i never want you to have to make yourself small, but more than anything i want you to be safe.

so everything i'm about to say is with this caveat. safety first. your own mask before helping others.

here's a link to the lgbt national youth talkline. this service won't call outside agencies (like 911) on your behalf, unless you're making a credible threat to someone else.

the Trevor Project also has a hotline and chat services. they do call outside agencies on your behalf to report imminent harm to yourself or others as well as reporting child abuse. i'm not saying one is better than the other. i just want you to know what each service does.

the Trevor Project also has trevorspace, which i guess is like social media for lgbt youth? i am not a youth so i didn't sign up to check it out but it could be a good place to find folks to talk and connect with. connections are so good.

here's some things you can do. i tried to include a bunch of things with different amounts of involvement so you can pick your safety level.

read. read so much. read about people who are like you and who are not like you. read fiction that celebrates queer joy and read nonfiction books about antiracism and intersectionality and the history of queer people in the US. do you know who has a cool amount of information on queer history in the US? the national park service. watch queer movies, even (especially, tbh) old ~problematic stuff, look up what people say about it now. read through the articles on decolonizepalestine.com. watch interviews about Black joy. know your rights. read banned books. if you can't do, learn. read. just because it's happening inside your head doesn't mean it's real work.

check out scarleteen, which is a fantastic resource for queer sex ed and relationship information. a lot of their articles are older now, but still 100% great reads.

watch what your family is watching - debates, news stories, whatever - and ask yourself how would i respond to that? look up how to respond to that. you can use this time to start learning how to dissect political speech and how to respond to it. both sides do this! read news from both sides and see how it compares.

make your daily 5 calls. they give you scripts and everything. if you don't want to talk to a real human person, calling in the evening will usually get you a voicemail. talking on the phone is a hugely important social skill - if you don't have it, the 5 calls are a great way to start and to start addressing your discomfort with phones.

20 states allow 17-year-olds to vote in the primaries.

Pre-register to vote if you're eligible.

Vote Forward puts on a letter writing campaign you can participate in.

NextGen America has in-person volunteer opportunities in 8 states, and virtual opportunities globally. Although they target voters 18-35, volunteers can be any age. (hey adults - you listening?)

here's even more information on phone or text banking! for most of these, you don't have to be 18.

Organize a voter registration drive at your high school. the Civics Center has a free, one-hour online workshop that will walk you through how to host a drive and they'll even send you swag for it. check out their "for students" tab - they have sharable graphics, workshops, lots of stuff.

in some states, people under 18 can sign up to be poll workers. (hey adults - we can do this too)

CIRCLE is a civic engagement center that focuses on getting youth out to vote, but also educating folks. check their website out. listen. politics are so boring like, 99.9% of the time. the more you know about how it works, the more effective you can be when you want to get involved.

look up your local political body, find out when they meet. attend the meetings. in my county we have a board of commissioners that meet once a month, and a couple of committees as well. i don't go every time but now that i can log into the meetings via Zoom, I do about every other month or so. did you see that video of violet affleck speaking at the LA board of supervisors meeting? that could be you, babe.

so there's a lot you can do actually! here's some more stuff you can do!!

know, with 100% certainty, in your heart of hearts, that there are so many people who want you to be out and proud and loud and yourself. and there are so many people who are fighting for you to be able to do that. there are so many adults, queer and non-queer, rooting for you, standing up for you, putting ourselves between you and a future where you have to keep making yourself small. and you will get older and i know it's trite but THINGS REALLY DO GET BETTER, and someday you will be the queer adult on this side of the screen protecting kids like you. you gotta keep on keeping on and keeping yourself safe so you can do that someday.

log off. LOG OFF. doomscrolling is a form of self-harm. deliberately seeking out endless articles and tiktoks and whatever about news and information that will upset you is not activism, babe! it's harm! you aren't helping anyone by being hurt. there's a difference between being informed and hurting yourself. find the line. hold yourself to it.

stop using chat gpt. it's terrible. forget you ever knew about it. that's not related to activism its just like, general health, and also climate change. while i'm here, switch to firefox and duckduckgo.

go outside. it turns out touching grass is actually important for our mental health. go find some.

pick up a hobby that does something with your hands, if you're able to. i cross-stitch and play piano (badly). pick up drawing. cooking. embroidery. underwater basket weaving. it's important to find something that shows you what YOU can do with YOUR two hands. you can do so much.

find your people. online, in person. find your people. when i got this ask, i - not a parent - threw it to my people and they helped me find some resources. we're doing this together.

this is kind of silly but i love doing it. find the marriage license announcements in your county or township or whatever and look for gay people. you'll be guessing by names, so watch out - we love trans people who have and haven't made the legal name change! - but GOD. i've looked at the marriage license announcements literally every two weeks (which is how often they're published in my county) since Obergefell v Hodges 9 years ago, which is when we got gay marriage in my state, and it's so fucking healing. in the last 9 years, i have seen hundreds of gay people make this announcement. every two weeks, there are four or five gay couples in my community out of maybe 15, 20 (i live in a pretty small county). look up why marriage rights have mattered so much to our community. these marriage license announcements are just such a small, bright spot of joy and seeing the names - real people! in my real community! - cradles my heart. find what cradles your heart.

this has gotten long enough so i'm going to set it free. i'm sure there will be people in the notes adding things. for you parents out there, leave your love in the comments. for the rest of us extremely cool and suave adults, pick something off the list and volunteer too, and look at this anon and think yes, this is why we do it. kids like us who are kids now, who will be us later. for you Youth out there, put your oxygen mask on first and then help others.

i love you.

it gets better.

#darcy answers

382 notes · View notes

surftrips · 9 months

Note

Maybe you could do single dad jj maybank he’s in college and has to do a project with the reader and has to bring the baby with them and they bond and start to hang out a lot then they start to date also maybe she’s a single mom I feel like that would be like a unique thing

thank you so much for this request! i hope you don't mind that i switched it up a bit (and got carried away lol) but reader is the single mom here and her and jj have known each other their whole lives :)

when you know, you know

pairing: jj maybank x reader

summary: y/n needs a babysitter and jj is the only person available.

word count: 3.5k

"Okay, I understand. Thanks, anyway," you sighed, running your hands through your hair and hanging up the phone. Your babysitter had just canceled on you, and the timing could not have been worse.

You had been planning this night for months. Between your classes, a part-time job, and taking care of your 2-year-old Margo, it was nearly impossible to schedule anything. But you desperately needed a night out and your friend Emma had so kindly offered to set you up on a blind date.

You scrolled through your contacts list, looking for anyone that was sober on a Friday night, a seemingly impossible task. Glancing at the time, you realized that you only had an hour left to find a babysitter and get ready.

As panic set in, you received a text from the P4L groupchat.

JJ: Wtw tonight?

Not now JJ, you thought.

Y/N: Trying to find a babysitter, mine just canceled :/

Kie: Oh no, Y/N!! I'm so sorry :(

Cleo: Sorry babes, I totally wouldd but I already lost count of how many drnks I've had 2nite xxx

JJ: Wait, you guys went out already?

Sarah: JJ, we told you it's a girls night.

JJ: In that case, Y/N, I'll watch Margo!

Absolutely not, was your first thought. JJ Maybank was probably the last person you wanted to take care of your child, he was practically one himself.

Besides, since you had Margo, he was always acting weird around you. Before, you two would hang out all the time, but now he only saw you if there was another person there as a buffer. He hardly visited or called, but you were so preoccupied with raising a baby on your own that you hadn't had a chance to talk to him about it.

In the beginning, people assumed it was his baby you were pregnant with, but you never crossed that line because your friendship meant the world to each other. He was the first person you told when you found out you were going to be a mother, and you remember how excited he was for you. It was hard to believe how distant he had become, and you wondered why he had volunteered himself tonight.

You assessed the situation: you hadn't gone out in nearly two years, and who knew when the next opportunity would be? You sighed, hardly believing the words you were about to type on your phone.

Y/N: Ok. How soon can you be here?

Y/N: You better be sober, JJ.

You turned your phone off before the others could protest, knowing that half of them were drunk anyway.

"Uncle JJ is going to come over and watch you tonight, okay? Mommy is going to be gone for just a few hours," you said to your daughter, picking her up and placing her in your eye line so you could do your makeup.

"Jay Jay?" she repeated.

"Yes, honey," you smiled, trying to reassure her, or yourself. Out of all the pogues, Kiara and Sarah babysat Margo the most. She had probably only met JJ a handful of times and you worried about how well she would do with him alone.

As if he could read your mind, your phone began ringing and you looked over to see his face on your screen.

"JJ, please don't tell me you're canceling too."

"What? Oh, no, it's not that. I was just wondering if you needed me to bring anything for Margo?"

"Oh," you relaxed. "Hmmm, I think we have everything we need here. But thank you for asking, JJ."

"Of course," you could hear him smiling on the other line. "You know, thanks for letting me watch Margo. I've been meaning to visit her more."

"JJ, you know you're weren't my first choice," you teased. "But yeah, of course. Thanks, I owe you."

You hung up the phone, thoughts from earlier creeping back into your mind. You always assumed that the baby scared JJ away, but sometimes you couldn't help but wonder if there was something more going on.

However, now was not the time for you to be thinking about this, considering that you now had 30 minutes left until your date showed up and you had yet to pick out a dress.

"Hmmmm, let's see. Any suggestions, Margo?" you asked your daughter, combing through your closet for something appropriate. You settled on a short black dress with a boat neck, and black knee high boots to go along with it.

"What do we think, sweetie?" you smiled at Margo.

"Pretty!" she clapped her small hands together.

"Why, thank you, baby. Come on, let's go see if Uncle JJ is here yet," you picked her up and checked your phone for any notifications.

Blind Date: Be there in 5! :)

Crap, you thought. Where is JJ?

You shot back a confirmation for your date and looked out the window for any sign of JJ. You weren't sure if he was biking over or he had borrowed the Twinkie, but there was no sign of anyone outside.

Growing anxious, you gathered Margo's favorite toys and books into the living room and tidied up your apartment to pass the time.

Exactly 5 minutes later, the doorbell rang. You smoothed down your dress and checked your hair in the mirror one last time. Putting on your best smile, you went to open the door.

"Hi–" you started. "Oh, it's you."

"Come on, that's what I get for dropping everything and saving your ass?" JJ responded.

"Sorry, weren't you the one with no plans on a Friday?"

"You know, I can just turn around right now-"

"Stop!" you pleaded. "Okay, sorry, I've been anxious about this all day and I just want to get back to Margo as fast as I can."

"Relax, Y/N. I'm here now," he took in your appearance. "You look great, by the way."

The last time he saw you remotely dressed up like this was prom night.

You couldn't help but blush, looking around for Margo to hide your face. "Margo, look who it is!"

"Jay Jay!" she babbled.

"Oh my god, she knows my name!" JJ replied, looking a little perplexed.

"You know what, I'm surprised too considering she's only met you, like, four times," you said.

"Alright, you're no fun," he looked at you as you traded your daughter over to his arms. "Miss Margo and I here are going to have the time of our lives. Aren't we?"

He tickled her, causing her to giggle. She seemed so comfortable in his arms, you wondered why you were ever worried in the first place.

"Thanks again for doing this, I know we haven't talked in a while-" you started.

"So, where's the lucky guy?" he interrupted you.

"Uhh," you looked over at the clock. "He said he would be here by now."

"Late to the first date? That's a red flag, Y/N."

"As if you're not a walking red flag, JJ. What did you get here on? Your bike?"

"Hey! I refurbished that bike all on my own! It takes a lot of skill to do that."

Just then, the doorbell rang. You rushed to open the door, a smile plastered on your face again.

"Hey! You must be Emma's friend! I'm Tom." he greeted you with a hug and a bouquet of flowers. "I'm sorry for being late, I went to get these flowers for you and was distracted by the girl scouts selling cookies outside. I had to support them, you know?"

"Oh, no worries! Yes, how can you say no to them?" you laughed softly. You took the flowers from him and went to place them on the table closest to you, beckoning him to come in.

"Tom, this is one of my friends, JJ. He's babysitting my daughter, Margo, while we're gone," you said.

"Ah! What a pleasure," Tom went over to shake JJ's hand and politely wave at your daughter. "I promise not to keep your mom out too late tonight."

"That's right, need her back before midnight," JJ remarked.

You playfully pushed him in response, grabbing your keys. "Alright, you have my number so please call me if you need anything. Bye Margo, mommy loves you!"

With that, you and Tom headed outside and into his car.

On the drive over to the restaurant, you learned that Tom was a psychologist, he liked to cook, and reality TV shows were his guilty pleasure. At the restaurant, which was a higher-end place near the water, he pulled out your chair for you.

"I hope this place is okay, I wasn't sure what kind of food you liked so I thought somewhere nicer would be safe," he said.

"Oh, this is perfect. Don't even worry about it," you smiled. "I haven't had a proper night out in so long, I wouldn't have minded if you took me to a burger joint."

He laughed, "Margo is adorable, by the way. How old is she?"

"She's 2," you said. Then, feeling the need to clarify, "I had her when I was 20, at the beginning of my junior year in college."

"I see, how was that? How did you manage classes?" You were surprised at his demeanor, half-expecting him to judge you or run in the opposite direction any second now, but his inquisition was genuine.

"Well, I could still go to classes during the first trimester, but it got more difficult after that so I took a leave of absence. I'm taking night classes now because I work in the mornings."

"Oh nice, what degree are you going for?"

"English, I want to be a teacher," you explained.

"My mom was a teacher," he smiled. "What age do you want to teach?"

"Oh no way! I want to teach elementary school kids. Everyone always tells me how hard it will be, but raising Margo... I don't love anything more than that."

"That's really sweet, are you close with your family?"

You paused, trying to figure out how to answer the question. "Depends on who you consider my family, I guess," you laughed awkwardly. "I'm not close with my parents, but my friends? Those are the most important people in my life."

He smiled, "I understand. I'm glad you have a support system, being a single mother can be hard."

"Yeah, I'm super grateful. Actually, my babysitter for tonight canceled last-minute and JJ came to the rescue. I don't know what I would've done without him."

Tom's smile faltered for an unnoticeable second. "How long have you known him for?"

"JJ? My whole life, probably. I can't imagine a time when he wasn't by my side. He was there for me throughout my entire pregnancy, but after..." you trailed off.

"After...?"

"Afterwards," you hesitated, not wanting to bad-mouth your friend. "I guess he started to distance himself more, I think Margo scared him away honestly."

"You think it was Margo and nothing else?"

"What do you mean?"

"I just mean," he sighed. "Do you think there could be any other reason why he would be so supportive of you before and not after you had Margo?"

"I-I'm not sure. I haven't had much time to think about it, I guess."

"You want my opinion?" Tom asked. You searched his face for any sign of spitefulness, but came up empty.

"I saw the way he looked at you and Margo, earlier. That boy is not scared of either of you. In fact, all I saw was love. Did you ever think he’s grappling with those feelings?”

"His feelings? For me?" It was not the first time you thought about it, but it was the first time you heard it verbalized.

"Yes, I know I sound crazy, but seriously, Y/N, what other reason could there be to explain his behavior?"

You racked your brain for all the possible explanations. Tom had a point, if JJ had feelings for you at some point in your friendship, or still does, he might feel the need to distance himself to protect you.

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"I told you, I'm a psychologist. I notice these things," he smiled.

"Is this how all of your first dates go?" you laughed.

"Not all of them, but I’ll admit, a few are like this. But tell me, am I wrong to assume there was something more going on between you two before you got pregnant?"

You sighed, "No, you're not wrong. Our feelings for each other were a truth that neither of us wanted to confront. We were young, we didn't want to be tied down, it was college. But he was always there, by my side, through everything. Of course, I loved him."

"Well, there you go. There's your answer."

Tom dropped you off around midnight. You assured him that there was no need to walk you to your door, you both knew that you needed to have a conversation with JJ.

"Thank you again for tonight, we seriously need to meet up again," you said, before shutting your door.

"Absolutely, I'll give you the address to my office," he joked.

You turned the key into your door as quietly as possible, in case JJ was also asleep with Margo. Inside, the lights were off and you pulled out your phone flashlight to search for him.

You went into Margo's room first, seeing that she was fast asleep in her crib. "Hi baby," you whispered. "Where's Uncle JJ?"

After making sure she was tucked in properly, you turned to go into your bedroom. Sure enough, there was JJ, fast asleep in your bed.

You couldn't help but smile, recalling memories from high school when you two would have sleepovers. Being sure to keep quiet, you changed into your pajamas and got ready for bed.

Trying your best to not wake up JJ, you pulled open the blanket on your side of the bed and slipped in next to him.

"Goodnight, JJ," you whispered.

—

In the morning, you woke up to the smell of pancakes in the kitchen. For a second, you weren't sure you were even in your apartment, remembering that you live alone with Margo and surely, you weren't asleep long enough for her to know her way around the kitchen.

But then you remembered that JJ was babysitting last night and had fallen asleep in your bed before you got home.

After a long stretch, you got up and went into the kitchen.

"There she is, good morning pretty," JJ smiled at you.

"Morning... When did you learn how to cook?" you questioned.

"What do you mean? I've always known how to make pancakes."

"Okay, that is just a straight up lie. In high school you would have chips for breakfast."

JJ put his hand to his chest, taking mock offense. "If you must know, I started teaching myself how to cook last year when I moved off-campus."

"Wow, I must say, I am impressed, Mr. Maybank."

"Please, that's my father. You can call me JJ," he said, causing you both to laugh.

Were his eyes always this blue? You thought, as you admired his features in the morning light.

After a moment, you broke the silence. "Uh- I better go check on Margo. How was she last night, by the way?"

"Oh, amazing. Best kid ever."

"Really? She didn't give you a hard time at all?"

"Nope, must have remembered me from when she was in the womb."

You smiled, turning around to your daughter's room.

Sure enough, Margo was sleeping like the baby she was. You checked the clock, she wouldn't be up for at least another hour.

"Margo's still in one piece?" JJ asked when you reentered the kitchen.

"Yes, somehow,” you mused.

"Good, want to try these pancakes now?"

"Yes, please, I'm starving," you sat down across from JJ.

"Starving? Your date didn't feed you last night?"

"Very funny, if you want to know about my date, you can just ask."

"Okay, how was your date?" he relented.

"He's a psychologist."

"Cool, anything else?" JJ looked slightly confused.

"He was very normal and nice," you added.

“I would hope so.”

“Yes, and he likes to cook too.”

“That’s great, how was the date itself?”

“Oh the date itself…” you trailed off.

"Y/N, why are you acting weird?"

"Weird? Me? I'm just telling you about my date."

"You're talking about him like he's your therapist."

"Well, in a way, it was like a therapy session."

"So the date went bad?"

"No, it was really nice."

JJ looked around the kitchen, "Did I accidentally put something in the pancake batter to make you act like this or...?"

"These are great, by the way," you said, pointing to the pancakes with your fork.

"Thanks, but can we get back to the date?"

"Oh, yeah, well, basically," you started.

"Y/N." JJ was rarely ever serious, but he was starting to look concerned with you.

"Okay, fine. It started off really well, we got to know each other. Then, he was asking about Margo and my family, and I told him about my parents, you know. Then he asked about you, and I told him I've known you forever, but after Margo, you started distancing yourself and we haven't seen or talked to each other in a while, and then-" you rambled.

"Then what?"

"And then, he told me, or rather he made me realize, that maybe we need to address the feelings we may or may not have had for each other before I got pregnant," you finished in a rush.

JJ was silent, you weren't sure if the expression on his face was scared or bemused.

"JJ, please say something."

"Was that all?"

"More or less."

He sighed, "Y/N, I think one of the reasons why our friendship worked so well was because we both knew that at any moment, we could pursue something more, but we didn't. We both knew that doing that would ruin our friendship, something we've had for nearly twenty years. I thought college was going to be four years of partying and distractions, but instead, I had to face reality”

“Distractions?”

“Everyone that wasn’t you was a distraction, in case that wasn’t clear.”

“Uh, no. It wasn't, actually. JJ, you kept telling me you were trying to meet ‘the one!’”

“Well, I was lying! Okay? You were always the one for me. I just didn’t feel like I was the one for you. So I was stupid and I decided we would be better off as friends, but when you got pregnant…”

“When I got pregnant…?”

“When you told me about Margo, I panicked. I knew you were strong enough to do this on your own, but you shouldn’t have had to. I told myself that I was going to be there for you every step of the way, and I was, until you gave birth. I saw Margo for the first time, and I-I’m sorry. I just couldn’t do it.”

“Do what, JJ? You know I never needed you to be her father.”

“I know, I know. I saw her and I couldn’t imagine hurting her. I didn’t want her to know me, because to know me is to be disappointed by me,” he sighed.

“JJ,” you stood up now to wrap your arms around him. “Are you kidding me? I was never, never disappointed by you. I was just worried, babe, that’s all. You stopped talking to me after that.”

JJ allowed himself to fall into your arms. “I’m sorry, it just felt like too much at the time. I loved- love you and Margo so much, that I didn’t know what to do with all of it. So I thought it was best to give you some space, until I was better.”

You chuckled, “Is that why you taught yourself how to cook?”

“Stop, I was actually starving and had no choice.”

“And are you better now?”

“When I heard you were going on a date, do you want to know what I thought?”

“What?”

“I thought, I let her go again. I let you go a million times in college, and here I am, letting you go again.”

When you didn’t say anything, he continued, “You’re the one for me, Y/N. I came over here tonight to show you that. I’m ready for whatever this is going to be, whatever this friendship evolves into. I spent too much time denying the truth, and I think you have too.”

There were not enough words to describe how you were feeling, so you leaned in to kiss your best friend. JJ held your face with such gentleness, you wondered if this was all in your imagination.

Eventually, you pulled away. “I’m done lying, to myself and to each other. This is real, yes?” you asked.

“Yes, I love you, really.”

“I love you too, Maybank.”

You leaned in for a second time, but not before you heard the familiar cries of Margo in the other room.

“Don’t worry, I got it,” he smiled with that boyish grin of his that you loved so much. That you have always loved.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #jj maybank imagine #obx #outer banks #obx x reader #obx imagine #rudy pankow #rudy pankow x reader #jj maybank x you

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nattblacklupin · 6 months

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Never was much of a romantic

Pairing: Cassian x Fem! Illyrian! Reader

Warning: mention of wing clipping (just as a threat), Devlon being asshole, reader simping on Cassian, reader is described as being shorter than Devlon and Cassian, random switches in pov (like two times), little bit of angst (cassian feels like he doesn't deserve love), swear words, little bit of Nesta slander

Summary: Cassian meets you in Windhaven and sees you arguring with Devlon. Something about your fierce attitude makes him want to be closer to you.

Part two ● masterlist

Cassian was never much of a romantic. He was one night stand guy. He never felt the need to actually love someone. But later on in his life, he has been feeling more and more alone. He saw his friends find love, mates. Everybody had their own person while he was stuck alone.

He, of course, had his family, the inner circle. They would help him with anything and do anything for him. But it's not the same as having a mate. Someone to love and cherish. Someone who will see through him and know when he really isn't alright.

For a while, he thought that Nesta was his mate. But then she left the night court for autumn court, specifically for the heir of autumn court. And he was alone again.

Nesta absence took a tool on him. He really thought they were meant to be, and she even acted like it. But then one day she just left, only leaving a letter as a goodbye. That made Cassian believe he didn't have a mate. They were rare, so maybe he was meant to never find her. It was possible, and he wouldn't be surprised if it was like that. At the end of the day, he is a low born bastard who doesn't deserve anything more than his ratty tent.

Rhys sent him to Windhaven to check if everyone is being trained as commanded to. If he had any say in this, he wouldn't come here. He hated Devlon and this place. It reminded him of all the bad things that happened there when he was just a child. The only good thing about this place was when he met Rhysand with Azriel. His two brothers are the only reason he's still alive.

But he had to follow the orders of his high lord. Maybe he could go to Rita's after and enjoy the night with his family after he is done here. That thought made him feel somehow lighter. Nothing is better than night with his family.

,,I will train, and I don't care what you tell me"

Cassian immediately looked the way the voice was coming from. He saw illyrian woman standing in front of Devlon. There was a visible high difference between them, but she didn't let it affect her and continued to stand her ground. Cassian was amazed by that and decided to watch for some while. If something happened, he could help her, not that she looked like she needed it. Yet as he was standing there and seeing her arguring with a man that was nearly twice her size, he came to conclusion that maybe women in this camp could put Devlon in his place even better than he ever could.

"You should be glad that you still have your wings, I could just clip them as a punishment for your disobedience"

You just laughed in his face. "do it, and my high lord will have your head. "

Cassian heart warmed at the thought that illyrian women trust Rhys to protect them. They finally trust Rhysand enough to rely on him to protect them and punish those who hurt them.

Devlon just laughed in her face, and that somehow made Cassian mad. He didn't know why he was feeling like this. He had this uncontrollable need to protect her and to make her like him. It was the first time he ever felt like this.

"Do you mean the little princeling and his two bastards? They don't give fuck about some useless woman like yourself"

"Sadly to inform you, Lord Devlon," cassian said mockingly, "but we surely give fuck, so i suggest you to step back and let that woman be"

Cassian flared his wings to make himself the bigger threat in this situation and stepped in front of you. While the two men in front of you had their own silent battle, you couldn't help but admire Cassian.

You knew who he was. Who wouldn't know him? Yet you never seen him. Yeah, you heard stories about how he looks, but your imagination could never come up with the god that stands in front of you. His tan skin. The way his muscles flexed under his leathers. And his wings? They had little scars all over them, yet you couldn't help but admire them. They were so strong. True to his reputation, these were the wings of warrior.

He slowly turned around and you couldn't see his strong back and wings, which was slightly disappointing to you, but the moment you were met with his strong chest you wished for him to never turn around. Everything about him looked so right and hot. You looked up and saw Cassian grinning at you.

,,you alright there, sweetheart?"

Your heart started beating uncontrollably fast, and you swear that it could be heard on the other side of the Windhaven. You couldn't look away from his Hazel eyes. It was like they were holding you in their mercy and weren't planning on letting you go. Yet you still needed to answer him, to hear his voice again.

"I-" before you could finish your sentence something snapped between you two.

,,mate"

#acotar x reader #cassian x reader #cassian acotar x reader #cassian #fluff #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #cassian x y/n #cassian x you

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mmogurl · 8 days

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Daddy Issues Part 1: Savior

18+ | 1.7k | Homelander X Female Reader | protective homelander, reader's back story is a little dark, reader might be a bit of a nympho, mentions of suicide, rape, assault, alcoholism, emotional child abuse. My Own Writing Prompt: What if Homelander became your Daddy and was really good at it? This is my first attempt at writing for a 'Reader' character! I usually always write it as an OC, so this should be a fun challenge. There will be more, but I'm not sure how many yet - maybe 3 parts. I wanted to keep these side ideas shorter and easier to pick up and put down. Part 1: Savior | Part 2: Baseline | Part 3: Spoiled | Part 4: Comfort

You’ve not had the best childhood. You were raised by an alcoholic, neglectful mother who cared more about getting laid by strange men that she met at the bar than you. This was paired with a father who would literally do anything but spend time with you, even when you flew fifteen hundred miles via airplane and stayed for the whole summer. Love, affection, attention, validation. These are all things that have been acutely missing from your life and so it should come as no surprise that you might be tempted towards the more hedonistic side of things.

After all, there is no better way to pretend that someone loves you, then when they’re fucking you.

Your bedroom has been a revolving door of men, much like your mothers had been when she was still alive. But, she’s left you alone in this world, long since dead from cirrhosis of the liver, and you’d really rather not have anything to do with your piece of shit father. With no siblings or family to call your own and nobody left to really give a shit, your life feels kind of empty. Fucking is the one thing that makes you feel alive, at least until it’s over and all of the feelings of guilt and shame come flooding back in.

That’s alright though. That’s what the beer is for. When too many voices start to nag you about your choice of lifestyle, you just drown it out. And no, you don’t think of yourself as an alcoholic like your mother. You are just self medicating, and find this over the counter prescription much more effective than the ones your psychiatrist had given you. You’d rather feel something than nothing after all. Maybe this makes you a hypocrite, but you really don’t care.

Perhaps it is this very state of inebriation that has led to your current situation though. You really should start taking accountability for the way your life has turned out and stop playing the victim. Sadly, there may not be enough time to make any serious life changes because things are looking pretty grim. A chance encounter with a good looking man named Mark that you’d met, ironically at the bar, has turned into a complete catastrophe, and even you with your insight and feisty spirit, especially when drunk, cannot see a way out of it.

Mark said he was parked just down the road, and there were so many lights and people walking down the main throughway that you really hadn’t considered you might even be in danger. That was until you’d both walked a ways down the alley, past the point of lights and still there was no car. Who the fuck drives a car in New York City you found yourself thinking, but by then it was too late. By then, Mark’s lackeys had jumped out from hiding, dragging you down an intersecting alley and against the wall of some abandoned building.

You are pressed painfully against the cold and dirty brick wall with two men holding you in place, one on either side of you. One heavier set man has a knife against your throat while the other laughs in a way that makes your skin crawl. Mark stands before you still looking like the handsome bait that he was and you can’t help but wonder what they might possibly want with you. You are too old at twenty eight to be thrown into some kind of grooming gang or human trafficking and you have nobody for them to extort funds from for a ransom.

Maybe they are just interested in raping and killing you and this is just more shitty luck that life has thrown your way. It is always so easy to play the victim, even when you are still partially responsible for how the cards fall in the wake of your bad decisions.

You try to jerk your arms free, thinking it better to be cut than to be raped by these scraps of human excrement. You had already intended to fuck Mark or you wouldn’t have gone home with him, but this show of depravity has most definitely changed your mind.

You feel the heat of dripping blood from your neck as the bigger guy with the knife actually nicks your skin. Mark already has his paws on you, a look of disgusting lewdness on his face as though he’s so pleased with himself for cornering you. His hand rounds your breast and the feeling of him touching you like this elicits the most gut wrenching scream from the very depths of your chest cavity.

Then the raw, searing pain erupts across your face. Always the consummate gentleman, Mark has struck you and he didn’t pull any punches. You can’t help but hear the rimshot play in your head and you wonder how it is that even as you’re about to die, your struck with the plaguing of your morose sense of humor. You supposed in the end, it was just a way to make light of how messed up things were. And right now, they were definitely about as bad as they had ever been.

As Mark once more closes in on you, the friend not holding the knife joining in at groping you as well, you attempt to scream again. Another throbbing fist hits you so hard in the cheekbone that it literally takes away all the fight you have. You’ve never been hit so hard before in your entire life and you feel a wave of defeat roll over you like the most hated white flag flapping in the wind.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to zone out the disgusting mitts clawing at you. For a moment you consider shoving your neck into the knife to avoid letting them take this any further. But, graciously, your thoughts of escape through suicide are averted when the ground shakes as though an asteroid had just been ejected from space and landed right beside you.

There is another flash of pain as the stout man with the knife slips and cuts you once more. Free from their grip for a moment in light of the confusion, you feel your neck and are relieved to find that the cut is shallow and not gushing blood. You slowly look up and find that all the men are turned away from you, looking at something incredulously.

Your eyes grow wide when you realize they are staring at the fucking Homelander. Your jaw drops in shock as he hurls forward, grabbing the neck of the man with the knife and popping it like a grape. Blood splatters everywhere as your blond savior’s eyes flare up with bright orange light, straight into Mark’s crotch creating a massive hole that you can actually see through. You almost laugh at the thought of his likely raging hard on getting evaporated to charred bits and nothingness. Serves him right you think as his body hits the pavement with a fleshy thud.

The last man attempts to flee and you follow the outline of his backside as he runs. Homelander’s eyes glow once more and you watch as the plasma hot lasers cut across the distance, starting at the assailant’s groin and carving all the way through his head, leaving him cleaved in two even pieces.

You barely have time to think about it before Homelander’s gaze returns to you, a look of concern in his eyes as he crowds you against the wall. “Fuck!” he shouts and you startle as he starts wiping the gore and blood away from your face, your neck. “Did I hit you?”

“N-no,” you manage to squeak out. “I think it’s the fat guy’s blood.” You say this with a little more humor than you probably should, not being able to resist the idea of insulting your attacker.

Homelander stops his fussing and regards you with eyes that are so much bluer in person than they appeared on television. He raises up one hand, finger pointed at you as though you’d just fooled him, in quite a clever way. The grin on his face almost makes you forget that you’d just had strangers threatening your life and your right to choose who you spread your legs for.

“You’re funny,” he finally said, looking you over, his expression growing more grave, almost irate. “Especially for someone who just narrowly avoided getting raped and thrown in the Hudson fucking Bay.”

You can’t help but wonder why he cares. You always thought he was just a pretend super hero for the cameras, for the mega corporation known as Vought to make big bucks. It all seemed staged and as far as you knew it was. Yet, here he was, America’s patriotic golden boy, making a very unscheduled save.

“What the fuck are you doing anyway!?” he asked cynically, interrupting your thoughts. “Do you have a death wish or something? You like the idea of serving yourself up to any guy who shows you a little bit of attention?”

His line of questioning was strangely personal, as though he knew more about you than he was letting on. Even though he had just come to your rescue, exactly when you had needed him most, you can’t help but feel a little indignant.

“It’s not like I wanted this,” you retort with a furl in your brow.

“You have to know you’re beautiful,” he sputters out, eyes darting around with discomfort at the topic, barely containing his frustration. “You deserve better than this.”

“Well, God has not seen fit to bestow me with anyone better yet. I’m still waiting,” she quipped back, but she could feel her shoulders getting weak and shaky as the shock of her encounter started to weigh on her.

“Fuck God,” Homelander barked back and his countenance relaxed significantly as his anger turned to worry at the sight of your trembling body. “You’re coming with me,” he stated more than asked.

Before you knew it, his arms were scooping you up, holding you securely against his chest as he shot into the night air. Despite the sound of rushing current in your ears and the tendrils of hair whipping at your cheeks, you felt safe and comfortable. You closed your eyes and waited for the ride to be over, but little did you know that it had just begun. Continue to Part 2

#homelander fanfiction #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander #antony starr #writing prompt

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xspeter · 4 months

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𖦹 part of the “dancing with our hands tied” collection. main masterlist

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇... Luke discovers the three times he denied his feelings for you, and the one time he accepted them.

W.C: 5K

Incident One: The Nurses Station

Luke knows that you’re annoyed with him, it was written all over your face. You wouldn’t say it aloud, of course not, you were too sweet, but you had no concept of a poker face.

He thought it was cute, the way your eyebrows knitted and your shoulders tensed. The way you avoided looking at him because you knew he could see right through you.

You suck in your bottom lip as you waltz over to him with a pack of bandages and alcohol. You sit on the stool in front of him, knocking his knees open with your own so you can roll yourself between them, the wheels screeching a little as you do.

You stare at him with an intensity Luke has only ever seen from you once, and it’s when he was in an all too familiar situation with Lance Tenning.

The situations were all too eerily similar- both involving something being said about you. It didn’t matter if it was to your face or behind your back, Luke just couldn’t tolerate it. He couldn’t listen to your name get thrown around in the mud because you rejected the Ares child, not when you were so sweet and kind.

So, of course when Luke heard Lance whisper to his dimwit friends about how, “That bitch just can’t stop slutting herself out for Castellan,” he had to intervene.

And it’s not Luke’s fault that Lance got all defensive, and it’s not Luke’s fault that Lance pushed him, and it definitely wasn’t Luke’s fault when Lance ended up on the ground with a fresh black eye.

Luke can’t help but grin as the sight of Lance writhing beneath him replays in his mind, and you glare up at him with that knowing look in your eye. “I don’t know what you have to be smiling about right now.” You spit.

Luke furrows his brows, allowing you to inspect his bloody knuckles, before he grins and uses his free hand to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m here with you, why wouldn’t I be smiling?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes with a shake of your head. “Right, of course.”

“It’s true!”

You don’t say anything, just beginning to clean his knuckles. The sting is so familiar to Luke that he barely even reacts, just placing his other hand behind him and leaning back.

It’s weird, because Luke knows you’re mad at him. But you still handle him with so much care, so much gentleness- as if he’s fragile and the slightest movement could shatter him to pieces. It’s sweet, and just another example of how much you care.

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve a friend like you.

Luke can see you itching to ask him something, from the way you keep glancing up at him and the constant gnawing on your lip. And Luke knows you won’t ask- not be your own volition, anyway. You didn’t like confrontation, in fact, you made it a point to stay as far away from it as possible, so unless Luke said something, you never would.

“What’re you thinking about in that pretty head of yours?”

Luke notices the way your breath hitches at the word pretty, but he doesn’t think anything of it. You’d always been particularly sensitive to compliments, not just the ones from him. You let out a brisk sigh, finally able to let out the question you’d been holding in.

“Why did you do it, Luke? Again? After I already told you to just leave it alone?” Your voice waivers slightly, and he can see the obvious distress in your eyes. It made him almost… regretful. He never wanted to be the reason you felt anything other than happy, but he knew you wouldn’t understand it. You were so quick to let people walk all over you- let them treat you like shit and then say it was all fine and dandy.

Luke couldn't do that, though. He’d honestly rather die than watch you break yourself for people who didn’t give two-shits about you.

His lips thin, and he watches as you avert your gaze from his face and back to his hand, beginning to wrap a brown bandage around it.

“You didn’t hear what he said about you, Sweetheart. I couldn’t just listen to those awful things and pretend it wasn’t happening!” He sucks in a breath, waiting for your response.

You tense slightly, eyes darting between his face and his hand. “I never asked you to do that. I can handle myself-”

Luke snorts, interrupting you abruptly, “Can you? Because the last time this happened, you were going to let him get away with it. And that time he’d said it straight to your face!”

You finish tying his bandage swiftly, immediately dropping his hand and practically sprinting as far away from him as you can get.

You run the bridge of your nose, “Because I don’t want to start any problems! Lance isn’t just going to stop because you hit him a couple times, so there’s no point to it!” You scoff out a laugh, running a hand through your hair. “I mean, why do you care so much anyway?”

Luke goes silent at that. You were his best friend, of course he cared, but…

Why does this feel different? He wouldn’t beat someone for any of his other friends. Hell, he’s not sure he would do that for anyone. So why did he do it for you?

The answer is on the tip of his tongue, itching to be said and confessed, but he just can’t figure out what it is, and it’s driving him mad.

“‘Cause you’re my best friend!” He says it with a wince, like the words are foreign and wrong. And you flinch back at the phrase too. It makes him nauseous.

He watches as you swallow, hard. Eyelashes fluttering as you blink back the glossiness forming in your eyes. “I know that.” You mumble, “I’m just so sick of watching you hurt yourself and other people for me. I’m not worth getting kicked out of camp.”

Luke’s heart breaks a little bit when you say that, because he couldn’t believe you would even think that. To him, you were worth everything. Getting kicked out of camp, getting exiled by the gods, fuck- you were worth the world. All you had to do was say the word and Luke would be on his knees in front of you, praising the altar that you so graciously allowed him to admire.

He risked taking a step towards you, and he let out a small, relieved sigh when you didn't take a step away. “Do you seriously think that?”

Your eyes trailed his body, all the way from his lower stomach to his eyes, and Luke couldn’t help but shiver as they did. He closed the distance between you until you were nearly chest to chest, your breathing slowed and eyes wide. You were so goddamn beautiful, it was almost painful.

“Do you really think… I wouldn’t betray the fucking Gods if you asked me to? That I wouldn’t do anything for you?” His voice was low and husky, fingers grazing your arm and trailing up to your cheekbone. “I would rather I got kicked out of camp before I let some piece of shit like Lance Tenning speak a single word about you.”

You were nearly speechless, unable to move as the space between you got smaller and smaller. “Luke..” You whispered. And Luke felt it, that familiar twist in his gut, the one he couldn’t name.

And just as he was about to understand it- to accept it- some little kid ran into the room, crying about a cut they got on their hand. You didn’t even spare Luke a second glance as you rushed over to them and whispered sweet nothings in their ear, crouching down and kissing their hand better.

But, even as he excused himself and began the walk back to his own cabin, the strange feeling never really did leave him.

Incident Two: The Lake

Percy Jackson is the most oblivious person Luke has ever met.

It was seriously obvious to anyone with eyes that Annabeth was in love with him, especially after their quest last year. Her lingering touches, smiles a bit too wide, eyes glued to him anytime they were within ten feet of each other. It was completely obvious.

Even now, as Annabeth and Percy chase each other in the lake, hair sticking to their skin and water dribbling from their eyelashes, Annabeth's crush is noticeable in the way she looks at him.

Luke thinks it’s cute, honestly. He wants his little sister to find someone that loves her just as much as she loves them, and Percy Jackson was definitely that guy. He just needed to stop being an idiot and realize it.

“Hey, Luke?”

Luke’s ears perk up at the sound of you behind him, and he looks away from the two teens and towards you.

You and your light pink one-piece swimsuit. You and the little bow in your hair, watching intently as you tug it loose and let your hair cascade down your shoulders. You and your perfect lips and nose and-

“Can you help me tie this, please?”

You turn your back to him, and Luke swallows hard once he realizes your swimsuit is open back, which allows him to see the curve of your spine and the pretty freckles and moles that dot your skin like stars.

He watches as you struggle to tie the bathing suit strings around your neck, fingers moving around with zero coordination.

So, despite the obvious burning in his cheeks and the unexplainable feelings that brew in his stomach, he says: “Um, yeah. ‘Course I can.”

His breathing slowed as you whispered a quiet thanks, allowing Luke to softly brush your hair over your shoulder and take the strings from your fingers.

He tied it effectively, probably taking much longer than he should have, but he couldn’t help it. Not when you were so close and he could smell your perfume- lemons and vanilla. It was honestly the most intoxicating thing he’d ever smelled.

He tightened the bow around your neck, touch lingering on your back as his hands ghosted over your skin. He sucked in a breath, watching as his fingers trailed to your shoulders, as if they weren’t his own. And maybe they weren’t.

Slowly, he placed a small kiss on your shoulder, relishing in the way your breathing hitched and your spine shuddered.

And then there was that feeling again, the one he doesn’t quite understand. The one he just can’t place his finger on.

You turn around as Luke’s plush lips leave your shoulder, eyes a bit wide and lips parted, like there’s a question you’re dying to ask but you don’t allow yourself to.

You giggle nervously, glancing at Luke’s pink cheeks and tucking a loose piece of hair behind your ear, the way you always do when you’re nervous. “I, uh, thanks. For tying it! Not for… anything else. Obviously.” You ramble.

Luke just nods, crossing his arms over his chest. “It was no problem. I mean, what else are friends for?”

He pretends he doesn’t notice the way your eyebrows furrow and your shoulders deflate a bit at the word friends. Because, that's what you were, right? That’s all you were. Luke couldn’t understand why you’d ever be disappointed because of it.

You blink a couple times, doing your best to hide the way your voice shakes. “Yeah. Friends.”

Luke grins, happy that you’re both on the same page, and gently taps your arm. “Good. Look, I have to go make sure nobody drowns, but I'll see you later, alright?”

You nod, waving him off with a small mhm. But, even as Luke walks away and the smile returns to your face as you greet one of your sisters, the disappointment that lingers in your eyes doesn’t leave his head.

Why would you be dissapointed? And… why did he feel the same?

Incident three: The Bondfire

Luke wasn’t one to get jealous. He had no reason to be, he was perfectly content with where he was in his friendships and he didn’t have any girl he was involved with.

So why did the sight of you giggling with an Aphrodite boy make his blood boil?

The boy, Carter Rhodes, was notorious around camp for dating around. Almost every girl had a story with him, and Luke had thought you knew that, so why were you talking to him?

He watches as Carter leans into you, his lips inches away from your ear. You throw your head back and laugh. Actually laugh. Not the fake giggle you usually give people, no. It’s the laugh you give Luke when he visits you in the nurses station. Or when you spend the night with him. Or even when you’re just with him!

It's his laugh. So why were you letting Carter fucking Rhodes hear it?

“Uh, Luke, are you okay?”

Luke’s head whips to Percy, who’s giving him a disturbed look. It’s then that he notices he was gripping his plastic cup so hard, it had crushed in on the sides.

Luke swallows, blinking a few times to try and clear his mind, but the image of you and Carter doesn’t leave. “Uh,” He sniffles, eyes darting between you and Percy, “I’m all good.”

Percy nods, a sarcastic uh-huh falling from his lips. His blue eyes trail to you, and a smirk creeps onto his face.

Sure, Percy was oblivious when it came to his own love life, but yours and Luke’s? He was basically an expert.

Percy takes a seat on the log next to Luke, watching as the brunette boy struggles to keep his eyes on the ground and not on you. It’s amusing, honestly, the fact that Luke thinks he’s anything but obvious with his feelings for you.

“I get it, man. It’s hard watching the girl you like flirt with other dudes.”

At first, Percy’s comment doesn’t register in his brain and he agrees that, yes, it is hard watching the girl you like flirt with other dudes. And then he think real hard.. the girl you like..

“What? I don’t like her! I mean, I do like her as a friend but, I don’t like like her.”

Percy watches with amusement as Lukes cheeks turn a shade of pink and he trips over his words, practically shaking as he tries to shut down the accusation. The blonde sighs, shaking his head with a tut. “Oh, Luke. Sweet, innocent, Luke.” He claps a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it obnoxiously. “You are absolutely whipped.”

Luke scoffs and shrugs Percy off of him, shooting him a glare. “Right, like you’re any better. I see the heart eyes you and Annie give each other. But, me and Y/N aren’t like that! We’re just- just friends.”

The word feels like poison on his tongue, practically burning as he forces it out. It was true, you’re his friend! So why did he hate saying it?

He thinks back to that odd feeling he gets in his stomach when he’s with you, wondering if maybe, just maybe, there was some truth to Percy’s words.

But he immediately shoots the idea down. Even if Luke did see you as anything other than a friend, you’d never feel the same. You’d seen Luke at the lowest point in his life, right after his quest. You’d seen him angry, you’d seen him cry. How could you ever love someone so… unloveable?

Percy goes a deep shade of red, eyes widening as he immediately deflects. “Annabeth and I are not like you and Y/N! I don’t even- even like her. Gods, gross..” He pretends to gag, but Luke sees the way the blondes eyes immediately trail to where Annabeth sits talking to her siblings.

Luke lets out a chuckle, standing and ignoring the pop in his knees. He claps Percy on the back, “Keep telling yourself that, Lover Boy.” And swiftly finds his way over to you.

It’s ridiculous, yes. Luke knows that, but he wasn’t doing this out of jealousy. No, it’s because he’s worried- just like he usually is. He can’t help it! You’re just so naive and trusting, someone’s gotta be there to make sure you don’t get hurt!

Carter spots him first, and Luke pretends the immediate frown that falls onto his face as he does doesn’t make him proud. Like Carter knows that as soon as you see him, whatever bullshit he was trying to do with you would immediately be discarded.

Luke walks up right behind you, placing both hands on your shoulders and rubbing them just the way you like it. “Hey, Sweetheart.”

Your neck cranes as you look up at him, a wide, toothy smile on your lips. “Luke! Where’ve you been?”

He shrugs, sitting on the log next to you and continuing his massage on your shoulders. His thumbs move to rub circles into your back, on the places he knows you get tense the most, and you let out a low moan of approval, eyes falling shut. “‘missed you.” You breathe.

Luke chuckles, watching as Carter pretends to not be as angry as he really is. “Sorry, baby. Had to give lessons to some of the younger kids today.”

He doesn’t miss the way goosebumps rise into your skin despite the warm fire, or the way your spine goes completely rigid at the nickname. A proud smirk spreads onto his face as he finished his work with a chaste kiss to you shoulder, making sure to let it linger for longer than he normally would.

When he comes up, he pretends to finally notice Carter, putting on his best shocked face. “Oh! Carter, my bad, I didn’t see you. How’ve you been?”

Carter gives him a mean mug, jaw rippling as he nods. “Sure you didn’t, Castellan.”

You look at Luke with confusion, and then back to Carter, obviously being able to sense the thick tension between them. “Carter, what’s wrong?”

Carter blinks a few times, before his face relaxes and the sultry smooth smirk returns. “Nothin’ babe,” He places a gentle hand onto your thigh, thumb tracing small circles into it. “Just can’t believe how pretty you look.”

Luke doesn’t miss the wink Carter throws his way, or the way your cheeks flush as you giggle nervously. It was nearly unbelievable the audacity Carter had! To touch you right in front of him- to make you blush and giggle like a schoolgirl in love?

Luke sighs, leaning close and whispering in your ear. “Let’s go back to my cabin, yeah?” Immediately turn to him, and Luke knows he’s won. Honestly, did Carter ever even have a chance? It was almost cruel to let him think he had.

You swallow, eyes trailing Luke as he stands and offers a hand to you, a casual grin on his face. You say a quick goodbye to Carter without even sparing him a glance, and take Luke’s hand.

You let him lead you away, but Luke looks over his shoulder and smirks at Carter’s look of disbelief. He sends him a wink just as he did earlier, and then turns back to you.

You're looking at the ground in front of you, lips parted as you glance towards him. Your hands stay connected the whole way back to his cabin, but no words are exchanged between you.

He's not surprised to find the cabin empty, instead he relishes in it. The Hermes Cabin had so many residents, moments of solitude in it were hard to come by. So when they did, he always made sure to enjoy them as much as he could.

He drops your hand as soon as the door closes behind the two of you, plopping onto his bed with a sigh. He watches as you wrap your arms around yourself, maintaining a large distance between the two of you which he finds strange.

Normally, you always join him on his bed, allowing him to play with your fingers or hair and having deep conversations that he always enjoys. But, no, tonight you’re looking at him like there’s a question you want to ask, like it’s practically burning in your throat and you need to spit it out, but you don’t. You let it burn, gnawing on your lower lip.

His eyebrows furrow and he stands, walking towards you. You don’t move back, but you don’t look at him either. Not until his hands are on your upper arms, holding you in place gently. He tilts his head slightly, “What’s the matter?”

You suck in a breath, finally looking up at him through your lashes, and then your gaze finds the floor again, as if it hurts to look at him for more than a second. You stumble a bit as you talk, “Is there a reason you were being so weird back there? I mean, you’re never… never really that touchy when we’re with other people.”

Luke thinks back, remembering how he’d rubbed your back and shoulders, called you baby, kissed your skin… and he realizes that you’re right. The most he ever does in public is give you a quick kiss anywhere but your lips before he leaves you, and that’s that.

He doesn’t call you pet names, doesn’t touch you. So why did he do it now? His mouth goes dry, but he makes sure to keep his cool and calm exterior, dropping his hands from your skin, and shrugging nonchalantly. “Uh, no, not really. I just missed you.”

You snort, and squeeze your arms tighter around yourself. Finally, you look up at him, and Luke can’t help the way he basks in it. Your look, no matter if it’s angry or happy or sad, leaves butterflies in his stomach that he can’t explain.

“So, that’s all? You just missed me?”

He nods, “That's pretty much it.”

He doesn’t miss the hurt that flashes in your eyes. You never were good at hiding your emotions, no matter how hard you tried. It’s something he lov- liked about you. Something he liked.

Your arms fall to your sides, nostrils flaring a bit as you scoff. “Really? It’s not because you were- were jealous that I was finally talking to someone who might like me?”

Luke couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. Did you really think Carter wanted to be with you for anything outside of another two week fling? “Please,” He sighs, “You had to know Carter was just flirting with you to have sex with you!”

You stare at him with wide eyes, jaw hanging open as tears well in your lash line. He doesn’t understand it- why were you being like this right now? Couldn’t you see he was just looking out for you like he normally did?

“What if I wanted that too, huh? What if I wanted to stop waiting around like an idiot for someone who will never see me as anything more than a friend!”

There’s that word again, but this time it’s like a punch to the gut. It’s like bitter poison falling from your mouth, like the wrath of the Gods had finally caught up to him. It hurts more than he’d like to admit.

He risks taking a step closer to you, but you take one back, maintaining distance between you. “What are you talking about, Y/N?”

The question hangs in the air like smoke, filling up his lungs and leaving him unable to breathe. Because deep down- he thinks he knows. Deep down, the answer shines like a light in the middle of the darkness, begging to be seen. But he doesn’t want to see it yet- can’t let himself see it yet. He doesn’t deserve to.

Your head turns to the side, arms crossing over your chest once more. “Nothing. I have to go.” You murmur, beginning to walk away from him, but in a desperate attempt to get you to stay he snags your wrist.

You tug at him, something you rarely ever do, and it leaves him nearly speechless. Still, he persists, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

You freeze, but Luke doesn’t miss the way your voice waivers as you whisper, “If you can’t tell, then I won't be the one to tell you.”

With that you break from his hold, slamming the door shut behind you and leaving him completely alone. Now, that solitude he’d reveled in feels like snow creeping into his skin, encasing him in an endless chill.

Incident Four: The Apollo Cabin

Luke knows that you know it’s him knocking on your window. None of your siblings, with the exception of maybe one, have people sneaking in at late hours of the night.

He also knows that you’re not asleep. There’s no way- not after what was said between the two of you barely two hours ago. That's why he continues his knocks, coming up with new combinations, partially out of boredom and partially to annoy you enough to force you to open it.

And it works, he watches with a shit-eating grin as the window rolls open and you glare at him. “What?” You growl, glancing behind you to make sure none of your siblings woke up. “What do you want?”

He bites the inside of his cheek, gesturing for you to move back as he makes the familiar crawl through your window. He lands softly, so familiar with the environment that he knows where to step so he makes the least noise. “Couldn’t go to sleep knowing you were mad at me.” He mumbles.

You deadpan at him, a hand on your hip as you shake your head. “I’m not mad. Will you go back to your own cabin now?”

He shakes his head, eyes lingering on your messy hair and bare face. You never wore a lot of makeup, there was no point when the sun would melt it right off, but seeing you like this- unfiltered and completely real, he’s not sure you’ve ever looked more beautiful.

“You’re mad, Y/N. I know you are.” He sighs, and you swallow, wrapping your arms around yourself and looking to the side. “No, I'm not.”

He likes your stubbornness. Likes the way your lips pucker out slightly and your skin prickles with goosebumps when a breeze slips through the open window. He likes everything about the way you look at him, even when you’re angry.

“Yes, you are. And you have every reason to be. I was.. being selfish. I shouldn’t have dragged you away from Carter because I was mad you were talking to someone outside of me. It wasn’t fair.”

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes shine a little, biting on your lower lip in thought. “Luke-” You start, but he doesn’t let you finish. “You’re allowed to do what you want. And.. if you want to have sex with Carter then, you know, you can do that.”

You chuckle, shaking your head with a sniff, “I don’t want to have sex with Carter.”

He can’t help the relief that floods his veins as you say this, letting out a small groan of approval. “Oh, thank the Gods. You are way too good for that douchebag.”

You grin, stepping closer to him. Luke inhales as your familiar scent fills his nostrils, and it smells like home. Like something he was always meant to know.

“Yeah, wherever. Will you stay here with me tonight?” You ask, though Luke knows you already know his answer. Still, he amuses you, nodding dumbly and allowing you to lead him into your bed.

You settle under the covers, which smell like you, and he feels your limbs tangle together and your head find his chest, like a lock and key molding together in the form it was always made to be.

Your body is warm, warmer than his anyway, and your skin is so soft. Years of handling medicine has done you justice, a huge contrast to the roughness of his own, years of training has left him battered and scarred.

Still, you trace lines into the skin of his stomach, ear flat against his chest giving you full access to the beat of his heart.

“Luke?” You murmur, and he hums, running a hand through your hair, gently brushing out the knots. “Yeah, Sweetheart?”

You’re silent for a moment, before finally you softly say, “It’ll be us forever, right? No matter what happens?”

Luke is almost shocked how fast the word yes fills his thoughts. He hasn’t ever thought about what would come after camp, after you both left and your lives changed and you grew up.

Would you be there for that? Would you want to be there for that? He hopes your answer is yes.

“Forever.” He whispers, kissing the top of your head and pulling you tighter against him, “I promise.”

You sigh happily, closing your eyes and drifting to sleep. It’s then that Luke realizes what that feeling in his stomach is. The one he can never name, the one that begs to roll off of his tongue like hot acid.

Because , while Luke knew he himself was unloveable, with his trauma and scars, did that mean he was unable to love? Did he even deserve to feel that?

He's not sure, but right now, with you laying on his chest like it’s just the two of you in the whole world, he thinks he accidently let it happen.

He fell in love with you without ever even knowing it, and he’s not sure he ever wants to stop.

taglist: @apolloscastellan @ddarling-ddearest-ddead

#luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackon and the olympians #charlie bushnell x reader #charlie bushnell #fanfic #fluff #three times one time format #dancing with our hands tied #idiots in love #pining

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bad268 · 24 days

Text

The Light Behind Your Eyes (Logan Sargeant X Kirkwood! Reader!)

Fandom: RPF/F1

Requested: Nope (inspired by MCR) Was gonna post this Saturday, but it seems fitting now.

Warnings: mentions Williams being a shitty team

POV: Second Person (You/your)

W.C. 1338

Summary: Logan's eyes seem a little darker this season...

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

You hated what this was becoming. Formula 1 was Logan’s dream. It’s always been to get to Formula 1 ever since he was a child and you two met at a karting track. You were there because your brother and Logan raced together. Kyle definitely told Logan he wasn’t allowed to date you, but who listens to that? Yeah, not Logan.

Now, he was happy you were with Logan. Logan told Kyle more about the Williams situation than you simply because 1) Kyle is his best friend and 2) because he knew you would say something. Kyle is usually just there for Logan to vent.

What Logan didn’t know was that Kyle has loose lips and can’t keep his mouth shut. You asked Kyle one time if he was planning to meet up with Logan anytime soon and he spilled everything. You didn’t even pry! Kyle just let everything out.

How alone Logan felt on the grid to how the mistreatment and lack of confidence from his own team have been beating down on him negatively. Kyle also told you about how Logan didn’t want you involved because he did not want to hurt your feelings or make you feel like you weren't enough.

Of course, you were going to take it into your own hands at this point. You decided to talk with some people who happened to be looking for a new driver for 2025, and you may or may not have planted an idea in their heads. It actually did not take too much convincing since they were already thinking about it.

One day, after another bad race where the team made him switch places with Alex when Logan was on course to get points, you decided to talk to Logan about it.

“Logs?” You asked as you peeked into the bedroom. You two had made it back to the hotel, and you left him alone for a few minutes just to calm down a little before this talk. “Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah, sure,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes harshly before sitting up and making room for you. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m worried,” You started as you sat in front of him and held his hands. “You’re not telling me everything.”

“What do you mean? I’m fine,” Logan dismissed without making eye contact. “It was just a bad race-”

“No, it’s a bad team and a bad season,” You interrupted, moving your hands up to his face. You looked into his stormy eyes as they glossed over. “I can see it in your eyes. Logan, you’re losing the light in your eyes. You’re not having fun racing anymore, and it’s killing me just watching you force yourself. You don’t have to go through this alone. Please let me help you.”

“I don't know what else I can do, babe,” He muttered, trying to regain his composure. “They’ve made it pretty fucking clear that they don’t trust me. They take any opportunity to tear me down and bring up the fact that they have replacements on standby. I don’t know what else there is for me to do.”

“You don't have to have the answer, Logs,” You comforted as you ran your fingers through his blonde hair. “Just let me take care of you for once. I can’t have them take the light behind your eyes.”

“I just-” He hesitated, but you encouraged him to go on.

“You can be honest, Logs,” You prompted as you moved to seat yourself on his lap to hold him in your arms. “I’m here to listen.”

“I don’t know who I am without racing,” Logan whispered as his voice cracked. He pulled back a little to look you in the eyes, and almost all of the light was gone. This was all because of one team. “I don’t know where else I can go if I don’t have a place in F1.”

“Sometimes we must grow stronger, and you can’t be strong in the dark. Williams is proving to be the darkest cave, and they’re pulling you deeper every time they degrade you,” you ranted before stopping to take a deep breath. “When I’m here, you can always lean on me. Let me take some of the burden because I’m here for you, Logs. I have a plan, but we need to work as a team, and you need to trust me on this. Even if it means abandoning a contract.”

“You’re plan is for me to leave F1?” Logan asked, not as shocked as you thought he would be, but genuinely curious nonetheless.

“I have something lined up, but I’m waiting to hear a final decision,” You answered vaguely.

“Can I know what series or team?”

“All I’ll say is you should go back to your roots,” You answered again just as vaguely.

It wasn’t for another month that you heard anything back, and it was not from your contact.

“Tell me how you got Logan on the grid,” Kyle cornered you as soon as you walked into your family home.

“Hello. Good afternoon. Wonderful day we’re having. How are you? I haven't seen you in a while, What’s happened to your manners, Kirkwood?” You said sarcastically as you brushed past him to greet the rest of your family.

“Hello, oh favorite sibling of mine, how are you on this fine day when Logan Sargeant announced he was leaving Williams immediately and signed with Prema for next year in Indycar,” Kyle said sarcastically at first before dissolving into shouts.

“Oh, did he already sign?” You asked confused before muttering to yourself, “Last I heard, they were still discussing.”

“So you do admit that was your plan?” Kyle pointed out as he followed you around the kitchen. “How did you convince him?”

“I technically didn’t,” You admitted. “I asked him to let me help and he never really answered, but I had already talked to Rene about it. He was already planning on talking to Logan about it. I just kinda pushed it to happen sooner rather than later. On the bright side, Logan and I can go with you to the last few races of the season.”

“I don't want to see my sibling and best friend making out in my garage,” Kyle cringed as he walked up beside you and threw his arm over your shoulder. “Thanks for looking out for him though. Maybe being home will be better.”

“Being home? I also thought about him knowing more than one person on the grid,” You chuckled.

When St. Petersberg came around, energy was high again, and Logan was looking like his old self again. He was happy to be around Kyle more often. He got back in touch with Pietro Fittipaldi, Marcus Armstrong, Callum Ilott, Christian Lundgaard, and Theo Pourchaire since he knew them back in F2 and F3.

As the pre-race was heating up, you stood on the track beside Logan while the national anthem played. You glanced at his face, and he looked so much more relaxed and relieved than he did a mere six months ago. Things were finally looking up for him.

After the flyover, you moved about and helped Logan get ready for the race. You quickly grabbed his helmet and Hans device, assisting him in putting them on.

“Any last pieces of encouragement you have for me?” Logan smirked as he put in his headphones and balaclava.

“Race hard, have fun, and never let them take the light behind your eyes, you hear me?” You jokingly commanded as you helped him put his helmet on, your new engagement ring shining in the sunlight. The broadcast got a clear shot of that.

“I hear you loud and clear,” He responded with a smirk. “Thank you, I’ll win this for you. I love you.”

“As long as you’re safe, I’ll be proud,” You patted his helmet and headed over to the box as Logan got situated in the car and prepared to start his engine for the next chapter.

~~~~~

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