#and the. going back and doing PPD after

[cuntrytaylor]

next ARE scheduled october 20th.... this exam is harder and 1 hour longer....... wish me luck lads 🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡

[lyn31]

These Zayne pregnancy fluffs are making me kick my feet! Since reader has given birth can you do one where reader has postpartum depression, she also feels like she’s not a good wife, starts getting irritated easily, and is struggling with her body/image. Zayne ofc notices is worried and reassures her she’s amazing and that it’s ok to feel these emotions cuz it’s new. He books reader a nice getaway somewhere tropical so she can get a break. Reader ofc cries while on vacation cuz she misses Zayne and the baby. Zayne surprises her the next day by showing up. Reader is shocked that he’s there and worries about where the baby is and everything. Zayne reassures her that she’s in good hands with his parents. She then cries to Zayne about everything she’s feeling then Zayne comforts her and tells her he will get a nanny to help her. Then you know it’s time for them to be romantic and finally have sexy time together you know some smut. Make it soft, sexy, and romantic yk👀. Thank you a lot. Your writings of Zayne is chefs kiss.👌🥹😭✨💗

Now you guys just want to throw me off the cliff! 😭😂 PPD? Come on guys! I'm a weak gal.... Hopefully you won't mind me changing it to baby blues instead 🥹🫶🏻 (Let me know what you think)

Sooooooo, I got carried away again—but then again, I say that more...… So maybe I should stop saying that and just mention it whenever I don’t get carried away 😂

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Lapse

Summary

After weeks of feeling like nothing but a mother, you and Zayne escape to a hot spring retreat, where between stolen moments of indulgence and quiet tenderness, you rediscover each other—not just as parents, but as lovers, as partners, as you.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader CW: as requested this has smut at the end, semi-outdoor, handjob, fingering, thighjob, nipple play. Still as always a lot of build up, banter, dramatic, cute, sweet, and this time baby blues.

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After giving birth to Serena, you stay in the hospital for a full week at Zayne’s insistence. He never pushes, never demands—just gently reminds you that a few extra days of caution are worth it, that having professionals nearby is a safety net, not a setback. And with how utterly drained you feel, you don’t argue.

In the hospital, things feel manageable. Nurses slip in and out, their voices low, their movements practiced. Machines murmur softly in the background, steady and predictable. When Serena stirs, there’s always someone ready with gentle reassurance.

And Zayne—he’s always there. He watches over you both, making sure you sleep, taking Serena from your arms when your body feels too heavy to move. When your eyelids droop, he smooths your hair back and murmurs, “Rest. I’ve got her.” And you believe him.

The constant presence of support makes everything feel… safer. Less overwhelming.

And then, you go home.

It should be comforting. Familiar. But instead, it amplifies everything. The creak of the floorboards under your steps. The near-silent rustle of Serena’s onesie as she shifts in your arms. The tiny, uneven hitches in her breath that send a flicker of anxiety through your chest every time they break the stillness.

Serena is a calm baby, for the most part. But in Zayne’s arms, she melts. You brush it off at first—babies fuss. Maybe she just likes his cooler touch. But as the days pass, you start noticing the pattern. The way she squirms a little more in your hold, tiny fists pressing against you as if trying to find something that isn’t there. The soft, unsettled noises that build in her throat—never quite a cry, but close—only to disappear the second Zayne takes her. Other than feeding, she can’t seem to settle in your arms.

At first, you laugh about it, adjusting your grip, shifting positions, trying everything you’ve read about. “Come on, sweetheart. Mommy’s comfy too, I promise.”

Serena makes a small sound, somewhere between a sigh and a whimper, her fingers flexing against your shirt before pushing away.

From across the room, Zayne watches, amusement flickering in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything at first, just tilts his head slightly—considering, measuring. The ghost of a smile tugs at his lips.

Then, in that calm, maddeningly reasonable way of his—

“This isn’t a competition.”

Which, of course, you immediately take as a challenge.

Determined, you throw yourself into research. Late nights scrolling through parenting forums, watching tutorial videos until the soft glow of your phone screen makes your eyes ache. The football hold, the cradle hold, the side-lying position—you cycle through them all, adjusting angles, experimenting with the perfect swaddle, testing out different rocking rhythms. You hum lullabies at varying pitches, trying to find the one that settles her best, feeling half ridiculous and entirely desperate.

It takes days. Days of trial and error, of whispered encouragements, of pushing down the gnawing insecurity that you don’t say out loud.

But then—finally—Serena rests more easily against you. Her tiny fingers curl into your shirt instead of pushing away, her body softening into yours like she’s learning the shape of your arms, like she’s finding comfort there. The first time it happens, you barely breathe, afraid to jinx it. But then she sighs—a soft, contented sound—and nuzzles closer.

Something inside you unclenches. You hadn’t realized how tight your chest had been, how much air you’d been holding, until now. The knot of doubt, of insecurity, doesn’t vanish completely—but for the first time, it loosens just enough to breathe.

You count it as a victory.

But just as relief starts to settle in, something else creeps in alongside it.

The laundry is folded before you’ve even registered it was in the dryer. A meal appears in front of you before hunger fully registers. Zayne makes sure you eat without you having to ask, presses a glass of water into your hand when you’re nursing before you even realize your throat is dry. When Serena fusses in the middle of the night, he’s already up, shushing her gently as he changes her diaper before you’ve even registered the cry.

And you know—you know—he doesn’t mind. He’s not resentful, not keeping score. He does it because he wants to, because that’s just who he is.

But the guilt gnaws at you anyway.

You should be able to handle this. You should be doing more.

Zayne’s parents arrive not long after you settle back home, their presence a mix of warmth and something heavier, something that presses against your chest. They slip into their roles as doting grandparents effortlessly.

His mother beams as she cradles Serena, swaying lightly, murmuring soft praises about how perfect she is. His father, ever relaxed, holds her with practiced ease, his touch confident, natural. Serena nestles against him without hesitation, her tiny body going still as if she belongs there.

It’s comforting. Reassuring, even.

And yet, as you watch them, something cold creeps up your spine. They don’t hesitate, don’t second-guess. There’s no frantic scrolling through parenting forums, no fumbling to find the right hold. Just confidence. Just instinct. And watching them, you feel the hesitation in your own hands more than ever.

Zayne’s family makes it look so easy. Like instinct. Like breathing. Watching them with Serena, seeing how effortlessly she melts into their touch, you can’t help but think, I should be better at this by now.

So, stubbornly, you try.

Zayne already does so much—too much—and the guilt gnaws at you with every task he takes on. You convince yourself that you have to step up, that being a good mother means doing more.

You don’t want to feel useless. And if Zayne won’t complain, then… maybe it’s fine to take on a little more.

So you do.

At first, it’s small things—changing Serena before Zayne can reach for her, rocking her when she fusses, insisting I’ve got it even when exhaustion drags at your limbs. But the more you take on, the more your mind spins. You slip down a rabbit hole of parenting forums and cautionary articles, each new post a fresh coil of anxiety tightening around your ribs.

SIDS prevention. Signs of dehydration. What if she stops breathing in her sleep?

How do you know if your baby is sick? Is she too warm? Too cold?

What if you miss something important?

The words don’t just linger—they burrow in, thorns pressing deeper every time you close your eyes. Just in case. Just to be safe.

At first, it’s a quick glance while she sleeps—watching the slow, steady rise and fall of her tiny chest. Then, once an hour. Then, every half hour. Then, as often as exhaustion lets you blink before forcing your eyes shut.

Zayne catches on quickly. He always does. Sometimes, he just watches from across the room, his brows knitting together—like he’s debating whether to say something. But then he doesn’t. Not yet.

One night, when he stirs awake and finds you standing over Serena’s crib again, he doesn’t speak right away. He just watches as you lean in close, barely breathing, waiting for the tiny lift of her chest to reassure you she’s still here.

Then, with a quiet sigh, he reaches out, fingers curling gently around your wrist as he tugs you back toward the bed.

“She’s fine,” he murmurs, his hand settling at the small of your back, grounding you. “I check on her too.”

You hesitate, lingering in the space between worry and exhaustion, glancing back over your shoulder. But what if—

His lips press softly against your temple. His voice is steady, certain. “If anything happens, I’ll be right here.”

You want to believe him. You try. But the worry lingers, curling at the edges of your thoughts—quiet, but never gone.

But the exhaustion builds anyway. Your emotions fray at the edges, stretched thinner with each restless night.

The waves come without warning. Some days, you feel fine—almost normal. Other days, the smallest inconvenience tightens your throat, frustration prickling beneath your skin.

A misplaced bottle sends you rifling through the house, only to find it sitting right there on the counter. A forgotten onesie makes your stomach twist with guilt, as if one overlooked piece of fabric means you’re failing already. Serena fusses the second you finally sit down to eat, and you have to swallow against the lump in your throat, biting back an exhausted sob.

But what finally breaks you is the breast milk.

You’re running on too little sleep, too much caffeine, and the kind of raw, frayed nerves that make everything feel ten times heavier than it should. You move to set the freshly pumped bottle down, but your hand fumbles—fingers slipping at the worst possible moment.

The bottle tips.

Time seems to slow as the milk spills across the counter, sinking into the cloth beneath it, wasted.

For a second, you just stare, brain struggling to process the loss. Then your breath shudders—eyes burning, throat tight—and a wail bursts out of you.

Zayne lifts his head instantly, attention snapping to you. Before he can reach for a towel—

“Do you know how hard I worked for that?! It’s liquid gold!” You says more at the indifferent puddle of milk than anything else.

Then—without a word—he grabs a tissue and hands it to you, wrapping an arm around you the next moment. His hand finds the small of your back, rubbing slow, steady circles, like you aren’t falling apart over spilled milk.

You sniffle into the tissue, hiccuping as you swipe at your eyes. One isn’t enough—you snatch another, shoulders curling inward as you try to compose yourself.

Zayne doesn’t comment on the mess. He doesn’t tease, doesn’t reassure, doesn’t try to rationalize what would normally be a minor accident. He just stays, cool and quiet reassurance solid at your side.

Later, curled up on the couch with Serena tucked against your chest, you let out a watery laugh, shaking your head. “Hormones are insane.”

Zayne hums, watching you carefully. His lips twitch, amusement flickering in his gaze—but concern lingers beneath it, quiet and steady. “That was quite the reaction.”

You groan, burying your face against Serena’s tiny shoulder. “Don’t remind me.”

His fingers brush lightly against your knee. “I’m not judging. Just… should I be bracing for more tragic losses, or was this a one-time catastrophe?”

You huff, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “No promises.”

The brain fog creeps in just as insidiously as the mood swings. At first, it’s small things—losing track of conversations, forgetting what you were about to say. Then, slowly, it starts happening more often.

You walk into the kitchen with purpose, only to stop in the middle of the room, your mind blank. You scan the counters, the sink, the fridge—none of it jogs your memory. After a solid ten seconds of standing there uselessly, you sigh and close the fridge door, feeling no closer to remembering what you needed.

Then there’s the incident.

You’re searching for your phone—digging through the couch cushions, checking under blankets, patting down your pockets with increasing frustration. Zayne watches for a moment before silently stepping toward the pantry, reaching between a box of cereal and a bag of rice.

He pulls out your phone and holds it up.

You stare.

“…I have no explanation for that.”

Zayne just hands it over, entirely unfazed. “Not the strangest thing I’ve found today.”

And he’s right.

It’s not the first time you’ve lost something lately. Not the first time you’ve walked into a room, only to forget why. But before, when it happened, you used to laugh it off, shake your head, and move on.

Now, you just sigh, rubbing your temples, pressing your lips together like you’re trying not to be frustrated with yourself. Like you don’t have the energy to care.

Because an hour later, you hear him open the fridge, pause, and then call out, “Why is the remote in here?”

You wince, pressing your hands over your face. “I swear I was smart once.”

Zayne doesn’t even hesitate. “You’re still smart. Just selectively.”

You shoot him a glare, but there’s no real heat behind it. “That’s a terrible thing to say to your sleep-deprived wife.”

Unbothered, he steps closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Then get some sleep.”

You roll your eyes, waving him off. “Maybe later.”

Zayne doesn’t argue. Just watches you for a beat, the corners of his mouth barely curving. That look alone should’ve warned you.

Because later, when you yawn mid-sentence and rub at your eyes, he hums in quiet amusement. “Is ‘later’ now?”

You groan. “Zayne—”

“We're doing this together.” His voice is gentle, but firm. “You don’t have to push yourself like this.”

You let out a short, tired laugh. “Hey, you’re already doing a lot on your own. This is me doing it together with you.”

His brows lift slightly. Then, after a pause—

“Hm.”

You squint at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Zayne tilts his head, considering. “I just think your definition of ‘together’ is interesting.”

You scowl, shoving lightly at his chest. “Go away.”

He doesn’t. Instead, he tugs you against him, arms settling around your waist, voice low and matter-of-fact. “Not until you sleep.”

Still, little by little, things get better.

Serena has long since grown comfortable in your arms, her tiny fingers curling around yours, her weight familiar and warm against you. But now, there’s a rhythm to it—a pattern that, while not perfect, feels like something close to stability. You and Zayne settle into an unspoken routine, trading off seamlessly, adjusting as needed.

Even if you still wake up at night just to check on her, even with the moments of doubt… things are manageable.

Or at least, they should be.

When Serena naps in Zayne’s arms, you finally have free time—precious moments meant for rest. But instead of sleeping, you do what you always do. You pick up your phone, scroll through another parenting forum, skim another thread on sleep regressions or developmental milestones. Just a quick read, you tell yourself. Just to be safe.

Zayne watches from the doorway, Serena sleeping on his arms, leaning against the frame. He doesn’t say anything, but his gaze lingers—not on the phone, but on the dark circles under your eyes, the way your shoulders slump.

“Reading something important?” he asks, his tone light.

You hum distractedly, scrolling past yet another forum thread. “Just… checking a few things.”

He doesn’t respond, just studies you for a beat longer before quietly turning away.

Then, without thinking, you swipe onto your gallery. For the first time since Serena was born, you pause.

A picture stares back at you—one taken months ago, just before you found out you were pregnant. You, standing beside Tara after a Hunter Association meeting, mid-laugh over something you can’t even remember. You look… at ease. Energized. Hair done, makeup fresh, wearing something that wasn’t just the easiest thing to throw on.

Your thumb hovers over the screen.

You don’t know why it unsettles you. Maybe because you can’t remember the last time you took a photo that wasn’t just of Serena. Or maybe because, looking at this, you realize you haven’t felt like that person in a long time.

It’s just hormones, you tell yourself. Just exhaustion. That’s all. But even as you move on with your day, the thought lingers, slipping into the spaces between feedings, diaper changes, and lullabies.

At some point, without even noticing, you stop feeling like you.

The realization creeps in slowly, easy to ignore at first. There’s no time to dwell on it—not when Serena needs you, not when Zayne already does so much. So you push past it, convincing yourself it’s just part of new motherhood. It’ll pass.

But Zayne notices.

He doesn’t say anything when you stop glancing at mirrors, when you change out of spit-up-stained clothes only when absolutely necessary. He doesn’t call attention to the way your laughter fades, your responses growing softer, more absent. But he sees it.

And then, one evening, he finds you on the couch, Serena asleep against your chest, your phone resting loosely in your hand. You aren’t scrolling, aren’t reading—just staring at the screen, lost in thought.

At first, he doesn’t think much of it. But as he moves closer, he catches a glimpse of what’s on display—an old photo.

You, smiling. Vibrant. There’s a spark in your eyes that feels almost foreign now.

You don’t notice him right away, too caught in whatever thoughts have pulled you under. But when he sinks onto the couch beside you, you blink, like surfacing from deep water. The moment your gaze flickers to him, you lock the phone and set it aside, as if it’s something you shouldn’t have been looking at in the first place.

Zayne doesn’t miss that.

His eyes stay on you, quiet and searching. “What’s wrong?” he asks, voice low.

You shake your head, too quickly. “Nothing. Just… being dramatic.”

It’s meant to be dismissive, light, but the words don’t land right. You hear it, too—the thinness of your own voice, the way your smile barely holds. And Zayne… he feels it.

He’s seen you exhausted before. Overwhelmed. Even near tears. But this is different. This is you looking at a photo of yourself like it’s something distant, something you don’t quite recognize anymore.

And then—

He reaches for your hand, his fingers curling around yours, warm and steady. He doesn’t say anything, just holds on, grounding you in a way you didn’t realize you needed.

And that’s the moment he decides—he’s not letting this continue.

The next morning, you shuffle into the kitchen, still groggy from another restless night. Your body feels sluggish, weighed down by exhaustion, but the scent of tea and something warm pulls you forward.

Zayne is already there, standing by the counter, a cup in one hand and a neatly folded paper in the other. He looks up as you approach, his gaze steady—too steady.

You pause, narrowing your eyes. “…What?”

Instead of answering, he holds the paper out to you.

You blink at it, rubbing at your eyes before taking it. Your sleep-deprived brain lags behind as you unfold the page, scanning the crisp, neatly printed words.

An itinerary.

Your brows knit. Hot springs resort. Three days. Full itinerary planned.

Your stomach flips, and you look up sharply. “Wait—why? I don’t need a trip.”

Zayne remains calm as ever. “Last night, you tried to charge your phone in the microwave. You haven’t slept in three days. And you cried over baby socks.”

Your mouth opens. Then closes.

Okay, fair.

His expression doesn’t so much as flicker. “You need a break.”

You shake your head, already bracing for an argument. “But I can’t just leave—”

“It’s three days.” His tone is patient, but firm. “You’re not moving to another country.”

You hesitate, fingers tightening around the paper. The idea of stepping away, even for a short time, feels… wrong. Like you’re abandoning something important. Like you should be able to handle everything without needing an escape.

Your fingers tighten around the paper. If I say yes… does that mean I couldn’t have handled it on my own? You swallow, pushing the thought down.

But then—gods, you want it. You want even just a moment to breathe, to feel like you again. And Zayne, ever perceptive, notices the war in your expression before you can fully mask it.

Your grip tightens on the paper, hesitation warring with longing. You want to go. You need to go. But still—

“What about you?” you ask quietly, searching his face. “What about Serena?”

His response is immediate, unshaken. "We take turns, don’t we?" His voice is steady, matter-of-fact. Then, softer—"You’re first."

Your breath catches. The way he says it—so certain, so simple—untangles a knot of tension you didn’t even realize was there.

Zayne reaches for your hand, his thumb tracing slow, steady circles against your skin. The touch is grounding, his warmth steady against the cool morning air.

“You won’t let yourself rest unless you do,” he murmurs, voice gentle but unwavering, certainty woven through every word.

“And when you’re ready to come back,” he continues, meeting your eyes with quiet assurance, “we’ll be right here.”

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The first day at the resort is almost too easy.

You settle into the hot spring with a slow, contented sigh, muscles finally relaxing in the soothing heat. The quiet is luxurious, the scenery peaceful, and for the first time in weeks, no one needs you. No tiny cries pulling you from sleep, no bottles to sterilize, no laundry to fold. It’s… nice.

No—better than nice.

You thrive. You book a massage, order a ridiculous amount of food, and for a moment, it feels good to just be. Of course, your mind still drifts—more than once, you reach for your phone to check in on Serena and Zayne. But the messages you receive are reassuring. Pictures of Serena napping peacefully, a short video of her staring at a mobile with wide, curious eyes, Zayne’s steady, grounding updates.

Mine♥️:  She had a good nap. Drank all her milk.

Mine♥️: No signs of missing you terribly yet.

Mine♥️: I assume this means you’re free to enjoy yourself.

At night, you send him a photo of the steaming water, lanterns casting a soft glow across the surface.

You: You really booked me a private one?

Zayne’s reply is instant.

Mine♥️: Of course.

Mine♥️: Would’ve been better if I were there.

The implication makes warmth curl through you.

You: Oh now you say that?

But then he follows up with a picture of Serena sleeping soundly.

Mine♥️: Focus on yourself. We’re fine.

And you believe him.

Mostly.

By the second day, though, something shifts. It gets harder.

The excitement wears off, and the quiet isn’t as comforting anymore. You still try—exploring the nearby town, lingering in the hot spring longer than necessary—but there’s a persistent ache beneath it all. You miss them. You knew you would, but not like this.

It doesn’t help that Zayne texts you less today. Not not at all, just… less. And you get it. Of course, you do. Handling a newborn alone isn’t easy—especially at barely a month old. But every silent hour stretches, the quiet turning hollow.

That night, as you settle into bed, your phone finally buzzes.

Mine♥️: You should open the door. Just a suggestion.

Your brows furrow. What?

A knock sounds.

Your heart leaps—you’re out of bed before you can think, barely aware of your feet hitting the floor. You pull the door open, and there he is—bags in hand, expression unreadable, but eyes unmistakably warm.

For a moment, you just stare.

Then, all at once, you’re moving—throwing yourself at him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck. He barely has time to drop his bags before catching you, hands firm at your waist, breath knocked out in a quiet oof.

“You’re here,” you breathe, half in disbelief. “You’re here.”

Zayne lets out a soft hum, one hand slipping up your back, the other holding you against him. “I’m here.”

Tears prickle at your eyes. You hold on tighter. He smells like home—cool, clean, faintly like the cologne he always wears.

You pull back slightly, hands coming up to cup his face. His skin is a little colder than usual from the night air, his hair slightly tousled—but it’s his eyes that catch you. He looks… tired. Not exhausted, but there’s a faint tension in his shoulders, a quiet strain in his eyes.

You snap into focus. “Wait—what about Serena? Is she okay? Who’s with her?”

Zayne smooths a hand down your back, reassuring. “She’s fine. My parents took over today, and she settled with them easily. So I left.” A pause. “It’s just one night and one day.”

Your heart clenches. He did all of this just to see you.

And then you see it—the quiet exhaustion in his eyes, the weight he doesn’t voice. He needs this too.

Your resolve hardens.

"You need to relax," you say suddenly, reaching for his wrist. Before he can respond, you’re tugging him inside, intent written in every step.

The door clicks shut behind you. Zayne doesn’t resist as you push his coat off his shoulders, and it slips to the floor in a soft heap. His hands come to rest on your waist, cool fingertips pressing through the fabric of your robe, but you don’t give him a chance to take control. Not tonight. You reach for his collar, undoing the buttons of his shirt with slow, deliberate movements, relishing the way his breath hitches when your fingers graze his skin.

He watches you, patient but expectant, hazel eyes shadowed in the dim lantern glow. “Taking this seriously, are you?”

Your lips curve, but you don’t answer—not with words, at least. Instead, you slide your hands up his chest, pushing the fabric apart before leaning in to press your mouth just above his heart. His exhale is slow, measured, but when you start trailing kisses higher, along the line of his throat, his restraint frays.

Zayne’s grip tightens at your waist before slipping lower. In one smooth motion, he tugs at the tie of your robe, parting it just enough for cool air to tease your skin. His mouth finds yours, capturing you in a slow, lingering kiss as the silk slides from your shoulders, pooling at your feet.

By the time you guide him toward the terrace, your clothes are forgotten on the floor, the heat simmering under your skin rivaling the steaming water outside.

Steam rises in soft curls around you, the scent of minerals lingering in the air as the warm water laps at your skin. The private hot spring sits nestled within the enclosed terrace of your room—open to the cool night air, but shielded from any prying eyes.

Beyond the wooden fence, the faint rustle of trees and the distant hum of the resort fade into the background, drowned out by the quiet rush of water and the steady rhythm of breathing.

And Zayne.

You press your back against the smooth, heated stone at the edge of the spring, the warmth seeping through your skin as Zayne moves between your legs, his body flush against yours.

His hands, cool as always, glide along your damp skin, a striking contrast to the heat surrounding you. His breath is steady but heavy. His lips graze your collarbone, trailing upward, catching against your jaw. His fingers dig into your thighs.

It’s raw, desperate, the kind of reunion that speaks louder than words. You barely manage a breath before he’s kissing you again, tilting your chin, deepening the kiss like he’s trying to make up for every second you spent apart. His fingers tighten, pulling you closer, and heat spreads through you faster than the water ever could.

But between the sharp need, Zayne hesitates—just enough for his lips to brush against your jaw, his breath warm as he murmurs, “Are you sure?” His voice is low, restrained, even as his hands betray him, pressing into your skin like he doesn’t want to let go. “It’s only been a month.”

You exhale sharply, fingers threading through his damp hair, pulling him back to you. “I’m sure,” you whisper, nudging his lips with yours, “but if you stop now, I’ll actually lose my mind.”

A quiet chuckle rumbles in his chest, but there’s no amusement when his mouth claims yours again—just raw, unfiltered need.

Zayne’s hand moves—slowly at first, skimming along your waist before pressing against the heated stone behind you. His fingers flex, grounding himself, before he lifts you effortlessly, settling you onto the edge of the spring.

The stone is cool against your bare skin, making you shiver, but the contrast is nothing compared to the heat pooling between your thighs.

He steps between your legs, pulling you forward until your bodies are flush again. The kiss deepens—hotter, more desperate. Your hands clutch at his shoulders before sliding up, fingers threading through damp hair, tugging him closer. He doesn’t resist. If anything, it unravels him further, his body pressing fully against yours, his hands finally roaming where he wants.

His palms cup your breasts, cool against your flushed skin, kneading with firm, deliberate pressure. A gasp catches in your throat as his thumbs roll over your nipples, teasing, sending sharp jolts of pleasure through you. You shift, thighs tightening around his hips, but he doesn’t let up—his touch sharpens, tugging, pressing, teasing, coaxing you to open for him.

Zayne exhales, his breath warm against your skin, before murmuring, “My beautiful wife.” The words are soft, but laced with something deeper, something that makes heat tighten low in your stomach. His lips trail over your jaw, lower to your throat. “You’re breathtaking.”

A shiver runs through you yet again, but it’s not from the cold. Before you can respond, his teeth graze your skin, a teasing bite that makes you gasp before his tongue soothes the mark. He lingers there, his mouth pressing against your shoulder with something like worship, as if memorizing every inch of you.

Your own hands start to move—sliding down his chest, over the firm muscles of his stomach, lower.

Your fingers wrap around his cock, already hard and thick beneath your touch, and Zayne stills.

His breath stutters against your shoulder as you stroke him—slow at first, then firmer—relishing the way he tenses, the quiet groan slipping past his lips. The water slicks every movement as you tease along the sensitive underside before twisting your wrist just the way you know drives him crazy.

Zayne exhales sharply, his grip on you tightening. But he doesn’t let you have the upper hand for long.

His mouth finally lowers, capturing your nipple between his lips, tongue flicking over the sensitive bud before sucking hard enough to send a sharp pulse of heat straight through you.

You gasp, back arching, legs tightening around his waist. As his mouth works you, a soft leak of milk escapes, mixing with the heat of his mouth, but Zayne doesn’t hesitate. If anything, the taste seems to drive him further, making him suck harder. After all, you’ve already discussed how your body adjusts to your baby’s needs when you're still pregnant before, and with Serena not needing to feed for at least another two days, Zayne takes full advantage of the rare opportunity.

His hand mirrors the attention, teasing the other breast, rolling and pinching until you're squirming in his grasp, your body trembling with every tug, torn between the ache of pleasure and the soft, natural release your body craves.

While his other hand skim your stomach, slow and deliberate, before sliding lower, brushing over your slick heat. You jolt, anticipation spiking, but he deliberately avoids the spot you want him most, fingers slipping between your entrance instead, teasing just enough to make you whine.

Zayne lifts his head just enough to murmur against your skin, “You’re drenched.”

You shudder, tightening your grip around him. “We’re in water,” you gasp.

He chuckles—low, dark. “I’m the one in the water.” Then presses a finger inside you.

His pace remains slow—intentional. He watches you now, hazel eyes dark beneath the dim light, studying every reaction, every stutter of your breath as he works his fingers inside you. His hand still on your breast continues teasing you, rolling your nipple between his fingers, spreading the leaking milk over the sensitive bud.

He slowly licks his lips, seeing how his teasing makes you leak, as if he wants to taste it himself but also craves watching you unravel like this. His thumb presses into the base of your nipple, making the milk spill out in a small stream that he spreads further, savoring the sight of each drop coming from you.

Your hand falters slightly on his cock, but you don’t stop, fingers still moving along his length, stroking him in a rhythm that mirrors his own touch.

Your body arches, the cool night air a stark contrast to the hot spring, the water lapping at your dangling legs that remain submerged. One of your hands props you up, fingers digging into the edge of the hot spring for balance as you tilt your hips toward him, silently begging for more.

You shiver, every touch heightened—whether from the chill in the air or simply the fact that it’s been too long, you don’t know. But Zayne knows. Of course he does.

And then—his touch shifts.

His hand drifts lower, leaving your breast to trace along your stomach. His fingers ghost over the soft skin stretched and marked by the nine months you carried your daughter.

Your breath catches. A lump rises in your throat.

Between the steady pump of his fingers inside you, the cool air against your feverish skin, and the way he looks at you—soft, reverent, like you are something to be worshiped—you almost shatter on the spot. He traces the marks slowly, so gently that it makes you shiver, heat building in your chest, something raw and unspoken swelling between you.

You never said anything about feeling insecure before. But you don’t need to. Zayne already knows.

Your sweet husband—he always notices first.

Swallowing hard, you reach for him. The hand that was supporting you slides up to curl around the nape of his neck, pulling him in. The kiss is deep, slow, sweet—the kind that lingers, the kind that says more than words ever could.

Your fingers still move along his length, stroking him steadily, and he doesn’t stop either, his pace matching yours. Heat coils tighter between you, and when he finally adds another finger, stretching you further, you gasp into his mouth.

Your grip on him tightens in response, strokes quickening. His breath hitches, his groan muffled against your lips.

Between kisses, your breath stutters, a desperate whisper slipping past your lips. “Put it in.”

Zayne stills for a moment, fingers buried deep inside you, his cock hot and heavy in your grasp. But instead of obeying, he exhales, low and measured, before murmuring against your lips, “The condom is in the room.”

It takes a moment for his words to register. You blink, barely processing, too lost in the molten heat of his fingers working inside you.

“We need to go in,” he continues, voice steady despite the way your walls flutter around his fingers.

You hesitate, cheeks warming, before admitting, "I… already started on the mini-pill."

That makes him pause. His gaze sharpens, flickering over your face, catching the faint blush dusting your cheeks. For a second, he’s completely still—then, his fingers flex inside you, a slow, deliberate press that makes your breath hitch.

He exhales as if steadying himself, and something about the look in his eyes sends a new wave of heat through you. He’s thinking, you realize—not just about the pill, but about you. About how you planned for this, expected him to want you just as badly. The realization does something to him, something that makes his restraint feel even more fragile.

His lips part slightly, as if considering something, and you shift, suddenly self-conscious. "I mean—" You clear your throat. "I thought you'd be all over me after the recovery period."

His lips twitch—not quite a smirk, but close. “Was that your plan?”

You huff, squeezing around him in retaliation, making him inhale sharply. “It’s fine, Zayne.” You tilt your head, brushing your lips over his jaw. “Just do it.”

He doesn’t move right away. He’s still, too composed, though you can feel the tension in his muscles, the restraint barely holding him together. Then, finally, he murmurs, “Better to be safe.”

You groan, frustrated, and he leans down, kissing the sound straight from your lips.

Your head tips back against the stone as he slowly pumps his fingers again, dragging another moan from you. “It’s fine,” you insist, breathless, thighs twitching around his waist.

Zayne hums, like he’s considering it, but then—“I have a better idea.”

Before you can react, he withdraws his fingers, grips your waist, and lifts you off the stone edge, pulling you back into the water. You gasp, arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders as the heat envelops you again.

“Zayne?” You blink up at him, confused—until he turns you.

Your back presses against his chest, his arms encircling you, his breath warm against your damp skin. His hands find your thighs, and you barely have time to process before he slides his cock between them, thick and hot against your soaked skin.

Realization sparks, and you let out a breathless laugh. “So, we’re doing this instead?”

Zayne hums again, this time against your ear, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine. His grip shifts from your thighs, one hand settling on your waist, the other dipping between your folds, fingertips finding your clit.

Before you can protest—or tease, really—he presses down, rubbing slow, deliberate circles.

A sharp gasp escapes you, your hands snapping to the edge of the hot spring to brace yourself as your thighs tense around his cock.

“Just for now,” Zayne murmurs, guiding your movements. He thrusts between your legs, his hand on your waist anchoring you against him while his other fingers work you open.

And just like that, your protest is gone, replaced by a sharp, needy moan.

Zayne’s pace is unhurried at first, his cock sliding between your thighs, the friction heightened by the slick heat of the water and the way his fingers toy with your clit. Each slow, deliberate grind sends a pulse of pleasure through you, your breath catching as you grip the stone edge for support.

His grip on your waist tightens, holding you steady as his hips roll against you. The blunt tip of his cock nudges your swollen folds, the friction slick and hot, making your thighs quiver. But he controls the rhythm effortlessly, each movement measured, precise.

Zayne exhales, the sound heavy, controlled, but you catch the tension in his voice when he murmurs, “That’s it.” His lips brush your ear, his cool breath a stark contrast to the warmth enveloping you. “Keep holding me like that.”

You shudder, arching into him, your back pressing against his chest. “Feels good,” you murmur, your voice breathy.

A low hum rumbles from him in response, his hand on your waist sliding toward your folds. With careful, deliberate movements, he parts you, holding you open as his other hand flicks your clit, then presses down with just the right amount of pressure, rubbing slow, teasing circles that have you gasping.

A whimper escapes your throat, your hips twitching as heat coils low in your stomach. Zayne quickens his pace, his thrusts growing more forceful, each drag of his cock between your slick thighs sending jolts of pleasure up your spine.

Water laps at your skin with every grind of his hips, gentle splashes mingling with the slick glide of his cock. The warmth of it all—his body, the water, the liquid heat pooling inside you—only deepens the ache, his breath growing heavier behind you.

"Zayne—" His name spills from your lips in a gasp, your grip on the edge tightening as your thighs tremble.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, lips grazing your shoulder before he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the damp skin. “Let go.”

The combination of his voice, his fingers, and the relentless glide of his cock sends you over the edge. Your thighs clench around him, your body tensing as pleasure crashes over you in waves. A moan spills from your lips, sharp and breathless, as you jerk in his hold, your release shuddering through you.

Zayne groans, the sound deep and low, his movements stuttering as he thrusts once, twice more before his release takes him. His cock twitches between your thighs, warmth spilling into the water as his grip tightens on you, holding you close as he rides out the intensity of it.

For a moment, the only sound is your shared, uneven breathing, the water rippling gently around you as you both come down from the high.

Zayne doesn’t let go of you right away. His fingers ease off your clit, but his lips press against your shoulder, trailing slow, lingering kisses up to the back of your neck, where your matching tattoo is located. You can feel his heartbeat against your back, still steadying, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

Your own pulse is still racing, thighs trembling from the aftermath, but when he turns your head for a kiss, you melt into him instantly. It’s softer now, less hurried but no less intense—his lips move slowly, thoroughly, savoring each second. His hands remain firm on your waist, thumbs stroking your damp skin, as if grounding himself against you.

You sigh into his mouth, pressing closer, but then you feel it—him, hot and rigid between your thighs, stirring a fresh pulse of need.

Zayne exhales sharply when you shift, just slightly, just enough to brush against him. His grip tightens, and he mutters against your lips, “We should go inside.”

A shiver runs through you, not from the cool air but from the weight of his voice—low, restrained, laced with need. You nod, breath hitching when he effortlessly lifts you into his arms.

The world tilts as he carries you, stepping out of the water with ease. He doesn’t bother with towels, doesn’t set you down—not yet. He doesn’t hesitate.

The night air is a sharp contrast, cool against your feverish skin. But after everything, his body is the only warmth you need as he carries you inside. You barely register the transition—just the firm press of his arms, the damp heat of his skin against yours, the quiet promise in his touch.

His gaze sweeps over you, drinking in the damp flush of your skin, the way your chest rises and falls, the anticipation in your eyes.

Then, as if patience no longer matters, he kisses you again—this time with nothing held back.

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

You wake slowly, warmth surrounding you—not just from the blankets but from the weight of Zayne against you. His arm drapes over your waist, keeping you anchored, his face buried in your chest, breath slow and steady against your skin. The morning light filters through the curtains, casting soft patterns across the sheets.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you’re truly rested—despite how much energy you both spent on other activities last night.

Zayne stirs slightly, but instead of moving away, he only presses closer, murmuring something incoherent. You chuckle, threading your fingers through his hair, feeling the way his breath deepens at your touch.

“We should get up,” you say, though you make no effort to move.

Zayne only hums in response, his face still nestled against your chest. Instead of acknowledging your words, he presses a slow, lingering kiss to your skin—right over your collarbone—before murmuring, “Later.”

Later turns out to be much later, the two of you lingering until hunger finally forces you out of bed.

Breakfast is delivered to your room, a beautiful spread of seasonal dishes, but neither of you rush through it. It’s rare to have an entire morning with nothing pulling you away—no cries from the baby monitor, no responsibilities waiting. Just you and him.

You tell yourself to resist checking your phone, to just enjoy breakfast. But the moment Zayne reaches for his coffee, you can’t help it. A quick glance turns into scrolling through the photos his parents sent.

Serena swaddled and peacefully sleeping, her tiny fingers curled around his mother’s hand. Then a short video—his father making exaggerated faces at her while she stares in quiet fascination.

Your heart clenches.

You knew you’d miss her, but seeing her like this, knowing you won’t hold her until tomorrow—

Zayne catches the shift in your expression before you even say anything. Without a word, he reaches over, brushing away the tears that slip down your cheek.

“She’s fine,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your eye, then the other. “We’ll see her tomorrow.”

“I know,” you whisper, sniffling. “I just miss her.”

Zayne smiles, his thumb stroking your cheek. “I’d be worried if you didn’t.”

You huff a quiet laugh, pressing into his touch. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m not trying to.” He kisses you again, this time on the lips, soft and lingering. “Just reminding you.”

His hand lingers on your cheek, grounding you, as if silently urging you to hold onto the lightness of the moment. Then, with a small exhale, he drinks his coffee, and you take a deep breath, willing yourself to do the same.

After a slow morning and an indulgent breakfast, the two of you finally step outside, the crisp afternoon air carrying the faint scent of pine and blooming jasmine. Sunlight filters through the trees, casting dappled patterns on the stone pathways.

A gentle breeze stirs the leaves, blending with the soft murmur of a nearby stream. The warmth of the sun seeps into your skin, soothing in a way that makes you want to stretch out like a cat.

Zayne exhales slowly, looking out over the landscape, and you take that moment to strike.

You turn to Zayne, eyes sharp with intent. “Okay, husband.”

Zayne blinks, clearly thrown off by the shift in tone. “...Yes?”

“You gave me a day off from being a mom. Now it’s your turn to take a break from being a dad.” You fold your arms, nodding to yourself. “And a husband, actually.”

His brows lift slightly. “A break from you?”

“No, no, no, not like that,” you say quickly, waving your hands. “I mean, you’re off-duty—no responsibilities, no taking care of things, no thinking. Just pure relaxation.”

Zayne hums, gaze lingering on you, already amused. “And what exactly does that entail?”

You straighten your back, suddenly all business. “It means I will be handling everything for you today. Just like you did for me.”

“Everything?” His voice dips slightly, a clear invitation for mischief.

You narrow your eyes. “Yes. Everything.”

Zayne tilts his head, amusement sharpening in his gaze. "So…" His voice is slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring the words before even saying them. "You’ll help me shower?" He lets the question linger, watching your reaction before continuing just as unhurriedly. "Get me dressed?" His lips curve slightly as he leans in, lowering his voice. "Or… the other way around?"

You gape at him. “Stop making everything dirty!” You playfully smack him.

He chuckles, unfazed. “I’m just making sure I understand. Because if we’re talking about last night… you’re the one who made the sheets dirty.” His gaze sharpens, amusement deepening. “Several times, in fact.”

Your face burns. “Zayne—”

“I don’t mind, of course.” He leans in, dropping his voice to a low murmur. “I rather enjoyed it.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “You’re the worst. Why do you always pick the worst times for this?”

Zayne exhales, the amusement in his gaze softening. His fingers tighten briefly around yours before he tugs you closer, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. It’s slow, deliberate—like he’s letting himself melt just a little.

When he pulls back, his forehead brushes against yours.

Zayne studies you for a beat, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. Then, with a quiet chuckle, he finally resigns. “Alright. I’ll leave it to you, then.”

And that is your cue to go all in.

The moment you spot a tea and refreshment station, you immediately step in front of him, blocking his path. “Ah-ah! What would you like to drink?”

Zayne crossed his arm over his chest, his stance relaxed yet watchful. His gaze flickers from you to the steaming teapot, amusement dancing at the edges of his expression. “I can pour my own tea.”

“Not today, you can’t.” You pick up a cup, already pouring. “This is a father-free, husband-free zone. You are simply a man on vacation.”

His expression is caught between mild disbelief and reluctant amusement. He exhales through his nose, watching as you present the cup with both hands.

“Your tea, my dear guest.”

Zayne takes it, fingers brushing yours, and for a second, you think he’s going to say something sarcastic—but he only watches you for a beat, something unreadable flickering in his gaze before he murmurs, “Thank you.”

That only encourages you more.

When you find a shaded bench, you brush off the surface with a dramatic flourish. “Your designated relaxation zone, sir.”

Zayne huffs. “You’re getting carried away.”

“No such thing.”

At dinner, it only gets worse—or better, depending on how you look at it.

By evening, you find a cozy restaurant, and over a warm meal, the sky deepens into a rich blue.

The moment your food arrives, you reach across the table and start placing things onto his plate like a doting parent. “Here, eat this first. Oh, and this too. You need more vegetables.”

Zayne watches you, unimpressed. “I am capable of serving myself.”

“Not tonight, you aren’t,” you declare, dropping a perfectly portioned bite onto his plate before taking your own.

Zayne picks up his chopsticks. “I—”

You immediately nudge it closer. "No reaching."

He exhales through his nose, giving you a flat look—but doesn’t argue, quietly amused as you continue to over-serve him, refill his drink before he even thinks about doing it himself, and pull his plate closer every time he tries to reach for something himself.

By the time the meal is halfway done, he leans back slightly, resting his chin on his hand as he watches you with something unreadable in his expression—something soft, warm, and just a little bit too fond.

His eyes linger, and suddenly, the playful rhythm between you two shifts into something quieter.

Your antics falter under the intensity of his gaze. "...What?"

Zayne’s lips curve just barely. “Nothing.”

But it’s not nothing—you know that look.

Still, you press on, determined to see this through. “You’re not allowed to look at me like that. You’re on vacation.”

Zayne doesn’t even blink. If anything, his lips twitch, like he’s considering his next move. Then, deliberately, he leans in closer—just enough that you can feel the coolness of his breath against your skin. His gaze holds yours, unwavering.

“Strange,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “Didn’t realize looking at my wife was against vacation rules.”

Your stomach flips. You shove him lightly, face burning. “Zayne.”

He chuckles, finally relenting, but the glint in his eyes lingers. “Right. My mistake.”

He doesn’t stop looking, though. And even as you continue to fuss over him, making sure he does nothing for himself tonight, you realize—this was never about you repaying him. Not really.

It was just an excuse to take care of him for once.

Then after you both finish, just as you step outside, Zayne’s gaze flickers upward. Before you can ask, a firework bursts overhead.

Golden sparks shower through the sky, illuminating his face in warm light. You both pause, watching as another follows, then another, filling the night with color.

Finding an open spot, you settle onto a bench, the cool night air settling against your skin. Zayne sits beside you, his arm naturally draping over your shoulders as you lean into him.

“It’s been a while since we watched fireworks together,” you murmur.

Zayne hums. “Last time was during that festival, wasn’t it?”

You nod, remembering the way he’d pulled you through the crowd, how he’d kissed you beneath the exploding lights. “This is better, though. Just us.”

His fingers trace idle patterns along your arm. “You sound surprised.”

“A little,” you admit, tilting your head to look at him. “You always put thought into things, but this… feels different.”

Zayne raises a brow. “How so?”

You hesitate, searching for the words. “I don’t know. It’s quieter. Feels more like… just us, instead of something for us.”

You hadn’t realized how much you needed that distinction until now. It’s not about the grand gestures or the perfect plans—just the way he exists beside you, like breathing. Steady. Constant. The kind of presence that doesn’t need occasion or effort, only existence.

His lips twitch, amused. “And you prefer this?”

You huff a quiet laugh. “I prefer you.”

Zayne goes still, your words catching him off guard. His gaze flickers, something unreadable passing through his eyes—like he hadn’t expected you to say it so plainly.

Slowly, his expression softens. He exhales, gaze warm. His fingers tighten slightly on your arm, then slip down to lace with yours.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just studies you. Then, almost absentmindedly, he murmurs, “It’s not difficult. Making you happy.”

Your breath catches, heart swelling at the quiet sincerity in his voice. You don’t know if it’s the fireworks, the atmosphere, or just Zayne himself, but you suddenly feel so full of love it almost aches.

You turn toward him, cupping his face as you whisper, “I love you.”

Zayne’s gaze softens. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. “I love you too.”

Then, with fireworks blooming overhead, he kisses you—slow and deep, the soft flashes of gold catching in his lashes, painting light across his skin as he seals the moment between you.

For the first time in a month, you feel like more than just a mom.

You feel like yourself again.

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

The moment you step inside your house, you barely bother to kick off your shoes before heading straight to the living room—where Serena waits, nestled in your mother-in-law’s arms.

“Ohhh, my baby!” You gasp, dropping your bag unceremoniously before dramatically reaching for her. “My sweet, precious angel—Mommy’s home!”

Zayne trails in behind you, setting the bags down with far more care. You don’t even glance back, laser-focused on your target.

His mother chuckles but carefully transfers Serena into your waiting arms. You cradle her close, breathing in the soft scent of baby powder, your heart melting as you press your cheek to her soft little head.

“I missed you so much,” you murmur, swaying gently. “Did you miss me? Huh? Did you miss your Mommy?”

Serena lets out a soft, sleepy coo, her tiny fingers flexing against your chest.

“I knew it!” you declare, holding her even closer. “You did miss me!”

From beside you, your father in law chuckles. “She was perfectly content.”

"She missed me," you insist, nuzzling into her as you rub slow circles on her back.

“She definitely missed me. Didn’t you, baby? You love me so much—”

Zayne moves to your side, exhaling softly. “I think you missed her enough for the both of you.”

You ignore him completely, dramatically gasping as Serena shifts in your arms. “Oh my God, was that a hug? Did you just hug me? You did, didn’t you?”

Serena, barely a month old, does nothing but stretch her little arms sleepily.

But you pretend it’s the most deliberate thing in the world.

“Zayne, did you see that? Our daughter just hugged me.” You press another kiss to her head, rocking her slightly. “She loves me so much, I knew it.”

Zayne sighs, rubbing his temple. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re just jealous because I got the first hug,” you tease, grinning up at him before tilting Serena slightly toward him. “Say hi to Daddy, baby. He missed you too, even though he’ll pretend he wasn’t sulking about it.”

Zayne, ever composed, doesn’t react to the jab—just reaches out, his fingers grazing Serena’s back. Despite your antics, you don’t miss the way his touch lingers, how his thumb traces slow, gentle circles against the soft fabric of her onesie.

And when he finally speaks, it’s quiet. Warm.

“I did miss you.”

His hand stills for a moment against Serena’s back. Then, his gaze flickers to yours.

Not just to Serena— but to you too.

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

Notes

Changing it to baby blues definitely makes the flip-flop much faster since it’s also much shorter than PPD. I actually got so into the research that I was like, “Huh? That’s interesting.” This was a fun one to write! Hopefully, y’all enjoy it as well! Actually, if there’s anything wrong, feedback would be welcome—this is a long one, I was planning to post the other req at the same time but hold that thought! I'll get there 🫶🏻😂 Not connected and more like a snippet (smut) but still on pregnancy theme!

You're reading the Pregnancy series! You're at Part 6

Part 0

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6 (Smut at the end)

If you're confuse how we got here How it all happen is the start of the Newlyweds series!

And if you want the continuation of them being parent! Here's how the Parenthood series start! Baby Girl

I was editing to add the rest of the series part but it was too long ahahaha so here's just the whole list: Parenthood AU Masterlist ✨

[yoiisa]

HEEELLAURRR

can I request headcanon bllk boys anyone of your choice including sae 🙏🏻 with wifey reader during post pantrum depression since no one writes about it 😔 and it’s the boys just helping her out here and there??

ofc!!, I’ll do sae, bachira, isagi, and kunigami

all characters aged up (20+)! Tags: TW for depression, anxiety, self-loathing language, and feelings of inadequacy. Reader is struggling w depression in this fic, so proceed with caution for sure! major angst (argument between couple in Isagi's) with tiny doses of fluff throughout, hurt with only a tiny bit of comfort (except for kuni and maybe isagi)

if you ever find yourself struggling with ppd please call 1-800-944-4773 or visit postpartum.net i have so much respect for mothers out there, but please remember that the best mothers take care of themselves as well as their babies!! you got this babe, and with that let's get on to the fic

➜ at first, having a baby with sae itoshi was fine. everything was going smoothly- well, as smoothly as having a newborn could ➜ still, there was always that nagging feeling in the back of your mind that festered in you. it was dark and cold and rose like bile in your throat that you had to swallow down ➜ the monotony of every day settling in on you was only feeding the dread inside of you. waking at the ass crack of dawn for a diaper change or to feed, and then running around all day caring for your daughter's every whim and desire ➜ sae helped where he could, but obviously there were some tasks only you could accomplish, and it was driving you to a brink ➜ eventually, he had to leave to go to Spain for some work, and you swore up and down that you could handle him being gone for a couple weeks. he was reluctant to leave you alone, but duty called after all, so he left ➜ and suddenly, that darkness consumed all of you and it was too much. you just . . . snapped

Sae knew leaving you alone was a bad idea. He'd seen the ways you'd been tiring yourself out, running after Yuki, and without him around, he worried seriously for your health. Nonetheless, you'd insisted that he go to Spain for his work, instead of just trying to handle it all from Japan itself. "I'll be fine, you don't need to worry," you insist, you're head on his chest. "She's been at home for 4 months now, I've gotten our routine down to a science by now." Sae played with your hair, twirling the locks around his fingers as he hummed, "Okay. I'll go then." As he was leaving, he made sure you promised him that if anything happened, anything at all, that you would immediately call him and tell him. You'd just waved him off, which did absolutely nothing to quell the dread in his stomach about leaving. He knows you don't notice how attentive he really is to you, but he notices everything about you. He worships the smallest details that make you who you are, that make you his wife. With that in mind, it's so incredibly frustrating when you think he doesn't notice how your smile doesn't reach your eyes anymore, or how your skin has become dry because you haven't been drinking enough water. It's 2:41 A.M. when he gets the call. It's been a week since he'd left for Spain. He peels his mask off and blinks blearily at his phone, which vibrates along his hotel's night stand. It should be around 9 where you are right now, which is pretty early for you to be calling him . . . unless something happened. Sae instantly sits up alert, his heart racing as he answers and puts his phone to his ear, "Hello? Y/N, what's wrong?" You're silent for a moment, which allows him to hear Yuki screaming her lungs out in the background of the call. Finally, you croak, "Help. Please, she won't stop crying. She's been up since 1 in the morning, and I . . . I don't know what to do." Sae's breath hitches. "I'm coming home." He can tell the guilt is eating you alive as you whisper his name, but he doesn't care. He cuts off any protests you might have with a, "My girls need me. I'm coming home. I'll get on the next available flight. I'll see you soon. I love you." His heart shatters as you don't return the affection, instead just sobbing into the microphone, "I'm sorry."

➜ part of the reason bachira meguru fell for you was because of your smile ➜ you exuded happiness and joy with every step you took and he was drawn to that aura like a moth to a flame ➜ but after having your baby, bachira noticed that the glow you had once was drained from you like a sponge. you traded in your glowing eyes for dark circles and your frown seemed perpetual ➜ worse yet, he noticed how rarely you smiled at your son ➜ at the beginning, when things weren't as bad, you would offer up the occasionally tiny smile, but you'd become so distant from the boy as of late. you'd become distant from him as well ➜ and he hates it. he did what he could to try and pull you back to his side, to get him to tell him what's wrong, but nothing was working, and it was starting to make him feel in over his head as well ➜ he cracks eventually and calls his mom, completely lost on how to help you navigate your depression

It all happens in a blur. One minute, Bachira is walking into your son's nursery to put some laundry away and the next minute, his entire world tilts as you whisper, "I don't love him." You're standing over Kaede's crib, just staring down at the little swaddled thing. Your husband is at your side in an instant, his hands squeezing your arms as he's begging for an explanation. You practically fall into his chest, your legs weak as you fall to the floor. You're not crying or anything, it's like your body's too weak for even that. All you can manage is the quietest, "I don't . . . feel how I'm supposed to when I look at him. I don't know what's happening." Bachira and you stay curled up together on the floor for a while, until Kaede starts crying. You tense in his arms as the shrill sound pierces your ears. Bachira shoots up from the floor and tends to your son, leaving you lying there as helplessness washes over him. Once you've gone to bed later that night, he instantly is on the phone with his mom. "I don't know, is something wrong with her? Should I be scared for Kaede? I don't want him to get hurt," Bachira sighs, rubbing his forehead. "I don't think Y/N will hurt him," Yu sighs on the other end of the line. "She's probably just overwhelmed right now. A lot of women go through this when they first have their kids. We get told a lot that motherhood is this wonderful thing, but a lot of times, the amount of work it takes is exhausting and is completely glossed over. The stress of it all can cause new moms to get really bad depression. It can make you want to give up on everything sometimes." Bachira bites at the skin around his nails before asking meekly, "Did you want to give up on me?" "No," Yu replies fondly, recalling the days of Bachira's infancy. "Believe it or not, you weren't a fussy baby at all. It made being a single mother easier at first, but when you got older, well, you know." Bachira nods as Yu continues, "Why don't I come over for the next week or so? I can help Y/N take care of Kaede, and the two of you can also get some alone time, if I take Kaede off your hands for a while." "Seriously? You don't mind?" Yu shakes her head, her smile widening. "It'd be my pleasure. I'll also talk with Y/N as well. Hopefully she'll feel a bit better. I knew someone who had post partum depression . . . I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."

➜ isagi yoichi hates feeling powerless more than anything in the world ➜ it's part of the reason he was able to adapt so well in the world of soccer after all. he encounters all kinds of players on the field, and he needs to be flexible with himself in order to make sure he doesn't sink underneath all the talent ➜ but babies are different. they don't operate on logic or patterns or anything like that. they feel everything in excruciating levels and the same can be said for depression ➜ when isagi notices that something's up with you too, in addition to the learning curve of having a newborn son around, he also gets thrown in way in over his head ➜ the two of you begin to have arguments a lot as a result. he is upset because the entire pregnancy, you'd been raving about how you couldn't wait to have a kid, and now? now all of that was gone ➜ after a particularly explosive fight, he finally sees the pain you're going through as well, best believe he'll do whatever he can to make sure you get the help you need ➜ after all, he can't do this by himself

"Yoichi please-" "I just don't understand," Isagi groans, kneeling in front of you. His hands are on your knees and his face is bowed. "I . . . I thought we agreed that this is what we wanted? Why are you backing out now that Ryuji's already here?!" "Who said I was backing out?" you ask incredulously. "Haven't I been doing everything I can? I've been feeding him, changing him, comforting him when he cries. I haven't showered in a week for fucks sake!" "And you look a million miles away throughout it all! You have this face- this horrible distant expression! I just don't understand, didn't you want this?" You slip up and shout, "Who would want this?!" and Isagi flinches back. The two of you stare at one another in horror, before your husband's face contorts to something between grief and anger. "The hell does that mean?" he growls and you lose it. You start bawling and screaming, "Who wants a life confined to just this?! To sore breasts and shit stains and hair pulling and the crying- he won't stop fucking crying! I can't make him stop, you can't make him stop! I don't know what to do!" You fall onto the floor, your hands stabilizing yourself on Isagi's shoulders as you continue to wail. "I want to be there with him! I want to hold my son and be happy to be a mother, but I just can't. Everything feels so big when I hold him, and I feel so small. I hate myself for it! I see other mother's and feel horrible, like why can't I just be them?! It . . . I hate myself so much. I'm horrible. I'm so horrible." Isagi's heart shatters as you cry and he instantly wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his lap. You tuck your face into his neck and inhale, breathing him in in a way you haven't done since long before Ryuji was born. You stay like that for a while before you croak, "You need to leave me." "What?" Isagi blanches. "I'm not cut out for this whole motherhood thing. I'm so scared one day, I'll do something terrible to Ryu. Something that'll hurt him. I'm not safe to be around. You need to leave me." Isagi stills, his heart pounding a mile a minute. Finally he manages, "I'm taking you to a doctor tomorrow. A psychiatrist at the hospital hopefully. Ryuji will go to my parent's house for a while until we can figure out what to do next." Before you can protest anything, he kisses your forehead. "And that step will not be to leave you. Not in a million years, so you can just forget about that."

➜ kunigami rensuke would quite frankly be the best person at helping you deal with your depression ➜ he knows the intensity of depression, and what it can do to people, especially when they are feeling isolated and alone. he did go through the wild card program after all ➜ he thinks back to how he was during his wild card training and the nel, and to know you're experiencing that kinda intense depression right now pains him beyond the telling ➜ ultimately, he just stays by your side no matter what. if you need space from your daughter, he's quick to help you get some quiet. if you need a shoulder to cry on, he'll hold you for as long as he can, letting your tears soak his shirt without a word of complaint ➜ after all, you've given him the gift of your daughter, so the least he can do is take care of her mother, and his wife, as well

You're sitting up in bed, your eyes closed and a cup of tea in your hands. It's only half drunk and starting to cool, but the cup is still warm enough to keep your hands from freezing, so you hold tight. Eventually, Kunigami steps into the bedroom, a soft smile on his face as he sees you. He walks up to you and sits beside you, his head resting on your lap. "Is Sakura asleep?" You ask, petting his orange hair. He hums in confirmation and peeks up at you through his lashes. You take note of the dark circles under his eyes and you look away, guilt eating at you. "I'm sorry," you whisper, and he tilts his head. "For what?" You purse your lips before sighing. You set the tea off to the side and close your eyes. "For making you do all the work. I wish I . . . I was a better mom and wife." He shoots up, immediately his hands going to your cheeks, brushing away imaginary tears. "Hey, hey none of that. You're an excellent mother, and a wonderful wife. Why on earth would you think otherwise?" "Because you've taken all the hard jobs like putting her to sleep and changing her-" "Because you've already done more than enough for her and for me. You keep her alive- hell you gave her life- and you continue to do other things around the house, like cooking amazing food for me. I couldn't ask for anything more, truly." You lean into his hands. A tear leaks from your eyes as you ask, "Really, Ren?" Kunigami nods and presses his forehead against yours. "Just keep doing what you're doing. If I need help, I'll ask, and if you need help, ask. I don't ever want you to feel like you're not doing enough or that you're alone. You're not, you never will be, not while I'm here." You sob, and he kisses you through it, his lips soft against yours. For the first time in months, you feel like you can properly relax.

a/n: this is prob gonna get a tad bit personal, but i just wanna reiterate how much love and respect I hold for mothers out there. all of the women in my fam have problems with their reproductive health, and it's likely that I will too when I'm older. Despite this, they've never been anything but incredibly mothers and role models and I love my mom, my aunts, and my grandma dearly

i also want to be a mom when I'm older and I encourage everyone who also wants this to do some serious research into what pregnancy/motherhood entails. it's rough out here for us girls and no one is gonna support us the way we will ourselves, and part of that means being educated on our bodies, despite the lack of proper research done with them a lot of times

anyways, rant over. love y'all and stay safe to all the mamas out there!

[miirohs]

nightingale [m.v]

pairing: Mob Boss!Max Verstappen x Nurse!Reader wc: 1.7k cw: indications of ppd (not explicit but you'd have to read the lines for it), max is not the most mentally stable, abuse mentioned (not in detail) an: elle is 100% made up and if yall want more family content hmu i can do it 😝 also, the nightingale oath isn’t universally used, but essentially it’s almost the same thing as the Hippocratic oath doctors take :)

“She won’t stop crying!” Max snapped, frustratedly clutching the rails of the crib as the baby in it cried relentlessly, giving you a crazed look from the corner of his eye as you got closer. It was like dealing with a wounded animal that refused your help.

“Breath Max. Breath.” From the moment you had arrived at the Verstappen home, it had been walking on eggshells, anger fueling his every waking move from as far as three weeks as he prowled around the house.

“Godverdomme (goddamnit) Y/n, I know that! Why is she crying though?!”

You reached out a hand, stroking his back gently. You ought to be as angry as him for having you snatched off the streets but you couldn’t, not with the reveal of his child. You had the barest idea of what he might have been going through.

“I don’t know, I'm not… yeah.” The look in his eyes turned sharp and you closed your mouth, staring down at your hands.

“I’m leaving, I can’t do this right now. Don’t come after me or else.” He threatened, the anger on his face fading into a stoic look as he turned away from the child, one look you feared more than his explosive anger.

It wasn’t until he left the room, gun drawn in hand, that you could breathe again, nearly collapsing to the floor.

You turned around, weakly holding the rails. You could hear him barking at the guards from inside the room, fading into the distance as your anticipation slowly died down. You thought that maybe today, you were good as dead.

The baby’s fussing had died down long before you had finally noticed. You hesitated when looking at her, reaching in to pick her up gently.

“Hi Elle.”

All the baby did was look at you blankly, eyes still wet from the countless tears that’d been shed before Max left. She had his gorgeous blue eyes, but most likely her mothers soft face.

You knew he was a dangerous man, and now you supposed the baby knew as well, seeing the way she’d been crying before Max had finally left the room. It wasn’t an isolated incident as well, building up across many miniature incidents.

The most shocking part, though, was the fact you’d been told the biggest kingpin in the Netherlands had a child. You would’ve laughed in the face of the person telling you before, but now it felt realer than it had been for the last couple weeks.

You gently cradled the baby in your arm, rocking her lightly as you looked out the door ajar to the hall. You could hear the guard grumbling in discontent as they went about their business, yet none of the commotion had bothered Elle. 

She had finally fallen asleep in your arms, gripping onto your finger as you put her down, a strong sense of familiarity washing over you. 

You spent a good part of your time caring for children, as this was no different to you.

Letting go of the crib, you steeled your nerves to walk out the room, arms crossed in front of your protectively as you eyed the men in the hall.

One of the guards, Daniel, held you back gently by the shoulder, looking at you with curious eyes. This was probably one of the more rare times seeing you, it was like you’d never left the nursery from the moment you got here.

“You can’t-”

“He kidnapped me from my own home Daniel. I don’t think he has a right to keep me from going wherever I want in his house.” You snapped, surprised at how hoarse your voice seemed.

He didn’t fight you, simply nodding and slinking back to his spot because there wasn’t much he could do to convince you to stay. 

You could easily recall your steps to the kitchen, the heat in your feet dispelled by the cold tiles as you entered.

You didn’t know how long you were there, standing blankly at the sink as the water continued to fill up in the glass.

The glass was overfilling and you watched it, hands clenched into fists before you released them entirely, weight rolling off your shoulders.

The sound of a door slamming snapped you out of your stupor, turning off the sink and staring into the dimly illuminated living room.

Max came through the door, blood staining his shirt and face, dirt smudge across his nose and cheeks. He noticed you, a look of disparagement in his eyes as he got closer. Looking into his eyes, it really reminded you of Elle.

He ignored you as he limped into the kitchen, opening a cabinet with more gentleness than you’d seen in days.

“I thought I told you not to leave her alone?” He said, voice scratchy and low as if he’d been screaming. 

“She’s finally asleep.”

You responded. He didn’t bother to critize you again, popping open the bottle of whisky and pouring it into a glass. 

He limped back to the living room, settling into an armchair with his back to the cityline. He looked almost formidable as the harsh shadows cast lines on his face.

“You sure have a way of showing you care, Max.”

“I know you aren’t criticizing me now, schat.” He laughed humorlessly, sending shivers down your spine.

“Oh yeah, because kidnapping someone to take care of your child really says you love them.” You snarked, eyes trailing to his sides. 

There were minor tears when you hadn’t seen his shirt before he left, heart beating loudly as you got a glimpse of his bloodied side as he pushed himself up.

“What happened to you?”

“What do you think happened?” He said, rolling his eyes as he lowered the glass from his lips.

“Well, this isn’t healthy. For you or Elle.” You said wearily, finger tracing the rim of the glass. “Have you ever considered therapy? It might-“

“No.” 

You blinked, surprised by his sudden refusal. “Why not?”

“I can’t. Do you know the kind of risk that poses?” He grumbled, clearly offended at you for suggesting so.

“Okay then, sure would’ve been better if you’d kidnapped a therapist rather than an underpaid nurse to do that job for you. Secrecy and all.” 

“That’s how you want to play then? I’ll give you the money, then leave this place and never come back, if you’re that desperate.” He gritted through clenched teeth, temper clearly being dialed up by the reminder.

“What? Absolutely not.” It was your turn to reject his offer, staring at him blankly. You didn’t know why that made you feel so upset.

“I’m offering you money and allowing you to leave, what more could you want, schat?” He scoffed, sharply putting down the whiskey glass as he held his head in the other hand.

“I can't just leave her like that, you know that as well as I do.” He remained silent, which you took as permission to get closer to him.

He didn’t protest as you leaned over, yet flinched slightly as you pulled his shirt up.

“Calm down, if I had any intention of hurting you, you’d know.” You rolled your eyes, turning up the light a little more so you could see the full extent of his wounds.

“I don’t think it’s necessary-“ 

You cut him off with a sharp inhale. The other miniature wounds stared back at you, barely cuts compared to the jagged scar that ran down his side. “When did this happen?” You whispered.

He slammed his glass down again and you flinched back, split seconds before you could look him in the eyes again. They were slightly sorrowful, but otherwise empty, where there had been every negative emotion a human could muster moments before.

“It was my dad.”

“Did he…” You didn’t finish the sentence, swallowing your doubts as you stared at it.

“Yes. It was in a fight. He won, obviously.” He answered, short and clipped as his posture dropped slightly. 

“Is this why you don’t want Elle? Because you don’t want her to go through-” You asked meekly, cut off almost instantly. “The old man is dead. I killed him myself, made sure he couldn’t lay a single hand on anyone else.” Max hissed, a few beats passing in between the both of you.

“Do you know anything about her mother maybe? I could probably pull together something if-”

“She’s dead.” 

You blinked, mouth gaping slightly.

“She was a prostitute. Most likely gone from all the drugs up her system by now. That’s why I needed you. Our old doctor… left his position early.” 

You watched him get up from his spot, clearly done with the conversation, but something about what he said seemed to strike a chord in you.

“So you brought me to make sure-“

“The baby wasn’t affected. You weren’t a doctor but you did just fine I suppose.” He finished, back to you and he poured himself another one.

“Max, do you know what a Nightingale oath is?”

“Een nacht wat (a night what)?” You continued on, though you had a feeling you knew what he said.

“It’s an oath some of us take. To protect and to serve.”

You got up, feet pattering against the ground as you got closer to him.

“I don’t think anyone really abides by it anymore-“ He let out a short laugh, clearly unbelieving of your words as you continued, “-but maybe, just maybe, that’s why I haven’t gone home just yet.”

“Are you sure you want this Y/n? When you could just as easily leave and go home now?” He muttered softly, hunched over the countertop as your hand met his back.

“I’m sure. You need the help Max. You can’t deny it.”

“Then so be it nachtegaal. I can’t stop you when you’ve made up your mind.” He murmured, steely blue eyes meeting your own as he held your gaze.

“Maybe, once you’re well enough, you can finally form some connection to the child.” You sighed, looking at him. “I promise it.”

“You’re very confident in this plan of yours.”

You smiled inwardly at his words. “Why else would I be here if I wasn’t?”

[justasecretflower]

Sdv; Sebastian as a dad !

Cw- pregnancy, kids, talk about having kids, birth control, smoking, ppd, difficult pregnancy, suggestive?..if any of these are a sensitive subject please click off your mental health is so important, love you !!

synopsis- kind of like my sdv men as dads post, but this is in depth about Sebastian.

A/N- ty mit-suri for the idea !! ≧ᗜ≦

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊pregnancy headcanons

⤷ talking about kids….

💜not the type to have baby fever or anything. Wasn’t a kid hater or anything but he was awkward around them

💜he never thought of bringing it up since it just is never on his mind so you’ll be the one to bring up kids

💜during the conversation he’ll be all fidgety and nervous. The idea flusters him and honestly gets him kinda nervous. He’s never really been the domestic type.

💜he tells you this, and expresses his concern about not really being the type to be a dad, and never really thought of it before.

💜honestly the conclusion is a ‘maybe?’ But a definite that if anything happens he’ll try to do his best to be a good dad.

⤷unplanned or planned?

💜yeah that’s a huge, big, unplanned.

💜your baby was probably conceived after Sebastian and you got flat out drunk after one of his concerts and forgot to use protection.

💜the next morning you figured you did use protection because there’s literally some in the drawer, but no.

💜definitely a ‘🤦🏻‍♀️’ moment when you traced back the dates to that night.

💜so yeah definitely unplanned !

⤷telling Sebastian

💜it’s not a huge big surprise like having him do a maze around the house to find a bun in the oven, or a baby onesie in a box, you just sit down with him. Because you don’t know how you’re feeling + how he’s feeling yet.

💜you tell him you need to talk, he’s convinced you’re divorcing him, he’s sweating, you take his hands, squeeze them and say

💜”I’m pregnant.” ………silence. You hear him take a breath in, with his eyes a little widened, just sitting there. You’re convinced he’s not happy until he randomly pulls you into a kiss.

💜it’s full of love, soft, long, and so beautiful.

💜he’s happy..at least at first before he starts doubting himself.

💜you and him have a long talk about what you wanna do, how the baby will affect day to day life, etc. He calms down again.

⤷if you have a difficult pregnancy…

💜is always on edge. Offering to do everything for you, pacing, stressing out.

💜every time he sees you in pain it hurts him too. He doesn’t really know what to do so he has robin and Harvey on speed dial.

💜he gives you kisses to your cheek a lot to let you know that he’s here for you. Will cup your face with one hand, hold yours with the other and lightly press a kiss to your cheek.

💜you’re not going anywhere near the mines or the ocean. He doesn’t care. You’re not gonna pass out or curl down in pain somewhere he can’t help you or see you. He needs to know you’re here with him so he can feel at least a little reassured.

⤷giving birth

💜“He’ll probably be unprepared !!” Never. This dude has everything in that hospital bag weeks before you’re even due. Frozen witch hazel pads, diapers, baby blanket, a big blanket, a hand held fan, a cooling neck thingy, face misting thing, everything. He’s got it all.

💜he literally nests with you. Makes sure everything is alright and orderly in the final month, doesn’t let you get up to do stuff, everything.

💜when your water breaks it’s definitely in the middle of a casual conversation with him just to look down like ‘oh my water broke’ meanwhile he’s shakily dialing robin and Harvey’s numbers

💜shuts up during labour. He’s not one of those obnoxious husbands screaming ‘push!’ In the delivery room. He’s got his mouth shut and ready to do whatever you tell him. Want the fan? He’s got it, want some water? Right here.

💜cries when the baby is born (it’s a girl obviously) he just looks at her with such love in his eyes, and then shifts his attention to you, never forgetting the woman that brought him his joy.

💜holds you. For a long time.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ postpartum + dad headcanons

⤷if you got ppd

💜he knows what it feels like. He’s a total insomniac so he takes care of the baby constantly during the night and often calls robin over to help out during the day.

💜he never bothers you with words, instead he’ll often climb in bed with you and wrap his arms around your torso, and kisses your head. It was quiet, but a thousand ‘I love you’ s were said.

💜gets you in online therapy sessions, twice a week. Helps you out of bed, gets a nice bath, and brushes your hair before leaving you to talk to the therapist alone so you could have some you time to reflect.

💜does little things throughout the day to cheer you up, like getting you your favorite drink / snack, or a little keychain.

💜he helps you, and slowly but surely, you begin to start feeling better :).

⤷general dad hcs

💜plays the little drums Wii game..was that a Wii game?.. I forget. But yk you have different colored drums and you hit them? He cooks your kid.

💜daily walks! Helps him when he gets urges to smoke and gets his daughter out and about. As well as him since he needs socialisation.

💜will never do the thing when you give a kid a not connected controller so they can think they’re playing a video game with you. If your daughter wants to play a video game with him he sets her on his lap, gives her a remote and teaches her.

💜he’s so patient it’s SO HOT ˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶

💜you’ll never see him raising his voice at his daughter. Never.

💜he can properly discipline his kid though. At first he couldn’t because your daughter is just way too good at being cute and getting her way, but then he learned how to say no and look her in the eyes and tell her what she did wrong.

💜lets her pick out her own outfits because we all know he can’t dress her any better.

taglist 🎐𓍼ֶָ֢⊹ ࣪ ˖ -

@mit-suri

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[getosbigballsack]

𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒎𝒆 𝑻𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑾𝒊𝒇𝒆

𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝐶𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑒 𝑆𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑥 𝑀𝐼𝐿𝐹 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝑆𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠: 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑎 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟. 𝐴𝑛𝑦𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦 𝑐𝑢𝑡 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑡, 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑢𝑠𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑠𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑟𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑑'𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑛.

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑔𝑎𝑝, 𝑢𝑛𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑒𝑥, 𝑑𝑖𝑟𝑡𝑦 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘, 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑘, 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝐸𝑡𝑐

𝐴/𝑁: ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑔𝑢𝑦𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑐𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑗𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑟𝑦 𝑡𝑜 3𝑘 𝑓��𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑠. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑖 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑠𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑢𝑦𝑠 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑡𝑟𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑔𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦.

𝑊/𝐶: 3.4𝑘

𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑆𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑢' 𝑃𝑙𝑎𝑦 𝑃𝑒𝑛✯

𝐸𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦❤︎

It was not a mistake, you knew exactly what you were doing when you made that phone call, asking him to come over, to hold you and sleep next to you because you were lonely. 

You knew exactly what you were doing when you opened that door to let him in, delivering the sultriest look you could muster up at him as your hands gently pulled open your robe revealing that you had nothing underneath. 

The way you stepped back, just so that he could follow up the steps leading up to your shared bedroom and close the door behind him, just before wrapping your hands around his neck and pulling him in for a long, needy kiss. 

You needed this, you needed someone to touch in a way for which you have been longing. 

Yes!

You knew what you were doing, despite being married and all. 

Your husband was not home, away on a business trip as usual, leaving you and your one-year-old baby at home alone, expecting that everything is going to be splendid. Expecting you to be able to manage being home by yourself, taking care of your baby while suffering through postpartum depression (ppd). 

Well, he thought wrong. It is not like he cared enough to even stop and think for a second that, just maybe you were not doing too well or that you needed help raising a kid and all. He is selfish, only caring for himself and the number of pussies his dick could conquer. 

Creepy old man! In his late fifties and still acting as though he was a bachelor in his youth, with an all-mighty dick that could put any girl who dared to try fuck him in a while chair. The poor fellow did not know that his dick was no more than three inches long, four inches on a good day. You often wonder how he would manage to get you pregnant or have three kids (who were older than you by the way). 

His wife before you had to suffer the same fate that you did, pretending as though your legs are shaking, body high and drunk from his cock as you screamed his name from your lips, faking that orgasm in the best way possible. You deserved to be awarded for your performance in bed from time to time. Truly you were the best at faking your orgasm. 

Despite the sex being bad, he is not that bad of a man. A whore yes, but regardless he is a good man. Took you in when he realised that your father was struggling to pay your tuition. No need for backstories right now, the author still needs to get the part where you are fucking that hot mysterious guy. 

But anyway, long story short, after getting pregnant by this asshole, he left you (not really because you are still married to him) and told you that you were not anything special to him. He did not want to have another child, this man even tried to convince you to have an abortion. 

But anyway, you kept the baby, but keeping that baby was the worst mistake of your life. Because now you were suffering alone and in silence. Struggling to be a good mom, while trying to make yourself feel better and not discouraged. It was hard at first, but that’s until your husband's best friend’s son, Gojo Satoru, confessed that he is attracted to you. No, said that he liked you, he said that he had always liked you and he was first attracted to you the moment he saw you at his father’s party and was heavily pregnant with your baby boy Kaori. 

He showed you just how much he liked you, by caring for you in a way that your husband never once cared to do. Caring for your son, treating him as though Kaori was his child. He was giving you gifts, paying you compliments, cooking for you so much more. But nothing tops his sweet talks, dirty talks, his enthusiastic kisses, his hands groping your body, and that cock, thick and long, always penetrating you, pleasuring you in ways you thought impossible. 

And you cannot go back, no more faking orgasm because now, the moment he enters your fluttering pussy, you are already creaming. Hence the reason you had to call him over to your house tonight. To make love to you, not to fuck you, and once he has done, he will wrap you in his arms and kiss you good night while you both lay in bed until the dawn. But little did you know, tonight, your asshole of a husband would be returning home. 

… 

Pleasurable moans, those sweet erotic sounds dancing against his ear, his name falling from your lips as your fingers combed through his pillowy white hair. His lips against your neck, one hand resting on your hips while the other handheld the back of your thigh that was dangling over his shoulder. 

Your legs spread wide open for him, your pretty pussy on display for him to plunge his cock in and out of you at a slow and steady pace. His hips slowly rolled to the beat of the music that was softly playing in the background to dull whatever whimpers and moans that was coming from the both of you. Good thing your baby was staying with his sister tonight or else it would have been hell to keep your voice down with how good Gojo was making you feel. 

Speaking of the culprit, he managed to pull away from your neck after being attached to that one spot, sucking, and leaving his mark, now he was looking down at you. His lips slowly parted, releasing breathy moans as he stared down at you, gazing at you with his crystalline eyes burning with lust and need. His eyes, studying and memorising how beautiful you looked with your hair sprawled out over the pillows, drooling leaking from the corner of your mouth and your eyes, teary and filled with nothing but sweet lust for him. 

“Sa… Satoru…” you moaned, 

“Mhm?” he answered. 

Your fingers tightened in his hair, and you pulled his head down to you just so you could kiss his lips. “You’re so… deep.”

“Am I?” He asked, chuckling against your lips. 

“Yes…” you moaned. He bit your lips, tilted your hips, and plunged even deeper than he was before, eliciting a drawn-out moan from your kiss-swollen lips. “Ngh… ugh Satoru… not so… Deep!” 

“Why not?” he asked, teasing as he pulled away from your lips and began peppering kisses against your ears. “Doesn’t it feel good?” 

“Yes…” you cried, fingers still gripping his hair. “But… if you go any deeper then… then I’ll cum.” 

“Ha! Fuck. Guess I’ll go deeper then hm…” he said just before pulling away from your ear, sitting back on his knees, moved his hand from the back of grabbed your other leg and tossed other the shoulder that he has your other leg on then leaned forward to pressed your legs against your lactating breast. 

“Sat…”

“Shh… mama I got you,” he said just before pulling out to thrust back in, knocking the last breath you had within your body. You are screaming, your hand squirming to find purchase against his broad shoulders. Your nails crawled against his pearly white skin, toes curling just above his head; your breast bouncing in the motion of his hips, and you could feel fresh milk dripping from the fat swollen nipples and onto the skin of your breast. “Mhm… this deep enough to make you cum?” 

“Mhm… Sa… ru. Yes,” you screamed incoherently, but Gojo knew exactly what you were trying to say. He smiled and bent his head just a bit to suck on your milk-dripping nipples, humming at the taste of the milk against his tongue. His hand managed to slip between your body, nibble finger, finding your swollen clit quickly pinching and rubbing the swollen nub until your legs trembled, pussy fluttering around his cock. “Toru… cu- cu- cum. I am going to.” 

Your body tensed beneath him, and you sang his name at the top of your longs as though his name was your gospel, and it was because, at this very moment, your orgasm had you floating on your way to heaven. White dotted lights, his voice panting sweetly like an angel's melody, and your legs shaking, trembling as though you are dancing to your gospel still. 

Yes, you are truly in heaven currently, but that ecstasy did not last long because as soon as your orgasm was over, Gojo was already preparing you for another one. “So good…” you moaned as he pulled away from your chest, removed your legs from his shoulder, and spread them open again to watch as his cock, disappeared and reappeared between the walls of your creaming pussy. 

“Gonna, make you feel even better. Do you want that mama?” he asked you. 

You shook your head yes, your hands moving to pinch your nipples and grope your meaty breast as he continued to stroke you slowly, but deep as well. “Yes please… Give me your cock Toru-kun!” 

“I’m gonna give it to you until you can’t take it anymore,” and just as those words left his lips, his hips began to pick up a bit of speed. The fat mushroom tip of his cock kept poking against your sweet spot with every deep and fast stroke, and each time the tip touched that spot, your pussy creamed deliciously around his shaft.

God knows how long Gojo you had like that, but it was surely long enough for you to not recognize the bright lights pulling into the driveway, or the sound of the house keys jiggling as they pulled open the front door. You did not even hear footsteps tracking up the stairs or even the door to the shared bedroom was open. 

So lost and caught up in your pleasure, you were unable to see the shocked look on your husband’s face as he watched as the little boy he knew since he was in diapers, fucked the last breath or cry that you have in your body. 

The crotch of his pants stood to immediate attention, feeling his bump of a cock swell beneath them. Hand twitching around the doorknob, the pervert could not help but rub his rough hand against his… cock? If you could call it that. Three inches is barely even a cock. His cock was built like a baby shrimp. (No wonder his other wife cheated too.)

The man was in utter shock, almost had a or could have had a heart attack on the spot if he did not look that good getting fucked by a boy who was seven years younger than you. If he had known you would make such a pretty face, he would pay attention to you and even have sex with you like he once did before you became pregnant. If only he knew that you would look this good while getting railed, then he would have been all over you. 

Amid his perverted thoughts, he did not even realise that Gojo had spotted him at the door until their eyes made four and Gojo had a nasty smirk on his face while fondling your breast. “You gonna cum again for me mama?” He asked you in a slutty voice while still staring dead straight at your husband. 

“Mhm… yes… yes.” you screamed. 

“Do me a favour mama, grab the back of your knees and keep your legs open for me,” Gojo said, and you did exactly as you were told. 

“Like this?” you asked, panting desperately for your release. 

“Perfect.” This gave Satoru and your husband a perfect view of your plump creamy pussy on display. “Gonna fuck you deep again. Know how you love when I fuck this pussy with my big cock mamas,” Gojo said as he pulled out his cock from your pussy, smirking when he saw your husband's brow lifted and a shocked Pikachu look crossed his face. 

Yes… that right look as I tame and take your wife from you… Gojo thought before turning his head away from your husband just for a bit to focus on your pleasure. “Fuck! Satoru!” you screamed the moment he thrust back into you. 

“Yes… Baby,” he said, panting as he pounded your pussy mercilessly. His hand went back to pinch and flick at your throbbing clit, pushing you closer and closer to another orgasm. 

“I’m about to fucking cum… no I want to pee… Toru…ugh!” you stuttered helplessly at him. Your hand gripped the back of your thighs, your head lifting slightly to get a view of how Gojo’s cock was working your pussy out, stretching your ways to mould into the shape of his cock. 

“Fucking pee on me then,” he urged knowing damn well that you did not want to pee. He did not stop or slow down his pace, he just kept at it to the point where sweat was running down his forehead, his abdominal muscles began clenching and he started to see white lights. “Cum on Mama, give it to me give it to me…” and just like that your pussy pulsed and contracted, sucking his cock in before that clear liquid spurt from your pussy, forcing his cock to leave your hole. “Mhm… look at that fucking pussy squirt for me… yes.” 

“Oh… god put it back in please,” you begged as you released your thigh, grabbed his cock, and pushed it back into you. “Keep fucking me… gonna squirt again.” And he did as you asked, mercilessly pounding your pum-pum until once again, you are squirting all over him. 

Your husband looked beyond shock, in disbelief. You’ve never cum that hard for him before. He was angry, beyond pissed, Gojo however was smirking while staring at your husband. “Mr. Hiroshima can never compare, right mama!” 

“No… he’s fucking useless,” you moaned out after finally coming down from your orgasm. "Penis… too small."

“That is right. Get on your belly. I am not done with you yet.” You wasted no time, quickly laying on your stomach, arching your back, and spreading that ass just so that he could get a beautiful view of your dripping pussy. 

Gojo smiled before turning to your husband and whispered, “Watch me fuck your wife.”

…

“Good thing our baby is not home, right Mama,” Gojo whispered against your ears as he pressed into your pussy even more. “God, your pussy is so tight, so fucking warm and tight.”

“Please Toru-Kun, move…” you begged, and he chuckled. 

“What’s the rush, we have all night, right?” he whispered while pulling away from your ear, then resting both hands on your hips while he slowly began to roll his hips against your plush ass. “We have the night to ourselves. No baby, no friend, no husband, just me and you. Right here right now making love.” 

“Oh… harder please.” 

“Mhm… no, I am gonna take my time and breed this pussy. Don’t you want that?” he asked. “Don’t you want me to breed you, get you round and fat with my baby? Don’t you want Kaori to have a sibling?”

“Yes… yes, I do, but please fuck me harder.”

“Fine then as you wish baby,” with one last look at your husband who now had his hand in his pants, Gojo pulled out completely, grabbed both your arms, and held them together with one hand before pushing in making you gasp and moan.

His hips began rolling against your ass, heavy cum filled balls slapping against your cunt with each thrust of his hips, stroking you so deeply you could almost feel him poking out your belly. "Hm… fuck Toru! Right there, yes." 

His hand tightened around your arms, pulling you up until your back was flat against his chest. His free hand wrapped itself tightly around his throat, pushing your head back against his shoulder and away from the door to prevent you from finding out that your husband was watching. 

"Mhm…" he moaned into your ear, his hips still smacking against your ass. "So, fucking tight," he almost cried, feeling how much of a gorilla grip your pussy had around his cock, all while dripping and coating his cock with your love fluids. 

You began whimpering as you started to thrust your hips back to meet his thrust. Gojo cursed, hand tightening around your throat whispering, "fucking close mama," then gave you one hard thrust, which, made you scream. 

Now he was fucking you, rough and quickly. You could hear the smacking of his hips against your ass and the squelching sound of his cock thrusting in and out of your wet pussy grew louder. 

The bed began trembling behind you, the hardwood knocking against the wall now dulling out the sound of the music playing in the background and the sound of your pathetic husband whimpering. 

"You always make my pussy… you make my pussy feel so good Toru-Kun," you cried, while desperately panting for breath. And indeed, your pussy was beyond mad with pleasure, queefing and creaming around his cock. Each time the tip of his cock brushed against your sweet spot; your body grew even hotter. 

He let out a breathy chuckle before leaning over to kiss your plump lips. "Mhm… I know mama. I am going to cum so much in you. Do you want that?" 

"Yes… please." 

"Mhm, good mama," he whispered before releasing your hand and his fingers went to fiddle with your clit. Your thigh muscles tensed up, your upper half shaking against Gojo’s chest, and the boy smiled as he watched your milked-filled tits bounce in circular motions while milk dripped from your nipples yet again. 

"Good fucking girl, so fucking good for me mama," he praised, and those little praises had your body shivering. "Cum for me baby," and just like that you are experiencing yet another overwhelming orgasm. Strings of moans and his name fell from your lips, crying as he fucked you through your orgasm. His orgasm was not too far off from yours, just a couple more thrusts had him biting your jaw as he came deep inside your womb. He was shaking, the rhythm of his hips was now a mess as he continued to paint your walls with his thick cum. 

“Fuck that was amazing!” you moaned. 

“Mhm… I am gonna let you rest up a bit before round two mama,” Gojo whispered breathlessly. 

“That would be nice.” Gojo peppered your cheeks with kisses as he gently pulled out of you and then allowed you to fall face-first against the mattress. He did not waste much time hopping off the bed and quickly making his way towards the door. 

“Satoru baby, what's wrong?” You asked him. 

“It is nothing, just making sure that the door is locked. We do not want anyone spying on us now would we,” Gojo said while smiling at your husband as he slowly closed the door. 

“Do not be ridiculous, Satoru. We are the only ones here.” 

“Yeah, you are right. Now I wanna suck on your titties while you rest mama, are you gonna let me?” 

Poor Mr. Hiroshima huh!

Later that night. 

“You enjoyed the show, Mr. Hiroshima? It was wonderful, wasn’t it? I bet you didn't know that she could cum like that?” Gojo taunted Mr. Hiroshima as he slowly made his way into your kitchen to grab a bottom of water to rehydrate himself. He wore himself down after the second round of sex. 

“Have nothing to say, Mr. Hiroshima?” Gojo asked the man as he watched as he swirled the glass of whiskey in his hand. “Hm, I figured. After all there is nothing left to say now, I mean you did masturbate while watching as I fucked your wife. Such a dirty old pervert.” 

If looks could kill, then Gojo would have been dead ten times over. But that did not faze him, as a matter of fact, Gojo just laughed as he twisted open the bottle cap and quickly gulped down the water. 

“Well, I better get back to bed, Y/N needs me for the night. She will be up again begging me to fuck her back to sleep. I hope all those whores were worth it. Thanks to you, she will soon be mine. Anyways, later old man.” 

Your husband growls, swearing that what happened tonight will be the last time.

𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑑𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘? 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑚𝑒 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑡 𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙𝑙ℎ 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑒 𝑢𝑝.

@getosbigballsack 2023

[hoe-days]

more husband and/or dad!senku hcs plsplsplspls i yearn for him everyday 💔💔💔💔💔

Same same. Also a quick PSA, most of my posts are set in canon once the world is revitalized. Unless it’s Xeno/Stan I like making them modern

———

Once society is back on track Senku and S/O can finally relax a bit. Taiju and Yuzuriha are married and it leaves a lingering question in the air of Senku’s relationship. He knows bis S/O probably wants to get married, but he’s unsure about himself. Things are great how they are. S/O never pushes him on it though which he’s thankful for.

Funny enough, when he finally decides he wants to marry his S/O is when he just straight up asks them. After a long day they go to their favorite spot, a grassy opening where you can see the stars perfectly. He and S/O were sitting there talking about how the stars and constellations have shifted in the thousands of years they were stone. That’s when he asks.

“Do you wanna get married?”

“Huh?”

He sighs and chuckles, rubbing his forehead.

“I just- I don’t know. I remember you used to talk about it a lot in your ‘life plan’ when we were in highschool. Is it…still in your life plan..?”

“I suppose so. But I don’t care now, as long as we’re together.”

And something about the way they said that and the they looked at him under the moonlight solidified it for him.

So they get married! You can decide how that goes. He even made the rings himself. He used the last bit of platinum he had from Byakuya. Normally he wouldn’t have, but that small sentimental part of him won that day.

But afterwards, Senku and S/O take a little vacation. They had to be forced to, but they did!

Not much about Senku changes really. He’s still the same, maybe a bit more attentive to his S/O now that he has the time to be. He never takes the ring off unless he has to, it’s glued to his hand.

Unsurprisingly, shortly after his and S/O’s honeymoon “vacation”, S/O comes up pregnant. Nobody is surprised. Well, some people are because they didn’t think Senku was capable of procreation.

This revelation softens him up even more. Though it takes him a bit to process it. One night he comes home from a frustrating day in the lab. He misses his dad, all his tools seem to be breaking, and nothing seems to be going his way. But then he gets into his bedroom and sees S/O laying down and doing something on their(newly reinvented) phone.

He says hi when they greet him and goes straight to the shower. When he comes out he lies down next to S/O and just shuts down. He doesn’t want to talk or move. S/O seems worried and asks what’s wrong and he just tells them it was a rough day. But he doesn’t close his eyes again when he answers, he looks them over. That’s when he notices the baby bump. He moves over and just lies his head on their belly and they stay like that.

Once the baby is born Senku is his happiest. He stays home a little bit more to help S/O and if he can’t he asks a friend to be with them. He takes on night duty pretty often since more likely than not he’s already up and he wants S/O to get plenty of rest.

This dude sucks at diaper changes at first. He nearly cried the first time he put one on wrong and the baby had a blowout while he was holding her. He burned that lab coat after. But he quickly gets better with practice. He’s a fast learner.

He knows he can sometimes not be the best to talk to about things but he will listen. If S/O is going through PPD he will try his best to help. He definitely enlists Gen’s help with that too.

I didn’t want to end these on a sad note but I must. He misses Byakuya every day, but it also pushes him to try and be the type of man he was. Especially with his daughter. He supports every interest no matter how silly. As long as it’s safe. Though if it’s science based and not safe he tries to find a way to make it safe.

[nqueso-lies]

Do you ever have a conversation with a true GA member that is so jarring that you realize maybe you are too far into the trenches of fandom? This happened to me recently with a coworker. We were talking about the finale and she said she thought Eddie was going to be captain after he came in with that “hero” entrance. I then reminded her of Chim’s big speech and how I felt that was setting him up to be captain and she did agree that I was probably right after that.

I didn’t think it could get worse, but boy was I wrong. I brought up the fight between Buck and Eddie and how bad I thought it was. She was completely unfazed by it. She immediately mentioned how sweet it was that he brought Christopher back for Buck. I was worried for a second that I was dealing with a secret Buddie, so I asked her if she thought there was something between them. Thank god, she looked at me like I was crazy and said no they are like brothers. She said she thinks there still something there between Buck and that “helicopter guy”. At least she isn’t a complete lost cause 🤣

This got me really thinking that maybe I need to get outside the fandom every once in a while for a reality check.

"Helicopter guy" ijbol I love it!

But yeah... we surround ourselves with this show in fandom Every. Damn. Day.

We deep dive into the scenes constantly. So, yes, we're going to notice a pattern versus GA who have probably already forgotten about the tsunami episodes.

I think having a GA in your cage corner is smart.

I know nothing about your coworkers life, obviously, but perhaps she's never experienced anything in her life for that scene to trigger her. For instance, I watch Maddie's ppd episodes and I'm not triggered but someone who has experienced that?? They are valid in their feelings.

I don't see Eddie as captain, and it's more so because it would take more time away from Christopher. But, you never know with this show.

But, if GA didn't see Eddie as aggressive than I guess that's further proof we aren't getting anything more in Eddie's growth.

[shakespeareanwannabe]

As You Wish, Chapter 17

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (but biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, angst (so much angst I made myself cry), panic attack, drinking, sadness, reference to divorce, kids breaking your heart, references to babies, swearing, references to the military, fighting and marital strife, PPD, references to sex (but nothing explicit)

Seresin Residence, Miramar, 12 years ago

Jake sighed as he pulled his truck into the driveway of the little beach bungalow he had scrimped and saved to buy for his family. Normally, he was excited to get home after a long day of training, but lately? Lately, it seemed like all they did was fight. Some days, it was him fighting and Buttercup sitting there, taking it. Others, it was all out warfare, each of them screaming at each other. And after the fight they had had that morning, Jake wasn’t too pleased to be home.

The fight had worn on him all day. He had been absolute shit in the cockpit because of it, and he’d already had a verbal dressing down by just about everyone. Cyclone and Warlock had ripped into him pretty good. Rooster and Phoenix had taken pleasure in seeing him knocked down a peg or five. Maverick had only shaken his head at him in disappointment, and that had probably hurt the most.

With a groan, Jake got out of his truck and grabbed his duffle, heading to the front door. Three months ago, he would have kicked his boots off with a playful, “Honey, I’m home!” before racing to snuggle his daughters, pecking his wife on the lips as he went. But not today. Today, he toed his boots off and tossed his duffle into the laundry room.

It was quiet. Too quiet. Maybe they were all asleep. He wouldn’t be mad about it if they were. Maybe if Buttercup got some quality sleep, she’d be in a better mood.

Jake sighed and flipped on the light in the living room, startled when he spotted Buttercup sitting in her preferred armchair.

“Hey,” he drawled. “You surprised me. I thought you were asleep. Where are the girls?”

“Asleep,” she murmured, eyes tracking him as he grabbed a beer from the kitchen.

“Good. They eat okay today?”

“Charlie doesn’t like not breastfeeding, but she’s getting used to it. Abby’s still not eating enough.”

Jake ignored her cold, indifferent tone. “She’ll get there.” He flopped onto the couch and reached for the remote.

“Jake…”

“Buttercup, it’s been a long day,” he groaned. “I really don’t want to fight tonight. The girls are asleep. Go have a bath or something, let me watch TV, and I’ll order us a pizza for dinner. Okay?”

“So, that’s it then?” Finally, her voice had a touch of a bite to it. “No comment, no nothing from you? You said no and that’s that? Your word is law?”

Jake groaned and let his hand flop back onto the sofa. “I don’t know what else you expected me to say. I’m part of the U.S. Navy. Meaning I have to be in the United States. I can’t move to England just because you got a job interview for a publishing job. There are dozens of publishers that are stateside. Why not go for one of them? I’m sure they’d let you work remotely. I don’t see why you want to move to a different continent.”

“They’re the only ones who have offered to take a look at my writing on top of my publishing responsibilities,” she hissed. “Which you would know if you paid any attention to me.”

“Okay, so you can do your whole writing thing from anywhere, can’t you? Skip the whole publisher thing and focus on writing! When you’re done writing or whatever, you can send it to a publisher! You’d at least get to stay with me that way!”

“How am I supposed to focus on my writing, Jake? I barely get a chance to breathe, let alone sit down at a computer and write!” Buttercup’s voice was weak and desperate, and grating on Jake’s nerves. He hated it when she sounded like that, and she’d been sounding like it more and more. He would’ve done anything to make it better, but he was too tired to try. “You’re not around during the day, so you don’t know what its like! One of them always needs me, and Charlie is fussy, and Abby’s not eating enough, and I can barely breathe! And you want me to what? Follow you around from base to base, taking care of our daughters on my own while you’re on deployment after deployment?”

“That is what you signed up for when you married me!” Jake shouted, his frustration and exhaustion finally bubbling over. “I thought you would’ve known that based on how often your brother gets to go home! This is what it means to be in a military family! This is what you signed up for!”

“I signed up for you!” she shouted. “I signed up for a man who loves me, who is home to share the load with me! Not a man who has his head shoved so far up Uncle Sam’s ass that he can’t see the sun!”

“Don’t you dare!” Jake stood. “Everything I do is for the safety of this country and for you and our daughters. Don’t you want our girls to grow up in a country that is safe?”

“I would rather our daughters grow up knowing their father! They barely see you anymore! And it’s only going to get worse as they get older!”

“I’ll be promoted by the time that they’re older! That means less time deployed!”

Buttercup was shaking her head, shrinking back in her seat. “You’ll never give up flying, Jake. You wouldn’t take a promotion that meant you were grounded. It’s not who you are.” Buttercup’s voice shook. “Just like sitting at home, waiting for my husband to come back while I take care of our home and children isn’t who I am. I need more.”

Jake scoffed, red creeping into the edges of his vision. He felt like he was running on autopilot, unable to stop himself or control his anger. “So, what? We’re not enough for you?”

“Don’t do that!” Buttercup snapped. “Our family is everything to me, but I need more! I need something outside of just being a mom and your wife!”

“Okay, so London is that then? Will London be enough for you?” Jake was wrangling every ounce of his strength to pull himself back, to not do this. They were both tired, both stressed. She hadn’t been herself since the babies were born, and it didn’t help that he had been deployed when they had sworn to him that he would be grounded for his first few months of fatherhood. If they could just get on the same page again, everything would be okay. But that would only happen if he could get Hangman to take a backseat and let Jake handle this.

Buttercup’s eyes flooded at his mocking tone. “Fuck you, Jake.”

Loud cries echoed through the house and Jake huffed before heading down the hall. “Go take a bath, Buttercup. I’ll take care of the girls.”

In the nursery, Jake pulled Charlie into his arms and sighed, rocking his red-faced baby girl in his arms. It would all be okay. The first year was always going to be the hardest. If they could make it through that, they would be stronger than ever.

It didn’t hit Jake that it was too late until a few days later, when he came home to find a teary-eyed Buttercup standing in the kitchen, handing him a pile of divorce papers.

Seresin Ranch, Clifton, Texas, Now

Early morning sunshine danced across her eyelids, and she tried to bury her face in the pillow beside her. It was way too freaking early to be conscious after the night she’d had, she was bone tired, and she was sore in a deeply satisfying way. The dull ache in her muscles and the muted throbbing between her thighs were better than any soreness she had ever gotten from an extended workout. It was an ache that she hadn’t felt in years.

Stretching like a cat, Buttercup slowly sat up against the headboard and blinked against the sun streaming through the grey curtains, and three things hit her in quick succession.

She was not in her bedroom. Her curtains were not grey, and her window did not face east.

She was naked. Her usual t-shirt and shorts were absent as the cool cotton sheets kissed her skin.

The soreness she was feeling was accompanied by a series of hickies and bruises that decorated her body like confetti. Her neck, her chest, her breasts, her stomach, and her inner thighs were littered with the dark purple marks, leaving her feeling like a teenager the night after prom.

Buttercup felt her stomach roil as the memories from the previous night washed over her like a tidal wave. The barbecue, fighting with Jake, dancing with Jake, having 3 a.m. grilled cheese with Jake and splitting a beer with him before giving him permission to kiss her…Jake carrying her to his bedroom and making love to her sweetly and gently, then rolling her over and fucking her hard, then taking her again in the softest, tenderest way as the sun slowly began to rise.

What had she done? What had she done? This wasn’t who she was. She had never been the type of person who just fell into bed with a guy, and certainly not when that guy was her ex-husband. But then, she had always been helpless against him. Back before things had soured between them, she had been almost as good as Maverick at keeping all of the Daggers in line, but one flash of those bright green eyes and those dimples, and she was basically Jello. She had never been able to tell him ‘no’, except for once.

Buttercup pulled her legs up tight against her chest and pressed the heels of her palms into her closed eyes until she saw stars. She was so stupid. So weak. She had put in over a decade of work to make herself stronger, strong enough to withstand being alone, strong enough to be a single mother, strong enough to hold her ground against him. And yet, like a teenage girl, she caved at the sight of gleaming abs and a cocky grin, and the sound of sweet nothings he had whispered in her ear.

What would the girls think if they found out? Would they think they were getting back together? Of course they would, that had been their plan since the beginning. But a one-night stand did not a relationship make, and neither did attraction. Attraction and chemistry had never been their problem. Communication had been, and, though they had clearly gotten better at it over the past decade, it didn’t solve all the problems that still remained between them. Past hurts and past histories and words that had been said that couldn’t be taken back.

God, how she wished she could take them back. She had been sick in the head and sick in the heart when she had uttered those poisoned words to him, wanting him to feel like she did in the most toxic way. She was toxic to him, not the other way around like so many had thought would happen. Her own brother had warned her away from Jake Seresin the minute they met, cautioning her that he would ruin her life, but he hadn’t. He had given her the greatest year and a half of her life and two daughters that she wouldn’t trade for the world. She was the one who ruined him. Just like her nickname, she was a poison, and she would only destroy him more if she stuck around.

Tears began to well in her eyes, but Buttercup quickly dashed them away as she scrambled from Jake’s bed and began searching for her clothes, which she found neatly folded on the antique wingback chair in the corner of the room. Her heart ached at the sweetness of this man, who had opened his home to her for a week so they could both get quality time with their daughters, who had ended his engagement because his fiancée had been cruel to their girls. He didn’t deserve this. Maybe the old Hangman had been cocky and brash and bold, maybe Hangman had left a trail of broken hearts behind him, but her Jake didn’t deserve to have his heart broken because she was so weak and selfish. Her heart ached at the thought of leaving him, of only seeing him at events for the girls, of eventually seeing him engaged to a woman who did deserve him. But she didn’t deserve him. She wasn’t strong enough to be his reason for living once the girls graduated.

The realization had her slowly pulling her clothes on, choking back sobs and dashing her tears away. He needed more than her. He needed someone who was strong enough to hold him up while he figured out what he wanted to do with his life once the girls had moved on. He needed someone who wouldn’t panic at the very suggestion of him going back to the Navy. She needed to walk away so that he could find that person. Despite the pain lancing through her heart and the heaviness in her limbs, she had to. She wouldn’t poison him anymore. Not when she…

More tears streamed down her face as she stumbled into his ensuite and desperately tried to make herself look like less of a heartbroken mess. He would be okay and, eventually, so would she. The girls would struggle, but she would fight like hell to make sure her girls still had so much love and support from both of their parents, even if they lived on opposite sides of the globe. They wouldn’t suffer just because their mother was toxic.

A deep wash of her face and multiple splashes of cool water later, Buttercup, resolved and heartbroken, strolled out of the bedroom and made her way back to the kitchen, finding her daughters sitting at the island while Jake flipped pancakes.

“Morning, Mom!”

“Morning, Mum!”

“Hey, darlin’,” Jake followed up the sweet chorus of their daughters’ voices with a shy grin, so unlike him but still so fitting that it made the ache in her chest deepen. “Did you sleep okay?”

Buttercup fought to keep her face straight as she regarded him with as much cool indifference as she could muster. “Yes, thank you. And good thing too. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

Plates clattered as Charlie set the island for breakfast. “What are we doing tomorrow?”

Buttercup fought the pain and panic rising in her throat as she looked at the smiling figures of her broken family. “A-Abby and I are going home tomorrow,” she croaked out. “Our flight leaves at 9 p.m.”

Silence fell like a heavy, suffocating fog over the kitchen. Abby had frozen in her seat, a juicy red grape dangling almost comically from her fingers halfway between the bowl and her mouth. Charlie wasn’t doing much better, a plate suspended in midair while her face flushed. And Jake? She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, to see the anger or pity or fury that was undoubtedly marring his handsome features.

It was Charlie who broke the silence first. “What?”

The question was so simple, but Buttercup had to brace herself before answering. “We promised you a week together, and it’s been a week. Our flight has always been leaving tomorrow.” She managed a weak smile at her daughters. “I guess time really does fly when you’re having fun.”

“Mum…” Buttercup’s heart nearly shattered at the broken, pleading sound of her baby’s voice. “Couldn’t we stay? Please?”

For the time being, Buttercup was winning the losing battle against the tears that were clogging her throat and flooding her eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but we can’t. You start school next week and I have deadlines to meet. Uncle Bob and Auntie Nat have to go back to work too. But your dad and I have figured out a good schedule for visiting. You get more school vacation than Charlie does, so you’ll get to come here for a few breaks, and Charlie will get to come visit us when she has breaks, and then we’re going to split the summer in half, okay? I—” Buttercup’s voice cracked, and she turned her eyes skyward to prevent the tears from falling again. “I know it’s not what you want, but it’s the best we can do.”

“That’s BULLSHIT!” Charlie’s cry was loud and harsh. “That’s complete bullshit! You could both stay! Everyone should stay!”

Buttercup’s breath stuttered in her chest as she looked at her daughter, so full of pain and anger. “I know that you wish we could, sweetheart, but we can’t. I’m sorry!”

“You’re sorry?” Charlie was crying now, hot tears running down her red cheeks. “I only get two weeks with you after 12 years and now you’re leaving and you’re sorry? That’s bullshit!”

“Charlie…” Jake’s voice was a soft warning.

“What?” She whirled on her dad. “It is! She could stay here if she really wanted to! But she doesn’t! She doesn’t care. Not about you or me or anyone! If she cared, she wouldn’t have left us in the first place!”

“Charlie…” Buttercup couldn’t stand the way her voice crackled with tears. “Charlie, I—”

“I hate you!” Charlie turned on her, green eyes full of anguish. “I hate you!”

“That’s enough!” Jake didn’t yell, but his voice held that military tone that immediately silenced everyone in the kitchen, save for Charlie’s ragged breathing and Abby’s soft sniffles. “You do not get to talk to your mother that way. You can be angry all you want, but this is a joint decision between your mother and I, so if you hate her then you hate me too. And no matter how you feel about us, I know that I taught you respect. We do not lash out at other people because of the way we are feeling in this family. We talk it out, and if we can’t manage how we’re feeling then we take a beat before we have a calm conversation. So, go take a beat. Take a lap of the ranch and cool off, Charlie.” Jake’s tone was no-nonsense and left no room for argument. Chest heaving, Charlie stomped away and let the door slam behind her. Jake sighed and looked at his oldest daughter, sniffling quietly in her seat. “Why don’t you go with her, Abby?” His voice was gentler now. “I think maybe some fresh air and a walk will do you both some good.”

Not saying anything, Abby nodded meekly and shuffled out of the kitchen, the front door barely clicking shut in comparison to the slam that had rocked everyone to their very foundations.

Buttercup stood stock still in the kitchen doorway, hand wrapped around her throat as she fought the tears that were falling slowly.

“Buttercup…” She flinched violently away from Jake’s gentle hand on her elbow, and he held his hands up. “Buttercup, it’s alright. It’s all gonna be alright.”

She shook her head, clutching at her throat to get the words out. “She’s right. It’s all my fault.”

“Now, I thought I told you I didn’t want to hear any of that anymore,” Jake said, gently but with a hint of stern resolve. “Now, why don’t we sit down and talk about this?”

“There’s really nothing to talk about, Jake.” Buttercup’s sigh was bone-weary as she sank into one of the island stools. “We have to go home. Abby’s got school, Bob and Nat have work, I have deadlines that I’m already behind on and signings I promised to do months ago and they want me to do edits for a script for one of my novels…We promised them a week together, and that’s what they got.” She shrugged helplessly. “There’s nothing we can do to change that.”

“I get where you’re coming from, darlin’, I do…” Jake leaned against the island across from her. “But…it wouldn’t be too difficult to get Abby signed up for school here, and Bob and Phoenix are grown ups, they don’t need you to take them home. And you…” He sighed heavily. “You can write from anywhere, so why can’t you write here with us?”

Buttercup’s heart cracked wide open, years of heartbreak and loneliness and anger pouring out of her like hot lava. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that again! What about the life I’ve built for myself? My professional reputation? My friends? Abby’s friends? I have a life in London! I like my life in London!”

“I know that.” Jake kept his voice even and calm, even as he wanted to reach out and calm her. “I know I fucked it up the first time. I know I didn’t get it the first time, how much the job and the move and everything meant to you back then. But you’re an award-winning author now, Buttercup. You’re like…number one draft pick in the NFL. You would have dozens of publishers falling all over themselves and each other to publish your stories now. Hell, with the way technology has improved in the last decade, nothing would stop you from keeping your publisher in London and Zooming into meetings with them from here. Isn’t it at least an option?”

Everything he was saying made perfect sense. It was all logical and well thought out, and, for a moment, she could picture it. Staying in Clifton, on the ranch. Turning the guest bedroom into an office for her to write out of while staring out at the pretty scenery, waking every morning in the cradle of Jake’s arms and cuddling with him until their daughters dragged them from bed. Giving them a real shot.

But a real shot meant the possibility of real pain. Pain that she had barely healed from the first time. Pain that she had put him through. Pain that he didn’t deserve. He didn’t deserve any of it, but to protect him, she would have to hurt him.

“I can’t just give up my job, my life because of a one-night stand.” Her voice was cold, belying the white-hot pain that was shooting through her heart, her very soul.

“I thought I meant more to you than that?”

She could hear the pain in his voice and ducked her head, refusing to meet his eyes. “You do…” she whispered, so quiet that he wouldn’t be able to hear her. The words “You did” came at a louder volume. “But I worked too hard to get to where I am now, and so did you.” She gulped down air, feeling like the walls were closing in on her. “I…I finally healed from everything we put each other through, and we can’t just fall back together again because it’s easy.”

Jake scrubbed a hand over his face. He knew what she was talking about. They had put each other through a lot, and it had taken over a decade to even start to heal from that, but they had healed. Wasn’t he worth giving it another go? Weren’t the girls worth trying for? He tamped down the anger he felt growing in his gut and asked, “When have we ever been easy?”

“You know what I mean, Jake.” Her sigh was heavy, bowing her shoulders like she was carrying the weight of the world. “We’re familiar. We’ve been living in the same house for a week, and, in a moment of weakness, we let ourselves fall back into old habits. And it felt good. But we’ve been down this road before. We know what lies at the end of it.” Tears pricked her eyes again and she blinked them back. “Besides, you were just engaged to another woman. You were planning on going back to the Navy. I…I can’t be the thing you hold onto just because you’re afraid of what your life will look like in six years.”

Jake felt the anger within him rise, and he relied on every ounce of his military training to remain composed, to not let the anger seep into his voice. “I don’t think I’m the one who is afraid here. You’re running.”

“Jake—”

Despite the way she was shaking her head, hands covering her face, Jake moved around the island and gently put his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. “I know you felt something last night. I felt it too. Just because we didn’t work out the first time, doesn’t mean we won’t work out this time. You don’t have to be afraid of what might happen either, sweetheart.” His voice was filled with so much warmth and passion that Buttercup felt the tears fall faster and harder down her cheeks. This sweet man. She had never deserved him. His hands stroked her upper arms as he continued. “You’ve done such a good job on your own. Abby is incredible and your books…” Jake shook his head in amazement. “You’re incredible. But you don’t have to be strong and do it all on your own anymore. I know you can, but you don’t have to. Let me help. Just stay and let me help.” He was begging and he knew it, but he couldn’t help the tightness in his chest that told him that he had to convince her to stay. That he couldn’t lose her again. “I know you felt it last night,” he ended in a murmur.

Buttercup buried her head in her hands and sobbed. He was saying all the right words and she could feel the warmth and kindness pouring out of him, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she would ruin it all again. “I…I can’t,” she cried. “We have to be the adults here. I can’t just leave my life behind and stay with you. Not again. We tried that once and it didn’t work, and we owe it to our girls to be better this time. We have to be better this time. For them. What we want doesn’t matter.”

Breath whooshed out of Jake’s lungs as he took her in. His Buttercup looked so small and broken, sobbing at his kitchen island. He had done that to her. He had broken his strong, independent, fiercely loyal and kind woman. No matter how badly he wanted to keep her, he couldn’t hold her back again. “This…this is really what you want?”

With doubt clogging her throat, she murmured, “It is.”

Jake’s shoulders bowed, and he grunted to clear the tingling in his throat and in the bridge of his nose. “Then…as you wish, I guess.”

Buttercup nearly ran down the path towards the dude ranch cabins. After a tense breakfast, one where no one said anything to each other, Buttercup got changed and got out of the ranch house as quickly as she possibly could. She felt like she couldn’t breathe with the weight of Jake’s disappointed gaze upon her and Charlie’s hate-filled words hanging in the air around them. Not even her sweet Abby had been able to look her in the eye, so she fled the moment it was acceptable to do so.

Now, she was marching to her brother’s cabin to talk to him and his best friend, to get some sort of reassurance that she was doing the right thing. She quickly climbed the two steps up and came up short when the door swung open, Javy emerging in his jeans, carrying his shirt from last night.

“Oh…” They both froze and stared at each other. “Hey Buttercup.”

“Hey Javy…”

“You, uh…” Javy shuffled his feet. “You good?”

“Not really,” she admitted, staring down at her toes. “Is Nat in there? Or Bob?”

“Bob spent the night in Mickey’s cabin with him and Yale. But Nat…” A shy smile pulled at Javy’s lips as he shrugged. “She’s asleep upstairs. I’ve gotta run to practice though. Can you tell her I said goodbye? And that I’ll see her for dinner tonight?”

Despite her own broken heart, Buttercup found herself smiling. “I’m glad you two were able to work it out. I’ll let her know.”

“Thanks, Buttercup.” He grinned and placed a light jab against her shoulder as he passed. “And hey? I’m sure whatever’s bugging you will work itself out in the end.”

“I don’t think so, Javy. But thanks.”

Buttercup let herself into the quaint little cabin and headed straight for the bedroom, where her friend was just waking up. Buttercup thanked whatever not-completely-evil god that was out there that her friend was wearing a t-shirt. After the morning she’d had, the last thing she wanted was to have her friend flash her by accident.

“Hey…” Natasha yawned as she stretched her arms over her head. “What’re you doin’ here? Where’s—” Natasha cut herself off, looking away from Buttercup.

“Javy had football practice. He says he’ll see you for dinner.” That was all Buttercup managed to get out before flopping onto the bed and sobbing.

“Jesus Christ, B!” Natasha scrambled up and pulled her crying friend into her lap. “What the hell?” A gentle hand ran up and down the length of Buttercup’s spine. “You’re alright, girl. C’mon.”

“J-Jake and I hooked up last night,” Buttercup blubbered, burying her face into the plaid comforter that covered her friend’s lap.

“And…was it…not good?” Try as she might, Natasha was struggling to see the problem.

“It was great!”

Both ladies were surprised at the strength of Buttercup’s sobs. It was unlike her to cry so much, but clearly, she had to exorcise some demons, and crying seemed to be the best way to get them out.

Natasha sighed and patted her friend on the back. “Then I am confused.”

“Join the fucking club…” Buttercup muttered, wiping her face on the bedspread before sitting up, her tear ducts seemingly empty. “We…we’re going home tomorrow. I can’t believe I was so stupid as to hook up with my ex-husband right before we’re going back home.”

“Not gonna lie, lady, but you were basically eye-fucking him all night. I’m not surprised that you two fell into bed together. The sexual tension was too great.” Natasha propped herself up against the oak headboard and stared at her friend. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Lots of couples do one last fuck fest after a breakup or divorce.”

“Is that what you and Javy were doing last night?” Buttercup bit out, no malice in her voice, only exhaustion.

Natasha bit her lip. “Actually…it was more of a ‘lets try this thing again’ than a ‘lets get this thing out of our systems’.”

Buttercup blinked her bloodshot eyes. “How are you two going to try it again when our flight leaves tomorrow?”

One of Natasha’s calloused fingers gently traced the scar that ran over her eye, something that she only did on the rare occasion that she was nervous. “That’s the thing…I’m not getting on that flight. Bob said that he could get me a refund with the airline since it’s, y’know, his airline.”

“You’re staying?” Of all the things she expected her best friend to say, it certainly wasn’t that. “What about your classes? Your friends?”

Natasha shrugged. “One of the other instructors can take over until they hire someone else. And there’s a gym in town that needs a new female personal trainer. Javy’s pretty sure they’d take me on the spot. And honestly, B? What friends? I had work friends that I only hung out with occasionally off the clock, and I had you and Bob. I lived in your home, ate your food, and hung out with you. No offence, because you know I love you, but not going back isn’t that big of a deal to me.”

Buttercup nodded as she looked at her friend. “I hate that you’re leaving me,” she mumbled, pulling Natasha into a fierce hug. “But I’m proud of you for giving him another shot. You just make sure he knows that if he hurts you, I’m only one transatlantic flight away from kicking his ass.”

“Or…you could always stay too and be just a walk down the road away from kicking his ass.” Natasha’s voice was gentle and kind, but Buttercup was already shaking her head. “Why not?”

“Because we tried, and we failed.”

“So did me and Javy,” Natasha nudged her.

“But you don’t have kids who will suffer if you try again and it still falls apart.”

“Fair point…” Natasha hummed and turned towards her. “What if it doesn’t fall apart?”

“I can’t risk it, Nat,” Buttercup murmured, tears welling in her eyes again. “I can’t hurt Abby and Charlie like that. They have to come first.”

“I get that.” Natasha reached out and squeezed her friend’s hand comfortingly. “But you have spent over a decade putting Abby first. You have been an amazing mother to that girl. Maybe it’s time to start putting yourself first instead.”

Buttercup squeezed back, snuggling down in her friend’s bed and sighing. If only it was that easy.

The next 24 hours passed in a blur of emotion. Charlie still wasn’t speaking to Buttercup, despite Jake’s private talk with her when she returned to the ranch house after her walk. Abby wasn’t faring much better, quiet but not angry the way her sister was. More…resigned. And Jake…well, Jake did what Jake always did. He walled up everything he was feeling behind thick, military issue shields and pretended. It was what he was trained to do. Compartmentalize and prioritize. His priority was making sure that his girls didn’t leave the ranch sad.

Buttercup’s eyes remained bloodshot for the rest of the day, and it broke Jake’s heart to see his girl so distraught. Part of him wanted to ask her to reconsider, to ask if her decision to leave was what was making her so miserable, but he didn’t. His Buttercup had only made one rash decision in her entire life: staying with him in Miramar. Every other decision had been meticulously thought out, including going to London to start over. He couldn’t blame her for that, and he couldn’t blame her for wanting to return to her life abroad, no matter how much it felt like it was killing him to let her go again.

So, Jake pushed it all down and tried to make it the best 24 hours he possibly could. He took his three girls on a trail ride after having a small goodbye lunch for their remaining guests. Fanboy, Yale, Payback and his family all enjoyed a small gathering despite the tense atmosphere. That atmosphere remained throughout the trail ride, though Jake had hoped it would help cool Charlie down. Dinner was similarly quiet, the five of them eating their spaghetti and meatballs in relative silence, though it seemed that both Rooster and Charlie were cheered to hear that Phoenix would be staying. Jake couldn’t help the glance he spared at Buttercup when that news was shared before Javy swept Phoenix out the door to keep their dinner reservation in town. He knew he couldn’t question why Phoenix was brave enough to stay and try to work things out, not when he knew why Buttercup was doing the brave thing by leaving. She was doing it so that the girls wouldn’t suffer from the fallout if they couldn’t keep their shit together a second time, and Jake couldn’t blame her. He would do anything to make sure Charlie was happy. Problem was that this decision didn’t seem to be making anyone happy.

Nobody got much sleep that night, the tension growing over the house like a big black storm cloud, what ifs and maybes swirling like a tornado. Day dawned without sun; the metaphorical storm having grown into a real one that had rain lashing at the windows. Breakfast was a silent affair, and Jake could barely choke down any lunch, one final meal before he had to say goodbye to his girls.

Bags were piled at the front door, waiting for the airport limo Bob had called for, complimentary because of his position with the airline. Six adults and two children stood in the doorway of the ranch house, waiting for the telltale sound of tire on gravel to signal the end. When Jake caught sight of headlights bouncing through the darkened sky, he sighed and gathered Abby into his arms.

“I love you, baby,” he murmured into her hair, and his heart broke as she clutched him tighter. “I’ll see you at Thanksgiving, okay?”

“I love you too, daddy.”

Jake opened his eyes and saw Buttercup ringing her hands as she approached Charlie, who had her arms crossed stiffly across her chest.

“I…I’m sorry, Charlie,” he heard her soft words and his chest ached for her. For both of them. His two girls were so strong and so stubborn, and they were both in so much pain. “I love you, sweet girl. I hope you remember that.” When it became clear that Charlie was not going to embrace her mother, Buttercup sighed and pressed a kiss to her hair instead. “I love you, darling.”

Buttercup turned to Rooster, who wrapped her in a tight hug. “You take care of yourself, alright, Buttercup?” he gravelled.

“I will. You take care of them for me, okay?”

“You know I will.”

A similar exchange happened with Javy, though Jake was sure that it included some sort of threat about treating Phoenix well, based on the slight grimace on Javy’s face as Buttercup turned and hugged her friend.

It was at that point that the car pulled up to the front door and Jake forced himself to release his daughter.

“Go say goodbye to everyone while I take your bags out,” he whispered to her, trying his best not to crumble at her tear-stained face.

She nodded and ran over to Phoenix, almost knocking her over. “I love you, Auntie Nat.”

“I love you too, kid.”

She squeezed Rooster next, the two of them having a whispered conversation as Jake passed, taking the bags out to the limo. He didn’t care that his white t-shirt was becoming see-through. He didn’t much care for anything at the moment. He was completely numb, just like he had been when he watched Buttercup and Abby walk out his front door the first time. He took his time loading the bags into the trunk before heading back into the house, feeling like he was walking to his execution.

When he stepped into the foyer, his eyes went straight to Abby and Charlie, embracing by the stairs. He sighed and turned to Bob, shaking his ex-brother-in-law’s hand before turning to Buttercup, who was watching her daughters with a sad sort of smile.

A gentle hand on her shoulder pulled her attention to him right as he pulled her into a hug. She folded into him the same way she always had, like she belonged there. Jake told himself that her trembling was because he was soaked to the bone, and if he felt moisture soaking into the front of his shirt, he told himself that was just the rain too.

She pulled away a few moments later, surreptitiously wiping at her eyes as she murmured, “It’s time to go, Abby.” She met his eyes for a fleeting second. “Thank you, Jake.”

“As you wish, sweetheart,” he murmured and escorted them onto the covered porch, where he gave Abby one more hug before pulling Charlie into his arms as they watched Bob, Buttercup and Abby make a run for the limo.

Bob held the door open as Abby slid in. Buttercup glanced over her shoulder at Jake and Charlie, standing like statues on the porch. She waved a sad goodbye before sliding in beside her daughter. Bob gave him an understanding nod before joining them and slamming the door shut. The limo roared to life and started down the dirt drive, rain and wind whipping at the windshield as they went. Abby and Buttercup huddled together on the leather seats as Bob gave instructions to the driver, and then they were silent.

Jake’s chest heaved as he watched them go, watched two-thirds of his heart walk away from him again.

“Wait!” Charlie cried, throwing off his hold and taking off down the wet and muddy driveway. “Mom, wait!” Jake lunged after her, grabbing her up in a hug as the limo disappeared between the trees, the falling rain too loud for them to hear her pleas.

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[her-power]

So Called Chaos (Part One: Modern single dad! e.m x fem reader)

❤️‍🩹🚨‼️18+ Minors DO NOT interact ‼️🚨❤️‍🩹

Trigger warnings/content warnings: Talk of suicide, talk of death, grief, hurt, comfort. Talk of PPD/PPA. Smut will come later, not explicit but sensual I guess? (warning now) strong language, angst, fluff.

Summary: This takes place in modern times. Eddie & reader are in early 30s. Eddie is raising his two year old son, Hunter, alone while coping with the death of his son’s mother who he had a complicated relationship with. He runs into an old friend at the bookstore (the reader) and memories of their time together as teenagers flood his brain to a point where he cannot stop thinking about her and the what if’s. This blossoms into a beautiful rekindled friendship and potentially something more.

Word Count: 5.1K

Thirty-four-year-old Eddie Munson hovers over the crib, his eyes bloodshot, he was so tired, but he always made sure to watch him fall asleep. His sweet son, Hunter. He was turning two years old tomorrow. Two whole years. Eddie couldn’t imagine him not existing, even if it didn’t start out the way he wanted to. Hunter’s mother had died six months after he was born; it was a subject Eddie didn’t talk about with many people. Not even his friends. Olivia was sick, she was tired, she thought the easiest way was to just disappear forever. He was angry at her, but he had loved her. In a way they only knew how to love one another. 

Hunter was the best thing that ever happened to him. He reaches his hand over to his face, gently caressing the spot between his eyes, his brown curly hair lined his face perfectly. His lips puckered while he slept, and he would go into random laughing fits in his sleep. Eddie would tell him that it was grandma making him laugh from Heaven. He sighs, taking the video monitor and putting on the white noise machine. 

He walks downstairs and plops himself onto the couch. 

“You’re doing good, Eds.” The voice comes out of the shadows. 

Oh yeah, he also talks to the dead mother of his child. It was worse after she died, then it went away for awhile. Now, it’s been a daily occurrence. He isn’t sure if it’s his way of coping with her death or if he’s actually talking to her, but he wasn’t in the mood. 

“Go away.” He mutters. 

Olivia’s form reaches his peripheral vision, but he doesn’t turn his head. He couldn’t. The last time he did she didn’t look normal, she looked very dead. 

“I’m sorry.” She whispers. 

“You keep saying that and I honestly don’t think you are.” He laughs, feeling tears form at the corners of his eyes, he sniffles them back. “It was your choice to leave us. Leave me alone.” 

“I just want you to be happy, Eddie.” Her voice is fading. 

“Who says I’m not happy?” He grumbles, glancing at the time on his phone. “Go say happy birthday to our son and then stay away.” 

He doesn’t feel her presence in the room, and he’s almost relieved. Their relationship was complicated, even before she got pregnant. They were just friends with benefits, met at the hideout and it became a weekly thing. He loved her, but he wasn’t in love with her. She felt the same, but they tried to make it work when she got pregnant. He noticed a change in her after Hunter was born, she stopped going to her postpartum appointments, had denied that she was depressed. She was a wonderful mother, but she didn’t think she was good enough. She said so in her note, and it has taken him over a year to prevent himself from lighting it on fire. 

He was grieving, he knew that. But he was grieving more so for Hunter not having a mother. Like himself. Robin has been a big help. She would show up unannounced, demand him to take a nap or shower and she would take care of Hunter. He didn’t say many words but when he would see her, he would say “Teetee”, Auntie was too hard for him right now. He sighs and texts Robin: 

Been hearing her again. 

His phone immediately rings and he groans, sliding it to answer. “You know I hate talking on the phone.” 

“I don’t care. When did it start up again?” He hears the beeping from inside her car and her door shut.

“Robin, you don’t need to come here, I’m fine.” Eddie groans, falling back on the couch, his long hair falling out of its half bun. 

“When did it start?” 

“I don’t know, two weeks ago maybe.” He pinches the bridge of his nose as soon as hears Robin huff. Demanding in the sweetest way possible why he didn’t tell her sooner, and if he needs her to come over more. “Robin…Robin…slow it down. I’m fine. I promise.” 

“Well, I’m still coming over.” 

Eddie groans. “I was just gonna smoke a joint and go to bed.”

“Okay, smoke a joint, I’ll be there in five.” 

She hangs up and Eddie sighs, running his fingers through his hair. He gets up from the couch, taking the video monitor with him and goes into the two-car garage. He turns the light of the garage on, his truck sat idle in one of the spaces and his Sweetheart, drum set, and musical equipment sat in the other spot. 

He lucked out finding this house; it was a fixer upper, and they gave it to him 3,000 dollars below the asking price. He was able to finish the basement; he did it all himself, with the exceptional help of Robin, Steve and Dustin. It was a two-floor cape house; covered in wall-to-wall carpet. Ripping it up was easy, adding new flooring was not. Uncle Wayne had helped with the rest, and Eddie had settled for area rugs and the house came together beautifully. Hunter took his first steps in the hallway; he got his first bump on his head on the kitchen cabinet when he didn’t know how to slow down when he was “running”. 

Eddie chuckles as he rolls the joint, at the time it wasn’t funny, because Hunter was screaming, and Eddie thought he had brain damage. He remembers Robin saying, “don’t react, don’t react…be calm”. And once he calmed down, Hunter calmed down and went about his business, finding his toy bus and playing with it in the living room. 

He lights the joint, inhaling on it deeply and letting it out slowly of his mouth. He hears Robin’s car pull on the driveway and he carefully lifts up the garage door, her lights blinding him. He waves at her to shut them off and she flicks the high beams at him twice just to add some extra annoyance. 

She giggles, coming out of the car, holding two plastic bags of snacks and drinks. He takes them from her, immediately opening the popcorn. 

“You really didn’t have to come here.” He says, chewing on the popcorn and then inhaling on his joint. He passes it to her, and she takes it willingly. 

“I’m on vacation and Vicky is away for the weekend with her sister.” She passes the joint back to him as they walk back into the garage. “Plus, you need a day off.” 

“I’m on vacation too.” He grumbles, and he was, he took two weeks off from the record shop he co-owned just to spend more time with Hunter and potentially start writing music again. 

“Dude, I mean like a day off.” She says, passing him a soda from the bag. “Me and Hunter can have an auntie day, and you can go run errands or go scream in the woods.” 

Eddie chuckles. “Screaming in the woods does sound appealing.”

“Please just take the day for yourself, man.” She tells him kindly, both finishing off the joint and walking back inside. “You need it.” She peels off her jacket, it was springtime, but the nighttime air was still a bit chilly. 

“I don’t want to put a burden on you, Rob. He can be a handful, and it’s his birthday.” He tells her, moving his way to the living room to check the monitor. 

“He’s obsessed with me. He saves the tantrums for you. I’m not saying go out for the whole day, just go do something for you for a couple hours, and then we can have cake when you get back.” She pats his shoulder, and he laughs. They both sit on the couch; Eddie puts on a music documentary for background noise. 

He feels her eyes on him, and he turns his head to look at her. “Go ahead, ask the question.” 

“Are you really okay?” She asks him, pulling her knees up to her chest. 

He sighs, leaning back on the couch. “Okay in what sense?” 

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m okay when I’m with Hunter. When he giggles at something he finds funny, when he grabs my face just press his forehead against mine, when he hugs me. Nighttime lately has been…lonely, I guess.” He groans, hating that he was opening up like this, but Robin could unfortunately read him like a book. 

“Do you miss her?” 

“Of course I do.” He says, sighing loudly after he hesitates. “I miss having a partner, she was so good. And Hunter loved her…” His throat clenches, tears welling up in his eyes. “I’m pissed at her for robbing him of a mother. I’m fucking angry, Robin. She had the help in front of her, I don’t understand.” 

Robin is silent for a moment. “Sometimes it’s hard for some people to get out of that darkness. Being in constant pain everyday and just trekking along. It wasn’t your job to save her, Eddie.” 

“I could never leave him like that.” His voice trembles. “He’s everything to me.” 

“And he was everything to her.” Robin says, leaning over to grab his hand. “But sometimes, that isn’t enough.” 

“Well, it should’ve been.” He wipes his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about her anymore, the more I talk about her the angrier I get.”

“Has Hunter talked about her?” 

And…we’re still talking about her. 

“Not really, he will stare at her picture and smile. His eyes twinkle like hers, that bright blue mixed with green. It’s beautiful.” He tries to smile. “I just feel like his life is already gonna be fucked up because of this and because I’m his dad.” 

“You’re a great father, Eddie.” 

He’s quiet. 

“I question it sometimes.” 

“Well, you shouldn’t. That little boy loves you.” She squeezes his hand. “I don’t know a thing about being a parent, but I know my parents, and they sucked. It’s not easy, but you’re doing your best.” 

He rolls his eyes, groaning, laying his head against her shoulder. “Can’t you just let me be self deprecating for once? I hate that you’re a nice person sometimes.” 

“I hate that you’re mean to yourself. You’re my best friend, and I wish you would just see what I see.” 

“I need to write again.” He sighs. 

“So, write. Go somewhere tomorrow and do that.” She rests her head against his. He pats her knee, sighing. 

“Fine. I will do that…after I express some more self-deprecating behavior.” 

“You’re so annoying, dude.” She laughs, shoving him away. 

“It’s your fault for wanting to be my friend.” 

***

Hunter had woken later than usual; he was happy and giggling and as soon as he saw Robin’s face, he squealed with delight. Eddie had put on one of Hunter’s favorite songs, Let’s Dance by David Bowie and the two of them danced and sang the song to him with goofy faces which made him have full belly laughs. It took Eddie a few pushes from Robin before she could get him out of the house. He wasn’t sure where he wanted to go, but as he drove, he realizes he hasn’t been to the bookstore in a while. He had bought a lot of his music books back in the day from there, along with anything that had to do with the Lord of the Rings. He pulls into the parking lot and steps out, adjusting his jeans and his Knocked Loose t-shirt. As soon as he steps in the doorway, he is hit with a familiar aroma of books. He forgot how soothing it was to just stand there and take it all in. 

He wasn’t sure where to go first; they had done a lot of rearranging of the place. He settled with heading to the children’s section first. He felt like a little kid himself, remembering how it felt to open a new book and see the pictures pop out from the pages. He had a pile in his arms, one of the workers had to give him a basket so his arm wouldn’t fall off. He found children’s board books called Baby Bowie, Baby Janis and Baby Elvis. He found a children’s book rendition of the Goonies and Back to the Future, as well as a cute store about a pack of baby wolves in the woods. He exits the area, completely distracted by his next his adventure into the horror section when he accidentally collides with a woman in the aisle. He drops his basket, as well as causing her to drop her pile of books. 

“Oh shit, I am so sorry.” He tells her, squatting down to help her pick up up the books. 

“No, no, I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” 

That voice.

Eddie looks up. 

Your voice. 

The two of you lock eyes; Eddie almost topples over. 

“Oh my god…Eddie?!” You squeal with delight, getting to your feet and Eddie follows, lifting you off your feet as he hugs your waist tightly. He was almost shaking; it had been close to twenty years since he last laid his eyes on you. 

He pulls away to look at you and he smiles. “You haven’t changed.” 

You blush. “Neither have you.” You curl a piece of his hair in your finger. He stares at you and is having a hard time trying to find words as he hands your books to you. 

“How-how long are you in town for?” He asks you quietly, still smiling. 

“Oh, uh…permanently.” You say with a small laugh. “I moved into my parents house…my mom died a few years ago and my dad had to go to nursing home.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” He says sadly, grabbing your hand. “I didn’t know.” 

“I wouldn’t expect you to come, Eddie. You got your hands full. How’s your son?” You smile sweetly at him, and his heart does a pitter patter. 

“He’s awesome. He’s two today. He’s at my house hanging out with Robin.” 

“Robin Buckley? How is she?” 

“She’s great, getting married next year to Vicky.” 

Eddie had heard that you were married a few years ago, but he didn’t want to pry when he didn’t see a ring on your finger and the admission that you were living with your parents. You smile, shaking your head and taking out your phone. “You probably should be getting back to Hunter. I would love to catch up though.” You ask him for his number which he gives willingly, and you send Eddie a melting face emoji and he giggles. 

“Got it.” He smiles at you, and you smile back. You sigh, going up on your toes to hug his shoulders. “It was so good to see you.” 

Eddie squeezes your waist, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut. It has been a long time since another man held you like this. You pull away and say your goodbyes, going your separate ways. 

Eddie is still dumbfounded when he gets home, he couldn’t believe he ran into you. Robin notices the look on his face, and he tells her everything. 

“Whoa dude, the one who got away.” 

“I mean, not really.” He says, moving Hunter’s curly hair out of his eyes and kissing his forehead. “The only thing that happened was we kissed, and that was short lived because the cops came to break up the party in the woods.” 

“Kissed key word. Steve and I had been rooting for the two of you that whole summer.” 

Eddie laughs. “We were just friends at that point.” He pulls Hunter in his arms, rocking him gently and he lays his head against Eddie’s chest, ready to fall asleep for his afternoon nap. Eddie stares at Hunter, taking him all in as he sometimes does. His beautiful round cheeks, his full lips. The dimples he got from Eddie, so much more prominent. His bright blue eyes stare into his, and his little hand goes up to cup his cheek and Eddie kisses his palm. Robin was watching her best friend from the background, knowing that his little moment he was sharing with Hunter was a moment just for them. Eddie begins singing a soft melody to him, and by the time he’s finished, Hunter is sound asleep in his arms. 

Eddie had placed him in his pack and play in the living room, covering him with his favorite blanket. 

“Go write some music.” Robin says gently. “I’ll hang in here with him.” 

Eddie nods, gently squeezing her hand. “Thank you.” 

Eddie walks in the garage, sighing as he takes a pack of cigarettes he had hidden in the cabinet. He barely smokes anymore, but when he needs to write something, a buzz from nicotine will usually do the trick. He sits down on the stool behind the drum set, laying his composition notebook on the snare drum, opening it to a blank page. He lights up the cigarette, letting the fire burn his lungs. He closes his eyes, slowly letting out the smoke. He takes the cap off his pen with his teeth and hovers it over the blank page. 

A sound of a beer can opening…

A cute laugh…

He stares off for a moment, remembering…

A long time ago…

Eddie sits on a broken tree limb, smoking a cigarette and sipping his beer, staring at the bon fire. He was seventeen, sitting by himself while watching his friends socialize. He wasn’t in the mood to socialize tonight; he was already in a bad mood, but Robin and Steve really wanted him at the party. His dad had called from prison, asking Eddie to wire him some money for his canteen. Eddie told him to fuck himself, and his father ended the call to tell him it was the anniversary of his mother Elizabeth’s death. Which he had forgotten about. And he was oddly overcome with so much sadness and grief he didn’t know how else to process it besides sulking. Eddie feels a presence next to him, and turns to see you, gripping an empty beer bottle. 

“Walk with me.” You mutter quietly. 

“What?” Eddie asks you, confusion setting in but also concern on why your hands are trembling. “Are you okay?”

“No.” You whisper. “I’m pretty sure one of the dudes over there drugged me…please just walk with me.” 

A burning rage fills up Eddie’s lungs as he looks over at the crowd of football players, passing small glances over at the two of you. Eddie couldn’t fathom why someone would do that…especially to someone like you. Eddie stands up, about to walk over there but you grab his denim jacket in a tight fist. 

“No, Eddie. Walk with me.” You tell him, desperation in your tone and Eddie lets out a sigh and nods. You drop the beer bottle when he takes your hand and the two of you walk down a dark path towards where the moon overlooks the lake. 

You lean against a tree; Eddie watches you as you take in a few deep breaths. He walks towards you, gently taking your hand. 

“Walk me through it, are you feeling it?” He asks you carefully. 

“I don’t know…maybe? My legs feel weird. I know I’m drunk, but my heart won’t stop racing. I feel like I’m gonna get sick.” 

“If you puke it will dial down the effects of the drugs.” Eddie tells you gently, the rage still burning. “Who was it?”

“It doesn’t matter.” You say, hiccuping and then holding your stomach. “Some douche bag.” 

“I need a name.” 

“No, you don’t, what you need is to hold my hair back because if you keep talking, I’m gonna throw up on your shoes.” You awkwardly stumble into him as you clench your stomach with your arm, and you feel the bile rise to your throat and the vomit come out like a faucet. Eddie’s holding your hair and gently rubbing your back as you violently puke behind the tree. When you feel like you have nothing left from your insides, you groan, leaning back against the tree. You didn’t feel like you were going to black out anymore, but the slight high was still there. 

“There’s…water…in my bag…” you tell him quietly. “Can you get it for me, please?” 

Eddie nods, going through your bag and handing you a steel water bottle. You chug it; Eddie tells you to slow down so you don’t puke again but you wave him off. You slide down to your bottom on the cool ground, your legs covered in dirt. “Thank you.”

“Now will you tell me who it was?” 

You giggle. “No. It’s over with. I’m the idiot who took a drink from a stranger at a party in the woods.” 

“Don’t victim blame.” Eddie tells you with a smirk. 

“I’m not a victim. You, Eddie Munson were my knight and shining armor who rescued me.” You giggle at how ridiculous you sound. “Sorry, I’m still drunk and I’m trying to keep it together.” 

Eddie laughs, sitting next to you. His heart doing a pitter patter as he stares at you. Steve and Robin had introduced you to him two summers ago. You had hung out together but never alone like this, he couldn’t get over your beauty. Even in the moonlight, your features were breathtaking. 

“Are you okay?” You ask him quietly. “You’ve seemed a little off all night.” 

Eddie is caught off guard by your question. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He smiles at you, taking out his cigarettes. 

“Those are bad for you.” You smirk at him. “Haven’t you seen those commercials?” 

“Yup.” He laughs, twirling the lighter in his hands. “I won’t smoke if it bothers you.” 

“No, it’s fine, cause I’m probably gonna ask you for one.” You laugh. 

“But these are bad for you.” Eddie teases and you gently nudge him with your foot. 

“Give me one.” 

Eddie laughs, taking two from his pack, and handing you one. He lights yours first, the flame illuminating your face as you inhale deeply, you only cough a little and you lean your head back against the tree. The two of you sit in silence, your anxiety was subsiding. His presence alone was making you feel safe, comfortable. 

“I was thinking about my mom.” Eddie tells you after a moment and you glance over at him, he’s not sure why he told you, he guesses he just needed to say it out loud. “Today is her anniversary…and I forgot. So, I feel like a shitty son.” 

You lean closer to him. “I’m sorry.” 

Eddie shrugs. “It’s just a lifelong thing I have to deal with I guess.” 

You inhale on the cigarette, letting it billow from your nostrils. “My dad lost both of his brothers during Vietnam. His older brother got killed over there and his other brother came home but never left until he took his life. I remember being young and asking him how it feels to grow up without them, how they stay the same age, and he gets older, approaching their ages year after year. I think I caught him off guard because it took him awhile to say what he said. But he said, ‘it feels like being trapped in a current, one side of the water is pulling you towards where you don’t want to go, and the other side is fighting against you. You can either swim with all your might to avoid it until you’re exhausted, or you can let the current slowly carry you. That’s what grief is, it’s never ending, sometimes it’s okay to fight against it, but sometimes it’s not. It’s just empty love’.” 

Eddie stares in awe at you, feeling tears creep up into the corners of his eyes. “Wow. I never thought of it like that.” 

“Me either, but I’ve also never lost anyone.” You sigh, glancing at his solemn face. “She must’ve been an amazing woman.” 

“Yeah.” Eddie hesitates. “From what I remember. She’s why I love music, so I guess when I play music or write songs, I take her with me.” 

You smile, and gently rest your head against his shoulder. He tenses a little but relaxes, resting his cheek against the top of your head. This felt natural to you, and it surprisingly felt natural to Eddie. You didn’t even know what time it was, and in that moment you didn’t care. You could stay curled next to him forever. 

“Will I feel like this tomorrow?” You whisper. 

His curly hair tickles your forehead. “You’re probably gonna have a headache in the morning. Drink a lot of water.” 

“I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t there…or if my first instinct wasn’t to come find you.” You lean your head up to look at his face and he meets your eyes, his heart racing over how close your faces were. “Thank you.” 

Eddie smiles, gently squeezing your hand. “Don’t need to thank me. You could give me a name though.” 

“Nope.” You laugh and he sighs, shaking his head. 

“I’m gonna find out eventually.” He says, snuffing the cigarette out on a rock. 

“And you’re going to do nothing because I told you to do nothing.” You say, meeting his brown eyes, staring at them and he stares back at you. “Did you know that your eyes have a bit of gold in them? They’re beautiful.” 

Eddie blushes and giggles. “You’re just drunk.” He bumps you with his shoulder. 

“No, well, yes but…I never noticed them before.” You move your hand up to cup his face and he almost flinches. “There’s a lot I didn’t notice before.” 

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat, carefully turning towards you so your knees are touching. He lifts his hand to curl a piece of hair behind your ear and you tremble. You lean towards his lips, and he pulls back a little, cupping your cheek. “Are you sure? You’re still drunk, I don’t want you to—"

“Just kiss me, you dork.” You laugh and he smiles shyly. He leans carefully towards you, slightly trembling as his soft lips press against yours. A thousand volts goes through your entire core as you kiss him, and he wonders why he never got the guts to kiss you before now. The kiss deepens, and you push your body closer to his as he cups the back of your head. His other hand grips your waist, and you sigh, sitting on his lap. 

“COPS!” 

Someone yells as they run past you two, and your lips pull away quickly. You could hear the sirens by the fire and the sound of walkie talkies. The two of you scramble to your feet, you grab your bag, and he takes your hand, both going into a sprint through the woods. You couldn’t stop laughing, the excitement of kissing him as well as the adrenaline from escaping the cops was making you feel all kinds of giddy. When the two of you felt comfortable enough to slow down, you both end up on a quiet road, which was near your house, the silence was calming, and you had to catch your breath from the laughing. 

“That was insane.” You laugh. “I’ve never run from the cops before.” 

“It’s a cake walk for me now.” Eddie laughs, taking your hand as you two walk silently towards your street. Thunder booms over head, rain begins to pelt you both. You laugh loudly as the rain becomes torrential and you’re running again to the sidewalk in front of your house. He walks you to the front door, the awning shielding you both from the rain and you giggle, moving your wet hair from your face. 

Eddie laughs, picking a piece of a leaf that landed in your hair. You smile at him, clearing your throat. 

“I had a lot of fun.” You tell him and he smiles. 

“Yeah, me too.” He grins. “Are you gonna be okay?” 

“I’ll be fine. I’ll message you if I need you to pull me out of a black out.” You joke. 

“Don’t scare me because I will sleep outside your window.” 

You smile at him, gently patting his face. “Thank you for everything, Eddie.” 

Eddie gently cups your chin, smiling. “Don’t need to thank me.” 

You laugh, shaking your head, opening your screen door quietly. You stop at the door, looking up at him. You lean up on your toes, kissing him softly on the lips and open your front door. You wave to him from your foyer, telling him to text you when he got home safely. 

Eddie walked through the rain that night with a smile on his face, still feeling the tingle of your lips against his. 

It was a feeling he hasn’t felt before, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to lose it yet. 

Eddie groans, closing his notebook. He didn’t write anything, he was in a daze, thinking of you, remembering that kiss. The kiss that sealed the deal that you were the girl of his dreams, but then life happened, you never really saw each other again. But he always thought about you, always wondered what if, even when he was with Olivia. He sighs, taking his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolling to the text message you had sent him earlier. 

He didn’t know what to say, or what to ask. He didn’t know if it was too soon to reach out to you or if you were waiting for him. Coffee was innocent enough, right? He needed to find a babysitter first, only for a few hours. He couldn’t ask Robin again, he felt too bad, but he knew she would say yes. He felt extremely guilty suddenly; he shouldn’t be leaving him with babysitters. 

“Text her.” Olivia’s voice comes out of the shadows and Eddie gasps loudly, falling off the drum stool. 

“Fuck.” Eddie says, catching his breath. “Go away.” 

“Not until you text her.” He could feel her presence, and his hands tremble as he keeps his eyes fixed on the high hat. He knew she was right behind him, but he wouldn’t look. 

“You’re an actual nightmare.” He mutters, reaching for his phone. 

“Take Hunter with you if you have to.”

“No, I don’t want to confuse him.” 

“How would you confuse him?”

“She’s not you.” Eddie says, his heart slowly breaking.

“No, she’s not. But, Eddie…this will be good for you, for both of you.”

Eddie stares at the blinking cursor on the text thread, his fingers hovering over the keypad. He doesn’t feel Olivia’s presence anymore and quickly types up a message, hitting send.

Hi, I’m not sure if you have plans or not tomorrow, but would you like to meet for coffee in the morning? There’s a café near my house where they have cake pops that Hunter loves. I hope you don’t mind that he tags along.

She responds immediately: Why would I mind? He’s your son. Of course I would love to meet for coffee. 8am okay?

Eddie smiles. That sounds perfect. 

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

can you do headcanons for sdv bachelors when their wife is struggling w ppd after giving birth to their kids? tyy!

Sure, thanks for the ask, dear anon! ❤️

_________________________________________

SDV bachelors x Farmer with PPD (Postpartum depression):

In fact, Harvey was prepared for this scenario (though he hoped it wouldn't happen). From the beginning, he had prepared himself in advance for all the possibilities that could occur during Farmer's pregnancy, at the time of birth, and after it all. So when his wife showed the first symptoms, he didn't hesitate to contact a psychiatrist he knows who helps with postpartum depression, and will give Farmer everything she needs to keep her from suffering. Harvey is there for her and will not leave his love alone with the trouble.

Sam started to panic at first because he couldn't understand what had happened to Farmer: what had upset her so much, why was his spouse crying all the time? But luckily he pulled himself together quickly and called his mom. Jodi knew immediately what it was, as she had PPD after Vincent was born, so she explained to Sam how to help Farmer. Luckily, Farmer had a mild form of it, so they both got through it without difficulty. But the young father still ran around Farmer and their baby like a protective hen, because he loves his wife and their kid and doesn't want them to be sad.

Elliott notices the changes in mood , and therefore reacts instantly. The writer immediately encourages Farmer's thoughts about going to the doctor, and he himself does everything so that his wife is not stressed even more: takes care of the newborn baby while the mother sleeps, prepares formula, the first to volunteer to do the work. Most importantly, Elliott doesn't take a step away from Farmer, constantly reminding her that she's a great parent and that it's not her fault she feels like that. They can work through this together, he believes that.

Farmer wad constantly tired, sad, and weak after pregnancy, so Shane took all the work and care of the child on himself, giving his wife a rest. However, seeing that she was not getting better, and even on the contrary, he immediately began to persuade to visit the Harvey's Clinic. The doctor then helped Shane and gave him the number of a good specialist who helped him deal with his depression, Shane is sure that Harvey has contacts and those who will help Farmer. In the meantime - chicken man won't move a step away from Farmer, showing her that he feels her pain too, that he loves her and won't leave her in her darkest moment. Just like Farmer didn't leave Shane back then.

Sebastian at first thought his dearest spouse was just tired. After all, pregnancy was always a stressful experience, especially for the mother. But after Farmer's condition got even worse, Sebby turned to his mom for help, because something is not right. Robin explained that it was PPD, a condition she was in after Sebastian was born and when she had no one around to help (divorcing her abusive ex-husband). Under her advice, the young father fulfilled everything to give Farmer all the support and help he needed.

Farmer, what's wrong? Why is Alex's wife is so upset, or saying that she is a bad mother? That's not true, his wife is a great parent and they had a wonderful baby! So what's wrong? Alex began to panic, deciding that he was already failing Farmer as a husband and their child as a father. Until George barked at his grandson to pull himself together and get help. Grandpa is right, so Alex booked Farmer in to see Dr Harvey for a check-up. The athlete listened carefully about what postpartum depression was, the doctor's insistence on what he should do, and Alex quickly complied with everything, not forgetting to remind Farmer that he loved her and their baby more than anything.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Nowhere To Go

Masterlist

Warnings: noncon, housewife kink, fear, postpartum depression, PPD, abuse, suicidal thoughts, violence.

Even though it’s a drabble, I do appreciate any comments and feedback you have. Thanks for reading!

👗👗👗

There is no normalcy in this place. None of this is normal. None of this is tolerable. 

Still, you have your routine. You work in silence, only the soft stir of soapy water and clack of plates filling the void. Laney is somewhere? There’s not many places she can be. 

The baby is quiet, hopefully asleep. Your shoulders rack as you keep your head down. You’re so used to the pain, you hardly feel any of it. Bruises from night after night of his fury. A red glare lingers at the edge of your vision, as if he’s seared it into your eyes. You’re just waiting for the moment he turns that beam on you. 

You finish the dishes and mop the tile. You go to the closet to put it away and hear a rattle. It could be one of Martha’s toy or Laney’s trying to open a window again. She annoys you as much as the child. They both just refuse to stop. 

You follow the noise back down the hall to the front room. It’s empty. You glance around as you feel a subtle breeze around you, rolling with the rattle. Strange. 

You pace the room as you try to figure out where it’s coming from. The large TV stand, with its heavy wooden shelves and carved oaken walls, stands against the wall. The wind seems to emanate around it. You hover your hand along the edge close to the wall. 

You pause. You don’t think you’re strong enough to move it. You walk back and forth in front of the television. You face it and hook your hands under the bottom. You slide it out as far as you can, tilting it see behind it. 

You shift it and hold it with one hand, your arms shaking. You push on the back of the shelve. The plywood is the only flimsy part of the structure. It’s not from behind, it’s beneath. 

You slide the TV back into place. You glance around nervously. You probably can’t move it. Not very far. 

You curl your fingers behind the TV stand and heave with your shoulder. It shifts an inch. You do it again. Just away from the wall. Little more, little more. That’s enough. You have to be able to move it back. 

You narrow your eyes and examine the edge of the hatch door. Oh my god. You blink. This whole time... 

Your grandmother’s house had a crawlspace too. The old ones always do, or a basement. You never thought of it. Well, he made an effort to hide that. Shit. 

Your heart lurches and you do too. You almost fall over. You can’t let him see that you moved any of this. You grunt and force the stand back into place. You’re breathless as you get it back against the wall. You adjust the television on the shelf. 

Should you tell Laney? No. She’s too unpredictable. If she knows, she’ll want to try right away. You need to time it right. You will tell her when she needs to know. 

[lexithwrites]

Please give jily raising Harry!!!

Also do you think Harry would end up with Draco when he’s older or with Ginny? And how would Jily react to whoever his partner was?

eeee jily talk time

i still think they had harry young, maybe 21 or 22, and even though they didn't plan for it they decided to go for it

effie and monty were,,,scared but supportive, they let lily stay with them because her parents 100% weren't okay with her having a baby so young and before getting married, they dont talk for years because of this

james is the best boyfriend to pregnant lily he's so attentive and he googles everything he needs to know, sometimes he's almost too prepared lmao

when james is born the marauders are there and so are all the girls, james loses it and sobs when he first holds harry and lily and remus are just fondly watching james and sirius coo over baby harry for hours

harry is a quiet baby, he never cries, barely stirs honestly, and they think its kinda weird but the doctor, and effie, keeps assuring them thats its fine, he's just a lil quiet

but then he learns how to walk and hes a lil terror lmao he runs around the house in his nappy or with just a shirt giggling and screeching as james and lily run after him

uncle sirius and uncle remus come over a lot, basically whenever they can because sirius cant be away from harry for long, and remus loves walking around the park with harry on his shoulders

lily and james can both cook, but james prefers lily sitting back and relaxing as he makes their meals and then a smaller version for harry

james also does the night shifts, he refuses to let lily do it unless its to breast feed and even then he wishes he could do it for her

lily didnt get PPD really but she was tired and quiet for the first few months, mostly because her sister had Dudley and her parents were happy for her since she's actually married, it just gave her anxiety and made her sad

james is the greatest dad on earth, and lily is the greatest mother on earth, they were born to be parents to this lil guy and everyone can see it

they have weekly dinners at grandma and grandpas house, effie and monty dote on harry so much and they always have a present for him

lily loves dressing harry in tiny versions of james' outfits, her favourite is a pair of blue overalls and a red shirt and james will try and match with his son every time

harry and lily nap together on the big arm chair and james could make an entire photo album with the amount of pictures he has of it

lily takes pictures of everything as well, every little milestone, every event, every birthday, and they make a HUGE scrapbook for harry to give to him when he's old enough to care lmao

the girls also love going to brunch with lil harry, he's a well behaved boy and loves gawking at them as they talk gossip

the boys bring him over to peter's house because he has the biggest gaming set up and tv, and they play funny animated games to keep harry occupied

sirius and mary are harry's godparents

their first holiday together is in cornwall to the potter's beach house, its where james proposes with harry holding the ring box

harry is in their wedding in a little suit and everyone sobs its so cute

and they hold him for their first dance, harry is always included

[painted-bees]

So with raf's paranoid personality disorder what was it like for him opening up to his therapist for the first time and building that trust?

very difficult. But she was also his uncle's therapist, and he absolutely swore by her [and brandished none of his typical "ah, women, amirite??" brand of casual boomer misogyny about her]. So she's not a -complete- outside stranger to Raf when he first starts seeing her.

Raf is also kinda at proverbial knife point to work with her. Which maybe doesn't actually help his initial relationship with her but...Therapy was something Raf promised his uncle he'd go through in exchange for returning to his guardianship after the big, awful freakout.

Raf has a bit of a leg-up when he starts therapy in that he knows there's something deeply wrong with him that's ruining his quality of life--and he's fucking tired of it. He genuinely wants it fixed. He gets a ptsd diagnosis alongside his ppd diagnosis and relates to it pretty strongly--but never...-really- agrees with her paranoid personality diagnosis [he feels like it fails to take into account his unique series of actual lived experiences].

His therapist isn't the doctor who diagnosed him. So when she asks him what he thinks of his diagnosises--he tells her he agrees with them [because saying he doubts the paranoid diagnosis feels like...it would be a laughably paranoid thing to say, allowing her the easy out to completely dismiss any reasoning he might provide] but she gleans from ths rest of their conversation that he seems to kinda be behaving...a bit too agreeabley. He's not questioning anything, and provides no friction against things she is says to him--to an extent that doesn't feel quite...right. There's usually a lot more back and forth in these initial dialogues that serve to help client and therapist understand each other and meet where they're at. None of that occurs during her initial sessions with Raf. I think she picks up the hunch that he'd very much like to hear her question the diagnosis to him outloud. She doesn't do that. But she -does- root out that he's comfortable with the ptsd diagnosis, and so begins framing their discussions around that. Even if she's targeting a ppd behavior, she'll instead frame it as something that may be helpful in managing his ptsd.

Raf is the sort to lean into things spitefully if someone says something's good for him and he disagrees but is forced to go through with it. like--malicious compliance lmao so that, when he "inevitabley" hurts himself on it, he can point to the experience and say vindictively, "I was fucking right!"

And that's exactly what he does with therapy lmao. When his therapists suggest a thought exersise or a way to restructure his approach to certain things, Raf applies it with forced recklessness, and awaits the fallout

Which--funnily--never arrives. Which leads him to give her more infornation just to bait her into using it against him or pull it up at a relevant time to dismiss or belittle or hedge against something else he says or does. Which -also- does not happen.

and after 3 years of this, with his relationships and quality of life significantly improving, he's kinda forced to admit that therapy seems to, uh, work.

Things backslide...significantly...after his break-up with Lacey--but he doesn't blame his therapist for that lmao. Rather, he accredits his uncle--and therapy--for the fact that he didn't spiral into a period of prolonged isolation and self-destruction. Both figures worked very hard to keep a close eye on him and help him regain/maintain a level footing, despite how -bad- everything felt for a while there.

I think his relationship with his therapist, post-Lacey--is when the trust has finally grown established. 4 years of attending therapy...mostly consistently before he was able to believe that the therapist had his best interests in mind and wasn't blowing smoke at him for a fat stack of cash.

If not for his uncle's insistence though, he would have never gone...and if the insistence had ever wained, he most certainly would have stopped going early on.

In present day, he attends...quite rarely, because he doesn't really need it. But when things get rough, he gives her a call.

[tessenda]

You know what? Screw it! Neurodivergent head cannons for THSC characters. (Also, this is not a character analysis. I just like researching neurodivergence and decided to put it on the sticks)

Charles has ADHD + ASPD: Bro has them a's. I like the adhd headcanon as Charles to have a hard time paying attention. Also, he kind of seems to lack any concern for others (the first time he crashed the helicopter was funny, but can we talk about how he did it with Hubert and Rupert still on the board?) and is incredibly impulsive.

Henry has ASPD and PPD: If I think Charles has ASPD, then Henry 100% has it. Henry is impulsive and doesn't not care for others. His empathy is lower than Charles. Also, he might think people are always out to get him, which is why he can be a bit of a backstabber. Unlike Charles who's thriving, Henry has to learn throughout the collection (or doesn't in some cases), to manage his symptoms.

Dave has GAD and after canon gets C-PTSD and claustrophobia: Love the Dave has anxiety head canons, but I don't think he has social anxiety, just GAD. Also, Dave definitely didn't walk away from the Toppat Clan without C-PTSD along with claustrophobia due to it.

Rupert has GAD: Rupert shares GAD with Dave, but the only difference is Dave is managing with it, while Rupert's masking and in denial. "Yeah, everyone has that creeping feeling that they're doing something wrong" -him probably.

Johnny has BPD and hemophobia: This is what happens when you have a man floating in your mind rent free, you give him a person disorder. He just has bpd, and depending on the timeline he's either able to manage it or succumb. Also, I headcanon him with hemophilia, so one traumatic experience with him almost (or does if you want to go with ghost! Johnny) bleeding out, might make it so that he panics at the sight of blood.

Reginald has PPD and C-PTSD: Blame Terrance on this one guys. Terrance messed him up good, that Reginald still has nightmares over Terrance, and worries about betrayals or worse- Terrance 2.0 coming back.

RHM-Reborn has PTSD: ...who wouldn't after being cut in half?

Burt has autism: I dunno. I like that idea.

Jacob Rose has PPD: He thinks people are out to get him, mostly due to his association with Ellie and helping her on a few heists. He wants to leave it behind, and is terrified of his past catching up to him.

Bonuses:

I like the headcanon that Henry has selective mutism, but I don't think that's a neurodivergent thing. More of a symptom of autism. I didn't label him with autism because that's the one thing I have for him. I also don't believe he has kleptomania, he's just a greedy jerk.

Don't know/care about Right to think he has a form of autism. I think he's running from his past and feels guilt over it, which isn't neurodivergent.

Ellie is neurotypical, but I think she goes into a depressive episode during her time in the Wall. And her mental health takes a nose dive in TCW. However, since she only had one depressive episode, she doesn't get major depressive disorder, as that requires multiple depressive episodes in a short period of time without cause.

Hubert is just an ally.

And anyone else is either neurotypical or I haven't thought about it.

[fleeglefazbeagle]

Andrew Peterson(The Wolf) headcanons/AU info

(DISCLAIMER: I refer to The Wolf as "Andrew" for the sake of the AU. The other thing I'd like to mention while he does have certain disorders in the AU, that is NOT why he's evil, he's evil simply because he's evil, it is NOT simply because he has certain disorders, I would NEVER demonize someone because they have a certain disorder and you shouldn't too as they're still people like you and I at the end of the day. Please remember that when reading this.)

Bio:

•Goes by he/it pronouns(usually he/him but doesn't mind it/its).

•It is maverique, thingix and gender apathetic.

°He's also heteroflexible, ace-spec and aroflux.

•He's about 6ft tall.

•Has BPD, PPD, autism, OCD and some anger issues.

•Born in October 25th 1940.

General info(TW for death, neglect and murder under cut):

•When Andrew was a kid, it wanted to have a museum about dark and morbid stuff when he grew up.

°He also wanted to become an actor and a singer/musician too.

•Gangly mf with bad posture.

°Despite this, it mocks Lorenzo for their bad posture(fucking hypocrite).

•He and Marvin were childhood friends but after Marvin found Andrew's manifesto, the friendship ended.

•Very capable of murder.

•Andrew's reason for killing the Watermans was because he thought they were "undesirable, sappy freaks".

•It initially fell in love with Rosa(his wife) because he thought she was ok and all that but then over the years, Andrew got rather bitter because of a simple disagreement.

°Basically, Rosa thought Andrew was too harsh on the Watermans and the fact that he barely spends time with Ralph.

•Andrew is all about theatrics(he was a theatre kid).✨

•The only time Andrew had a crush on a man was Marvin but he never really confessed because when it initially gained that crush, it was during the time when homosexuality was not allowed, it was only a year after it was made legal he implied it to Marvin but Marvin didn't really have a crush on him back.

°They both understood and continued on as simply friends even with Andrew being a little bummed out.

•He never really got to bond with his father as he barely interacted(makes the whole thing with it barely spending time with Ralph even worse).

°As for his mother, she died when it was 4 but please note that she was a sweet woman. :(

•Considering his OCD, he would repeatedly tap his pen while counting in its head or tapping his fingers against the table in a similar vein to the Other Mother from Coraline at various moments whenever bored, thinking, excited or annoyed.

°He'd also double check everything to make sure it's all in working order and going according to plan.

°The finger tapping also doubles as a stim considering his autism.

•On the topic of stims; Aside from the tapping, Andrew would randomly ramble to himself with no particular reason(although that's not to say that's always the case), repeat certain phrases or feel various textures very slowly and carefully, almost gentle.

•When watching horror films with his(now former) friends, he'd commentate over them whenever it's in a joking way or a critical way.

°The others do join in on the jokes when it comes to horror films.

•He started killing in 1977(36 years old, nearing 37).

That's all I can think of for now, hope you enjoyed them.