#and what her request communicated to him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

em1i2a3 · 2 months ago

Note

can you do bob x reader where he sees us interacting with a child and it makes him want to be a father so bad?

It’s You I’m Thinking Of

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/ The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolt!Fem!Reader

Summary: Valentina organizes a PR event for the Thunderbolts and during the event Bob realizes that he may want more out of life than just saving the world.

Warnings: Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts because of Bob’s involvement and because some events are mentioned in passing. Fluff, a hint of Angst and an Established Relationship is at the forefront here.

Author's Note: Surprise, it’s double update day…Because I had this in my drafts and forgot to post it…YIKES. I found this to be so fluffy and cute to write! Thank you so much for the request! I loved writing this a lot!

Word Count: 3,805

Valentina had called it a “Visibility Effort,” which–as far as Bob was concerned–was just a polished way of saying: “I need people to stop thinking you guys are monsters, so go smile for the cameras and pretend you guys didn’t almost destroy New York City a year ago.”

The Thunderbolts had only just begun to scrape their way back into the public’s good graces after the Void. If grace could even be applied to a team that, not long ago, had been seen as volatile assets in containment rather than heroes in recovery. But Valentina didn’t care about semantics–she cared about optics. And what better way to scrub down their image than to host a carefully staged, feel-good community day in a public park–complete with banners, press kits, and security briefings disguised as media rundowns.

The day before, you and the rest of the team had been sweating under the sun, assembling the layout from the ground up. Tent poles groaned in the wind, tarps snapped against knuckles, and the oversized bouncy castle–more akin to a pop-up cathedral–took three hours to stabilize. It loomed over the field like a surreal monument to liability.

By sundown, the park had been transformed.

Face-painting booths stretched along the paved path like an art market in miniature, each tent hung with paper lanterns and garlands of plastic ivy. A ring toss area had been set up beside a small prize table, its wares still barcoded and smelling faintly of plastic and lemon cleaner. Further down, a row of food trucks idled along the lot’s edge, the air thick with fried batter and roasted peanuts, preparing for the next day. A banner, bold and hopeful, rippled above the main walkway: THUNDERBOLTS COMMUNITY GIVEBACK DAY!

The park was bustling before noon the next day.

Children darted between booths with faces half-painted and shoes untied. Parents loitered on benches, plastic cups of lemonade in hand, cautiously optimistic about letting their kids near a group of enhanced individuals who, six months ago, were being referred to as national liabilities. Still, smiles came easier than expected. The air smelled like kettle corn, sun-warmed vinyl, and freshly cut grass.

Valentina had positioned her pawns with precision, each member of the team slotted into a role meant to soften their image–familiar, friendly, safe.

Yelena was stationed at the face-painting table. She didn’t argue when she was assigned to it, though she rolled her eyes hard enough that everyone could basically hear it. Now, seated with a paintbrush balanced between her fingers, she looked…Focused. Delicate even. She painted dragons, daisies, and one incredibly accurate depiction of Bucky’s old Winter Soldier face paint layout. She didn’t say much unless spoken to, but the kids flocked to her. Her bluntness came off as hilarious to them. Her gentleness? Earned in silence.

Walker manned the obstacle course–one of the only areas Valentina trusted him not to overcomplicate. With his sleeves rolled up and clipboard tucked under his arm, he barked out encouragements that sounded suspiciously like bootcamp commands. But he was patient. He let kids redo the course as many times as they wanted. And when one boy tripped near the finish line, Walker helped him up without hesitation and whispered something that made the kid’s chest puff with pride.

Ava floated between stations like an unofficial supervisor. She had no designated role, but her presence was felt and it was heavy. She hovered near the cotton candy vendor long enough to be offered a free sample, then spent ten minutes helping a little girl reattach the wheel to her toy stroller. Ava didn’t smile often, but she kept her sunglasses off today. It mattered more than anyone would admit.

Alexei had placed himself right in the center of the park’s open lawn, surrounded by children wielding foam swords. He was absolutely in his element. Towering, loud, enthusiastic. He let them “ambush” him over and over again, dramatically collapsing onto the grass as they tackled him, crying out in mock defeat with every fall. When one kid asked if he was Santa, Alexei laughed so hard he nearly swallowed a whistle. He’d fashioned a red Thunderbolts cap to resemble something almost festive. No one stopped him.

Bucky was at the photo booth. Not because Valentina assigned it to him–but because he asked. Quietly. Just once. And when she raised a brow, he explained:

“Kids like the arm. Makes them feel like they’re meeting a real superhero.”

No one argued with that.

He stood beside the printed backdrop of a Thunderbolts mural, his vibranium arm resting lightly at his side. At first, only a few families came by. Then word got around. By midday, there was a line curling around the booth. Bucky posed with toddlers who clung to his leg, tweens who wanted to see if he could lift them with his arm alone, and teens who just wanted proof they’d stood next to him. He let them. All of them.

And you–you’d been running the craft tent since the gates opened. Low folding tables filled with paper crowns, pipe cleaners, sticker sheets, and markers with their caps long lost to time. You moved between projects with practiced ease, coaxing confidence out of even the shyest children. One girl in a purple tutu had stuck to your side all morning, proudly referring to you as “Miss Thunderbolt” like it was an official title.

Bob on the other hand…Wasn’t assigned a booth.

Valentina had called it a “strategic decision”–which meant don’t scare the kids. She hadn’t said it outright, of course, but Bob understood the subtext. The others had made peace with their reputations, learned how to bend their edges into something palatable. Bob’s problem wasn’t sharpness. It was scale. People didn’t look at him and see a man. They saw The Void. A storm in a body. The thing that turned Manhattan’s sky black almost a year ago. Or they saw him as Golden Boy Sentry, which he rarely presented himself as now because all of that was dormant since the incident, so he was just Bob, and unfortunately nobody was really interested in just Bob.

Except you of course.

You had grown extremely close to him throughout the time he was recovering from the incident. You would stay back from missions just to keep him company, and within those small moments, the two of you grew a bond and became inseparable.

It wasn’t dramatic. There was no big declaration, no kiss in the rain, no sweeping hand grab before battle. It was subtle–gentle, even. A shared quiet. The way you waited for him to speak on his own terms. The way you handed him warm drinks without comment and sat beside him on the floor of his room during the worst days, and just held him or smoothed his hair down. The way you always reached for his hand under the table when Valentina debriefed the team about “public image,” like you were grounding yourself in him, not the other way around.

It started with one date. A walk. A drink from the local coffee shop that you used two straws for. A movie you barely paid attention to because Bob had cried halfway through and apologized for it, and you’d told him, “I’d rather watch you feel something than watch the movie anyway.”

Now it had been nearly a year.

A quiet year. A healing one. A year where Bob–somehow–had begun to believe that maybe he wasn’t made just for disaster. Maybe he was allowed to want softness. Warmth. You.

So he stayed near you now, just like he always did. Even in the middle of this pastel-bright circus of a public relations stunt, even with the buzzing press cameras and the thunder of kids’ shoes over packed grass–he stood a few feet behind your tent. Watching quietly like he always did.

You didn’t need him to be part of the event. You didn’t ask him to engage. You just wanted him to be close and hover around you. And every so often, you’d glance over your shoulder and give him a little smile–soft, unhurried, like a tether that reminded him that he was still on your mind.

That’s what he was doing when it happened.

You were helping a child–maybe four, maybe five–cut out the outline of a star from glitter paper. She was sitting in your lap, legs swinging off the edge of the bench, her small fingers clumsy around the safety scissors. You guided her hands with your own, gentle and patient, your chin tucked down as you murmured something too soft for him to hear. The girl giggled. You smiled. And Bob felt something in his chest fracture.

It bloomed sharp and sudden, like a crack in glass that spiderwebbed behind his ribs before he could stop it. A low, aching pressure that pulsed under his skin and settled into his throat. He couldn’t look away from you. From the way the little girl leaned back against your chest, utterly content, while you helped her snip the edges of her glittery star. Your voice was low, your hand steady on hers, and when she got frustrated, you smiled and told her it was perfect just the way it was.

And the little girl–she believed you.

Bob watched her beam like she’d just won a medal, then twist to throw her arms around your neck. You hugged her back instinctively, without missing a beat, without needing to think about it.

And just like that, Bob saw it.

Not as a fantasy. Not as a warm, fuzzy, distant dream.

He saw you. Sitting in a living room. Soft lamplight across your shoulders. A child curled into your lap with a crayon clutched in one hand and a juice box in the other. Your hair a mess from the day, a blanket half-draped over both of you. And him in the doorway. Holding a book in his hand that he’d forgotten to read, too caught up in the simple, breathtaking fact that this was his life. That somehow, impossibly, he’d made it here.

His throat tightened.

The thought came quietly, like breath fogging glass:

He wanted this.

He wanted you. A child. A family. Not someday, not maybe. Just–yes. He wanted tiny shoes in the hallway. A swing set in a yard. A sleepy voice calling him Dad. He wanted your laughter in a kitchen filled with baby wipes and half-assembled toys. He wanted something that was his and yours and no one else’s.

But right on the heels of that beautiful, terrifying longing came something cold and heavy.

Fear.

He swallowed, hard.

His father’s voice echoed somewhere in the dark part of his memory–low, sharp, filled with the kind of disgust that was harder to forget than fists. He could still hear the way the floor creaked before a bad night. The sting of being told he was nothing. How love only showed up with bruises attached.

Bob’s stomach twisted.

What if I turn into him? He thought.

He didn’t think he would. He knew–rationally–that he wasn’t the same. He didn’t drink. He didn’t shout. He couldn’t even raise his voice without wincing at the echo. He loved gently. He loved softly. But fear didn’t care about facts. It sunk into his lungs anyway.

What if something in him broke? What if the Void came back and he couldn’t stop it? What if one day he opened his eyes and the sky was black again, and the only thing he’d ever loved was looking up at him, afraid?

He could never live with that.

Never.

And yet–

You turned slightly, and caught Bob’s eyes across the grass. You smiled at him–something so simple, so safe–and in that moment, the fear didn’t disappear, but it softened.

Because you weren’t afraid of him.

You’d never been.

Even on the days he didn’t like himself, you liked him. Even when he flinched at his own reflection, you reached for his hand and rested your chin on his shoulder. You didn’t see The Void. You didn’t see the Sentry. You just saw Bob–the man who carried your snacks in his hoodie pocket just in case you got hungry when you went out, who still got bashful when you looked at him for too long, who curled into you at night like you were the only thing that had ever made sense in his life.

Bob’s hand gripped the edge of the canopy pole beside him, just to ground himself.

He wanted to go to you right then and there just to say it. To whisper something clumsy like, “I want to build a life with you. A whole one. With glue-stained paper crowns and messy bedrooms and bedtime songs.”

But he stayed still.

Too scared to break the moment.

Too scared it might not be his to want.

—————————

Later, when the event was winding down, and the sky had shifted to gold and mauve and soft watercolor blues, Bob found you sitting on the grass alone near the now-abandoned craft table, peeling dried glue off your fingers and watching a few leftover kids chase bubbles across the park. He moved towards you slowly, and his looming presence immediately got your attention.

You stopped picking at the glue on your fingers and looked up at him instantly.

”Well, hey stranger.” Bob gave a quiet huff of a laugh at the greeting and smiled down at you, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets, “You gonna sit down or are you going to just stand there and stare?” You joked, patting the patch of open grass beside you. He hesitated for a second before lowering himself beside you, knees folding awkwardly in the grass. You watched him for a moment, then leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek–light, and lingering, your lips warm against the wind-chilled skin just below his eye.

“I haven’t been able to do that all day,” You said softly, almost teasing, but the affection behind it was unmistakable.

Before Bob could even respond, you leaned in and pressed another kiss to the corner of his jaw, then to his temple, and then one right between his brows where they had scrunched up, each kiss softer and slower than the last.

By the time you pulled back, Bob’s cheeks were as red as a rose, and they had become warm, and his smile had curled wide and helpless across his face, because to him your affections were always welcome.

”Y-You’re gonna make me explode,” He mumbled, voice thick with love as he turned to hide his burning face against the shoulder of his hoodie, “This is h-how I die.” He stumbled, looking over at you with those big blue eyes you couldn’t help but stare into every night.

“Death by affection sounds like a dream to me.” You laughed, slipping your hand up to cup his cheek, to turn his face towards yours so he was looking at you directly.

“Y-You know I’m a fragile m-man.” You snorted at his comment.

”I know Sentry is dormant but you’re technically the strongest person on Earth.” You said, giving him a knowing look. “I don’t think you’re fragile.” Bob gave a breathy little laugh, his pupils blown out from how close you were.

”Y-Yeah, well…D-Don’t flatter me too much…You’ll make me f-fall in love with you or s-something.” You raised your brows at him, seeing his cheeks go an even deeper red, “I-I mean–more. Like…More in love with you.” You smiled, so warmly it made his breath catch in his throat, you could hear it.

”Almost a year in,” You whispered, brushing your nose gently against his, “And you still get all flustered with me…I love it.”

And you kissed him–gently, fully, your mouth warm and sure on his. Bob melted. His whole body slackened like your kiss had pulled all the tension right out of him. He groaned quietly and let himself fall back into the grass with a helpless thump, hoodie riding up slightly at the hem, his eyes fluttering closed like he was physically overwhelmed. You laughed lightly and laid down beside him, turning your head so you were looking at him and all his glory, feeling his hand find yours, lacing his fingers between yours instantly.

The sky above you was dimming into deeper blues now, streaked with soft brushstrokes of pink and violet. The hum of the event had finally died out completely. You could still hear the occasional giggle of a child somewhere off in the distance, but for the most part, it felt like you two were the last ones left in the park. Like the whole day had been waiting to exhale.

Bob stared up at the clouds for a moment, before letting out a small sigh.

”C-Can I ask you something…Kind of b-big?” Your eyes studied him for a moment, tracing the way his brows furrowed gently, like he was already halfway to apologizing for whatever he was about to say. Like he was bracing himself to ruin something just by saying it.

“Of course,” You replied, your voice just above a whisper, slowly growing more and more concerned with each moment that passed in silence.

Bob just kept looking up at the sky like the words were written somewhere in the clouds and he just had to find them. His thumb rubbed slow circles against your knuckles.

”Have you ever thought about…Us?” He swallowed, “I mean–not just us, b-but more like…A family.” You raised your eyebrows slowly, turning onto your side so you could face him fully, still holding his hand, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I–I watched you today,” He whispered. “With that little girl in your lap. And it didn’t feel far away…It didn’t feel like someone else’s life. It felt like something I could…Want.”

Your heart gave a soft, aching pull at that.

“I want it,” He admitted, voice trembling. “I want it so bad it scares me. You, a kid–us. A home. Not perfect. Not polished. Just ours. Something warm. Something safe.”

You reached up and gently tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, your fingertips trailing along his temple. He leaned into the touch like it soothed something he couldn’t name.

“I want that too,” You said. “Not tomorrow. Not next week. But one day. When things are a little quieter, when the world doesn’t need us to carry it. I want that with you, Bob.” He nodded, like he was trying to let the hope settle in–but his eyes were still stormy at the edges.

“But what if…” He swallowed. “What if I’m not good at it? What if I…Mess it up l–like I always do? What if I hurt them? What if something in me snaps and I—”

“Hey,” You cut in gently, reaching up to cradle his cheek. “Look at me.”

He did, reluctantly, his blue eyes wide and full of unshed fear, tears filling up in the corners threatening to spill at any moment.

“You’re not like your father at all Bob, you’re not him.” You said, your voice steady and firm.

”Y-You don’t know that,” He whispered, his eyes glancing away at you, making you chase his gaze a bit so he could look at you.

”I do know that…Because I know you. Because I’ve watched you fall asleep holding my hand. Because you carry two different granola bar options in your hoodie pocket in case I want a choice. Because you always refill the toothpaste without me asking. Because when I’m upset, you don’t try to fix it–you just stay with me. Quietly. Constantly.” Bob blinked, his lip trembling ever so slightly.

“You don’t lash out, Bob. You lean in,” You said. “You don’t shut down. You open up, even when it scares you. You feel everything so deeply, and you never make anyone pay for it.” His brow furrowed and he looked down, overwhelmed, like he didn’t know what to do with the weight of that truth.

You brought his hand up to your lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, then whispered into the space between you:

“You already take care of me in a thousand tiny ways. You love gently. That’s why I trust you with my soul.”

He let out a shaky breath, and the hand that held yours tightened just a little more. He nodded faintly, like he was still catching up to the truth you’d handed him–like he wasn’t sure if he deserved it, but he was holding it anyway.

You reached up, your thumb brushing delicately at the corners of his eyes, wiping away the tears that had gathered without pressure or embarrassment. Just care.

“You cry so pretty, you know that?” You whispered, a little playful, attempting to lift the mood just a bit.

Bob let out a short, breathy laugh–surprised and soft. “Th-That’s not a real thing.”

“It is when you do it,” You smiled, leaning closer, your voice light but laced with everything you meant. “You’re beautiful when you feel things.”

He looked at you like you’d just handed him a future and told him it already belonged to him. Like no one had ever said that to him before–and he wasn’t sure he’d ever recover from it.

You leaned in and kissed him, slow and sure, lips pressed to his like you had time. Like you weren’t afraid to show him just how loved he was.

And when you pulled back, your forehead stayed pressed against his, your breath brushing his lips as you whispered:

“You’d be the safest place a little soul could ever grow.”

Bob let out another shaky breath, and this time he smiled–full, unguarded, like something inside him had just settled for the first time.

“Only if it’s with you,” He said quietly.

You nodded, your fingers lacing tighter with his.

“Then we’ll build it,” You whispered. “Slow and messy and ours.”

And beneath a darkening sky painted with stars and leftover laughter, you lay together in the grass, your future unfolding between your palms like something sacred.

Just warm.

Just real.

Just home.

2K notes · View notes

landoughnut · 1 month ago

Text

Obsessed - MV1

masterlist - request

pairing: max verstappen x fem!reader

summary: when the tough, harsh, four-time world champion is in love

w/c & a/n: smau | im thirsty for max smaus

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo, carlossainz55, lando, and 4,682,561 others maxverstappen1 how is she real (she's prettier than every sunset)

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user1 I actually cantttt 🥹 the way the only thing max posts besides f1 stuff is her

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pierregasly you need to stop with these posts man you're making me look bad

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maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, lando, charles_leclerc, redbullracing, and 5,429,630 others maxverstappen1 the ducks are us

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yourusername MAXXX OMG YOU ARE SO CUTE I MIGHT CRY 🥹 I LOVE YOU ♥︎ by author

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user8 guys this isn't funny anymore when will I find a guy who takes pretty pictures of me and says that we are two adorable ducks

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oscarpiastri aesthetic max 🔓 ♥︎ by author

alex_albon lily would like me to ask if you are ever up for... a... double... date

yourusername YES YES YES YES YES YES

maxverstappen1 well since my lady is so keen on the idea, sure

user11 "my lady" SCREAMINGGG AWWW

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maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, victoriaverstappen, danielricciardo, and 9,246,348 others maxverstappen1 soon to be mrs verstappen 💙

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victoriaverstappen AHHHHHH SCREAMING RIGHT NOW CONGRATULATIONS GUYS OMG ♥︎ by author

yourusername THANK YOU VIC I LOVE YOU SMMMM

danielricciardo AYYYYY FINALLY CONGRATS GUYS I HELPED HIM MAKE THE RING ♥︎ by author

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charles_leclerc NOOOOO LESTAPPENNNNNN

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charles_leclerc I'm just joking congratulations guys ❤️

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user16 MAX IS GOING TO BE MARRIED??!?!??!?!?

user17 and the hottest couple award goes to them 😫

alex_albon congrats! you guys are adorable ♥︎ by author

kikagomes MY GIRL IS ENGAGED OMGGG

kikagomes the middle pic 😍

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user18 HELLO??? IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THE ABSOLUTE ROCK ON HER FINGER??

user19 sis that ain't a rock thats a whole boulder

user20 the way it literally doesn't even dent his bank

francolapinto congratulations! ♥︎ by author

yourusername gracias francoooo 🥳

carlossainz55 felicitaciones a la pareja más hermosa 🙌 ♥︎ by author

maxverstappen1 thanks carlos 😊

user21 max using emojis is uncanny

yourusername carlossainz55 GRACIASSSS CARLITOSSSSS

lando I better be at this wedding.

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user23 what is up with them recently 😭 they're so feisty I love it

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maxverstappen1 I know ☺️

schecoperez FELICIDADES AMIGOS ♥︎ by author

maxverstappen1 thank you checo 😁

yourusername you are too handsome for your own good, you know that? ♥︎ by author

maxverstappen1 nahhh you're the one who's too ethereal

lando maxverstappen1 sid 🦥

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yourusername maxverstappen1 don't worry love, your title will be upgraded to husband soon enough 💕 ♥︎ by author

maxverstappen1 yourusername I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing that 😍

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eccentricallygothic · 9 months ago

Text

Apology Boy

Description: Paul finally apologizes for the scar(s) he gave you when he saw you for the first time.

Pairing: Paul Lahote | Human mate!You.

Warning(s): Paul's anger, possible past angst, fluff, Paul is a crazed mess for you, size kink (duh), imprinting/mates, abo!verse but you're human, possessiveness, fingering, cunnilingus (worship), breeding kink, licking, biting, smut with plot because oh God I can never stop myself, teasing, pet names, unprotected p-in-v, overstimulation, manhandling, light dom!Paul because I am still me. MDNI.

Type: Request, for the sweet @wishyouloveme, here.

MASTERLIST

Just like any other day.

. . .

It hit Paul like a freight train and caused sweat to form in ice cold drops on his otherwise warm skin. He had just returned from patrol with Embry and was spread over Emily's dining table whilst stuffing his face with the food she had cooked for them. Everything was fine and dandy. It was a pleasant day and the weather was nice and cool. Soon, he would be done with his daily obligations and then he would go home.

But then Sam came up behind Emily who was standing next to her mate's seat at the head of the table, one hand on the frame and other on her hip as she listened to Seth drone on and on about something that Paul's voice refused to register due to what unfolded next.

The pack leader's strong arms snaked around the waist of his delicate lover as he nuzzled his nose into her hair until the tip had found its way past the dark strands and against her tender cheek until it was caressing and tracing the scars he had left on her.

All blood drained from Paul's skin and something in his head clicked. His surroundings faded to a dim buzz and the next few moments went by in a blur.

And then he was standing in front of home.

“Paul!” You yelp in surprise at the sight of your nude lover. He usually dresses himself at Sam's house after patrols before coming home to you.

Since you are human and your initial experience with the pack had both been overwhelming -thanks to your lover imprinting on you the first chance he was given- and traumatizing -as said lover who was much worse at controlling his primal urges back then had lost control at the sight of you because he was so overcome with raw, foreign emotion he did not know how to process-, you prefer to keep by yourself near the outskirts of the community in a house that Paul had moved in with you upon your request.

The pack life is simply too loud and… public for you; a city girl used to her secluded places and treasured privacy.

You notice that Paul is panting -which is very unlike him due to his superhuman strength- and a redness outlines his eyes when his huge form approaches yours. “Are you— Paul!” You gasp and nearly flinch from both the shock and impulse when he lets his heavy body collapse on its knees in front of you. “What the hell happen—” you never know with your hyper emotional mate.

His long fingers push your sweater up and out of his way so he can stroke the soft skin of your stomach with the tip of his nose, his head nuzzling into your chest as his dark eyes flutter close and he inhales a deep whiff of your scent. It is the only thing that never fails to calm your hot blooded lover down.

“What's wrong?” Your voice lowers to a concerned mumble as you peer down at him, your fingers cradle the dusky skin of his handsome face -as much of it as you can reach- and your nails rake through the male's jet black mass of short hair. “Honey?” He only behaves like this if something went wrong or when he is in need of comfort, which are both rare occurrences as he is the usual caretaker in your relationship. But you aren't a complete stranger to him acting like this.

Ever the uncommunicative one, the male only sighs— no, whimpers against your skin as if he's wounded and softly feels your skin with gentle caresses of his fingers. Words require thought, patience and wisdom. Unfortunately, Paul's instinctual mind runs too fast for those things to catch up with it in time and rash actions get carried out before better sense can supply him from its store.

“Paul…” A shiver runs down your spine when his lips that had begun to softly peck your navel find their way up your stomach before they halt to ghost over the healed, plum coloured lesions that stretch across your tender skin in menacing shapes akin to claw marks. “What are you doing?” Though he never mentions or discusses it verbally due to the guilt he feels, sometimes Paul becomes hyper aware of the scars of his unmediated passion that mar your skin and tries to make up for them in his own wordless ways.

Except, this only ever happens when you're underdressed or the two of you are indulging in activities typical to couples and the sight of them reminds him of their cause. He has never stormed into the house stark naked and marched up to you like an unreadable oversized pup on the brink of tears like this.

“I am sorry.” You nearly jump due to how unexpected the sound of his words are. Usually he just sulks in silence. “Baby, I am so sorry” Paul never speaks when he is in one of these moods. Especially when he is experiencing bouts of guilt for his actions during his first encounter with you. “Oh, God” his body grows heavy against yours as he practically pushes his face into the crevices like he wants to become one with them and fill them back up to their original state with parts of himself.

“Paul— oof!” Your smaller body yields to his weight and the ground slips from underneath your feet. “D- Did the guys say something?” You fear the worst as Paul's protective hands catch you before your back can hit the wooden ground and you cannot help but whimper from how his lips lock with the scars in thick, desperate and hurried apologetic kisses.

Paul and his pack mates play rough and sometimes they go too far with the teasing. So though he clings to the tough guy act in front of them, he dismantles into you once he is home if their words ever get too far. Yes, the tussling and fighting is not enough if it's serious. And just sometimes, when it gets too much for him to bottle it up, he shares some of it with you. But most often not, since he knows how you feel about the pack and he does not like to worry you.

“I am sorry it has taken me this long to say it out loud, baby… but I am so sorr—”

“Paul, hey, look at me” but he refuses to detach himself from your skin in his shame, his big hands safely holding your whole body up against his. “You don't have to—” you cannot help it, you hate to see him like this when you know how badly he regrets it. You hate for him to hurt.

“But I do” he nearly growls against your skin, his fingers tightening on your hips to brace himself against the war in his head. “There’s not a day that goes by where I don't regret it.”

“But you didn't do it on purpose, baby” you sigh when he refuses to let you see him. Your fingers try to pry his stubborn face upwards. “And you worked and improved for us, didn't you, hm?” Your eyes earnestly search for his. “Don't sell yourself so short.” One of your hands rubs his tense shoulders to try and ease their guilt-stricken stiffness.

“All the same” ever the stubborn knucklehead. “I should have done this a long time ago. But I was selfish and I was afraid that if I verbally mentioned it…” He hesitates and the love you behold for him renders you helpless against a burning urge to reassure him.

“My love—”

“I was scared you'd get reminded of it and…” He takes a deep breath and then gulps down the bile in his throat, blinking back tears. “L- Leave me…” Paul's voice is barely a whisper and your heart breaks at how vulnerable he sounds. “And I am such an asshole for it because it had more to do with my fear of you leaving me than you reliving your trauma…”

“Paul…” You blink and try to focus, but his warm gropes and caresses falter your steam of thought.

“I love you, I really do, so much” he peeks up at you just a little, dark eyes frightened for the first time since the day he scarred you. “Please forgive me. I don't ever want to lose you. I know what I did was irreversible but I swear I'll spend the rest of my life fixing it… if you'll let me.” You shake your head.

Does he really think there's an off chance that you will leave?

“Paul” when you cup the side of his face, he hides into your stomach again. “Hey,” you try to duck your face closer to his. make him look at you. “Look at me” your intended request comes out an order due to all the emotions you feel. “I forgave you a long time ago. That's the reason why I am still here” you finally manage to place your forehead against his, making your breaths mingle with his. “I love you more, so much more.” He opens his mouth to drone so you beat him to it.

“Now shut up and kiss me.”

Paul is taken aback at your demand, his widening eyes prove it. But as surprising as it may be for him, this isn't something that was unresolved for you until today -unlike him- so you aren't as overwhelmed with angst. Because your mate has proven his love, devotion and worthiness of you through his actions over the course of your relationship. He has shown you that he loves you and that he is sorry for what he did.

If anything, his innocently intimate and lovestruck worship of your body has fired it up instead of making it sentimental.

And so you want him.

Bad.

“But—”

“No buts. Kiss me.” You are breathless as you urge him to do so, your hands try to pull his face closer into yours although in vain because his bigger and stronger form remains unbudging.

Paul's eyes search yours for assurance. “... Yes, ma'am” he whispers once finds it and the next thing you know, you're being pounced down onto the floor with his arms cased around you to protect you from the impact.

And though you always feared that him getting physical in this manner would trigger you, you giggle against his mouth that he drags across your chest and up your throat to clamp onto yours. Your arms circle around his broad shoulders and instead of trying to repel him -like you suspected you would despite having grown to trust him now- you pull him closer as you whimper into the tender yet hungry kiss, feeling your legs climb the lower half of his body instinctively.

“Paul~” you needily blabber against his tongue that he uses to enjoy the sweetness of your mouth, his balmy lips enveloping everything your mouth has to offer in tight, big kisses. “Mm~” your chest aches from the strain the lack of oxygen puts on your lungs but your sparking nether regions only scoot closer to his that you feel riling up against yours, your hips grinding against his and limbs tightening around his rock hard body.

“Mine” he growls against your mouth when he has no choice but to pull apart at last, his coarse fingers groping you in greedy handfuls while peeling away any fabric that hurdles their path to your skin. “All mine” you moan at the feeling of his teeth grazing against the tender skin of your boobs that he sprays with kisses and licks. “God, mouse, I love you so much” the strength he puts into pushing everything you wear on your upper body away from it leaves you breathless. You love the thrill you feel when his touch feels like he is on the horizons of the dangers he is capable of. When he is so worked up and desperate that he cannot help but get rough because your sweet sweat and arousing body heat fires him up the way it does. You are addicted to the sight of him not giving in to his beastly impulses despite all that because he loves you so much. It is scary, yes. But it turns you on too.

“I love you too, Paul” though he likes to act cocky and all-knowing most of the time, you know he needs to hear it too. Underneath all that knucklehead play fighting and manhandling of his, he needs reassurance just as much as the next person and though he tries not to burden you as his different lifestyle is hard enough for you as it is, you don't have to be part wolf to feel him and hear his heart.

“You're so perfect…” The way he peppers wet kisses along your cheekbone whilst relieving you of the rest of your clothing causes for your eyes to flutter close to cherish the tingling feeling that sparks your body alight. “Just—” when you try to reach for him to also make it enjoyable for him, he plants your hands above your head and softens your confused pout with a kiss. “Just let me take care of you today, yeah? Don't worry about anything.”

“But— oh!” He reaches for the mating mark that sits on the right side junction of your neck where a she-wolf's mating glad would be. And though you lack the physical features to feel him through it, the meaning that it holds for Paul serves as a bridge for the biological gap. “Oh…” You turn your head sideways to rub your cheek against his shaved one, your hips roll into his hand that dips between your legs and you shudder against Paul's hot tongue that drags across the impressions of his teeth that crevice your skin.

“Taste so fuckin' sweet, baby” there is a strain in Paul's voice because of how much strength it is taking him to hold himself back from impaling you full of his cock right there. “So perfect” the lower half of his body leaps down so he can rub his bare erection against the softness of your leg.

You moan at the feeling. “Paul,” you whisper into his hair, the feeling of his sharp teeth causing for slick to sizzle up to your entrance from the inside. He growls out a quiet yes, baby against the mark, one hand constantly caressing the dents running along the width of your stomach. “Don't hold back” you go to touch his rock hard cock and he grunts in denial, seizing your wrist in his fingers faster than you can blink.

His face comes up to dominate your vision. “No, mouse, tonight is all about you” another kiss squishes out any protest you can form and when his invasive tongue has your nostrils flared from the breathlessness, Paul drags it down your writhing body in the company of heavy pecks until his mouth is between your thighs and he is propping one up with a broad shoulder and the other with his hand that isn't occupied with caressing the evidence of his temper.

“Paul—!” He knows how shy you get when he is between your legs like this.

But it's not his fault you taste so fulfilling.

“Sh, little mouse, you're perfect” he kisses any and all insecurities away with gentle kisses, the hand that cases one of your thighs stroking the tender inside with its thumb. “And you taste so good too” he takes his time worshiping your pelvis, deliberately leaving out your pussy to save the best for last. And though you pretend to disapprove and whine for him to come back up and just fuck you instead, his soft kisses that vibrate into your skin every time he moans at the feeling of your nether skin touching his slightly chapped lips, you find yourself helplessly crying out for more at the end.

“Paul, please!” You feel his mouth twist into a smirk and your hands dart to finger his thick hair to withstand the sensation of his mouth hovering over your petals.

“Please what, mouse?” You roll your eyes at the taunt in his voice.

“Please touch me!” Your fingers impatiently tug at his short strands and he grins.

“Oh, mouse, but I am touching you” you whine and his shoulders vibrate under your knees from his devilish mirth.

“Y- You know what I mean!” Though your cheeks are already aflush, you feel new heat seep underneath the layers of the reddened skin.

“Mmm, but I thought you wanted me to—”

“Paul!” You desperately whine and he lets out a deep cackle.

“Fine, geez” he is so mean when he gets smug. You go to scowl down at him but he takes the mound between your legs in a deep handful and feels the slit between your petals in a vertical caress of his thumb before you do and you end up letting out a loud moan instead. “Needy much?” You bite your lip and wantonly roll your hips closer to his mouth. “Tsk, tsk. Impatient little mouse…” The tip of his digit presses between your nether lips that are dusted with pearly discharges of your arousal and a cherry red flush and your hips buck in anticipation. “You're lucky that you're so pretty and I like you so much…” Your spine trembles in your skin when you feel the coarse skin of his thumb against your ultrasensitive folds. “Because I typically don't appreciate things so small ordering me around…” Your back arches when he finally sticks the hot tip of his tongue between your nether lips.

“Oh…” You feel your toes curl. “More, please, Paul, more.”

He is so enchanted by your sweet scent and addictive taste that he is ignorant to anything that isn't your body. “But you, my dear mouse, you're something else…” His strong hands take your ass in them and he firmly kneads the plump skin, talking pretty much over you with a lust-drunken madness. You mewl out a moan at the feeling and Paul growls at the sound you make, pulling you closer to his mouth as he presses an open kiss to your pussy. “Fuck,” he groans and licks his lips that glisten from your slick, his own tip leaking at the taste of you. “I've never tasted anything like you before and I sure as hell am never gonna get tired of it.”

“Paul!” you cry out when his tongue twirls against your entrance, his nose rubbing against your clit to caress it with the tip as he begins to eat you out.

His growl that vibrates your soaked folds to a buzzing life causes your eyes to roll to the back of your head. “Paul” you moan breathlessly, his name turning to a prayer as you tremble on the verge of releasing more slick.

“Gimme that sweet cum, baby, let me taste it” your lips part and you can't help but arch into his mouth with need. His hands are merciless, the one on your ass kneads it with rough gropes as the other massages the underside of your thighs in broad, determined strokes. You moan and writhe against him, your vision blurring at the hot waves that take over your body.

“I am gonna— oh, Paul!” He moans against you as you tremble and then release more even slick into his mouth. His tongue is in heaven as he greedily licks up all he can get.

“Fucking hell, baby” the grainy tip of his tongue pokes and prods at your entrance, working the little hole open. “I can't wait to stuff this pretty little pussy full of my pups.”

“Mmm, oh fuck, Paul, oh fuuuck” when he finally penetrates the tight barrier and his hot tongue invades your sensitive cavern, the burning knot between your hips gets tighter. Paul moans at the feeling of your delicate walls and though the vibrations of his doing so shakes you to your core, you cannot help but greedily wrap your legs around his head to both stay in place and withstand the pleasure.

“Oh, God, Paul, ’m so close!” Your voice is a breathless mewl and he growls at the vulnerable sound, his cock hurting from need. “Oh, fuck” you tremble so badly that you'd collapse into the ground if your knees weren't propped up by your mate's shoulders. “Oh fuck, oh fuck” Paul’s jaw flexes against your thighs when he begins to fuck you with his tongue, one hand fumbling for your cunt before he tickles the hood with his thumb. Your back arches and you clench your eyes shut, your chest heaving as you gasp out his name.

“Tsk, tsk, mouse” his hot breath fans your sensitive folds and you can't help but whimper at the feeling of his middle finger replacing his tongue. “You need to relax.” His hand that holds your ass pats your cheek in an endearing yet condescending way and your whole body tenses up at the touch even more. “I'm gonna take care of you, baby” you cannot help but rock your hips to his finger stretching your insides out against it. “You're mine and I'll never let you get hurt again, I promise” he croons before pressing a tender kiss to your clitorial nub. “You know that, right?” He kisses the slick covered inside of your thigh next to soothe your shaking body. “Tell me you know you're mine” his possessive words make the heat between your legs to go haywire.

“I am yours, Paul” you breathlessly promise him before letting out a moan when he tickles your folds with his tongue in a praising manner, satisfaction breaking out on his handsome face at your obedience.

“Good mouse” he begins to lap at your nub and your walls tense around his finger as a result, causing for your slick to slosh from the opening and down Paul's hand. “Shh, mouse, easy now” he cooes to get you to relax because of how tightly you are clenching yourself and it only gets worse when he adds a second finger. Your hips are so tight. You are on the edge. “You're gonna let me take care of this cute little pussy, aren't you?” You whimper at the feeling of being stuffed full and being licked at the same time.

“Y- Yes, Paul!” The air is heavy with the smell of slick and the sound of him slurping your juices up.

He adds a third finger and you nearly burst into tears from the pleasure. “Oh God, Paul, I am gonna cum!” Your entrance burns from the stretch and you moan from the bittersweet discomfort. “Please, lemme cum! Wanna cum so bad! Please, please!” Your submissive side comes out because of how overwhelmed you are and Paul can cum from the fragility of your voice right here.

“Hold it for me, mouse, good girl, c'mon” you sob at his cruel denial and he closes his lips around a mouthful of your folds, soundfully sucking at the clammy skin as he speeds his hand up to practically hammer your trembling pussy into an orgasm. Your toes curl and you throw your head back, fingers tugging at his hair as you tremble violently against him. Your back arches from how his free hand pinches and twists your nipples, softly landing occasional smacks to your boobs. “Good girl. I know you can take it” his hand then comes down to massage your ass cheek to make for a better stretch. “Relax, baby” you sob out his name and he smiles against your quivering core, his cheek gently caressing the inside of your thigh to get you to loosen up a little because you are clenching so hard.

“You're doing good, mouse. So good” his lips buzz against your clit. “Take it, baby, take it” your walls twitch against his coarse digits. “That's a good girl” he praises you while continuing to stuff your pussy with his fingers, the feeling of being filled up to the brim causing for you to shake and tremble violently. “That's my good girl” his tongue licks your clit as his fingers curve inside of you to search for your sensitive bundle of nerves that always makes you let out the sweetest of melodies.

“I'm gonna— I can't anymore, Paul!” Neon shapes cloud your vision when his fingers graze your sensitive spot and he growls at the feeling of your walls convulsing around his fingers.

“Yeah, baby. You can cum now” he finally relents and you cry out from the joy. “My little mouse, give me that sweet cum” his mouth never stops moving against you and you are so overcome with emotion that you are not sure if the tears that are streaming down your cheeks are due to pleasure or pain. “Gimme it, mouse. Gimme it” his tongue is like a beast that eats you up to satiate its starvation. You cry out his name from the pleasure.

“Paul! Paul, Paul— oh god!” The tongue is too much, though it gives you everything you could ask for at the moment, you need to escape. But when you try to pull away Paul catches your hips and holds you in place.

“Now, where do you think you're going, little mouse?” There is a beastliness to his voice.

“N- No, Paul! No more—” you don't get to finish your plea because his mouth clamps down on your sensitive flesh to suckle on it in big, eager kisses again and your heart threatens to burst through your chest.

“Oh fuck” the knot between your legs tightens so hard you cannot maintain it anymore. Vertigo breaks through your hearing. “Oh— Paul!” The orgasm takes over your whole body, your mind blurs from the burst of sensation that courses through your blood and everything turns into a euphoric mess. “O- Oh God…” You tremble from the aftershock and Paul groans when he feels you squirt. He releases your hips and you fall back onto the floor, your body too weak to withstand its own weight. “O- Oh fuck…” You're breathless and your body feels like jelly. “Paul, oh Paul…” Your fingers desperately try to reach for him like you're no older than a baby and you notice that he is stroking his hurting cock because of the need to bury his knot in you, a pained expression etched across his face. “P- Paul, I am ready” though you can barely speak, your body shakes from the need to be filled up by him.

“Mouse… are you sure?” Though his voice strains from the painful need, he prioritizes your comfort over his and your heart wells up.

“Y- Yes” you try to sit up. “Fill me up, please” he needs no more encouragement after that. With a low growl, he jumps onto you and you feel the tip of his cock press against your entrance in a heated caress that makes you whine, your body even forgetting to yelp from how he pounces on you.

“I'll never hurt you again, mouse” he whispers into your ear as he buries his nose into your hair, cock throbbing between your legs. You gasp when he enters you in a quick thrust that makes for all the air to bolt out of your lungs. “I promise.” You tremble in his hold and Paul groans at the feeling.

“I know” his mouth clamps down on the mating mark upon hearing your whisper and he slowly stretches your pussy to fit around his erection that even after all that fingering is still too big for your tiny cunt. The overstimulation causes for stars to form in your vision. His cock twitches inside you and he growls, the tip of his tongue tickling your nape in need.

“That's a good girl, baby” the hand that cups the side of your face tenderly strokes your cheek. “Relax for me” when your walls finally adjust to his log-like girth, Paul grins against the mating mark. “You're doing so good for me” the thrust of his hips causes for his cock to rub against your sensitive spot and your eyes roll to the back of your head with the feeling. “There's my good girl. You take my cock so well.” He releases his bite, hips pistoning up and down between your legs as he baby talks to you and strokes your hair to comfort you against the overstimulation that makes you whine.

“Paul!” You tremble as he fucks you in slow, long strokes and you cannot help but cry out his name in need.

“I'm here, baby. I got you” he murmurs into your hair and you moan at the baritone of his voice. “Take this cock, baby, you got it” he pants as his fat cock slides in and out of you. Then he suddenly grunts and readjusts you in his hold because the position is not comfortable enough for you and he can feel it. “God, you're so perfect.”

“I love you, Paul” you murmur into his ear, your hips lazily rolling against his as you hold him tight.

“I love you more” the latter part of his sentence turns into a growl due to his struggle with the positioning and he collects your limp form in his. “And I can do this better” though he roughly pushes your bodies off the floor to head for the bedroom, his fingers subconsciously caress your back in gentle strokes to make up for how your bare skin rubbed into the floor during the ordeal. You whine from how his heavy sack puts a strain on your entrance where your bodies connect as he does so. He cooes praise and reassurance in your ear as comfort, peppering your mouth with gentle kisses.

The next morning when he leaves for patrol in a black tank top and some shorts, there is a shy grin on his face as he looks back at the door one last time to wave you goodbye. You blush and return the gesture, biting your lip like it's the morning after your first time with each other.

“Geez, man, not the dreamy eyes!” A groan sounds from somewhere in the woods and you gasp before ducking behind the door. Chuckles and howls follow.

The jerk brigade has arrived.

“Someone get these two a room!” You recognize Jake's voice and shake your head as you peek outside from behind your shield. “Oh, wait, they did that already!” You cannot help but snort when you see that Paul has begun to jog in the direction of the voices. “In light of how the whole town learnt all the ways in which Paul's name can be moaned last night” uh, oh. That's not going to be good. Your lover is very private and sensitive about you as it is and when someone tries to pry or joke about matters of this sort he does not appreciate it. Especially if it's his hormonal friends that he knows too well. “Paul, Paul, oh, Paul!” Your cheeks burn in embarrassment and Paul snarls before he flings his shirt off and jumps into the air, transforming into his beastly form midway and disappearing into the woods to attack the offendor.

You see the great trees shake from the tussle that you can practically visualize behind them and the encouraging howls of Paul's pack mates further confirms it. They love to get a rise out of your easily excitable boyfriend and he loves to put them in their place, being the strongest after Sam. Their crossing of each other's boundaries for the sake of fun used to concern you in the beginning but Paul himself assured you that that was just how they played and it was not coming from a bad place.

So you wait for the ferocious crowd to move further away into the jungle that surrounds your house before you walk down to the dirt road to collect his clothing with a lighthearted shake of your head. A smile graces your lips as you do so and you cannot help but graze the now covered scars that your superhuman lover gave all his love to last night.

Though it will be a while before he does, you cannot wait for him to come back home to you.

. . .

I am sorry if it sucks omg I really hope you like it <3

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majestyeverlasting · 3 months ago

Text

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

This piece contains 18+ content

pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader

summary After stumbling across Eddie’s intimate drawings of you, you’re left reeling, but what unfolds that night is less about the pictures and more about the trust and closeness they force to the surface. [contains fluff, artsy eddie who's a little rough around the edges, nude drawings, smut | wc 5.8k]

a/n based on this request by the lovely @valinherfantasyworld

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Under the hum of fluorescent lights, you stand waiting as a small fan rotates to blow air your way. The gas pumps outside had been empty, but the open sign held enough promise for you to mosey on in. With a sigh, you reach out to hit the top of the dainty silver call bell for the second time. The checkout counter is dotted with planetary and extra-terrestrial figurines. Old, peeling stickers are stuck to the wood as well.

It isn’t lost on you that you could bypass paying for the trail mix and jerky and walk out the door. The intrusive thought comes just as Nelson bursts from the break room with his famously grizzled beard. His shoes squeak against the sticky floor as he hobbles to his place behind the counter with considerable reliance on his scuffed, wooden cane. When he sits on the stool, air expels from the cushion in a low, high-pitched whine.

“My apologies,” he tilts his head to look at you from over the top of his chunky glasses. The prescription is so high that it makes his hazel eyes look larger than they are.

You shake your head in dismissal as you push Wayne’s snacks towards him with a polite smile. He punches the prices into the cash register with practiced ease. His fingers move quickly and precisely like a starved bird pecking the ground for food.

“No help today?” you ask.

Nelson puffs an exasperated breath. “That Henderson kid’s supposed to be here,” he says. “Runnin’ late ‘cause of math club.”

You hum, trying not to smile when he mutters something about priorities and the youth these days.

“Need a bag?” He puts the snacks in one before you can answer. “Say, aren’t you dating the Munson boy?”

“Only for the past six months,” you lightheartedly quip.

Nelson seldom asked a question he didn’t know the answer to. Everybody in Hawkins shopped at Boone’s Quick Mart, whether they wanted to or not. Convenience trumps luxury any day, and there’s nothing quite like Southern hospitality wrapped in a Midwestern package.

As a pillar in the community for the past thirty years, Nelson Boone knows who’s who and what’s what—Tina Johnson’s divorce from her wandering-eyed husband, Jaden Rockwell’s C+ on his report card, the McNulty family’s move to Boise. This is a man who sees and hears all.

He meets your gaze with his googly eyes. “So you heard about what happened to him last night?”

A small stone of worry drops into your gut. “Something happened?”

Nelson looks at you from over his glasses again, a thrilled smirk playing on his lips. “Something? Hell, I reckon he saved my ass from getting killed.”

The spark of excitement that curls in his tone reminds you of his tendency to stretch the truth just enough to make eyes widen and jaws drop a little faster. You bar yourself against the bait in hopes he’ll be more stripped and forthcoming. It works, if the way his shoulders relax is any clue.

“Guy from outta town comes in all big and bad, demanding I empty the register,” he starts. “Meanwhile, Munson’s in the back near the pop. All I’m thinking at this point is, I should’ve gone ahead and made those revisions to my will like I was planning to—”

“What did Eddie do?” you cut in.

Nelson clears his throat. “Long story short, the guy whips out some kind of folding knife, they scuffle for a bit, then Munson knocks the rest of buddy’s screws loose.”

“What?” Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead.

“Scout’s honor,” Nelson says, holding up three fingers. “He didn’t mention it?”

You blink a few quick times as worry swirls within you. “Haven’t seen him in a few days.”

Nelson shifts on the stool and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a meaty finger. “Well, that kid’s got the biggest pair in all of Hawkins, I tell you what.” He laughs a quick bark of a sound that sends him into a brief coughing fit. “Imagine that, though. Me dying in ‘88, the year of our Lord.”

“Imagine that,” you murmur.

You place the money on the counter with buzzing fingers and blood rushing in your ears.

•••

Wayne’s truck is the only vehicle parked out front when you arrive at the trailer. The grass is greener, and the small flower bed Eddie helped you plant is vibrant and thriving. Before Spring settled, you’d told both Munsons that nurturing their slice of Hawkins could give them something to feel proud of. They’d taken it to heart.

Though neither would ever admit it to your face, you’d come into their life and transformed it from grayscale to technicolor.

As a breeze rustles through the surrounding trees, the early evening sun ventures closer towards the horizon.

When the front door pushes open with a dull creak, Wayne looks up from where he’s wiping crumbs off the small kitchen table nestled beside the window. He’s in jeans and an old tee that’s loose around the collar. A smile pulls at his lips as you pad inside.

“Thought that was you,” he says. “What’s this?” Wayne peeks into the bag as you set it on the table.

“Special delivery.”

“Told ya you ain’t gotta go outta your way for me like this.” He shakes his head with a sigh, but you know he’s grateful.

“Saves you an extra stop before work, right?” You gently nudge his shoulder.

“Thanks, darlin.’” After walking the towel back over to the sink, he catches the hint of concern in your eyes as you linger near the table.

“Everything alright?”

You open your mouth a couple of times. “Is Eddie okay?”

Wayne’s gray eyebrows furrow. “Yeah. I mean, he’s Eddie.” He chuckles. “You just missed him. Called about five minutes ago and said something about getting off a little later than usual.”

You frown. “So that’s why he hasn’t made it in.”

Wayne hums a sound of confirmation. “Said he could meet you at Benny’s at six, though,” he says. “Also mentioned something about the lake. Asked you to bring his camera.”

At the very least, the man’s words assure you that the events of last night hadn’t been as bad as you made them out to be in your mind.

•••

The next hour passes with a slow, Hawkins kind of ease. When you push into Eddie’s bedroom in search of his camera, the air smells like him: pinewood with a faint, smokey undertone. All things considered, the space is tidier than it’s been over the past couple of weeks.

The open surfaces are no longer strewn with random receipts and wrappers. All his fantasy figurines are organized with a greater sense of intentionality. Even the Iron Maiden poster, whose corner once slouched off the wall, has now been readhered.

Leave it up to Eddie to make order out of chaos again and again.

You locate the Nikon on his dresser in seconds. The frame counter rests a few notches before 1, and after a brief pause of debate, you pop the film door open to see if there’s any film inside. Relief washes over you when you realize the chamber is empty, and you haven’t just exposed a brand-new roll to the light. In search of a fresh canister, you squat at his nightstand and pull open the top drawer. Nothing. Mainly guitar accessories: picks, sheets of music, old bridge pins—along with a couple of stray condoms.

You move to the drawer beneath it, where journals, sketchbooks, and art supply pouches. However, a small cylindrical container tucked in the back corner catches your attention. The top of your hand pinches against the drawer when you attempt to reach the new roll of film without disturbing the other contents. That’s when you make the executive decision to pull out the first couple of sketchbooks.

In doing so, three pictures slip out: you on a park bench smiling, you sitting on his bed attempting to play his guitar, you taking too big of a bite off an ice cream cone.

A smile buds on your face as you flip the sketchbook open to tuck the photos back inside. Time stops. On the page is a beautiful portrait of you. It's not a mere sketch; this is much too involved. You were under the impression that he only ever drew the characters for his campaigns this intricately—dragons, celestials, faye.

As far as you knew, your likeness was only ever confined to his quicker sketches because you were always around. It was easy to capture you in the moment with no pressure. Can’t replicate perfection, sweetheart.

It isn’t until you’ve turned a few pages ahead that a different type of surprise prickles through you. Blooming and warm like the beginning of spring, but with a more rogue intensity. One that feels borderline forbidden because this next drawing itself ought to have remained tucked away in a secret place.

Your lips aren’t wrapped around ice cream but Eddie’s index and middle fingers. A line of saliva runs down your chin as your eyes sparkle.

You flip to the next drawing. In this one, you’re topless and kneeling, legs spread in an unabashed V. One of your hands plays between your thighs as you look up through your lashes. It’s drawn from memory, no doubt. Eddie had yet to capture you on film in such a vulnerable light.

Another page. Eddie’s hand is wrapped around your neck. You recognize the skeleton tattoo that constitutes the back of his right hand to give the illusion that his bones are bared.

Another. Your backside is drawn from the perspective of whoever stands behind you. There’s an abstractness to it, in a way. The shading suggests slight irritation or bruising from impact against your delicate skin.

The last drawing you gleam features you lying face down with your bottom up, wrists tied with rope. Indents on your skin suggest that you’ve tried to pull free—

Something flips low in your gut. White noise fills your ears as you snap the sketchbook closed and put it back where it belongs. You move on autopilot as you toss Eddie’s camera and film into your tote bag and scramble out of his room.

•••

The water is calm as it laps at the bank of the lake. Gnats flutter around while tree leaves rustle. On a summer evening such as this, Lover’s Lake is a wonder. Above, the sky stretches like the handiwork of a master artist. Blue fades to burnt orange to rustic lavender in a seamless ombre. Your eyes remain on the water below as you kick your feet off the edge of the dock.

Eddie nudges your knee with his after a while. The upper portion of his coveralls is tied around his waist, exposing his white T-shirt and lean tattooed arms. The sleeve on his right arm is fuller and extends all the way to his hand.

Despite the intricate designs inked across his skin, you can make out the thin, red scratches on his forearms and the few cuts that pepper his knuckles. None of them override the dark ink of his tattoos, but you can see them since you’re sitting so close. The ones on his neck are visible all the more because they have little to camouflage with. Some are old, but most of them are undeniably fresher. You’ve been cataloguing them all evening.

You peer over at him with a pensive smile. His camera rests on the opposite side of him. He’d captured a few shots of you and the scenery when there was a little more light.

“You’re quiet,” he says.

“Just enjoying the view.”

Eddie briefly wrinkles his nose and looks out at the lake. Touché.

The silence returns, but Eddie can’t settle into it for the life of him. He shifts, one knee propping up. “You gotta give me something to work with here.” He tries to meet your adverted gaze. “Did I say something to piss you off?”

All you can do is manage a swallow. There were enough distractions to carry you through dinner at Benny’s, but the world seems much smaller and stripped out here. No music, chatter, or waitress checking in to refill your drinks. It’s just you, Eddie, and the unmatched stillness of nature. All of which are fertile ground for your thoughts to wander and unavoidably return to the fact he hadn’t said a word about what happened at Boone’s—or the contents of his sketchbook. Especially now that he won’t look away from you.

Worry intensifies Eddie’s gaze. The same gaze that you now know has studied and considered you more intimately than you ever imagined. You can’t help but feel bare and exposed now. It was yet another brick to lay on top of the fact that he’d refrained from telling you about the events at Quick Mart.

You finally look over at him.

“Please talk to me,” he says.

You take his larger hand in yours. He remains quiet, hopeful. You study his palm, then turn it over to assess the back of his hand, the cuts just barely visible over the skeleton tattoo covering it. You wish he could be a fraction as open and forthcoming as the illusion his tattoo presents.

“Did something happen last night?” you ask.

A defensive edge slips into his voice. “What do you mean?”

“At Quick Mart,” you say.

In the time that Eddie combs through his mind in search of the right approach, you say it yourself, “You were in a fight.” It’s not fair to state it so clinically, but you do it anyway.

Eddie looks more betrayed than surprised. “No, I wasn’t,” he says. “Not like that.”

You feel a pang of guilt over the earnest way he expresses it, like a kid trying to prove their innocence.

Over the years, he’d gotten better about his temper. About how quick he was to handle certain situations with the scrappier instincts of his youth. He knew now, more than ever, that words alone could get him much further than his fists. Throughout the latter half of his overstayed run in the public school system, he’d been forced to prove himself physically time after time, so he had no choice but to get good at it. Sometimes, he jumped the gun, but that wasn’t him. Not anymore.

“It wasn’t over nothing,” he explains. “Asshole was trying to—”

“I know, Teddy,” you’re quick to assure, voice soft. “Wasn’t pointing fingers. I’m just glad everybody’s okay.” You squeeze his hand.

His gaze flickers down. “Sorry,” he murmurs, exhaling. He speaks up after a while. “Was it Nelson who told you?”

The thought of Nelson—endearing, googly-eyed Nelson—makes your lips twitch upwards. Eddie almost doesn’t believe it, but he’s grateful. A fraction of the tension melts from his shoulders as levity creeps in. He presses closer to feel the shake of your shoulders as you chuckle despite yourself. If you don’t laugh, you’ll mess around and find a reason to cry.

Your amusement eventually subsides into something stiller. “Wish it’d been you, though.”

Eddie takes the blow. “Swear I was gonna tell you.” He dips his head to kiss the bulb of your shoulder. “Just wanted to give everything some breathing room. Didn’t want you to get all worked up and worried. Hate making you worry.”

“Forget worry,” you say lightly. “If something involves you, I’ll always wanna know. I care about you.” Those words stir a gratefulness in his chest. “I want you to tell me things even when they’re scary or hard.”

Eddie sees the sincerity in your gaze. A hint of confliction seems to reside there as well.

“No more secrets,” he promises.

He holds out his pinkie, and just when he thinks you’re going to ignore it, you hook yours around his. It’s no surprise that he squeezes. As playful as he is, you should’ve seen it coming. You yelp and attempt to pull your hand away, but he leans in to steal a kiss that you allow him to take. A satisfied smile lingers on his face afterward.

With a proud sigh, he lays back on the wooden planks of the dock, hair splaying like mane. With your eyes you map the faint freckles on his face when he closes his eyes, then trace his eyebrows, the slope of his nose, the relaxed pout of his lips.

Eddie’s eyes soon flutter open to meet yours.

He offers a smile. “Hmm?”

You shrug, chuckling in a mix of nerves and relief. “Just thinking of something Nelson said about you,” you say. “‘That kid’s got the biggest pair in all of Hawkins.’”

A surprised laugh bubbles out of him that makes his eyes crinkle and his chest shake. You join in. When the moment settles into something tamer but still a bit charged, Eddie holds your gaze as he reaches down between his legs to rest a hand over his crotch.

“You’ve seen ‘em first hand,” he drawls, palming himself through the fabric of his coveralls. “Whaddya think?”

Heat floods your cheeks, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of leaving you speechless. “Jury’s still out.”

Another laugh rumbles through him and ends with a snort. His eyes shimmer when he calms down. You’re there to twirl your finger around one of his curls and give it an affectionate tug.

A gentle breeze rolls through and makes a part of you wish it could carry the memory of his drawings away with it. At least so you could settle into the serenity of the moment in an unadulterated way. Those thoughts don’t leave you, however. His face alone is a reminder of his secret envisionings of you.

•••

Later that night, in the dim lamplight of Eddie’s room, you lie face up on his bed, eyes glued to the ceiling. It’s as if the act will still your nerves, but it doesn’t.

Eddie emerges from the bathroom whistling, a gray towel wrapped around his slender waist. You loll your head to look at him just long enough to catalogue his damp curls, his myriad of tattoos, the light dusting of hair between his pecs, and the even darker trail that descends from his belly button. His back turns to you as he saunters to his dresser. There’s a dagger tattooed between his shoulder blades.

“Miss me?” he asks as he digs pajamas out of his drawer.

When you don’t respond, he peeks over his shoulder. Your gaze is directed towards the ceiling.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

He hums. Your silence takes root beneath his skin and yields a certain self-consciousness. It wasn’t like you to be so disengaged. Not when it came to him. There was no denying his magnetism, even when he wasn’t actively trying to work the room.

“Okay, what’s really going on?” Eddie walks to the side of the bed and stares down at you. “You’ve been acting funny all evening.”

You push yourself upright, swinging your legs off the side of the bed. To buy yourself some time, you rub your eyes with your fists as if tiredness truly is to blame. There’s nowhere to hide when your hands inevitably drop back down to rest in your lap. Still, Eddie fails to get a read.

“Talk to me, Goose.” He taps your chin with a gentle knuckle. “Is that gas station shit really bothering you that bad?” Eddie winces at his own irritation. “That came out wrong. Shit.”

He takes a deep breath. “I honestly didn’t think it was that big of a deal. The guy had what was coming to him.”

“I care about you, is all,” you say. “Am I allowed to do that?”

His eyes are apologetic as he looks down at you. “You’re allowed.”

“No more secrets, right?” you say. “That’s what you promised.”

Eddie nods slowly, unsure of where this conversation is headed.

“That means we let each other in,” you continue.

“You’re in, baby.”

You bite your lower lip.

“I saw something earlier. Drawings of me that you’ve done.”

“I sketch you all the time.”

A few seconds pass before you bring yourself to speak again. “Not the sketches. The actual drawings. The detailed ones.”

Eddie stills as if turned to alabaster. He looks away from you, but you don’t look away from him as silence permeates the air like a slow rising fog. Color rises in his cheeks, then the tips of his ears. If he doesn’t move, maybe he’ll wake up. Maybe he’ll disappear. A few seconds pass like an hour. The world begins turning again when you take his hand in yours, gently brushing over the back with your thumb.

Reality fades back in slowly. His breaths, your breaths, his thick swallow.

“They caught me off guard,” you admit.

Like a severed branch, his hand falls away from yours. His Adam’s apple bobs as he considers what to say in the wake of embarrassment that toes the line of frustration.

Eddie’s eyes find their way back to yours. “We’re going through each other’s things now?”

“I was looking for film for your camera,” you explain. “Pictures fell out of the sketchbook, and when I went to put them back—”

“They don’t mean anything.” His words are void of any conviction.

You hold his gaze until his shoulders sag with the weight of the truth. “I’ve never had this, alright?” He makes a weak motion between the two of you. “Someone who makes me feel the way you do.”

You nod for him to continue.

“I think about you all the fucking time.” His voice comes out shy and gruff. “You’re beautiful.”

“So they do mean something.”

“But now you probably just think they’re perverted when it’s not like that at all,” he accuses with a slight waver in his voice. You’ve never seen him quite like this. Frazzled in a raw, open way. “It’s the trust aspect—fuck, I’m not making any sense.”

He runs his hands through his hair and paces a few steps away. You study the tattoos on his torso. Audentes Fortuna Iuvat is scripted just beneath his collarbones with a slight upwards curve; Latin for fortune favors the bold. A symmetrical, abstract pair of angel wings span beneath it. There’s also the small inverted crucifix on his sternum. The snake curled on the right side of his ribcage beneath his pecs. A considerable host of others have made a canvas out of his skin as well.

“So help me understand,” you insist.

You’re messing with him now. You have to be. This is his punishment for ever daring to put his pencil to the paper in that way. A few beats of silence pass.

“Are those things you wanna try?” you coax.

He finally musters the courage to look at you again. “There’s so much I wanna try with you.” There’s a weighted look in his gaze, like the sentiments it bears stretch beyond this moment. “I wanna do life with you.”

Warmth kindles in your chest at his words. “Well, here I am,” you say. “Gonna have to try harder to scare me away.”

A humorless laugh escapes him, but it’s true. Here you are.

“None of this was ever about the fight or the drawings, E,” you start. “It’s about you. I don’t want you to think you have to keep things from me.”

You nearly fall into the depths of his eyes as they bore into yours.

“I can’t mess this up too.” His voice comes out smaller than you’ve heard it. He wouldn’t make it to the other side of losing you.

“It’s gonna take something terrible for that.” You think for a moment. “Like you cutting off all that gorgeous hair.”

Eddie laughs. The sound coaxes you to your feet and over to him, where he cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours. His breath catches in his throat when he feels your fingertips ghost along his waistline where the towel is secured.

•••

Just relax.

Those were the words you’d uttered to him a few short moments ago before you tugged his towel down and stripped yourself of your clothes. If anything, it was more like a purr. Something about that low, melodic tone always worked with him. Even when he was the one desperate to get his mouth and hands on you. He listened because you always handled him with care. Always made it good for him.

The sound that leaves him now seems broken, but Eddie’s never felt more whole. His arms shake where they’re braced behind him on the bed, and his spread thighs tremble. You look up at him from your kneeling position on the carpet before him without pulling away from mouthing at the warm, velvety weight between his thighs that hang like two joint fruits. They draw up when you pay keen attention to one side, making a suctioning motion with your mouth that makes him curse beneath his breath.

He curls forward with a pleasured groan when you take the entirety of his length into your mouth. The sweet drag of your lips, paired with the encompassing warmth, makes his head spin. You venture down halfway before drawing back up to suckle on the tip with a glimmer in your eyes. Eddie doesn’t get through his next shudder before your lips are descending again, this time all the way to where curly dark hair rests at his base.

You can feel every vein and pulse along the way. His stomach quivers at the sight as something hot stirs low in his gut.

One of his hands settles at the back of your head, but he doesn’t push or pull. It’s a grounding gesture. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you pull back up, taking your time. At the top, you lap over his slit, where another pearly bead has formed. He huffs out a ragged breath when you begin to place lingering kisses over the head, then allow your tongue to gently trace along the slightly raised edge that separates it from the rest of his shaft.

A selfish part of him wants more.

“Angel…” he sighs.

You hum around him curiously when he’s back in your mouth. Eddie knows you’re trying to make him cave and guide you into what he wants. His fingers twitch with hesitance at first, but then he applies just enough pressure to encourage you back down. You’re gracious enough to fall into your own bobbing rhythm thereafter.

His breath stutters when one of your hands dip between your thighs to begin rubbing easy circles over your bud as your mouth continues to work him like a dream. You clench around nothing as warmth and pleasure pool between your thighs.

“That’s so hot,” he grouses.

You pull off of him, saliva slinking between your lips and his arousal. “Is it?” you murmur coyly.

He nods earnestly, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. What he’s not expecting is for you to sit back on your knees and redirect all your attention to yourself, bringing one hand up to cup your breast. Your cheeks warm at your own boldness. He’d seen you like this in his mind and on the page, but only you could bring the vision to life. There’s a pleasant rush to that sort of power.

He kicks up towards his stomach when you release an airy hum as your middle finger drifts down to run along your entrance and collect the thick moisture gathered there. He scoots closer to the nightstand and grabs a condom from the drawer. Eddie strokes himself a few careful times, stopping before the tide can rise. You watch with shining eyes as he rips the foil open and slides the rubber down himself.

“C��mere,” he rasps, repositioning fully onto the bed. “Wanna make you feel good.”

You bite your lip as you gently probe your entrance, maintaining eye contact even as your face burns. “Think you do it better?”

“You already know the answer.” There’s no overt cockiness in his tone. Just a steady sort of confidence that makes your stomach flutter.

An invisible flip switches. No doubt, because he finally feels as though it’s allowed to. You can’t pinpoint the exact moment, but you feel the aftermath. It’s in the way he becomes firmer; he isn’t rough, but you can feel the strength behind his movements more than you usually do. It’s also in the way he lifts his head from your center when you’re mere seconds away from falling into thralls of something your entire body craves.

You plead with your eyes as you meet his gaze, frustrated and desperate all the same. His lips upturn in a small smile that’s barely there. Your thighs fall open as he leans back down, and the fan of his breath makes you shiver. His mouth and fingers have already made you slick with arousal, only to leave you right on the edge.

“Eddie, please.”

He gently parts you open and presses a gentle kiss to your clit before suckling it into his mouth. You whimper and cant your hips upwards into his face, but he moves away.

“Easy,” he coos.

You breathe an apology as he presses his middle finger to your swollen bud and circles it nice and slow. A whimper escapes you as you squirm, trying your best to keep your hips down. As maddening as it is, you like this little game. The challenge. If he maintains this same pressure and speeds up just so, you know it’d be enough to get you there. He knows that too.

Everything hinges on his call. Eddie’s been at the helm even though he let you think you were for a time.

“Who does it better?” he asks.

Your stomach flips. “You, Eddie—c’mon.” You huff an exasperated chuckle in spite of yourself. Eddie bites back a smile. Then your voice dips into a tone that’s impossibly sweet. It reminds him just how much he burns with desire himself. “Keep showing me how much better.”

Eddie braces himself overtop of you and notches at your slick warmth. It takes a moment for him to gather himself, but when he does, he slips into you with ease. Each inch is welcomed with the same steady pressure, all the way until he’s buried entirely.

While you hum at the fullness, he moans from being welcomed in so wholly. Even though you’re the one stretched to accommodate him, it’s him who needs a moment to get acclimated. It feels like he’s seconds away from falling apart, and he sure as hell isn’t ready to test the theory.

When you circle your hips in a silent encouragement for him to move, he stills you with a steady hand. You make another attempt.

“Angel, wait,” he weakly complains. It’s half desperate, half amused.

“But I need you,” you murmur.

That’s enough to spur him into an easy rhythm. Your mouth falls open, and he can’t help but run his thumb over your bottom lip. You surprise yourself when you poke your tongue out. Eddie takes a leap of faith and pushes it just past your lips. You close your mouth around it and give it a weak suck before he pulls it back out.

As it turns out, life imitates art too.

“You feel so good,” Eddie pants. “Taking me so well, aren’t you?”

“Mhmm.”

His thrusts reach deeper when you hook your legs around him, eyes briefly scrunching closed as he meets that tender spot within you that threatens to make everything wound tight inside of you unravel.

Your hands move to scratch down his back, and his hips stutter at the steady pressure of your nails. So you do it again, a little harder, and it sends a strong shiver through him that feels unfairly good. When your hands smooth back around to his chest, fingers grazing his nipples, he manages to gather your wrists in his hands and pin them above your head. Your chest pushes into his.

“I’m close,” you breathe. “So full.”

A groan rises in his throat. “Not until I say, alright?”

Your whine borders on petulant, but you nod anyway. Eddie kisses you for it. First, on your lips, then he trails a few more sloppy, lazy kisses down your chin. When he pulls away, he lets go of your wrists and braces that forearm beside your head, breaths heavy. He’s so close, you can see the faint sun freckles dotted over the bridge of his nose. The grind of his pelvis against your clit makes you clench around him.

Your breath hitches. “I’m gonna—”

“Not yet, angel,” he says, even as he lowers a hand between your bodies to rub that pulsing part of you with just the right amount of pressure as he continues his deep thrusts. It’s the furthest thing from fair, and he knows it.

Your mind grows fuzzy with a sudden swell of pleasure that borders on panic. “Eddie, baby, I can’t,” you whimper. “You’re gonna make me come. Please—”

“Go on, angel,” he soothes. The wave crashes. “That’s it, there you go.”

You close your mouth to stifle the helpless sound that rises up your throat as you arch beneath him. Immediately, you’re thrown into a suspended place where all you can feel is yourself fluttering around him in strong pulses as warmth floods your entire being, pulling him in. He guides you through it with gentle praises that barely register to your ears.

With a guttural sound Eddie buries himself within your warmth and lets go, his abdomen flexing with each wave that shoots through him. As the radiating pleasure dwindles, he touches his forehead to yours, and your lips just barely brush as you catch your breaths. You raise your hands to his neck to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He shivers, then jolts with sensitivity as you shift beneath him.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

Eddie shakes his head. “You’re fine,” he breathes. “You’re perfect. Don’t deserve you.”

“You’re gonna give me a complex,” you murmur.

Eddie chuckles and grasps the base of himself to slowly pull out. The loss draws shuddering exhales out of both of you. He’s overcome by a surge of fondness and gratitude.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod as he dots a few kisses to your neck. “Hey, Eddie.” You cup his cheek to get his attention and he nearly melts at the content way you look up at him with slow, sleepy blinks. “Maybe next time you can tie me up.” A small smile plays on your lips, but you mean it. Even though the thought alone gives you wild butterflies.

Eddie’s swallow doesn’t let on how dizzy the thought makes him. “Yeah?”

You offer a tired hum. “I trust you.” That alone means everything.

And with him, you wanted it all.

Thanks for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all!

EDDIE MASTERLIST

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#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things 4 #joseph quinn

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empyrealix · 1 month ago

Text

⊹ ࣪˖ MY LOVE, MY LIFE | #CS55

pairing. carlos sainz x linguist!reader

synopsis. in which everyone thinks you and carlos should get married

warnings. none; linguistics rambles

note. i rambled a bit about linguistics in this one, i'm sorry

MASTERLIST ; requests open

liked by carlossainz55, georgerussell63 and 365 others

yn Happy birthday to the man, the myth, the legend Paul Grice, whose pioneering work (alongside J. L. Austin) is the reason pragmatics exists as its own subfield in linguistics. Central to Grice is the cooperative principle, conversational implicature, and his maxims (of which there are four: maxim of quality; maxim of quantity; maxim of manner; maxim of relation/relevance). Grice thought that speakers may communicate either by breaking the maxims or by obeying them, when a maxim appears to be violated, a pragmatic inference is created. This is only possible if the speaker is believed to be cooperative. An important point is that speakers—as long as they are cooperative—are generally guided by these maxims.

Happy anniversary to me and Carlos too, I guess.

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alex_albon please wish him a proper happy anniversary, he’s been whining for ten minutes

yn Sorry, but Grice > Carlos

charles_leclerc yn, please. he cornered me in the paddock, and now i’m late for a strategy meeting 🥹

scuderiaferrari Get to the meeting right now, Charles. -Fred

user1 yn is so real for that

carlossainz55 happy anniversary, mi amor <3 i love you, and i cannot wait for our dinner later today

yn I love you more, Carlito <33 I’m so excited to see you later and to celebrate our anniversary

carlossainz55 i love you the most, actually

user2 PLEASE JUST GET MARRIED ALREADY

user3 okay, so yncarlos marriage when?

user4 second this

user5 fourth this

user6 MOTHER

carlossainz55

liked by yn, alex_albon and 467,075 others

carlossainz55 she brought me here only to spend the entire time talking about accents

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lando there was a race?

carlossainz55 and? she’s more important

charles_leclerc you’re so whipped

alex_albon you’re so whipped

user7 GET MARRIED PLEASE

georgerussell63 photo credit: georgerussell63

user8 guys, what if they’re already married?

user9 that’s delusional

user10 there’s no way charles would be able to keep it secret if that was the case

charles_leclerc I CAN KEEP A SECRET

lando no, you can’t

alex_albon no, you can’t

georgerussell63 no, you can’t

yn No, you can’t

carlossainz55 no, you can’t

charles_leclerc you’re all so MEAN to me

yn You loved it

carlossainz55 i love you

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and 643 others

yn Since it’s race weekend here in Australia, it is only right that some facts are shared about the variety of English which is spoken here, Australian English (AusE, for short). English came to Australia through convicts being transported from Britain. It eventually became a killer language, which means that it replaced the aboriginal languages which already existed in Australia—and had existed in Australia long before English made its entrance. Unlike other varieties of English (like British English and American English) there is little regional variation in AusE, but there is social variation. When talking about AusE, it is possible to differentiate between three main varieties: broad AusE, general AusE, and cultivated AusE. Some noticeable features of this variety is that it has two productive noun suffixes: -ie and -o; she may be used as a generic pronoun; and it has highly characteristic vocabulary. Regarding phonetics, AusE is non-rhotic, which means that /r/ is only pronounced in front of vowels. Another notable feature of AusE phonology is that it has HRTs (this is sometimes referred to as Australian Questioning Intonation). HRT is short for high rise terminals; this means that declarative sentences often end with a rising pitch.

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user11 my favourite part about the races is yn’s linguistic rambles

user12 my favourite part of her instagram is her linguistic rambles

user13 when’s the wedding?

user14 stop asking them about when they’re getting married. it’s getting weird

charles_leclerc thank you, this was very informative

user15 i imagine carlos asking a million questions and getting increasingly confused

carlossainz55 i understood all of this actually

yn You got distracted and asked if we could get ice cream in the middle of my explanation of killer languages.

carlossainz55 i still enjoy listening to you, even though most of it goes over my head

user16 ditch carlos, yn, i’ll listen to your explanations of killer languages

carlossainz55 don’t flirt with my wife??

user17 WIFE? WIFE? MR SAINZ?

carlossainz55

liked by yn, williamsracing and 923,460 others

carlossainz55 summer break spent in spain with the love of my life. i’m ready to get back to racing and scoring points

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williamsracing We’re excited to see you back in the garage carlossainz55

carlossainz55 i'm excited to be back!

user18 MR SAINZ, YOU HAVE TO EXPLAIN THE WIFE COMMENT

user19 what wife comment??

user20 on one of yn’s posts carlos referred to yn as his wife

user19 i log off for one day and suddenly carlos has a whole WIFE??

user20 we don’t know for sure, yet

yn Carlos <333 please come back to bed :(

carlossainz55 i’ll be right there, mi vida

liked by carlossainz55, alex_albon and 1,230 others

yn So sad I couldn’t be at the race this weekend, but duty called. I wish Carlos, Alex and Williams the best luck this weekend!

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williamsracing Thank you, yn. We’re so sad you couldn’t be here this weekend, but we’ll see you at the next race?

yn Absolutely!

lando god, just get married already

carlossainz55 we did??

yn CARLOS

user21 did anyone else see carlos’ comment or am i going insane?

user9 what if user8 was right?

user8 I TOLD YOU BUT YOU ALL THOUGHT I WAS DELUSIONAL

carlossainz55

liked by yn, georgerussell63 and 943,124 others

carlossainz55 three months ago, i married the love of my life in a small courthouse in a coastal town in spain

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yn And I got to marry the love of my life. Here’s to many more years with you

carlossainz55 to the rest of our lives

user8 WHAT DID I TELL YOU, BUT NO, I WAS DELUSIONAL

georgerussell63 congratulations, you two!

charles_leclerc I KNEW IT

user22 THEY’VE BEEN MARRIED SINCE THE SUMMER BREAK? I’M SICK

williamsracing Congratulations on your wedding! We’re so happy for you!

user23 A YNCARLOS MARRIAGE?? FINALLY!!

user24 OUR PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED

lando i feel betrayed, you were married for three months and didn’t tell me?? we are no longer friends

liked by carlossainz55, lando and 943 others

yn Does the language people speak influence the way they think? If you ask Edward Sapir and Benjamin Lee Whorf, that is true. Though neither Sapir or Whorf coined the term “Sapir-Whorf hypothesis” they have come to be associated with it. The central idea of the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis is that the languages a person speaks determines the way people perceive and think about the world. There are three version of this hypothesis: the strong Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, which claims that the only conceptual distinctions people can make are those encoded in language because language imposes these distinctions on sense data; the restricted Sapir-Whorf hypothesis claims that some topics are such that the only conceptual distinctions are those encoded in language. This is because language imposes these distinctions on relevant sense data. The last version of the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis is the watered-down Sapir-Whorf hypothesis. This version claims that there are some topics that are influenced by language, specifically this happens for things that are habitually or stereotypically thought about, an example of this is grammatical gender. The strong Sapir-Whorf hypothesis is false; the restricted Sapir-Whorf hypothesis is unproven; the watered-down one is the only one which may be true. The answer to my question, then, suggests that languages influences the way people think in respect to scarcely perceptible cognitive biases and subtle stereotypes.

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user25 GIRL, you just got married to THE carlos sainz and you’re talking about linguistics

yn Linguistics is the love of my life

carlossainz55 i cannot wait to spend the rest of my life listening to you talking about linguistics

yn Forever <3

lando oh no, they’re more insufferable now than they were before

carlossainz55 this is your fault

yn I second that

user26 yn really said the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis is more important than her husband

user27 an icon

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xo100 · 6 months ago

Note

Hi! Could I ask Lando with pregnant reader. Like maybe her getting dizzy bc of all the paparazzis and fans surrounding. Maybe angsty. Dunno if you'll like the idea, but I honestly love ur work soo much

Our little miracle - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary/request: request by anon as you can read above this!

*:･ﾟ Word count: 1244

*:･ﾟ A/N: first of all I want to say sorry for not being so active lately! I’ve been busy with school and work, I didn’t had any time to write! Second I want to say thank you so much anon! I hope you like this story too! If not let me known!

masterlist / community / request

౨ৎ

The late morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, warming the bedroom and casting soft golden streaks on the walls. The gentle hum of the city outside was barely audible over the rhythmic sound of Lando’s breathing beside you. His arm was slung lazily over your waist, his warmth seeping into your skin like a comforting blanket.

You blinked sleepily, turning your head to look at him. His face was still soft with sleep, his hair a wild mess of curls that begged to be smoothed down. He looked so peaceful like this, so completely at ease, and it made your heart ache in the best way.

“Caught you staring,” he mumbled, his voice raspy as his lips curled into a sleepy grin.

“I wasn’t staring,” you lied, your cheeks heating up.

“Sure,” he teased, his eyes still closed. “You’ve been staring at me every morning for the past five years. It’s okay, I’m used to it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “Good morning, Lando.”

“Morning,” he said, finally opening his eyes. They were warm and bright, like pools of melted chocolate, and they crinkled at the corners as he smiled at you. “Guess what day it is?”

You blinked, still half-asleep. “Uh… Saturday?”

“Baby shopping day,” he announced, his grin widening.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. “You’re more excited about this than I am.”

“Of course I am!” he said, propping himself up on one elbow. “We’re picking out stuff for our baby. This is a big deal.”

It was a big deal. After months of trying—months of hope and heartbreak—you were finally here. Fourteen weeks pregnant, your little miracle growing inside you. It still didn’t feel real sometimes, like you were dreaming and could wake up at any moment.

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” you said softly, your hand resting on your small but growing bump.

“It’s happening,” Lando said, covering your hand with his. His eyes softened as he looked at you, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “And I can’t wait to spoil both of you today.”

---

The car ride into the city was filled with laughter and teasing. Lando, as usual, couldn’t resist cracking jokes, trying to lighten the nerves you hadn’t even realized you were feeling.

“Okay, but hear me out,” he said, glancing at you with a mischievous grin. “What if we name the baby after a car? Like… Ferrari Norris. Or McLaren Norris. That’s got a nice ring to it, right?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Absolutely not. Our child is not going to be named after a car brand.”

“Fine,” he said, pretending to pout. “But if they grow up to be a racer, I’m taking full credit for the inspiration.”

The boutique Lando had chosen was tucked away in a quieter part of the city, its window displays filled with pastel-colored baby clothes and wooden toys. The moment you stepped inside, you were greeted by the soft scent of lavender and the faint sound of a lullaby playing over the speakers.

Lando’s eyes lit up as he took in the rows of tiny clothes and baby accessories. “This is it,” he said, grabbing your hand. “This is where we find all the cool stuff.”

You spent the next hour wandering the store, debating over cribs and strollers, laughing as Lando tried to convince you that the baby absolutely needed a mini Formula 1 onesie.

“Come on,” he said, holding it up with a grin. “How cute would they look in this?”

“They’d look adorable,” you admitted, “but they’ll probably outgrow it in a month.”

“Worth it,” he said, tossing it into the shopping basket.

You couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. Seeing him like this—so excited, so ready to dive headfirst into parenthood—made your heart swell with love.

---

By the time you left the store, the sun had climbed higher in the sky, and the streets were bustling with activity. Lando carried the shopping bags in one hand, his other arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders.

You didn’t notice the paparazzi at first.

It started with a few flashes, the sudden brightness making you blink. Then came the voices—shouting questions and calling Lando’s name.

“Lando! Over here!” “How’s the season going?” “Is it true you’re expecting?”

The crowd seemed to grow out of nowhere, fans and photographers swarming around you. The noise was overwhelming, a cacophony of voices and camera clicks that made your head spin.

“Lando,” you said softly, gripping his arm.

He turned to you immediately, his eyes scanning your face. “Hey, are you okay?”

You tried to nod, but the dizziness was already setting in. The flashes, the shouting, the crush of bodies—it was too much.

“I don’t feel…” Your voice trailed off as your vision blurred.

Lando didn’t hesitate. Dropping the shopping bags, he wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you steady. “Alright, that’s enough!” he snapped, his voice sharp and commanding. “Back off! She’s pregnant. Give her some space!”

The crowd faltered, the realization rippling through them. But Lando didn’t wait for them to comply. He guided you away from the chaos, his body shielding yours as he led you down a quieter side street.

“Breathe, love,” he said softly, stopping to face you. His hands cupped your cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall. “In and out. I’ve got you.”

You nodded, focusing on his voice, his touch. The dizziness slowly faded, replaced by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your palm.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, guilt creeping in. “I ruined our day.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Lando said, his tone gentle but firm. “You and the baby come first. Always.”

You managed a weak smile. “Even over baby sneakers?”

“Even over baby sneakers,” he said, grinning. “But just barely.”

---

Back at home, the chaos of the day felt like a distant memory. Lando had insisted on ordering takeout, claiming that you deserved to be spoiled after the ordeal.

As you sat on the couch, surrounded by the shopping bags you’d managed to bring home, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace. Lando was in the kitchen, humming softly as he poured you a glass of water.

“Here you go,” he said, handing it to you before sitting down beside you. His hand immediately found its way to your stomach, resting there gently.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft.

“I’m okay,” you said, covering his hand with yours. “Thanks to you.”

He smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. “I can’t wait to meet them,” he said quietly, his voice filled with wonder.

“Me too,” you whispered, leaning into him.

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the only sounds the faint hum of the city outside and the occasional rustle of the shopping bags.

“You know,” Lando said after a moment, “I meant what I said earlier. You and the baby come first. Always.”

You turned to look at him, your heart swelling with love. “I know,” you said. “And I love you for it.”

“I love you too,” he said, his eyes shining with emotion. “More than anything.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the room in a warm, golden glow, you realized that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you and Lando would face them together.

And that was all that mattered.

౨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know!

*:･ﾟtags; @gridprincess-04 , @justaf1girl

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lavilavs · 2 months ago

Text

୨୧ ── Stream with me!

› Pairings: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne x Streamer!Wife!Reader

› Scenario: What more could a wife who streams want other than streaming with her husband? Nothing! Maybe. It depends. But in this universe—best believe that it is all you've ever wanted! What does your husband think about it, though?

› Notes: English is not my first language + Reblogs and likes are very appreciated! + almost 6k words that's why it took me days to write TT + Cringe and unhinged alert + big poo and goobert stole the show

Bruce Wayne

Bruce lets out a deep sigh as he watches you set up before starting the stream. A warm smile adorns his face, but he's still reluctant to show up as a guest. Just why did someone suggest a wife and husband bonding time in your streams? You were overjoyed that you ended up calling him in the middle of your stream to ask him about it.

Bruce excused himself and let an executive continue the briefing. His gruff voice sounded soft when he called your name, asking why you suddenly called—not even the slightest bit of annoyance in his voice at the fact you called during a meeting.

"Honey, look at the picture I sent!" He questions what could possibly have his wife over the moon. With the monitor in his lens, the picture popped in front of him. It was a 5 dollar donation from UnkissedBrick that said—in all caps—

"MAKE A STREAM WITH YOUR HUSBAND AND MY LIFE IS YOURS !!!$%5@5@"

It started a spark within the community that they were BEGGING you to make it come true.

A stream to make money, have fun, and be with your husband at the same time? Of course you'd agree. Best believe that Bruce had no way out of this, you barely asked anything from him—would he have the heart to decline a simple request such as this?

No! And that's why he's here sitting beside you, wearing your adorable, pink headphones. It was something entirely new in his life. Never, and I mean never, has Bruce imagined he'll be wearing this godforsaken headphone for millions to see. The only thing stopping him from taking it off was obviously you—his wife.

"Wow! Thank you all so much for coming to see this stream. There's a lot more of you today."

Bruce snaps his head in your direction, giving him a clear view of how you marveled at the screens in front of you. A thought slips into his mind, whispering thoughts that made him worry about you.

A lot more today?

How many more were there than usual?

He'll let anything happen, just not this. Stealing the light from you is a scenario he didn't want to occur in this very video. It's your stream, it's your channel—not his. His blood pressure spikes at the thoughts flooding his head. And yet, you didn't seem to mind, you're just thanking them.

Bruce looked at the rapid comments piling up on the screen, amazed by the speed of people commenting. Nothing's too quick for his eyes, though. Who do you take him for? He reads every single one. Despite his worries, it was drastically different from what he thought. Your fanbase was literally fighting the viewers who only came for him.

BigPoo: Coming here ONLY for the husband is soooo embarrassing

isayholAcomosta: Scram your asses outta here man

IAMBatman: LMAOO IMAGINE WATCHING FOR BRUCE WAYNE

InstantoPreggo: either support her (and him ig) or face the consequences of my 16-inch-thick, fat, JUICY HUMONGOUS D!LD0 UP YOUR ASS.

Bruce had to flinch himself away from the monitor after reading that last comment.

He looks at you with disbelief. So this is what you were laughing at... To be fair, it is rather amusing, to say the least. The look on his face makes you laugh even more now that you've spared some time to actually look at your husband's worry corner beside you.

The chat stops when you scold them to support both of you, also instructing the mods to delete any negative comments about Bruce. Which is odd since you remember telling them to do so beforehand.

"Don't worry about them, honey. Let's just have fun."

The kiss you give on his cheek eases Bruce, his bigger hands take yours to caress it in a comforting way. But really, we know it was for him. A deep sigh escapes his lips, knowing he has nothing to worry about anymore aside from getting through this stream with you.

You've noticed him being quiet again. He should try focusing on the game you're playing so he could see how fun it is. You told him to have fun, and Bruce is trying, believe me.

Bruce folds his arms and directs his attention to the monitor where you're playing some kind of simulator game about supermarkets. The store layout is nice, though it looks cramped, the prices are lower than the market price, the other products are understocked, and the bills were due in-game.

"Honey, are you playing this right?"

"Am I not?"

He's spent years managing businesses, come on. Bruce is shrewd. And seeing his dear wife fail at this supermarket simulator, no can do. He's just lucky this game is right up his alley. You let go of the keyboard and mouse unattended to listen to his suggestions.

What was hotter than the fact that there's a hot man explaining business tactics to you? Correct, he's your husband! And a smart husband is a hot husband.

Bruce was so concerned with his strategies that he suddenly went on autopilot and grabbed the controls to show you instead of using words. You stifle a laugh behind your hand. When did he learn all those controls? He wasn't just moping around beside you, and he actually was paying attention? You might just want to request another wedding again.

His only intention was to show you how you were supposed to manage the shop. Bruce demonstrated that perfectly. So why is he still in control? His mind wants to let go. And letting go would mean he'll have to leave playing this game. The escaped chuckles from you reached his ears. With a tentative glance and muted rosy cheeks, it was like he was asking permission to keep playing.

"Go on, dear. I'll just watch you play." You mean it. Watching Bruce play a game was more enjoyable than playing, he understands it more anyways. You don't think your heart will ever feel cold when you look at him. Not ever while you're still breathing and alive to keep on loving him.

Your eyes narrow with every part of Bruce that your eyes land on. A subconscious gulp was made when you took notice of the few strands of hair that hung on top of his forehead, the way veins would pop in his forearms with a few movements when he used the keyboard and mouse, and the musky scent of his cologne that perked your senses up—you'd wonder to yourself why you didn't have at least one child with him already.

The overflowing amount of comments in the corner of your eye catches your attention. You scoot closer to read it.

Tin-a-pie: Miss ma'am is so DOWNBAD

Big Poo: "Eaaasy white chocolate" AHH TYPE SHIIT

MMONEYY: Bruce Wayne's gonna melt

Goobert: ON EVERYBODY'S SOUL WE ALL WANT TO BE IN BETWEEN THEM

You snort, hitting Bruce's shoulder repeatedly. The man loses focus on his game, amusement in his eyes as you stood up to sit on his lap. He catches you in his arms, holding your shaking body in amusement. Guess he didn't have to excessively worry, after all—spending time and making you happy is his priority today.

"Are you happy, my love?" Bruce pressed his forehead against yours. His forearms had a grip on your waist that felt so secure and warm that even if you melted, you'd still be in his arms.

"Very. Thank you, Bruce." Oh, how your laughter gets his heart kicking and running.

The chat floods once again with teaseful comments. Too many for you to read without getting blown by another. Not that it matters, your husband is too busy being pampered in your kisses.

Bruce's phone vibrates nonstop in his pocket. You fished it out for him and opened it to see Dick's face with an image attached to it.

I hope Mom doesn't mind the new sticker I added to the chat. Tell her I told the other mods about it. ;]

Bruce was in the middle of questioning what his first son said only to be caught off guard with you abruptly shifting your body weight against him, laughing uncontrollably. The chat was spamming a photo of Bruce from earlier when he was so focused on the supermarket simulator game.

"I didn't look like that, did I?" He stares at you deadpan, making you laugh harder.

Dick Grayson

Is this even your stream at all? How was he acting like close friends to your viewers after a few minutes? You stare at your husband dumbfounded. Although you know that Dick has a charming aura and personality, you didn't expect it to leak through the screen and into their hearts within minutes of knowing him!

When you asked Dick if he wanted to do a stream with you, he basically almost leaped with joy. Just almost—because he suddenly hugged you before he could jump up into space from the ecstasy of his dear, loving wife if he wanted to do a gaming video with you.

Actually, Dick has always wanted to. The thought of having millions see how loved you are in his arms—OH THE SEROTONIN—Dick can't wait to do so. He just waited and waited and waited—until you finally invited him.

You can't actually hide your jealousy well about the fact that he's paying more attention to the chat than you.

Goobert: I suddenly feel like a mistress caught in the act with how the missus is looking from behind you

Big Poo: NAH HE'S OUR HUSBAND NOW

TheAMAZINGpie: She's so jealous LMAOOO tease her more

Good thing Dick was staring intently at the chat, he couldn't see your secretive middle finger you're flashing at the viewers. He laughs and takes a quick glance at you over his shoulder, then back to the chat. A scoff of disbelief leaves your mouth. Those snitches!

"Yes, chat, these are the true colors of my wife. She's more barbaric when it's just us two here." The playful tone has you pinching his sides. Dick laughs and flinches away from your hand.

"See? She keeps on hurting me."

"Quit the baby voice, Dick, oh my God! Eww."

You gag at your husband, earning yet another heartfelt laugh. It was hard to pretend you were annoyed when everything felt so warm and natural. Dick is lucky he's your husband, or else you would've strangled him out of annoyance by now.

"Horror games are overrated, let's play simple ones." He pouts at you.

"What do you suggest then?"

And that's how you found yourself playing dress-up games at the old girl games website, where you can find all of the low-quality yet nostalgic games for girls in the world. You both competed in a game where the game picks who made the better outfit.

Imagine the look of disbelief in your face when he keeps winning 5 times in a row—5 times! Dick has got to be cheating, because in no way Dick Grayson has more fashion sense than you, right? Fight him, girl!

"You are so cheating, babe! How are you the winner every round?"

Dick raised his arms in a smug way, shrugging you off to annoy you. "Ah, the loser is barking. Face it, babe. I'm better." He blows you a kiss that you playfully shooed away, pinching your nose after. Dick gasps at your action, fighting the urge to laugh and just play along.

"Still can't beat me, honey."

"Pick another game. You'll taste defeat, Grayson."

"Whatever you say, Mrs. Grayson."

That's a blow to your pride. Imagine getting flustered in the middle of your bickering. Now you let a smug grin slip on your husband's face. Girl, you better stand on business cause you are losing FACE to your viewers right now.

5 girl go games later and you're still somehow losing to Dick. It feels like your sex has been reversed because what the hell? Maybe you are a man... at heart. How are you losing to a full grown man who—mind you—suggested that you play these games! Dick might be playing these at night when you're asleep.

It was a cooking game this time. You both need to beat each other with higher scores and more satisfied customers, obviously. It was just a mystery how he still wins when you both clearly see the big, colorful letters in bold saying that the dish you prepared was perfect—and he still wins!?

"That's it! I'm convinced you are cheating." You point a finger at him.

"It's just a matter of skill, hun." He smirks at you.

The last resort—your faithful, loyal, loving chat will support you on your accusations, right? Oh no, that smile on your face was wiped when you saw an ongoing poll on the stream. Scratch what you used to describe your chat, they are being the total opposite right now.

Overthrow the queen and appoint Dickie as the new ruler!

It's worst enough that it was 99% over 1%. You look at the camera with a death stare, in disbelief that your dear fans would overthrow you like this. Is it because Dick was more charming and had a larger ass than you? Okay, maybe keep that last thought to yourself because they cannot see the down half of your bodies.

And an annoying donation comes in the heat of the moment...

Daywalk donated 5$

I'm looking at the most breathtaking, marvelous, amazing, pretty, kind, majestic, beautiful, attractive, sexy, hot, and gorjus (idk how to spell) right now and oh—I didn't realize you were here, sweetheart

Dick was giggling uncontrollably beside you with his phone in his hands. You saw the stream on his screen split seconds before he hid it beside him where you can't reach it. Did he really think you wouldn't notice it was him with this shitty ass username?

"Really, Dick? Daywalk? That's the best you could come up with?" You bury your face in your hand, imitating a facepalm to hide your laughter. You hate how he can easily make you laugh with the stupidest things.

"I am a fan of Nightwing, Babe. He has such good hair, good facial features, and that goddamn juicy ass of his. Have you seen his—"

"Dick."

"Okay, okay, sheesh, God forbid a man uplift his fellow man." He raised his hands in mock defeat. Backing away from that look of yours.

Dick Grayson is audacious. Partly one of the reasons why you married this man.

You gave up, rolled your eyes, and just gave him a kiss to shut him up.

Jason Todd

"Oh come on, baby, you know you're happy to be here."

You snicker at the scowl on his face. Jason looked like he wanted to drop a smoke bomb to escape the stream, but of course he wouldn't! What you said is true—he is ecstatic to be here. He refused your offer several times before caving in... and just a little secret, he just wanted to see how bad you want him to be in one.

In fact, he had the stream planned out already. In the span of the 3 days where you begged him to stream with you, Jason used it as a time to search for games to play, imagine scenarios, and other cute stuff that he wants to make happen today.

First things first, seem tough enough to place boundaries through his stare and seem friendly enough to joke around with him. Check. The chat was respectful to Jason and some joked around that this looked like Doomguy and Isabelle looking relationship.

"Oh please, it's more switched. This guy's a baby." Jason's eyes widen when you pull his chair to ruffle on his hair like a little kid. He glares up at you. Okay—maybe, this is tolerable, it has a loving effect to the viewers. Yes, this is fine.

"Jason, don't bob your head like that onto my boob." You snort and push his head away. Ah, he thought he was nodding inside his head.

Big Poo: He's kinda weird... I like him

Goobert: We accept weird big guy and queen dynamics

Ignoring that small weird display of his, it's time for phase 2—urge you to play horror games of his choice. He didn't binge watch couples playing horror games last night just for you to play other games. A mischievous grin is fighting it's way to make itself appear on his lips. Jason expects you to get scared, cling to him, and show off the muscles he spent the few days toning.

And as if he wasn't toned enough, Jason plans to show that this muscles of his won't be just for show if they decided to mug you in the streets while he's around. Anyone who's watching this stream would be a warning for parasocial freaks who'll try something with you.

"How about we play this one, babe?" He points at the game he searched up.

With a look of disbelief, you could only sigh at your husband's antics. He couldn't have been more obvious than this. The longer reps of his biceps workouts? Yeah, he's definitely planning something to show it off.

You sigh, and start the game up. The chat snitches on him smiling widely behind you as the game starts. It quickly disappears when you turn around, then reappears when you don't look. He gives the chat a playful motion of slicing his neck then points at the camera with a finger placed on his lips.

With a discreet glance behind you, there, you saw your husband doing a face that could kill that's accompanied by creepy giggles. In all of the years you've been together, not once could a sight like this ever cross your mind. Why is he having internet beef with your viewers?

Does he also think you can't see him through your stream view at your other monitor? You also stare at the gummy smile on your face, still having no resistance in finding everything he does as cute.

Heck, even if he snapped someone's neck in front of you with a sassy remark after, you'll still find it cute. Fucked up, yes, but hey, it's not like you haven't had body counts of your own in your other line of work.

Jason lets out an amused scoff at your unwavering focus to navigate through the dark cellar. There hasn't been a single jumpscare since you started. But because of his horror game video marathon, he's got every single one memorized.

It'll take some time before the first one. In the meanwhile, he knows what to do to get you to warm up for the big scare.

His hands snakes itself downward, right past his own chair. You were focused on getting out of the sealed room that the chat's warnings fell to deaf ears... or eyes. Jason inches his chair closer to yours, carefully, so that his chair won't bump into yours.

An annoying habit of his that once made his teeth bleed from your punch. He waits until you're about to turn around a corner to strike—Jason bolts your body with an abrupt push on your shoulder. "Boo!"

The most he got from you was a loud curse and your middle finger in the middle of his face.

"Jason—We agreed on never doing that again. Fuck you, honestly." You glare at him through the monitor, not wasting another second to look back at the game. Your ears perk at the loud laugh that seeps through your headphones.

"Oh please, you're not too much of a pussy to get scared from that, aren't you?"

"Is that a challenge?"

Jason waits for suspense, waiting until he knows you're almost near the first jumpscare of the game to throw you off. His hands once again find the liberty to make you jolt, making you lose focus and lightly smack your husband beside you.

Once you get back to the game, a horrifying figure appears on the screen, taking almost all of the pixels it offers. You flinch back and shield your eyes away the moment Jason tries to cover you from the screen.

It all happened suddenly. But it was if time moved slower for Jason.

One minute he was about to hug you.

The next, your fist connects with his face.

Jason didn't budge but hell—your punch still hurts as when you first met!

"You promised to never punch me again!" Jason whines.

Another promise was broken. As if Jason didn't break his earlier? He's sure his jaw also is. With a grimace and a guilty heart, you caressed his face softly. It was your way of apologizing. Oh well, it's both of your faults so let's just get back to gaming.

Big Poo: Leave Doomguy and Isabelle, bro. They're Mr. and Mrs. Smith at this point

Goobert: They're both tryna survive from each other

So what if Jason's plans failed? His jaw is aching—that's fine! He still has other ways... A plan B if you will. As long as his biceps will have a spotlight. He asks you, sweetly, if he could play instead. Jason smirks triumphantly as he knows you can't resist his weirdly adorable, beaten-up face.

He was actually doing so well for someone who's allegedly never saw or played this game before. Jason passed through each trial with flying colors.

When another jumpscare had shown itself, you were suprised to see your husband inch his shoulder closer to the monitor.

"Not flexin! But look at these chills man." He's definitely flexing.

The chat goes crazy! Comments pile up regarding your 'done-with-the-bullshit-face' at the back and mostly about Jason's muscles. He yaps about the non existent chills on his biceps that the chat eats up.

Big Poo: HOLY MOTHER OF GOD—PLEASE HEADLOCK ME

Goobert: I was unfamiliar with your game, Jason. Forgive me (pls flex more)

TheCrowbar: The crowbar approves of this marriage.

"We already are married, bud. If you wanted to say no, you could've done so 4 years ago." Jason rolls his eyes at the comment.

Yeah, he's definitely not warning everyone with that sass.

Tim Drake

"How is everyone mistaking me as your brother?"

Tim glares the chat through the screen. Evidently pissed at the teasing comments towards him. They knew who he was. How could they not? You always mention him and even introduced him at the start of the stream.

He gently grabs your left hand, raising it to show your matching rings.

Big Poo: AWWW! Such a cute sibling promise rings

Goobert: He loves his sister so much. ackk its so cute!!1!!

You try your best not to laugh. It might set Tim off and make him leave without creating any content. Despite wanting to see him get teased and pissed, you had to stop the chat with a few words.

"That's enough teasing my husband, guys. He doesn't like it." But you do. Your viewers seem to caught on your interest from the way you smile and stare at him earlier. Thankfully, they play along at the moment.

"What game do you guys want to see us play?"

Ah, you shouldn't have asked them. Your husband is a geek for video games! He's better than you at every game you guys play. He was more a tower defense, strategic, and board games type of guy. Doesn't make him any less of a weak player when it comes to games like Nekket, Super Smash Sis, though.

You drag Tim along with you to read some comments. He's impressed at the rapid comment speed your viewers have. Can you read a lot from this on a daily basis? There's a lot of unhinged comments slipping through his eyes too.

"Horror games? That sounds good."

What!

Tim snaps his eyes beside you, wide with surprise.

Before you could even ask for his opinion, your husband was already shaking his head sideways. He even had his arms crossed to match with his disagreement towards the suggestion. Tim does not want horror games this late at night. Absolutely not. Not inside this household when he's around.

He knows you're questioning him. But Tim can't tell you he watched the new horror movie you've been getting him to watch with you—alone. In his defense, he didn't want you to waste money on another shitty movie like last time, so, he scavenged alone to determine if it is as good as they say.

This is the result of his little secret mission from you. It's not his fault he hasn't recovered! You didn't see how terrifying it was for yourself... and not that he plans on letting you know.

Your viewers feed on his terror, already laughing to themselves behind their screens. Tim is just unlucky that you have wealthy viewers ready to make an offer you both can't resist. Like what do you mean two people named Big Poo and Goobert paid $10,000 each just for Tim to play?

And that's how the unlucky Timothy Drake found himself hiding behind your frame, occasionally peeking behind your hair to see how his wife is doing.

Everytime you turn into a corner, flashes of that horrible face appear in front of him. God, why are the lights turned off in your room? He doesn't even want to stand up to turn it on. He's aware he's a grown man, but God forbid a man like him can't get scared.

He takes a peek at the comments at the side.

HoelessRomantic: You shouldn't go there if I were you...

Tin-a-pie: GIRL DON'T

Goobert: You're purposely going there to scare baby bro

Baby bro?! This Goobert did not just say that. It felt like all his fear went away. He pushed himself away from your back. You weren't kidding that saying anymore brother jokes will tick him off.

"You may have beaten me at suggestions, but you won't defeat me in terms of winning over my wife!" He scowls at the monitor, taking you and your viewers aback. "I'm looking at you, Goobert... This is a threat." He smiles maniacally.

Tim sweetly smiles at you. One of the things you can't resist.

"Okay... okay.. calm down, Baby. What game do you want?"

"Oh trust me, you'll love it, honey." Tim presses a kiss on your forehead as he takes control.

You love Tim.

You know him well enough considering he's your husband for 4 years now.

But you guess you didn't know him well enough to expect him to suddenly exit the game and pull out a whole ass board game between you guys. Was it sitting there unnoticed the whole time? No matter, you recognized it to be one of his favorite board games.

He excitedly sets it up on the desk for the chat to see. A smug grin on his face to show off his pre-ordered game with freebies. Tim's so excited to share a game he's mastered.

"I bet you kids don't know this. Back in my days, this was the bomb." He proudly boasts.

Big Poo: Bro pulled out his last resort

Goobert: He had to gain back some aura obv

MMONEYY: Are you sure he gained some?

Ignoring their comments, Tim starts on the basics on how to play the game. Here comes the hardest part in being his wife—listening to his long, heartfelt explanation of Dungeons and Reptiles for the second time.

Nonetheless, you were blessed to hear his voice chip at every detail of the game. To see how the love of your life's eyes gleam to share facts to the viewers you tell about Tim everyday. They knew he was a nerd from your stories—but to see and hear it real time is something else.

Tim looked like a grandparent telling stories of his youth. The stories that seemed boring, but you can't help but listen in to. Although the comments complained that it was boring, and he's like an old man, the viewer count didn't decrease.

They all listened intently with you. Do they see the vision on why you fell in love with Tim? Definitely.

Big Poo: All in vote of Tim being promoted to Husband, say aye.

Goobert: AYEEE

HoelessRomantic: Aye.

Tin-a-pie: Aye!!!

and a million others more.

"Oh so now I'm officially seen as the husband?" Tim laughs, stopping his yap about the game. He gives you a warm look and pulls you towards him. "I guess it's better than being the little brother, babe." He kisses you passionately while covering your eyes to raise his ring finger alone to the chat.

Tim must have the last laugh after all that teasing.

Damian Wayne

Damian has never been this clingy before. Is it because he's finally out in the open with you for millions to watch behind the safety of their screens? He doesn't know—only that he needs to make sure you're his only.

You can see how red his ears are on the monitor, his body boiling at the simple, cute gesture of having you in his lap while you introduced yourself and him to your viewers. This isn't PDA, he knows you're both technically alone in your shared room.

Still, he isn't used to it. He's been in the spotlight several times, sure—he's Damian Wayne, hello! Son of Bruce Wayne? You get my point, but, he hasn't really been out with you to the media except the time you got married. Damian's more of a private, but not secret type of guy, you know?

It wasn't difficult to make him agree. With a simple kiss, doe eyes, and a sweet smile, Damian would say yes without a thought!

Oh, but your chat was the mischievous type. One look at Damian and they all knew he was a guy who'd go boom for his lady. And what type of Boom you may ask? Well...

Big Poo: She is NOT going anywhere blud, calm dowwwnnnnn

Goobert: Acting like a damn dog who doesn't want to share the tree he peed on in 2025 is crazy

HoelessRomantic: Let OUR wife go you madman

"Our wife?" He growls, glaring at the camera. Damian would've stood up from his seat if you weren't on his lap.

He had ignored the first two comments above that, choosing to focus on a comment about his wife. Like—that's his wife! Not hard to understand. He had everything to prove it. Pictures of your wedding day, legal certificates, your wedding rings, and a lot more!

Instead, he snaps his head to the side, acting like he was looking at a physical body to scan up and down with a warning glare. Possessive and explosive... The chat likes that. They'll have the night of their lives dedicated to set Damian off.

"They're normally like that. Don't mind them, Honey."

He would've let it pass, and listened to your coo. And yet you let him hear you use the word, normally. Normally—as in, you listen to these goofs call you their wife? He doesn't want that. He'll create online beef for you.

And so it began, the chat and Damian's cold war.

The purpose of gaming is gone. Only Damian's sassy remarks and the viewers saying flirty stuff to get on his nerves becomes the content and entertainment. So much for the games you thought you were gonna play today.

But this? You'd pay to watch the whole day. Judging by that smug smirk on your husband's lips, he's aware that they were just teasing him. What can you say... after being with a wife who ragebaits for fun can train you into tolerating bullshit.

And what's a good way to tolerate bullshit? Fight it with your own bullshit, of course. And laughs—to show that he and you are joking. We're trying not to get banned here. So much for the millions of followers if it all ended because of his unhinged comments.

Big Poo: Pull up on roblox right now old geezer or lose husband rights to the whole chat

Goobert: OOOOOH SHITS GOING DOWN

HoelessRomantic: Millions of games and you choose roblox

Tin-a-pie: Imagine losing husband rights to a roblox game...

As soon as you read the chat's algorithm, you shake your head no at Damian. He shouldn't pick a fight over a game he doesn't know.

It was too late though.

"Challenge accepted." Damian points at the camera.

Hold on—his smugness falters. You raise a brow over the abrupt change of mood.

"Babe, do you have a roblox account?" He was so adamant in that petty challenge, it was hard to say no at this point. "You better win, loser."

"Do I look like one?" If he has the energy to roll his eyes at you, he might have the energy to kick butt on a game.

You're still appalled that it's roblox of all games. How old was this Big Poo viewer of yours to pick this one specifically? You sure hope it's not a 15 year old... or worse, they could be in the single digits! Oh God, where are this kid's parents?

"In what game will we settle this, Big Poo?"

Big Poo: Tower of hell :>

Goobert: I honestly thought you'd pick murder mystery

Big Poo: Let the old man get a taste of the... OBBY MASTERRR

Hey, hey—is this even your stream anymore or Big Poo and Goobert's private chats?

Tower of hell isn't hard. You've played it before. It was just a matter of skill to climb the tower. Damian listens intently to your instructions while waiting for the game to load where Big Poo's avatar was waiting.

"Listen, Dami, just jump over the glowing blocks and shiftlock when needed, okay? You got this, dear!"

Damian pats on his lips repeatedly until you figure out his motions. With a sigh and a chuckle, you move closer to give him a peck—just a peck! But your beloved had other plans. He pulls you by your hand and smashes his lips against yours. Your quick reflexes immediately covered the camera.

"I can't fathom how I'm in need of a kiss over a lego game."

"Me too. I feel so stupid."

You both laugh, parting away from each other when Big Poo starts to countdown in game.

It was going so well! Damian was in the lead. He's actually pretty good with obbies even if he's a noob. Mind you, he had no practice before the match. Did his training in life transfer to your roblox avatar right now? How is he moving and advancing so fast.

The chat goes crazy with a notable presence—Goobert. The poor guy was screaming their bestfriend's name so bad. They almost looked like a desperate wife wishing their soldier husband to come back home safely.

The whole chat was amazed to see Damian—a noob—winning. And he knows he is.

Goobert: USE THE SECRET WEAPON HERMANO

Damian arrives at the last platform. You marvel at the close gap between him and Big Poo. He's actually gonna win this stupid roblox bet? But what—why did Damian suddenly stop? Don't tell me he's about to—

He types fast in-game, a smug smirk on his face as he watches Big Poo's avatar inch closer to his. In just a few thumbs away, Damian sends his message.

Husband rights defended! ;p

And it was silent—the time went slow. The crowd was astounded when Big Poo suddenly had a stick with a hand at the end. It happened in slow motion. Especially for Damian who worked his way up to the top.

No matter how fast his reflexes are... it wasn't the same with the wifi.

As your roblox character fell, Damian looked dead in the camera.

"Big Poo..."

Uh oh

"I BETTER NOT SEE YOU HERE IN GOTHAM OR ELSE I WILL—"

The stream has ended.

extra scene!

In another universe...

In the timeline of Young Justice...

Jaime and Bart were laughing their asses off. Each had their own unique device that hasn't been seen by humankind other than them. It's a mystery how they even got it. Well, it was just on the table... so, it won't hurt to touch, right?

They've both been at it all day long. Lucky for them to have the day off, honestly. Or else they would've missed this multidimensional device that shows different universes. Never in their life would they see 5 of the batfamily like that.

Although 1 of them is unfamilliar, and the second Robin has changed so much.

In a span of 18 hours, all they did was watch the streams.

"How'd you even come up with Big Poo, Ese?"

"You don't wanna know what happened yesterday." Bart snickers. "Well, how about you, Goobert?"

"Don't ask me, it was Scarab's idea."

They both went silent—reminiscing the streams they just watched.

"Do you think M'gann will notice the missing $20,000 from the funds?"

"Don't worry about M'gann, worry about—"

"What $20,000?" Tim's voice springs behind them.

Great.

It just had to be the Robin who the $20,000 went to in another universe.

They better explain well or else they'll be in an interrogation room with the whole Bat Family listening in.

2K notes · View notes

helaintoloki · 4 months ago

Note

Hello and good evening,

I saw you opened requests so I'm dropping by!

What about an infinity stone mishap that has multiple Bucky variants be at the compound at the same time. (Let's just have Winter Soldier be not entirely murderous for the sake of Tony's heart) and literally no one can seem to keep some apart except Steve and reader, who goes off on a rant about all the teeny tiny, to her very obvious details that differ between the Bucky's and accidentally in doing so admits she has a huge crush on him/them??

I hope that made sense omg

And as always, only if it speaks to you and you're up for it! ♡♡

a/n: hi hon, ty for sending this in! i’ll admit this was a bit challenging to tackle but still fun! hope you don’t mind that i changed a few details in the process <3

warnings: light angst, lots of pining, fluff

summary: a multiversal mishap leaves the compound teeming with Bucky variants, and Steve entrusts you with helping him figure out which one is the real deal

“I think I had a nightmare like this once,” Sam shudders as the two of you survey the plethora of Bucky’s taking up space in the compound. A multiversal mishap had led to an overflow of variants into the compound, and now your team found themselves working vigorously to determine which Bucky was your own and which ones needed to be sent back to their proper dimension.

Getting rid of the Winter Soldiers had been the easiest, the red stars on their arms giving away their identities and also giving Tony a heart attack in the process. You could tell apart the Bucky’s with hair that was too long or too short, the one’s that had brown or green eyes instead of blue, and the ones that went by Jane instead of James. The real work, however, came when there was only a handful of variants left that looked identical to your own Bucky.

“We can’t take any chances,” Steve says after having approached you and Sam. “All of these men are going to insist they’re our version of Bucky, and we can’t risk sending back the wrong one. I’m really going to need your help on this, y/n.”

“Why me?” You retort with furrowed brows, nervously peeking your head out of the office to observe the variants that sit restless in the common room.

“Out of everyone here, you and I know Bucky best,” the blond states truthfully. “I think if we work together we have a better shot at cleaning up this whole mess. The sooner the better.”

“You got that right,” Sam scoffs, prompting you to roll your eyes in response.

You couldn’t exactly deny the truth in Steve’s words. Other than Captain America himself, Bucky considered you to be one of his closest friends. Your kindhearted nature made it easy for him to gravitate towards you when first joining the team, and after saving each other’s asses on multiple occasions, he knew you were someone he could entrust with his life. You tore down his walls with ease, you brought out the best in him, and he’d forever be indebted to you for your friendship.

You decide with Steve that the best course of action is to spend one-on-one time with each Bucky you cross paths with to detect any abnormalities in their behavior. The Captain makes it abundantly clear that you cannot let them cloud your judgement with pleasantries, and it’s pertinent you trust your gut with each decision you make. The pressure is on, and you feel the nerves settling in your gut as you approach the Bucky that has made himself at home in the communal kitchen.

“Hey, stranger,” you call gently, a pleasant smile on your face as you seat yourself at the island counter. You note with interest how the man visibly relaxes at your presence and sets aside the pot of tea he’d just finished brewing. His eyes are bright like your Bucky’s, full of adoration and relief when he sets them upon your face.

“Y/n,” he breathes out gently before coming to meet you at the counter, “you have no idea how glad I am to see you, doll.”

“Rough day?” You prompt understandingly.

“Where do I even begin? Being around so many versions of myself is more unsettling than I ever could have imagined.”

“Well, Steve and I are doing our best to fix that,” you assure him. You watch as the man turns back to his pot of tea and begins to pour you both a cup. There’s nothing unusual about this considering your Bucky also enjoys drinking tea; it helps him keep calm and relaxed before retiring for the night.

“How many are left?” He asks before handing you your mug.

“Around ten. Steve and I are making our rounds to figure out which Bucky is ours.”

“Am I your Bucky?” The man prompts with a raised brow while taking a careful drink from his cup.

“You tell me,” you reply with a faint smile, ignoring the way your heart begins to flutter when he refers to himself as ‘your Bucky.’

“I know you have a scar on your stomach from being stabbed by another Widow in the Red Room, and the reason I know that is because I accidentally walked in on you changing in the shower room once,” Bucky admits with a sheepish laugh, prompting your face to heat with embarrassment.

“God, don’t remind me,” you groan while hiding your face in your hands. It’s not exactly comforting to know that Bucky has accidentally seen you naked in at least two different universes, but it also doesn’t make it easier to determine if this man is an imposter.

“I know you like your tea with a tablespoon of honey,” he continues before gesturing to your cup. You hum thoughtfully and set the mug down before meeting his gaze.

“I do, and I know you only like chamomile tea,” you reply, prompting Bucky to stiffen in front of you as you look down at the mug in front of you. “But this is green tea.”

Sighing, the doppelgänger sets his cup down with a defeated frown before meeting your gaze with pleading eyes. “Don’t make me go back.”

“I’m sorry, but it has to be done. We can’t risk the effects that come with having two Bucky’s in one place.”

“Then can I ask you a favor?” The man says solemnly.

“Of course.”

“Before you send me back, can I… is it okay if I hug you?” He asks, catching you by surprise. Noting the confusion on your face, Bucky gives you a dejected smile that doesn’t reach his eyes before explaining, “We don’t talk anymore in my universe. I was an idiot, and you rightfully cut me out of your life. This is the first time in years you’ve looked at me with love and not utter disgust, and I just want to enjoy it a little longer before I have to leave.”

Your heart aches for this poor Bucky who very clearly misses you, or at least his version of you, so you can’t find it in yourself to deny his request. You wordlessly rise from your seat and allow him to wrap his arms around your frame. His hold is tight, his nose brushing against your neck as he savors the feel of your touch, and you feel terrible for the fact that there isn’t anything you can do to help him.

“I’m not sure what happened between the two of you,” you utter quietly while rubbing comforting circles into his back, “but if she’s anything like me, I know she probably misses you but is too stubborn to admit it. Don’t give up on her.”

You release him with a smile and find his eyes shining with tears as he lets your words settle. You bid him a final goodbye before escorting him to Tony and Bruce so that he can be properly transferred back to his own time. That’s only one Bucky down with several more to go, and you know now that you really have your work cut out for you. This is going to be much more difficult than you anticipated.

You stumble upon the next Bucky quietly ruminating in your room, and it takes him a moment to detect your presence as you lean against the doorway and simply observe his mannerisms. You can already tell this isn’t your Bucky by the way he anxiously taps his fingers against his knees; your Bucky’s tell is the anxious bouncing of his leg. This Bucky also wears his hair pulled back into a ponytail, whereas your Bucky prefers to tie his hair back into in a half-up style.

His eyes widen in shock when he finally notices you standing there, and you’re taken aback by the way he nearly flings himself at you. His strong arms wrap around your midsection and lift you off the ground, holding you impossibly tight against him as if you’ll disappear otherwise.

“жена,” he whispers in a trembling voice while combing a hand through your hair.

“I don’t speak Russian…” you voice with an uncomfortable laugh, struggling to take a breath due to how tightly you’re pressed against him. “Buck, you’re kind of suffocating me here.”

The man finally releases you after your admission, but his hands immediately find their way to your cheeks as he cups your face and rests his forehead against your own. You’re startled by the closeness, but there’s no denying the rapid beating of your heart when you stare into his troubled eyes. You’ve had daydreams like this before, but it’s jarring to experience it in person.

“When I arrived here and came across your room I thought it was too good to be true,” he utters shakily, “but you’re here. You’re alive.”

“Bucky, I-“

“You’ve come back to me, жена.”

“жена?” You repeat unsurely. His panicked features melt into a fond smile at the sound of your botched Russian, and he carefully pushes back your hair before gifting you a nod of confirmation.

“Wife.”

Your eyes widen at his proclamation, your heart dropping to your chest while you process the weight of his words and struggle with the turmoil inside of you. You thought dealing with the Bucky from the kitchen was difficult, but this is way out of your playing field.

“Oh god,” you breathe out before carefully removing his hands from your face. He frowns.

“What’s wrong?”

“I know this is all really confusing, but I’m not…” you start to say, grappling with your guilt at having to crush the man’s hopes of being reunited with his version of you, “I’m not your wife.”

The man’s features become sullen at your confession, brows furrowing in disappointment and confusion. “What do you mean? You aren’t y/n?”

“I am, but I’m just not the same y/n you know. This is a different dimension, and you were sent here by accident.”

“So you’re not… she’s not really alive, then,” he murmurs dejectedly, eyes casting towards the floor in despair.

“No, and I’m so sorry I’m not the one you’re looking for,” you console, resting a comforting hand on his bicep. Bucky’s eyes flutter shut at the feel of your touch, something he’d been lacking since your death. You aren’t his wife, but in spite of that, he is grateful to be able to speak to you and see your face once more. “Can I ask what happened to her?”

“Hydra wanted revenge for my desertion and for aiding Captain America in their destruction,” Bucky utters lowly, eyes hardening at the memory. “An eye for an eye. She paid the price for my mistakes, and I’ve spent every waking moment avenging her death.”

A chill runs through your spine as you hear the recounting of your counterpart’s death, but you do your best to remain composed while in the presence of this alternate version Bucky. Your heart aches for the man, and you once again find yourself completely useless at trying to help him.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you express solemnly. Despite this, Bucky looks to you with a tender smile before carefully taking your hand in his own.

“Don’t be. I know you’re not her, but seeing you again, hearing your voice- It’s the most precious gift I could ask for. Thank you for giving me some semblance of peace.”

You’re a wreck when this Bucky is returned to his own timeline, and after multiple instances of running into Bucky’s who believe you’re their y/n Steve assures you that he’ll take over moving forward. It seems that each Bucky you speak to cares so fondly for you, they adore you even, and yet in this universe you’ve been designated as a close friend and nothing more. It’s killing you to see all the ‘what if’s,’ because deep inside you know that you’ll never be with your Bucky the way you want to.

You’re not sure when your crush on the super soldier had first developed, but you know that you’ve harbored these romantic feelings for him for quite a while now. You’ve never told anyone, though you can guess Steve was smart enough to figure it out on his own, and you have no urge to act on such feelings in fear of how complicated things will become if he doesn’t reciprocate your emotions.

Your rumination leaves you in deep thought as you sit out on the balcony and enjoy some quiet after all the chaos you’ve endured. You hear the sliding door open and shut behind you, but you make no attempt to see who it is until they seat themselves beside you. You peek at Bucky from the corner of your eyes before returning your gaze to the New York skyline, simply enjoying his presence without making an effort to speak.

“You doing okay?” He asks, effectively breaking the silence between you.

“I didn’t think being around multiple versions of you would be so exhausting,” you confess with a humorless laugh, but it prompts his lips to quirk up slightly into a smile.

“You’re starting to sound like Sam,” he teases with a careful nudge to your side. While you’d normally laugh at his jokes, Bucky doesn’t even get a smile out of you. You feel him shift closer to you and hope he can’t detect the way your heart picks up a beat in response. He nudges you again softer this time and asks, “Talk to me. What’s eating you?”

“Every Bucky variant I met today looked at me like I moved heaven and earth together, like I was their reason for getting up in the morning, and I guess it just reminded me of the fact that my own Bucky doesn’t really look at me that way.”

You pull your knees up to your chest and let your chin fall on top of them with a melancholic sigh. A part of you feels embarrassed to be voicing your disappointment aloud, but you figure there’s no harm in telling a variant since you’ll never have to see them again after today.

“Do you want him to look at you that way?”

“Of course I do,” you avow incredulously like the answer isn’t already obvious. “I love him so much that Steve trusted my judgement enough to have me help him sniff out the doppelgängers. I know how he likes his tea, how he does his hair, what his favorite movie is- the list could go on forever. But of course, I live in the one universe where Bucky and I don’t end up together.”

You feel his hand come to rest on the small of your back and shudder at the feel of his cool metal hand seeping through your sweater. You can’t help but to lean against him so that your head is rested on his shoulder, and you’re able to find some comfort in his presence. You hear him let out a thoughtful hum beside you.

“You want to know something?” Bucky pronounces. He feels your head nod against him and smiles. “I know the exact moment I fell in love with you.”

The confession has you lifting your head to peer up at him questioningly. “You do?”

“Of course I do. We were on a mission, and you picked up Steve’s shield to stop a bullet from hitting me straight on before using it to knock out three bad guys in a row. You looked so strong, so beautiful. My heart was yours from then on.”

“I didn’t think you remembered that,” you confess quietly, stomach fluttering with nervous butterflies.

“Haven’t stopped thinking about it since,” he asserts with a fond smile. “Any Bucky would be lucky to have you, and I’m sorry yours has been too chicken to make a move.”

“I guess it’s not totally his fault,” you relent with a meager shrug. “I’m chicken, too.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Bucky suggests, tone light and inviting. “I know I’m not the most obvious about it, but I love you too.”

You open your mouth to answer only to be interrupted by the sound of the sliding door again. You turn to see Steve standing there, surprise on his features when he sees you two sitting on the balcony together.

“Y/n, I’ve been looking for you,” he says suddenly. “I wanted to talk to you about the variants-“

“Don’t worry,” you interrupt him with a passive wave of your hand before gesturing towards Bucky with your head. “I found another one for you. This Bucky just told me he loves me which means he’s definitely not ours.”

“Actually,” Steve says with an amused grin, “I was just coming to tell you we sent the last of them back to their own dimensions.”

“What?” You gape in shock, heart immediately dropping to your stomach as you slowly shift your gaze towards the Bucky sitting next to you. He flashes you a bashful smile and a small wave that fills you with embarrassment.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” the blond says with a knowing smile before making his exit, leaving you alone once more with the man you’d just poured your entire heart out to.

“I thought you knew,” Bucky offers apologetically. You take a nervous swallow before forcing yourself to meet his gaze again.

“So you’re saying that you do love me?” You ask hesitantly, almost afraid that this is all some sort of joke.

“I may not be as romantic or straightforward as the other Bucky’s you met, but I love you just as much as they do if not more,” he professes earnestly, gently resting a hand on your cheek to pull you closer. “I think we make a great team, but we’d make an even better couple.”

“I think so too,” you utter with a giddy smile, waiting with bated breath as Bucky slowly begins to lean in. The anticipation is killing you, but you’re finally rewarded for your patience when his lips meet your own in a tender kiss. Your lashes flutter shut as you melt into his touch, reveling in the moment you’ve dreamed of since discovering your feelings for Bucky.

No matter the timeline and no matter the universe, Bucky is destined to fall in love with his y/n. And you wouldn’t want it any other way.

#mel writes #request #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier #marvel #mcu #mcu x reader #mcu imagine

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moonstruckme · 3 months ago

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Hello icon ✨Could we have a poly!wolfstar x reader where she thinks that they are mad at her for something (or they could actually be a bit miffed) and it just a bit of hurt comfort with cuddles and kisses at the end😔🙏🏻

Thank you for requesting <3

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’re being weird.

The three of you are doing a puzzle, which usually captivates your attention but never Sirius’, which is how he’s so very aware of how little attention you’re actually paying to the puzzle. You keep glancing at Sirius, at Remus, like you’re nervous about something. You’ve been like this all day. It’s in and out, sometimes waning like you’ve forgotten to be anything but normal, but Sirius has a keen gauge for tension. He can sense it every time it ticks back up.

You’re pretending to look for sky pieces, though Sirius suspects you forgot what color the sky in your puzzle was a while ago. He feels like you’re building to something, and it makes his skin itch. Remus is too absorbed in his tree bark pieces to notice—the nerd—so it’s up to Sirius to get it out of you. Luckily, James has always said that Sirius is a master of tact.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You were halfway to sneaking another glance at him, and you react as though you’ve been struck, jumping a little where you sit on the rug by the coffee table. “What? Nothing.”

“Well, that was very believable.” Sirius smiles to take some of the bite out of it. “Come on, you have me on the edge of my seat. What’s got you all worked up?”

“I am not worked up,” you insist, though your expression says otherwise.

Remus appears confused, but he notices your guilty eyes as well. “What’s happening?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you say again.

“Clearly something,” Sirius counters.

Your lips press together, corners downturnt. You’re not looking at either of them.

“Hey.” Sirius softens his voice. “What is it? You’re freaking me out, babe.”

This only seems to distress you further. “I wanted you not to freak out,” you say.

“Sweetheart, about what?” Now Remus sounds worried too, though the look he gives you is more patient than anything Sirius could ever manage. He ducks his head to catch your gaze.

After a moment of looking at him, your shoulders droop. “Okay.” Your voice has quieted. “Just a second.”

Sirius’ anxiety ratchets as you stand, going down the hall towards your room.

“Why does it feel like she’s going to bring us back a school report?” he murmurs to Remus.

Remus shakes his head, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “No idea.”

When you return, it is with papers, though Sirius doesn’t at first know what they are.

“This came this morning,” you say in that same resigned voice, laying them down on the coffee table as you sit back down next to Sirius.

With Sirius and Remus on opposite sides they can’t both read the text at once, and Remus picks them up first. Sirius spots you bringing your hand to your mouth and reaches for it silently, drawing it away before you can start chewing your fingernails. Your nervousness is making him nervous. He pushes his thumb up the lines of your palm.

“Oh,” Remus hums.

“Remus,” Sirius says, in a tone that clearly communicates if somebody doesn’t start talking I’m going to throw a wobbly.

“It’s the gas bill,” says Remus. He’s making his old man face, where he leans away slightly and squints like he needs glasses. Ordinarily Sirius would tease him for it, but he’s not in the mood. “Bit high.”

“I’m sorry,” you say in a small voice.

Sirius looks at you. Frowning, your hand still trapped in his. “Why are you sorry?”

“Is this…” One glance at Remus, and it’s clear Sirius is now the one lagging in understanding. “Is this because you left the oven on?”

Your expression says enough.

Oh, well. In fairness, Sirius had thrown a bit of a wobbly over that.

It was weeks ago. You made cookies just before bed. They were warm, gooey, the perfect precursor to sleep and an excellent excuse, in Sirius’ opinion, to trade chocolate-flavored kisses until all three of you were snoozing on your pillows. It hadn’t been until he and Remus were making breakfast the next morning that Remus smelled the gas. You’d come out of the bedroom, confused, to find them throwing open windows and calling the fire department for advice. Your gas oven had been left on all night.

You felt awful. Your boyfriends gave you an appropriate amount of shit for it, but it was only thoughtless, not malicious. Your apartment hadn’t blown up. The smell drifted away within a few minutes, and in all honesty Sirius was left feeling a bit bad that what began as you trying to make them all happy had resulted in you being so thoroughly chastised. But it had been let go.

Until now, evidently.

“I can pay it,” you offer meekly. “The difference, or all of it.”

Remus sighs, rubbing his brow. “Dove…”

“Let me see that.” Sirius reaches with the hand not holding yours. Remus gives it to him. He finds the total quickly. “This isn’t even that high.”

Okay, it’s a bit high. But genuinely, Sirius was expecting worse.

“It’s my fault,” you mumble.

“Baby, is this what you’re all wound up about?” Sirius sets the papers down to gawk at you. “Really? I thought something happened.”

You’re shrinking, your hand tense in his. “Something did happen.”

“Yeah, a whole month ago!”

“Sirius,” Remus murmurs, in a tone Sirius knows to mean you’re not helping. He asks you, “Did you think we would be angry with you?”

Spiderweb cracks spread through your expression. Your mouth wobbles.

“Oh, you absolute moron.” Sirius grabs for you with both hands, hauling you into his lap.

“Pads.”

“You ridiculous, sweet idiot.” He kisses your head. Once, twice, three times. “Why’d you have to go and get all worked up? You got me worked up, silly thing.”

“I’m sorry,” you say weakly.

“Alright, that’s enough apologizing,” Remus says gently. Underneath the coffee table, a socked foot bumps into Sirius’ leg before presumably finding yours. Sirius grins. Remus is tactile in the oddest ways sometimes. Like a cat.

He loves you both so very much. God, you really had him going. He feels liable to squeeze the life out of you.

He satiates the urge by kissing you all over your face until you look significantly less upset. You look at Sirius with tentative relief, the beginnings of a smile curled up in the corner of your mouth.

He’s about to ask you again how you could be so stupid, but Remus speaks first. Probably for the best.

“It really won’t be so much more for each of us once we split it,” he says, looking again at the bill.

That guilty look is back on your face. Sirius gives you a squeeze in hopes of banishing it. “I can get it,” you say. “It wouldn’t be there if I hadn’t been so…if I hadn’t left the oven on.”

“You don’t need to punish yourself,” Remus tells you. “It’s all right.”

You fidget. “I feel like you should probably be angrier with me.”

“We already have been angry with you,” Sirius points out. “We got over it. Time to move on, babe.”

“It was a mistake.” Remus’ gaze is steady. Knowing. “It was scary, but it happens. You shouldn’t be angry at yourself for us, lovely.”

You look to be gnawing the inside of your lip. “Are you sure?” you ask.

Sirius scoffs. “I can be angry without anyone’s help, thank you.” Then, at your wary look, “But I’m not angry about this.”

Slowly, the tension Sirius has been sensing seeps out of you. You relax in a way you haven’t all day long.

Remus notices, too. “Sweetheart,” he sighs, in a soft, fond voice. “Talk to us next time, okay?”

“I know, sorry.” You give him a sheepish look. “I was going to. I just really thought you’d be upset.”

“Yeah, well.” Sirius kisses your head, sharing an eye roll with Remus. “Shows what you know.”

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pedgito · 4 months ago

Text

𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑 | Cowboy!Joel Miller x reader

summary | Through all of his supposed wrong-doing, Joel has never failed you. Alternatively, falling in love with your dad's enemy while he shows you your full potential.

author's note | this is for @kedsandtubesocks's wild ride writing challenge! i struggled with this for a while, but ultimately erika and @hauntedhowlett helped me settle on something after sitting on the struggle bus for longer than i liked. this is all unbeta'd so please go easy on me dsjhkg

content warning | 18+ MDNI, no outbreak au, rodeo cowboy!joel, dbf but they're rivals now, forbidden love, hefty age gap (early 20s, late 40s), daddy issues, switches between present/flashbacks (all titled to differentiate), joel strolling around shirtless in a cowboy hat, mentions of injuries from riding, angst/internal conflict, fluff, smut (inappropriate use of a barstool), joel's such a loverboy

word count — 7.5k

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

The energy in the stadium is inconceivable.

Austin always had amazing crowds during rodeo season, especially with such a close-knit community of people supporting a passion many have attempted to pursue. For you, it was in your blood, riding on the coattails of your father, you were saddled on a horse before you could even speak full sentences.

You can hear the deep, roaring chants as you stand steadily in the waiting pen, eyes locked on the television as the words echo in your ear, a faint smile growing on your face as you feel the solid press of his hand against your back.

Joel.

It was a year of tireless dedication to get you back on a horse, somehow managing to entangle yourself in his grasp in more ways than you can explain—he wasn’t just a partner, he was your lover, a confidant, and the only person that could ease the quickly growing nerves.

“Like ridin’ a bike,” He says with an ease that comes natural to his voice, hand climbing up to settle against the back of your neck with a reassuring squeeze, “what’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

“What if she gets startled?” You ask absently, the accident flashing through your mind in snapshots, the subtle twinge of pain in your knee that came and went when it felt like it.

“All she needs is you,” Joel reminds you, “s’never been a time I’ve seen her freak out when she’s got you on her back and you know it.”

Honey had been with you since you were a young girl, a trust built through years of connection and care, having practiced the art of non-verbal communication, you knew there was nothing to worry about, but the fear still lingered.

Joel’s Ranch, One Year Ago — Flashback:

Joel can see the way your hands shake, attempting to grasp the reins a few times with a clammy grip, over-adjusting yourself on the horse he’s ridden for many years, even into retirement. Buttercup was docile but strong and he’s attentive to Joel’s instruction, a rub over his snout as he attempted to reassure you.

It was your first time back on a horse since your accident, months of recuperating on Joel’s ranch with the help of him and his brother Tommy, working through doctor’s visits and physical therapy alongside two men who weren’t your father, but had filled the hole enough that you didn’t have to suffer through your injury alone.

“We’re just doing a few laps and getting a feel on things,” Joel reminds you, “I’m not pushin’ you and I’m not gonna let you push it too soon—what’s your number today?”

You bend and stretch your leg hesitantly, a subtle movement as Joel’s hand rests just above the thick band of your jeans, your face contorting in slight discomfort.

“Five…six,” You say indecisively, looking down at Joel.

“So, an eight,” He surmises with a smile, “alright—just a few laps and we’ll work from there.”

It was a step forward, fearful that you might never ride again.

But, Joel follows you around the ring from start to finish.

He promised in the beginning that he wouldn’t leave your side and he hasn’t lied once.

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

While dressage started their run, you and Joel slipped off into a dressing room to watch the show and deal with the insistence from Joel that you shouldn’t ride on an empty stomach.

You picked at the food sparingly though, still feeling rattled by the energy in the arena.

Joel’s presence comes from behind, palms spread over the arms of your chair as he leans his chest into your back, lips brushing against your ear in an endearing manner, a ghost of his breath against the side of your face as he presses a gentle kiss against your neck.

"Hey," he murmurs softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. "You're going to be amazing out there, baby. I believe in you."

You lean back into his warmth, letting out a shaky breath. His arms encircle you, strong and comforting. "I'm just so nervous," you whisper.

Joel turns your face with his fingers at your chin. His eyes, filled with tenderness, meet yours.

"Remember why you started riding in the first place? That freedom? The connection?"

You nod and his hand flattens against the side of your neck and you tilt your chin up expectantly, eager for a kiss that never comes, instead he chuckles and placates you with another kiss to your cheek.

“No distractions,” He chastises, “I meant that.”

You pout for a brief moment but relent, knowing that you needed a clear head and Joel would give you anything but with how easily he’s clouded your thoughts in the past several months.

Joel’s Ranch, Six Months Ago — Flashback:

When it happens, you aren’t expecting it.

Neither is Joel, which makes the entire situation unfold faster than you’re capable of processing.

The storm rolled in without warning, the wind picking up like someone had flipped a switch.

But, the lighting strikes unexpectedly from the right and downfield with not a drop of rain in sight.

It startles everyone, but especially Buttercup, Joel’s horse. It was quick buck, with Joel’s hands on your waist luckily, so the decent is smooth but the impact isn’t as graceful as you would have liked while Joel’s horses thrashes wildly until he can calm him down, moving you a safe distance away before he can eventually get Buttercup tucked away in the stables and return to you, jogging toward you as the rain began to mist.

As Joel approaches, his eyes lock with yours, concern etched across his features.

The misting rain clings to his cheeks, making them glisten in the fading light. He reaches out, his calloused hands gently cupping your face. Thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice soft and filled with worry.

You nod, unable to speak as you realize how close he is.

It’s never been like this, even in the moments of physical therapy and joint dinners with him and his brother—Joel had always been careful about being respectful and keeping his distance.

Joel was prominent in your childhood, weekend dinners with him and his daughters after the death of your mother—it was all a blur now, most of it buried away and forgotten. But, there was an eventual blow-up with your father and then he was gone.

You’d see him on television and around town when shows were happening and he had a break from his extensive tour through different states, having turned his professional career into entertainment both out of a need for change and necessity.

He constantly remained out of reach, but with your injury and his willingness to yield to you when you needed someone in your life the most, he had stepped in. It made you feel like that little girl again, scraping your knee on the ground and crying for help, but instead of your dad it was Joel and the floating feeling in your stomach wasn’t because he was comforting you, but because he was touching you and neither of you had the courage to speak on it.

He’s never touched you like this. He wouldn’t.

Joel’s always been careful—too careful.

"I'm fine," you assure him, but your voice trembles slightly. Joel kneels closer, his warmth enveloping you despite the cool rain. His hands find your shoulders, steadying you, “Joel—I swear, I’m okay.”

“M’so sorry, sweetheart,” He apologises despite no wrongdoing, “I should’ve checked the weather or at least held on a little tighter,”

You look up into his eyes, seeing the genuine worry there, and something else – something that makes your heart flutter in your chest. "It's not your fault," You insist, blinking away the rain from your lashes before Joel is helping you to your feet, his touch never once leaving your body.

The rain is falling harder now, but neither of you can find the urgency to move.

Joel's hands slide down your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Your breath catches in your throat, coming out in a desperate attempt to clear the swell as you make a small, weak noise that seems to break him from his trance.

“Let’s get you dry,” He nods toward the house, grateful for the deflection as you turn, but his hand is still pressed firmly against your back as you both walk toward the door, like he’s too scared to let go - like you were too fragile to leave on your own.

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

Honey nuzzles into your chest before nibbling at the apple in your palm, always rigid about the time you spent with her before your shows, a moment of quiet and connection that strengthens the bond.

She was full of personality, leaning into the gentle touch you apply to her snout as you rub your hand up and into her mane, a small push into your ribs as she hears Joel approach.

Your heart swells with affection as you lean into Honey's warmth, savoring the sweet moment.

Joel's footsteps draw near, but you're reluctant to break the spell.

You press a soft kiss to Honey's velvety nose, whispering words of love and gratitude. As Joel appears, his eyes meet yours and a tender smile spreads across his face. He understands the depth of your connection with Honey, having witnessed your bond grow over countless shows and quiet moments like this. Even when you were much younger and Honey was twice the size she is now.

Your father had purchased her when Joel was meeting Buttercup, how the girls had hounded him over the responsibility to name his horse. He wouldn’t admit how much he liked it, either.

"You two are inseparable," he murmurs, stepping closer. His hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers as you both stroke Honey's mane, "I swear, sometimes I think you love that horse more than me."

You laugh, giving your horse one last pat before turning to Joel. "Are you jealous?"

Your head tilts, eyes as wide and vulnerable as they always were with him.

“Not when you look at me like that,” Joel explains, his hand cupping your chin as his thumb rubs against the point of it, the corners of your mouth tugging upwards as Joel mirrors that same admiration, a playful glint in his eyes as you pucker your lips and kiss his thumb, keeping your eyes on him, “boy, you are really pushin’ it today.”

It was silly to think about now, but a few months prior Joel wouldn’t even allow himself to touch you like this, despite the clear indication of how you felt and how he had ultimately fallen first, too scared to admit that he’d fallen for his old friend’s daughter, knowing your father despised everything that Joel was, it was a maze he didn’t know how to navigate.

He still felt lost on most days.

Joel’s Ranch, Five Months Ago — Flashback:

Mornings were sacred on Joel’s ranch - a beautiful sunrise etched out over the hills and through the trees, animals rousing from their sleep, and a silence that reminded you of a simpler time.

Usually you found Joel up this early, nursing a mug of coffee in his hands as rocked in the old chair on his porch, eventually finding the courage to join him after a while, when it didn’t hurt to bend down to his level, taking a seat on the deck near his legs and sipping at your own drink of choice, talking through your pain level on whatever particular day it was.

Your fondness has grown over shared meals and proximity; seclusion, too.

It was you and him, months alone aside from Tommy’s occasional visit.

Maybe it was inevitable—that your injury served a purpose.

You always tried to find a reason to excuse your own mistake, a moment of hesitation that cost you an entire year of your newfound career, excitedly filling in for Joel in his departure.

It couldn’t have been for nothing.

You felt her heart skip a beat as his footsteps approached, his gaze warm as it descended upon you, peering over your shoulder to be met with a tired smile.

The morning sunlight caught the silver in his hair, and you found herself admiring the lines around his eyes - evidence of a life filled with both laughter and hardship.

"Good mornin’," Joel's voice was a low rumble, softened by the early hour, “something botherin’ you?”

“Why do you ask?” You chirp with a soft laugh, narrowing your gaze in a manner to intimidate.

Joel smirks half-heartedly, “It’s a good place to think,” He notes, “so—what is it?”

“Can I ask about my dad?” You start hesitantly, not sure how sore of a subject it was for him.

“Whaddya wanna know, sugar?”

“I want your side,” You wanted honesty, not half-truths, “did you cut him out of the deal?”

“He cut himself out,” Joel explains without skipping a beat, “we were partners for a long time, couldn’t have imagined doin’ all I did without him before he turned on me, but it was good money, security—it put Ellie and Sarah through college.

“He’s a sell-out,” If there was any time for your father to disparage Joel Miller, he would, “runnin’ off to Florida and taking some big deal, that shit ain’t right—it’s selfish.”

Joel had never meant to turn his career into entertainment, competing in circuits at a professional level before his body started to take a toll, eventually earning the Old Timer moniker and booking shows around the surrounding cities of Texas before touring the country.

If you were involved in rodeo, or even caught a whiff of it in the media, you knew who the Old Timer was. And even with him gone, you can feel your father looming.

The echoing mantra of his words in your head as you remember watching Joel perform with Buttercup, a long-established Bronc with his own exuberant personality to match Joel’s more subdued one, a perfect balance.

Ain’t nothing out there you won’t experience here in Austin.

You weren’t sure where the animosity stemmed from until now—it was a clear path he had pictured for himself and you, riding out the rest of your career in Texas, even as you were starting to climb the ladder as one of the more notorious female riders, still just a whisper for most people, living in the shadow of your father for so long.

“He’s stuck in his ways and that’s not sayin’ I’m any different, but I don’t regret signing that deal for a better way of livin’—a easier way, it got me all of this,” He throws his arms out lazily, property that stretched for miles, a place where he’s come to offer a camp for young riders to learn the ropes and get comfortable around the animals in a safe environment.

But, it was also home.

It was a surprise waking up one morning to a yard full of kids, a handful no older than ten or eleven, showing how easily Joel molded into the teaching role in such a relaxed environment.

You weren’t sure if that was when your feelings for him had evolved or if it was during the early weeks of being injured when Joel would sit with you bedside almost every night, either reading or working on his crosswords like it was religion, glasses perched on his nose as he moved with every subtle twitch you would make, worry etched on his face.

It was a mix of both and more, countless times you’ve found yourself at a loss for words.

“If he knew,” You pause, chewing at your bottom lip with worry, “if he knew—that I was here, that I turned down his help to come to you, Joel, I don’t know how he would react,”

“There ain’t a single reason he needs to know,” Joel assures you, “I’m sure he’s said a lot about me and some of it is probably true, but you deserve a place you feel safe.”

You nod, feeling a wave of relief wash over you.

Joel's words sink in, and you realize just how much you needed to hear them. The weight of your father's expectations, his dreams for your future, had been suffocating you for far too long.

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the soft whinnying of horses in the nearby stables, and your words linger, like you’re holding back, “I do—I do feel safe…”

Joel hums, turning his body toward you more, his elbow meeting the railing of the ring.

“But?”

“You have to know,” You begin, heart constricting with nerves, a surge of adrenaline rushing through your veins as Joel looks at you, all of you, that familiar full body glance that you’re not even sure he realizes he’s doing, “it’s more than just safety, Joel.”

"I reckon I do know," he says, his voice low and gravelly, still thick from sleep. "Been knowin' for a while now."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning and possibility. Uncertainty.

“I feel stupid,” You laugh away the sudden embarrassment, face heating as the silence grows, “fuck I’m—I’m only a couple years older than the girls and you were helping me with my math homework while trying to teach them how to tie their shoes. It’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“Seems to me like you’re an adult capable of making her own choices,” Joel decides.

You feel a flutter in your chest at Joel's words, at the implicit acceptance in them.

Your eyes meet his, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt, but you find only warmth and a hint of something deeper, enticingly haunting.

"I've been making my own choices for a while now," you say softly, not realizing the instinctual gravitation toward him until his chest is pressing into your shoulder. "Some good, some...not so good. But, coming here? It was the first choice I’ve made for myself that felt right."

“It always needs to feel like that, sweetheart.”

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

Joel tightens the belt at your waist, the leather stiff from lack of wear. You’ve only worn the uniform a few times for fittings, a brightly colored shirt and riding pants to match, which were still hung on the rack behind Joel.

He takes a moment to tug at the leather to assure it was secure before he drops down to his knees, catching you by surprise with a bubble of laughter slipping past your lips.

“Joel, what are you doing?”

He shrugs, pressing featherlight kisses along the top of your thigh while his hand drags along the back, hooking behind your right leg as he brings your knee to his mouth, his lips pressing over the jagged but healed scar.

You find yourself overcome with unexpected emotion, throat burning with the threat of impending tears, the moment holding still as Joel looks up at you.

Joel’s Ranch, Four Months Ago — Flashback:

It was intended to be a simple task, filling the troughs with water as you both lugged the buckets to each individual pen, narrowly escaping Joel’s increasingly boyish behavior as he fills the trough up halfway before he’s tossing the rest of the water at you, gasping at the cold, frigid temperature of it.

“You ain’t smiled today,” Joel reminds you, suddenly sheepish as you realize how big the grin on your face has grown, wasting the rest of the water to return the wet favor, tossing the bucket on the floor before you decide to make a run for the house nearly at the door before you slip on a slick spot of mud.

Squealing, your arms flail out—you accept your fate, arms bracing behind you as you wait for the impact, but instead you’re caught by two thick arms wrapping under and around you and your breath catches as you find yourself pressed against Joel's broad chest, his strong arms holding you securely.

Your heart races with an anxious stir of emotions, interlaced with excitement, suddenly very aware of how close your bodies are. Joel aids you back to your feet, shoving him away playfully as you snake your way out of his arms, trying your hardest to seem upset even though you weren’t.

“Careful,” Joel warns, “can’t have you injuring yourself any worse, you’ll be takin’ up a permanent residence here.

“Would it be so bad?” You ask curiously, a hint of teasing to your tone, “I think you like the idea of keeping me here, all to yourself.”

His eyes echo his earlier words. Careful.

The restraint he shows day by day amazes himself with how hard you’ve tried to break him down, some guilt surrounding his own growing feelings, ashamed with how strong they’ve become.

“Where’s your manners, anyways?” You ask, “You get a girl all wet and you can’t even invite her to dinner or kiss her first? And I thought you were a gentleman.”

Joel wasn’t intimidated by much in his life, but the way you see straight through him with ease—he’s helpless under your gaze, the grin on your face that follows is tortuous to his psyche.

“Oh, don’t hurt yourself, Joel,” You tease, poking at the damp fabric stuck to his chest, his eyes following the movement as you pull away and turn toward the house, “I’m just fucking with you.”

Joel snaps then, pulling at your wrist with a gentle tug, “Now, you ain’t gotta be so crude all the time, mouth like that’ll get you in trouble,”

Like this?

Joel sees the smug expression as it sneaks onto your features, his grip climbing higher until you’re at the lip of his front door and he’s got you crowded, pressing into the flimsy screen as he noses at your cheek like a wolf sniffing out prey, violently aware of how your hand squeezes into his wet shirt and pulls him closer.

“Just kiss me,” You plead, “fuck—please. Just do it.”

It was a craving so unnatural you ache, in your gut and chest, lips parting as your chin lifts in an effort to chase his hesitance. You’ve both been dancing around this for weeks.

Joel's resolve crumbles, his self-control shattering like glass.

With a low growl, he captures your lips in a hurried kiss, weeks of pent-up desire pouring out in a single, passionate moment. His calloused hands frame your face, holding you steady as he deepens the kiss, tongue seeking entrance between your lips.

And you melt instantly, fingers curling tighter into his shirt. It was everything you needed.

Rough but tender, his soft lips against your own with the satisfying scratch of his overgrown beard that tickled your cheeks and nose, hiccuping a breath into the kiss as he tilts your head up to meet his hungry mouth, each press more insatiable than the last.

When you finally part, both panting for air, Joel rests his forehead against your own and allows his eyes to fall shut for a moment as you giggle, shaking slightly in his hold.

“Now, was that so hard?”

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

He’s got you imprisoned this way—body and soul, your hand shifting to rest at the crown of his head, curling into his hair, another gentle kiss before he’s leaning his cheek against the inside of your thigh and offering a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

“You plan on stayin’ down there, cowboy?”

Joel chuckles, shifting to hide his face into your thigh.

It’s a gentle tickle, his mouth against your skin, but it brings you immense comfort.

“We’ve got fifteen minutes,” You remind him, eyeing the clock overhead, “I think we can manage.”

He shakes his head with relaxed defiance, groaning quietly as he pushes to his feet again.

“Right—right, later. No distractions,” You repeat his earlier words, followed by a playful roll of your eyes, “You’re not making it easy, you know?”

Joel’s Ranch, Four Months Ago — Flashback:

Joel’s got you on a strict schedule lately once you’re cleared for training—breakfast, a workout, practice, lunch, repeat, only a few months out until your inevitable return and he’s hammering the routine into your brain, which you appreciate, but a break would be nice.

The run-through was flawless this evening and you retired earlier, savoring the burning heat of water as it melted over your skin, dressed in a loose shirt and panties as you searched through your messy suitcase of clothes and the pile that has grown over time with your extensive stay, down on your knees.

It wasn’t always this easy, depending on Joel for nearly everything in the beginning of your stay.

He was showering in his room simultaneously, or so you thought.

Joel spotted your hat about halfway through the living room, resting on a post outside.

His chest is still wet, jeans unbuttoned but snug on his hips as he strolled barefoot outside and retrieved the item, knowing that you hardly parted with it, it was a strange sight.

You pause in your rummaging, sensing a presence behind you moments later.

Turning, your breath catches at the sight of Joel standing in your doorway, hat balanced on his head as he leaned against the frame and smiled, the muscles in his arms conforming to the stretch and pull as he crossed them, tanned skin glistening with the few droplets of water still lingering.

“Found your hat,” Well, one could only suspect.

You stand slowly, acutely aware of how little you're wearing. "Thanks," you murmur as you make your way toward him, reaching for the hat. Your fingers brush as he hands it over, his own molding around the crown of the hat, bottom side up.

Joel doesn’t let go immediately like you’re anticipating, “I think you deserve a weekend off,”

“No,” You argue instantly, “I’m finally getting comfortable with the routine, I don’t need a day off.”

Joel’s face scrunches up in with a lack of belief in you words, tilting his head with narrowing gaze, “Now, that’s something only a person who needs a day off would say,”

“Joel, no,” You put your foot down, finally prying his fingers away from the hat, seeking a few inches of space from his bare chest and the unbearable heat that radiates from his frame.

While your admission of feelings had led him to be less reserved with the way he approached your or talked, more touchy during practice and at night while you both cuddled up on the couch and watched some old western you could care less about—Joel really loved them, though, so that had to count for something.

He makes you nervous, anticipatory of his next move, waiting for him to put your misery and break the metaphorical seal over your relationship—if you could even call it that, but it never happened. It would have to be you, a choice you made entirely on your own.

Your heart races as you take a step back, clutching the hat to your chest like a shield.

Joel's eyes follow your movement, a flicker of something indecipherable crossing his face before he schools his expression back to that easy, warm smile. It’s subtle, but there.

"I get it," Joel levels, "You're afraid of losing momentum.”

You shrug, unsure if that was fully true.

“C’mon,” Joel beckons, uncrossing his arms to offer his hand, your eyes following it with hesitance.

Joel chuckles to himself and pulls the hat from your grip before placing it on your head, fingers circling your wrist before they trail toward your hand and lead you toward the kitchen, through his expansive living room until he’s guiding you toward one of the few barstool, silently ordering you to sit down.

Almost immediately, he squats behind the island to rummage through the liquor collection he kept stored away for the occasional celebration or nightcap, avoiding it mostly out of preference while you trained, but he’s sliding a glass of whiskey over before you can fully piece together what he’s doing, rounding the counter with his own glass in hand.

“Happy early birthday to me, I guess,” You joke before taking a small sip of the whiskey, knowing your 22nd birthday was on the horizon but enjoying the reaction as Joel’s face contorts through phases—first confusion, then fear, before he’s attempting to pull the glass from your grip as he realizes his mistake

You giggle and stretch the glass out of reach, “Oh, calm down—I’m old enough to drink, Joel. Old age is really getting to you, isn’t it? I didn’t celebrate last year because I was so focused on the show, but we all know how that turned out,”

“You’re tryin’ to kill me, aren’t you?” Joel asks, downing the rest of the liquid in one go.

He’s drifted closer now, palm pressed into the counter beside your arm, his free hand rising up to tip the brim of your hat up, your bottom lip pulling between your teeth with an impish gaze.

“I’m just so young and impressionable,” You feign innocence, “I blame you.”

Joel's eyes darken, a mix of amusement and something more intense swirling in the depths of brown. Holding his eyes, you slide the glass against the counter and reach for your hat before placing it back on his head, a little on the snug side but still wearable.

“Kinda like it on you better,” You decide, adjusting the brim before your fingers trail toward his shoulders and settle there, feeling the muscle underneath twitch as he laughs, though you find yourself deadly serious and sincere, no longer meeting his eyes as yours trail toward the patch of hair at the center of his chest and down, a solid wall of muscle follow—Joel wasn’t defined, but he was large, intimidatingly so. When he wasn’t riding, he was building, working with his hands, lifting and moving things around the ranch, it was mouthwatering to watch.

“Eyes up, sugar,” He warns, not realizing how dangerously low your hands had trailed before your fingers were folding over the open seam of his jeans and how blatantly obvious it was that Joel wasn’t wearing anything underneath and how his cock had swelled slightly with your proximity and innocent touches.

You feel a rush of excitement as your fingers brush against the warm skin just beneath the waistband of his jeans. Joel's breath hitches, his hand moving to grip your wrist firmly.

“But, you’re—”

Joel shakes his head dismissively, “Can’t help that part—bein’ around you ain’t easy lately.”

In any other circumstance you would take those words harshly, but you can see the pain on his face, the self-restraint he’s holding himself to.

“I can—we can,” You offer, legs spreading on their own as you turn toward him, fitting him between your thighs as you lean into him, “I mean—it isn’t like you’ll be stealing my virtue. I’m not that innocent, Joel.”

Joel's grip on your wrist tightens, his jaw clenching as he struggles to maintain control.

You can see the conflict in his eyes—desire warring with his sense of propriety.

Impatient, you surge upwards, pressing your lips against his with a hunger he hasn’t seen from you before, taking advantage of his parted mouth and dragging your tongue across his top lip, feeling the restrain in the way he kisses you back subdued with his hesitant touch.

“Think about—what you’re—askin’ for,” Joel interrupts through hurried kisses, his hand curling around the side of your neck to push you back, “What this’ll mean for you.”

“I think you should fuck me,” You respond crudely, “besides—you kissed me first.”

His resolve wavers, and you seize the opportunity.

Your free hand slides up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm. Joel's eyes flutter closed for a moment, a soft groan escaping his lips at the indecent sight of you looking up at him, lips parted on a breath and eyes wide with desire.

Joel never made great choices, only what felt right in the moment.

And somehow, it has led him here.

“We shouldn’t,” He says softly, “s’just another distraction.”

“My mind has never been more clear, Joel,” You argue.

Joel’s resistance is weakening quickly and with a low growl, he’s capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his hand leaving your wrist to grip your hip with a natural possessiveness, the same touch he lends while you’re riding, not an entirely different circumstance, but the intention is loud. You moan into his mouth, arching against him as his fingers dig into your flesh.

“Slow down, cowboy,” You tease, flicking at the hat, your laugh breaking through the tension as Joel parts for a brief second, watching your fingers fold around the hem of your shirt, “help me?”

It’s devious, you know, he knows it.

But, he listens.

The moment your shirt is thrown to the floor, Joel’s jaw slackens.

Instinctually, his thumb drifts over your nipples, circling the areola before he’s using the full expanse of his grip to cup your breasts, maneuvering the barstool until you’re leaning against the marble top, his lips latching onto your skin, tongue alternate as they circle the sensitive buds.

He’ll repent later, much later.

A gasp escapes you when he grazes his teeth against your nipple, sending a spark of pleasure through your body.

"Joel," you breathe, arching into his touch. He hums against your skin, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. He knew exactly what he was doing, hesitance out the window and replaced with newfound confidence.

His hands slide down your sides, rough calluses catching on your soft skin as he explores every inch of you. When his fingers reach the waistband of underwear, he pauses, looking up at you for guidance and surety.

You nod eagerly, lifting your hips in time with his tug, pulling the damp fabric down your legs and leaving you bare. The cool air hits your heated skin, making you shiver with anticipation. Joel's eyes rake over your naked form, hunger evident in his eyes.

And you learn quickly that his skilled hands and fingers aren’t entirely for show, two fingers to start as they push inside of your cunt, head tilted back into his empty hand as he watches you carefully - the quickened breath as he curls his fingers, eyes fluttering shut when he reaches a sensitive spot deep inside of you, gasping for air while he brushes it once, twice, until you’re nothing but a sobbing mess, crying out his name until you come over his fingers, the butt of his palm pressed against your clit for added measure.

“She loves me, don’t she?” Joel teases, the gall of that man.

You offer a pathetic sound of acknowledgement, Joel's eyes never leaving your face as you come undone, drinking in every gasp and shudder. As your climax subsides, he slowly withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his lips. His tongue darts out, cleaning up the mess you’ve made, his chest rumbling with a deep groan.

You’ve had enough.

You reach for his jeans, fumbling weakly as you push them down, desperate for as much of him as you could consume—all of him, preferably.

His arousal is evident as you rid him of his jeans, watching as he kicks away the tangled mess to fit himself between your spread legs, his cock bobbing freely against his stomach, thick and heavy against your thigh as you pull him closer. You wrap your hand around his cock, stroking slowly, reveling in the way his breath hitches and his hips buck involuntarily.

"I’m good," You assure him without elaborating, guiding him towards your entrance—you could talk later, too desperate to feel him inside of you.

Joel hesitates for a moment, searching your eyes. Whatever he sees seems to convince him, both of your breaths holding as he presses inside with slow, hesitant thrusts.

The sensation steals your words, knowing just by the sight of him that it would be pushing what you were used to, and no fumbling hands either, sure in every touch he laid upon you.

The way he squeezed at your hip and curled his other hand around the back of your neck, protecting you from the hard edge of the counter before he’s slinging your arms over his neck and nearly knocking the barstool to the floor as he leans into you, his hips picking up in their intensity as he listens to your body and your voice, distant and soft but there, floating in some ethereal plane of pleasure.

Your fingers dig into Joel’s shoulders, moaning at how he fills you in the most satisfying way, amiss to the bite of the counter in your back as the chair creaks and rocks with Joel’s hurried movement, breath hot against your neck where he’s buried himself.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” He sighs, mouthing his way to your ear, hissing at the sting of your grip and with that his thrusts become deeper, more forceful— each one pushing you further over the edge. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting more.

Joel’s lips find yours frantically, in desperation as he groans, a low rumble that seeps into your own mouth, “Gonna gimme one more,” He tells you,

You nod fervently, barely able to form words as Joel's movements grow more insistent.

His hand slips between your bodies, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and circling it with a precision that leaves you breathless. The dual sensations of his thick length filling you and his skilled touch on your clit quickly push you towards the precipice.

“Good, good,” He coos, soothing your weak cries with his mouth as your voice muffles under his guise, kissing you soundly, “go on—let go for me,”

His words push you over the edge and you come undone while Joel follows, burying himself deep inside you with a guttural moan, coming forceful and deep, fucking his spend deeper inside of you as reality resurfaces too soon.

“You alright?” Joel asks almost immediately, slipping out of you with a soft grunt.

The barstool creaks ominously as you adjust yourself and Joel chuckles.

“Probably not the sturdiest spot for that,” He jokes, thankful for the levity as he helps you stand, unsteady on your legs and held up by his firm grip, “I’m blamin’ you for that one.”

The grin it brings out of you is worth the slight discomfort you feel.

You shrug, nonchalant and admit defeat, “Guilty,”

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

He’s not supposed to be here.

There was always a plan, something tucked away in his back pocket.

This time it was the element of surprise and a mix of fear, eyes landing on him for the first time since he rushed onto Joel’s property, half-cocked and throwing out demands where he had no position or right.

He knows what he’s doing, eyes locked with yours from several feet away.

“Guest speaker?” Joel asks, the words biting as they leave his mouth, “Seriously?”

“It’s okay,” It was a mantra to yourself mostly, but Joel hears you, “I know what he’s trying to do—it won’t work.”

“You say the word, I’ll take care of it,” Joel promises.

You smirk slightly, rubbing your hand against his cheek and offering a reassuring squeeze.

“Easy, cowboy,” You offer lightheartedly, “I can handle myself.”

Joel’s Ranch, Two Months Ago — Flashback:

You knew he’d figure it out eventually.

For a while he believed the lie—that you had been transferred to a beautiful place in Florida that dealt with injury and rehabilitation for your line of work and he accepted that, kept his distance.

He almost followed through on his reconciliation with Joel, that is, until he sees you at his side.

It was such a natural moment for the both of you now, Joel’s arm slung around your waist as he pulled you in, lips pressing against your temple before you both called it for the day, Honey’s head slipping between your hands as she noses at your head, suddenly whining at the shadowed intruder as he grew close.

At the sound of his voice, you fade away.

You’re still here, standing, but Joel’s protectiveness jumps out instantly.

The words were loud and harsh, but the moment you snap back is as your father’s hand squeezes at your bicep and yanks you forward, immediately met with resistance.

“I forbid it,” He shouts, “whatever brainwashin’ you’ve done to my kid, it’s over.”

“Forbid it?” You counter, “Do you hear yourself?”

“Always liked makin’ a show of things,” He sounds bitter, he is, “come on, we’re leaving.”

“No,” You tell him, voice unrecognizably strong, “I’m finally doing something for myself.”

Your father's face contorts, a mix of anger and betrayal etched into every wrinkle. He takes a step forward, his voice lowering to a dangerous growl. "For yourself? You think leaving everything behind and letting him influence you is for yourself?"

Joel shifts behind you, a ghosting of his fingers against your back but you don’t waver.

"Yes, for myself," you say, shocked at the steadiness in your voice. “I deserve a chance to figure things out my own way, I don’t have to follow the same path you did.”

Your father scoffs, shaking his head. "Your own way? You don't even know what that means, honey. All we built together, you’re ready to throw that away for him—”

"We?" you interrupt, feeling a surge of frustration. "You built that, Dad. I was a kid, I did what I was told.” It was clear he still saw you as a young girl, his protege, destined to take over after he was gone and carry on the legacy.

The silence that follows is deafening.

Your father's eyes narrow, searching your face as if seeing you for the first time. You weren’t the same young girl who stared at him wide-eyed, amazed by his ability to wow the crowd and commit to everything he did. The disappointment in his gaze morphs into something else—hurt.

“I’m not gonna sit and wait around if he breaks your heart,” Your father tells you, “let alone how inappropriate it is—you try justifyin’ that to the public. I see what this is and what you did.”

His eyes land on Joel.

Fortunately, he couldn’t be more wrong.

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

The truth was, no one cared.

You and Joel had created an amazing partnership with natural chemistry and it seared the crowds, grabbed their attention, all eyes on you when you finally took your run out in the arena.

It was weeks that had built to this, following through your routine almost masterfully and without missing a beat, ending with a flourish trick as you stood on Honey’s back for the hundredth time it felt like now, not a single waver in your movement and lasso’d the cowboy hat from the middle of the ring and yanked it in, placing it on your head before the crowd erupted in a loud cheer.

It was the feeling you had searched for since you were younger, fulfillment like no other.

Your father’s appearance couldn’t be further from your mind and as you dismounted Honey and took your bow, your eyes searched the side for the one face that mattered most. Joel's proud grin beamed at you from across the arena, his eyes locked on yours.

In that moment, the roar of the crowd faded away and it was him.

Joel’s Ranch, One Month Ago — Flashback:

You feel guilty for the way your eyes linger on his back as Buttercup trots around the ring, distracted and smiling to yourself as you step onto the railing and lean over with your forearms.

“Focus,” Joel chirps, “c’mon—put on your best voice.”

You clear your throat dramatically and lower your tone a bit, fighting through the giggles.

“You know him, you love him,” You bellow from deep in your chest, “It’s Old Timer!”

Joel chuckles, “That was horrible, baby.”

“So what?” You shrug, “I know him, I love him—point proven.”

It was rare to get a glimpse of Joel like this, back in his element as you watched him run-through your routine without all the flair, offering a slightly different view—though, he knows it won’t help.

You were barely focused on the routine, preoccupied with how easily Joel could capture a room like this, noticing your glossed over gaze as he finishes and hops off his horse, walking over with a knowing smirk.

"You weren't paying attention at all, were you?" Joel teases, his voice low and intimate.

You feel a heat creep up your neck as you meet his gaze.

"I was... distracted," You admit sheepishly.

His smirk softens into a tender smile. "By what, exactly?"

“Not Joel,” You clarify, grabbing hold of his collar as you pull him close, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, “I like it when you ride, Old Timer.”

“All I gotta do is hop on a horse to make you swoon?” Joel asks, the skin around his eyes crinkling with the emotion as he blushes at the affection.

“Among other things.”

“Done and done, sweetheart.”

divider graphics: @saradika-graphics <3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #tlou #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #kedsandtubesocks wild ride #my writing

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millermouth · 5 months ago

Text

Joel Miller x Reader

summary: Joel never meant to let you get under his skin, but you did—slowly, quietly, until you were all he could think about. When you go missing on patrol, the months of keeping his distance end in an instant. Finding you hurt, vulnerable, waiting for him— he finally stops fighting what was inevitable.

babes idk this has been plaguing me all damn day okay? angsty, grumpy, eventually fluffy Joel Miller. im all about the drama today I've been getting a lot of requests about Joel tending to reader on a patrol gone wrong / Jackson!Joel so here is a whole one shot dedicated to all of you ♥︎

When Joel Miller came back to Jackson after taking Ellie from that hospital, he was on edge. Always on edge. The bags under his eyes darkened by the day, deep-set proof of sleepless nights spent tangled in sweat-drenched sheets, jolting awake from nightmares that left him breathless and clawing at the past. So he worked. Took on more patrols, fixed fences, chopped wood—kept his hands busy, his mind busier. If he let up, even for a second, the memories crept in like rot in the walls. That way when his head hit the pillow at night, he was too exhausted for dreams.

Then spring came, and with it, something new. Something warm. Something bright.

You.

He didn’t know where the hell you came from at first. Just that Tommy had dragged you in, half-dead and shaking, after your group got torn apart by Infected out near the old hunting cabins. He heard about it once Tommy could stomach telling the story—another tragedy, more unknown lives lost—but you? You survived.

And now he hardly recognized you as that scared, bloody thing they found in the snow. You were—Jesus—you were everywhere. Helping in the garden, stacking supplies, chattering with the old folks who baked you fresh bread or cookies because they liked how sweet you were. It was annoying. Distracting. You were too...bright. Too alive. Too much of a reminder of something he shouldn’t want. He didn’t even want to know your name, but it found him anyway.

“She wants to start helping on patrols,” Tommy said casually, slicing into his steak one Sunday night over dinner. Maria nodded, considering.

“We could always put her with—”

No. It was all Joel could think. Not you, not out there in the wilderness again. There was so much shit out there, you’d faced enough. Couldn't you just stay here, safe?

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “No?” he echoed, a little amused, a little suspicious.

Joel clenched his jaw, shoving another bite of food in his mouth, chewing slow to buy himself time as he realized he must’ve said it out loud. His throat went dry as he forced himself to swallow.

Joel forced a grunt, waved a hand vaguely. “Just think she’s too young to be goin’ out there. Didn’t she just get here?”

“She’s older than Ellie,” Tommy pointed out, spearing a potato on his fork. “And Ellie’s out there right now, you know that.”

Joel’s fingers curled tight around his knife. Yeah, he knew. Ellie was out on her first real two-day patrol, and he’d spent the last twenty-four hours half-sick over it. His eyes flickered to her empty seat, and he sent up a silent prayer that she was still safe.

“Well,” Tommy continued, oblivious, “I’m plannin’ on buddyin’ her up with one of my best guys. Jesse can take her. Shouldn’t be an issue. He’s quick on his feet, got a good eye.”

Jesse. Joel barely held back a sneer. The kid was fine, sure. But Jesse wasn’t the issue.

You were.

Joel sipped his shitty, lukewarm coffee from a chipped mug, scowling at how diluted it was as it settled on his tongue. He missed real coffee. Hated that he had to drink this watered-down bullshit. The only thing worse was the sharp knock at his door.

His jaw clenched.

With a heavy sigh, he set down the mug, already annoyed, and stomped over. If this was Tommy with more goddamn chores or Maria with another lecture about community responsibility, he was gonna—

Joel yanked the door open, glare already in place. But then he saw you, and his stomach dropped.

You stood there, a little breathless, strands of hair falling loose around your face despite how you’d tied it back. Morning sun caught on your skin, the warm glow of sweat making you look… Fuck. His grip tightened on the doorframe.

"Oh–Hi," you said, a little uncertain, shifting on your feet.

Joel just stared.

He hadn’t spoken to you. Not once. Hadn’t let himself. You were too damn…well, whatever you were, whatever part of him that couldn’t quite place what you did to him…he wanted no part of it. But now you were standing at his door, looking at him with those bright, wide eyes, and he felt like a teenage boy again.

His brows furrowed, lips pressed into a hard line. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He had no clue what the hell to even say.

Your blush deepened under his stare. "Um," you murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Ellie told me to come grab her before I left for patrol. First time and all." A nervous laugh puffed out of you, light and breathy. "She said she keeps a map of the area—marked with all the bad spots. Ya know."

Joel blinked. His brain finally caught up.

Patrol.

Your patrol.

His jaw ticked. So Tommy still had you paired with Jessie then?

"Ellie," Joel called behind him, finally tearing his gaze from you.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs before Ellie appeared, still in her pajamas, rubbing at her eye with the heel of her hand.

"Hey!" she called when she met your gaze, brightening.

Joel grumbled something low and incoherent, something that excused him as he turned on his heel and headed back toward the kitchen. He didn’t dare look at you again. But he felt your eyes on him. Questioning. Curious.

He hated it.

You were in his house.

Moving around upstairs. Talking to Ellie. When the hell had you two become friends? Your voice filtered down, mixing with the soft creak of the floorboards, and Joel stood in the kitchen, fuming.

He shouldn’t care.

Shouldn’t give a shit about where Tommy had you stationed, who you were paired with, how ready you were or weren’t for the outside. It wasn’t his goddamn business. But the thought of you out there—stumbling into an ambush, stepping too loud in a place you shouldn’t, a clicker lurking just out of sight, waiting for one wrong move—made his chest tighten in a way he really didn’t like.

He braced a hand on the counter, fingers drumming against the wood.

A few minutes later, your footsteps padded back down as Joel was heading out the door for his own chores. He didn’t turn, didn’t move as you crossed through the house. Just as you made your way past him, your flowery scent, so feminine and light and soft—

"Bye, Joel."

Your voice was light. Casual. Like it was nothing. Like saying his name didn’t do anything.

But it did.

His body went rigid, like something had yanked him back into himself, back into that dark and tangled place in his head where things got real complicated real quick. His name in your mouth, soft and easy, made his skin prickle, made something heavy settle deep in his chest. It stuck to him like a damn burr, taking place and nestling tight in his mind. His name on your lips was like a song, something like a siren’s call made specifically for him. And he wanted to hear it again and again and again.

He was so fucked.

Joel spent the day trying not to think about you.

And managed to do a shit job of it.

His hands worked—fixing a busted stable door, making sure the latch held, leading the horses out into the pasture on the warmest day so far—but his mind stayed locked on one thing. Had you made it to the outpost? Was the trip quiet? Had Jesse kept you close? Had he been watching your back?

It was pissing him off, all this worrying about someone he barely even knew.

Joel huffed, trying to shake the gnawing in his chest. He just needed to get through the work. Keep his head down, get home, and sleep it off.

Then he saw Jesse.

The kid was near the stables, talking to Dina, grinning like he didn’t have a single worry in the goddamn world. Joel’s brow furrowed. His steps slowed as he stared, confusion creeping in. Jesse was back? Already? That didn’t make sense. It had only been half a day. Patrols didn’t wrap this early, not unless something had happened.

For a moment, he almost convinced himself he was grateful that the hours had passed without sight of you. Maybe that meant his mind was finally loosening the barb you’d stuck in him. Maybe, after today, he wouldn’t waste any more time thinking about you.

But that was a damn lie.

Because hadn’t he thought of you every single hour since you left his house this morning? Hadn’t his eyes kept tracking the road, half-expecting you to appear? Hadn’t he been waiting—hoping—for some confirmation that you were fine, that patrol had been canceled, that you had never even needed to go in the first place?

Something was wrong. He felt it.

His jaw clenched. “Jesse.”

The kid turned, hands shoved in his pockets. “Hey, Mr. Miller. What’s up?”

Joel frowned, eyes narrowing. “You’re already back?”

Jesse tilted his head, looking confused. “Uh… yeah?”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, patience wearing thin. His fingers twitched at his side, a slow, creeping sense of unease taking root in his chest. “Patrols don’t usually wrap this early.”

Jesse blinked, then let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, right—yeah, I didn’t go. Switched last minute, said it was some schedule mix-up.”

Joel barely heard the rest of the explanation.

I didn’t go.

The words hammered around his skull, his stomach twisting. You hadn’t been with Jesse.

You’d been out there—out in those woods—this whole time without one of the few people in this place who could actually handle themselves.

His fingers twitched at his side, curling and uncurling. His breathing stayed slow, even, controlled—but that was only because every part of him was focusing on not snapping. “Who’d you switch with?” His voice came out too sharp, too flat, but he didn’t care.

Jesse shrugged, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind Joel’s eyes. “Uh… can’t remember his name. New guy. Kinda scrawny, blond—”

Joel didn’t need to hear any more.

He knew exactly who Jesse was talking about.

Fucking Caleb.

Barely twenty. Couldn’t shoot for shit. Slow on his feet. Jumpy. The kind of kid who hesitated. And Joel had seen firsthand what hesitation got people. It got them killed.

His vision went red. You. Out there. With some stupid kid.

His pulse was a dull, thudding roar in his ears. He should’ve put his foot down with Tommy. Should’ve stopped you from leaving his house this morning. You might've thought he was insane, maybe even hated him for it. But he had known it was a bad idea. He felt it in his gut. And now you were out in the goddamn wilderness with someone who barely knew his left from his right, and there wasn’t a damn thing Joel could do about it.

His chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths. His hands curled into fists.

Dina and Jesse went back to talking, still existing like everything was fine, like nothing had shifted, like nothing had gone wrong.

But Joel was already moving.

He needed his gun, he needed a horse.

And he needed to get to you—now.

Joel stormed toward the gates, his blood hot in his veins, fists clenched so tight his knuckles ached. The second he spotted Tommy, standing near the watch post, chatting with one of the patrol leads, he nearly exploded.

"What the hell were you thinkin’?" Joel’s voice came sharp, cutting through the quiet.

Tommy turned, brow furrowing. "What?"

"You sent that girl out with Caleb for her first patrol?" Joel seethed, stepping closer, his frame tense, his breath coming out hard and fast. "Are you kidding me? You said she was goin’ with Jesse, and I just saw him at the barn."

Tommy’s face darkened. "I didn’t do that."

Joel let out a harsh, humorless laugh, his hands going to his hips like he was physically holding himself back from breaking something, “That so? So why is Jesse tellin’ me you did?”

Tommy exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "No, Joel, I wouldn’t send two damn novices out together. They must’ve switched last minute and didn’t tell anybody."

Joel’s jaw locked. That answer didn’t make him feel any better.

"Christ," Tommy muttered, shaking his head. "Look, we’ll deal with it when they get back—"

"Deal with it?" Joel barked. "If they get back, Tommy. That dumbass kid don’t know his left from his right. He hesitates, he panics—she’s out there alone."

Tommy held up a hand, voice leveling. "Joel. Just wait. We don’t even—"

"RIDERLESS HORSE COMING IN!"

The shout came from above.

Both brothers whipped their heads toward the gate as someone from the watchtower pointed out toward the open plains.

Joel’s stomach plummeted. Every muscle in his body went tight as the gallop of hooves thundered against the dirt, stirrups flapping madly at its sides, the dark blur of a horse sprinting toward the gates.

"Shit," Tommy muttered, already waving for them to get it open. "Whose is it?"

The guard peered over the ledge, adjusting his scope. "Looks like… it’s Eclipse. Who took him out today?"

The world dropped out from under Joel’s feet. The barn door he was working on, it was that horse. He saw your name on the check out clipboard by his stall. No, no no. This was all some sick nightmare he was in.

Tommy’s eyes went wide as he looked at Joel, all the color draining from his face.

The sound of his own breath—too loud, too ragged—roared in his ears. That was your horse. Your only goddamn way back. And now it was here. Without you.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. His feet were already moving, shoving past Tommy, heading straight for the stables.

"Joel—"

He ignored Tommy, grabbing his saddle, moving with a purpose that wouldn’t be stopped. Strapped on his rifle as he checked it out at the booth, barely sparing a glance at the patrol guard logging the weapons. His hands worked fast, quicker than they had in a long time, muscle memory kicking in as he moved on autopilot.

He made his way straight to his usual horse, Diablo, getting him tacked up in record speed. The gelding shifted under his hands, picking up on the tight, coiled tension radiating off of him. Joel didn’t ease him. Didn’t whisper the usual steadying words, consumed only with thoughts of where you could be.

"Joel, dammit—think about this," Tommy’s voice rang out behind him, stepping up into the stall, frustration biting at the edges of his words. "You can’t just go out there alone. We’ll send a group—"

"Don’t have time," Joel muttered, cinching the saddle tight.

"You don’t even know what happened—"

"Exactly."

Joel’s voice came sharp, bitter, final. He turned, finally looking at Tommy, and his brother must’ve seen something in his face—something dark, something unmoving—because whatever argument he was about to make died on his tongue.

Joel led the horse out of the stables quickly, boots heavy against the dirt. Diablo tossed his head, nostrils flaring, sensing the shift in him. Once they were outside, Joel hoisted himself into the saddle in one swift motion, gathering the reins, already angling the horse toward the gates.

"Joel, for fuck’s sake—"

"Open the gate."

His voice was low, commanding.

The men guarding the post hesitated, glancing at each other, then at Tommy.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

Joel’s jaw ticked, grip tightening. "Open the damn gate!" he snapped, his voice a sharp crack of thunder, booming across the yard. Diablo snorted beneath him, ears pinning back as his hooves shifted nervously in the dirt.

Still, no one made a move. Joel’s patience snapped.

He swung his glare back to Tommy, voice low, dangerous. "You can stay here and play it safe, but I’m going."

Tommy exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath. But he gave a quick nod to the men at the gate.

The locks disengaged. The doors groaned.

Joel didn’t wait.

The second the opening was wide enough, he kicked his heels in, sending Diablo into a hard gallop, tearing out into the open.

He didn’t care what Tommy had to say.

Didn’t care that he was riding into the unknown, alone.

Didn’t care that this wasn’t his fight.

He didn’t care that he hardly knew you.

Because he did know you, after all.

You were light and soft and gentle in a world that hardened even the best of souls. You smiled at people when they spoke to you, laughed easily, touched others when you talked—little brushes of your fingers over an arm, a squeeze to a shoulder, things Joel wasn’t used to seeing anymore. You had no reason to be kind, no reason to be so goddamn good, and yet, you were.

And now the world had you.

It didn’t matter that he’d never spoken to you, that he had tried so damn hard to keep his distance. He had stayed away, convinced himself it was better that way, easier. But that hadn’t stopped you from getting into his head, hadn’t stopped you from settling into the places he didn’t have room for you, hadn’t stopped his chest from tightening all goddamn day wondering if you were still breathing.

Because he knew what was out there.

He knew what waited in the trees, in the shadows, in the abandoned places people never came back from. He knew how quickly a routine patrol could turn into a massacre, how easy it was to be there one second and gone the next. He knew how fast infected could pop up from the dark, how quickly a gun barrel could press against a skull, how little it took for someone like you to disappear forever.

And if that happened—if he found you out there, lifeless and cold—Joel didn’t know what the hell he’d do.

Joel spotted the outpost cabin up ahead, barely visible through the dense green of the trees, its frame old and weather-worn. A lone horse stood tied outside, shifting restlessly. As he rode closer, his eyes flicked to the J brand on its croup. Caleb’s.

His stomach twisted.

He swung off Diablo without thinking, barely registering his own movements as he tied the reins to the nearest branch. His heart was hammering, his breath coming hard and fast, sweat slicking the back of his neck as he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

His heart launched into his throat when he first saw you. You were slightly slumped against the wall, your fingers curled tenderly around your leg, face pale.

Joel could barely breathe. His body moved quickly, crossing the space in seconds. You were alive, you were alive. Everything was fine.

Your eyes widened in surprise, but then something in your face softened—relief, gratitude. "Joel?"

His throat was dry. "What happened?" His voice came rough, low, sharp with something too close to panic.

Your lips parted like you weren’t sure if you were hearing him right. This was the first time he had ever spoken to you—really spoken to you—but right now, none of that mattered.

You exhaled shakily. "Eclipse spooked at something. Threw me off. I-I landed wrong." You grimaced, shifting slightly as you gripped your leg. "I think it’s broken.”

Joel’s chest went tight. Broke your leg. Out here. With no way back.

The scenario was too damn close to something worse, and he hated how easily his brain filled in the gaps. If you hadn’t made it to the outpost…if you’d landed just a little worse. Where the hell was your supposed patrol partner and why wasn’t he taking you back to Jackson?

"How long you been here?" His voice was clipped, his hands already moving, pushing back the fabric of your pants to see the damage.

"Couple hours," you murmured, watching him. "We managed to get here, checked the logbook like we were told to. I didn’t know what else to do."

Joel’s jaw flexed. You were trying to be strong. He could see it in the way you held yourself, in the way you downplayed the situation, like you weren’t sitting here with a broken goddamn leg and no real protection.

Before he could say anything else, footsteps sounded at the doorway.

Caleb.

Joel looked up, and something in him snapped.

The kid had the nerve to look relieved. "Oh—Joel, you found us."

Joel was already on his feet, moving. He shoved the kid—hard.

Caleb stumbled back, barely catching himself against the doorframe. "H-hey—!"

"The hell were you doin' leaving her here?," Joel seethed, stepping forward, voice low and dangerous. "You left her here hurt and alone while you what? Sat on your ass?"

Caleb swallowed hard, eyes flickering between him and you. "I didn’t—I didn’t leave, I was out checking the perimeter—"

"Checking the perimeter?" Joel’s breath came sharp, bitter. "She’s got a broken goddamn leg. What the hell were you gonna do if something came through that door? If infected caught her like this? Why didn’t you turn back and take her home?!”

Caleb’s face flushed, his mouth opening like he wanted to argue, but Joel was already done listening.

"Get back to Jackson." He shoved the kid toward the door again, barely resisting the urge to do worse. "Tell ‘em she’s alive. Tell ‘em we’ll be back once I've patched her up.” Joel leaned in, voice dropping into something dangerous. "I’ll deal with you later."

Caleb hesitated, like he wanted to say something, but one more look at Joel’s face must’ve changed his mind.

He left, the door shutting behind him, and only silence followed.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose, still standing there, still furious, still running too hot, his hands clenched into fists.

“You didn’t need to be so hard on him,” you said softly from where you sat.

Joel’s scowl was back in full force as he turned toward you. "And you—" His voice came sharp, and that was when it hit him.

He was here. With you. Alone. And he was speaking to you for the first time. He had been so panicked when he walked in he barely noticed. The words he was ready to lash at you to you weren’t kind, weren’t measured. They were biting. They came with anger and frustration and fear and all the shit he hadn’t let himself process on the ride over.

He scrubbed a rough hand down his face, trying to reel himself in. "What the hell were you thinkin’? Switching out Jesse from your crew? Ain’t this your first patrol?"

Your mouth parted slightly, caught off guard. "I didn’t—" you hesitated. "I didn’t think it was a big deal. Jesse misses Dina, they wanted to spend more time—"

"Jesus, girl," Joel muttered, shaking his head. "That shit don’t matter! He was supposed to watch you because this is your first time out here. You needed someone in charge. Someone who knows the way."

You scrunched your nose, a flicker of irritation sparking across your face. "We were doin’ just fine."

Joel let out a dry, humorless scoff. "Yeah, looks fine to me."

And then—he stopped himself.

The words sat between you both, heavy, cutting.

This wasn’t how this should go.

He didn’t want this to go like this. Didn’t want the first real conversation between you to be this snappy, this barbed. You’d just made him so goddamn angry with your irresponsibility, had scared him too damn bad, and now he was running his mouth like some short-tempered asshole.

He needed to breathe. He needed to calm down.

Joel took a slow breath, scratching his beard before crouching back down in front of you. His fingers were still twitching, his body still wired too tight, but he forced himself to focus.

"Let me see again," he muttered, voice still gruff, but quieter now.

Your eyes flickered over his face, searching, but you didn’t argue. You shifted slightly, biting down a wince as you let him push the fabric of your pants up further to assess the break.

Joel’s jaw ticked. It was swelling badly already, bruising and tender to the touch, but at least it was something that could be fixed. That he could fix.

"Don’t look too bad," he murmured, rolling his shoulders to shake off some of the tension.

"Really?" you huffed, shaking your head. "Cause it sure hurts."

Joel reached for his pack, pulling out what little medical supplies he had before scanning the cabin. "Just need to make a splint," he muttered.

His hands moved carefully, barely grazing you, barely touching you any more than he needed to. He worked in silence at first, securing the wood, wrapping the bandage around your leg in tight, practiced motions. You kept still, your breath catching here and there when he adjusted the angle, but otherwise, you didn’t complain.

And maybe that should have been his first sign.

Joel wasn’t sure when he noticed it—the way you were watching him, the way your fingers curled just slightly into the fabric of your pants, like you were bracing yourself for something more than just the pain in your leg.

He should have ignored it. Should have finished his work and moved on.

But something about the way you stayed quiet, your lips pressed together like you were holding something back, made him pause.

"You’re quiet," he murmured, tying the last knot in place.

You blinked. "What?"

Joel smirked, just slightly. "Was expectin’ more complainin’. But you’re sittin’ awful still."

You swallowed, your eyes flicking away for just a second before you forced a small, breathless laugh. "Just tryin’ to be a good patient, I guess."

He could tell that wasn’t the whole truth. And for some reason, he couldn’t stop himself from pushing.

"That so?" His fingers lingered a little longer than necessary, grazing against the bandage before he pulled back. "You ain’t the nervous type, are ya?"

You let out a soft scoff, but your voice was quieter now. "No."

But you hesitated, and Joel noticed. He wasn’t supposed to like that. Wasn’t supposed to let it sit in his chest the way it did. But you did things to him, even from the very moment you’d arrived. You’d gotten under his skin in ways he hadn’t been prepared for, and even now, as he knelt beside you, his fingers still lingering over the bandage, he wondered—

He thought he’d been the one avoiding you at all costs. He thought he’d been keeping clear of the girl who was too bright and bushy-tailed, someone who was so different from him, so good. He thought he’d done a damn good job of steering clear, of making sure he was just another face in Jackson to you.

But now, looking at you—your cheeks tinged pink, your breath just a little uneven, your hands clenching and unclenching like you didn’t know what to do with them—his mind pulled back to the little things. The way you would duck out of his way every time too. The way, if he ever caught your eye across a room, your cheeks would flush, your fingers would twitch, and you’d excuse yourself just as quickly as he had.

And when you had come to his house to find Ellie… You had been flustered then, just as uncertain as him, though he had been too wrapped up in his own damn head to see it. He’d been too focused on why the hell you were standing there in his doorway, too busy trying to tamp down the immediate, sharp pull in his chest that had threatened to unravel him the second he saw you in the morning light. He had been so sure he was the only one feeling it, so convinced he was the only one being rattled by your presence.

But he remembered the way you had blushed under his stare, shifting on your feet, your voice softer than usual, your breath catching just slightly when he didn’t say anything right away.

Jesus. Had you felt it too?

Had you been trying to stay away from him just as much as he had been trying to stay away from you?

Had it been there this whole time?

And if it had…

Then Joel didn’t stand a goddamn chance.

Something slow and warm uncurled in his chest, something dangerous that he swore he’d lost for forever. His fingers brushed against your knee as he adjusted the wrap, just the lightest graze, but it was enough to make you shift, to make you pull in a breath.

His throat very dry suddenly as he spoke, "Somethin’ wrong?" His voice was low, quiet.

You blinked, shaking your head too quickly. "No."

But you hesitated. Joel smirked. "No?"

You exhaled sharply, dropping your gaze. "Joel—"

His name in your mouth did something to him. Something deep and warm and dangerous.

"Hm?" he hummed in question, his voice quieter now, rougher at the edges.

You hesitated, shifting slightly under his touch again, your fingers tightening against the fabric of your pants before you finally looked up at him again. There was something in your eyes—uncertainty, hesitation, something else—and for a second, he almost thought you wouldn’t say it.

Then, softly, you whispered, "Why’d you come all the way out here?"

His chest went tight, his breath uneven. There were a hundred ways he could answer, a hundred ways he could try to explain what had driven him out here, why he had stormed out of Jackson without a second thought, why he had spent every damn second of the day thinking about whether you were still alive.

His fingers found yours, brushing over your knuckles before he took them, his touch hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if he had any business holding you like this. His grip was steady, warm, his thumb grazing over your skin in slow, careful circles—maybe to soothe you, maybe to soothe himself.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to just say it.

"I had to," he murmured.

And then, before he could stop himself, before he could think about how much of a fool he was making of himself if you pulled away, how out of his depth he was, he kissed your hand.

Your fingers were so soft, so small in his wide grip, his calloused palm swallowing yours as his lips pressed into your knuckles. His eyes stayed on you all the while, drinking in every shift, every reaction—how your pupils blew wide, how the flush crept hot across your cheeks, how your tongue darted out to wet your lips like you didn’t even realize you were doing it.

Joel didn’t move, didn’t let go, didn’t do a damn thing but hold you there, feel you there, his lips pressed against you like he had any right to be touching you like this.

Slowly and carefully, as if you didn’t want to startle him, you lifted your free hand. Your fingers brushed tentatively along his jaw, skimming through the rough patch of stubble on his cheek, tracing over the lines life had carved into him. You were watching him now, your eyes flickering down, settling on his lips.

Joel only released your knuckles from his lips when he felt your hand pulling him closer to you, and he let you.

For once, after so many years of feeling like he needed to always be thinking of the next move, to be in control at every turn, his mind went quiet.

It was never quiet.

Not since the world had ended. Not since he’d lost everything. His thoughts had become a constant, grinding machine—always assessing, always calculating, always searching for the next threat, the next weak spot, the next thing that could go wrong. He had learned, too many times over, that the second you let your guard down, you paid for it in blood.

So he never let himself stop.

But now, you were touching him. So soft, so gentle, so careful. Your fingers running over his jaw like he was something worth handling carefully. Like you weren’t afraid of him.

And for the first time in years, that instinct—the one that told him to always be ready, to be hard, detached, sharp—just… stopped.

His mind went quiet.

And then your mouth found his.

The kiss was tentative at first, cautious, like neither of you wanted to be the one to break it, to admit this was happening. But then your fingers curled into the nape of his neck, your breath warm against his, and Joel—god help him—tipped his head and deepened it.

His hand found your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek, holding you there, steadying you like he needed to, like he had to.

And for the first time in a long, long time,

Joel let himself have something good.

#im really in my feels about this one guys #Joel miller #Joel miller x you #Joel miller x reader #Joel miller fanfic #Joel miller fluff #Joel miller tlou #the last of us #the last of us fanfic #joel tlou #tlou #Jackson!joel

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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

Text

Baby Girl Norris

Lando Norris x pediatrician!Reader

Summary: you know what you have to do — track down a world-famous Formula 1 driver, tell him about his newborn daughter, and maybe, if he’s willing, help him navigate single fatherhood — falling in love with their little family was not part of the plan … but doing so changes all your lives for the better

You take a deep breath as you enter the nursery, steeling yourself for the task ahead. As a pediatrician at the Princess Grace Hospital in Monaco, you’ve cared for thousands of babies over the years. But this case is different.

Baby Girl Norris, born just two hours ago, is now legally parentless after her mother signed away all parental rights. Hospital protocol demands you track down and notify the father before assuming guardianship. Easier said than done when the father is Formula 1 superstar Lando Norris.

Approaching the clear bassinet, you gaze down at the sleeping newborn. Wispy dark hair peeks out from under her pink cap. Ten tiny fingers curled into fists. She has no idea how complicated her life is about to become.

You flip through the chart again, verifying the details. Mother is French, here on a student visa. Refused to even look at the baby after a 27-hour labor, immediately signing away rights. Father listed as one Lando Norris of the United Kingdom.

You sigh, picking up the phone to dial the number listed. It rings five times before disconnecting. You try the landline for his Monaco residence with the same result. Probably outdated.

Time for plan B. You search the McLaren Racing website until you find a generic service line. Heart pounding, you dial.

“McLaren Technology Centre, this is Marie speaking.”

You take a breath. “Hello, I apologize for the strange request, but I need to reach Lando Norris as soon as possible. It’s … it’s regarding a private family matter.”

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Norris does not accept unsolicited communications. Have a nice-”

“Wait!” You interject. “Please, I am calling from Princess Grace Hospital in Monaco. We have a newborn baby girl here, and we believe Mr. Norris may be the father.”

Marie hesitates. “Hold please, I’ll transfer you.”

Your pulse quickens. This may actually work! But your hopes are quickly dashed.

“This is Andrew from McLaren Racing public relations. May I ask who I’m speaking with?” His tone is suspicious.

You explain again about the baby, her mother, and the situation.

Andrew sighs loudly. “I’m sure you understand we get calls like this constantly. Lando isn’t even in the hemisphere right now. I’m afraid we can’t help you.”

“No, wait, please!” But the line goes dead.

You frown, gears turning. The team must think you’re some obsessed fan or scammer. You’ll have to get creative.

Over the next two days, you call every related number you can find. Each time you’re met with more resistance. They must have flagged your information as a nuisance caller.

On the third day, you’re signing charts at the nurse’s station when a colleague walks by. “Did you hear? Lando Norris is coming to take a tour of the hospital next week. Some charity thing.”

Your eyes widen. This is it — your chance to intercept him in person!

You spend the next few days obsessing over what to say, how to convince him. Baby Girl Norris needs her father.

The big day arrives. Heart hammering, you lurk near the lobby, peering around the hallway corner as Lando walks in flanked by handlers. He looks exhausted but flashes his winning smile at the staff welcoming him.

You watch them start down the opposite hallway for the tour when you make your move. Rushing forward, you plant yourself firmly in his path.

“Mr. Norris! Sorry, I need just a minute of your time, it’s urgent-”

A member of his team immediately swoops in, pushing you back. “Ma’am, please. We kindly ask that you step aside.”

“No, wait!” You raise your voice over them. “Mr. Norris, my name is Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. I’m a pediatrician here. I’ve been trying to reach you for days now regarding your newborn daughter!”

The team looks exasperated, but Lando holds up a hand. “It’s okay, let her speak.” His eyes bore into yours warily.

You take a breath. “I know this sounds insane. But a baby girl was born here last week to a French student named Celeste Dubois. On the birth certificate, she named you as the father before signing away parental rights.”

You continue explaining the situation rapidly, watching Lando’s eyes widen in shock.

One of his handlers steps in. “You honestly expect us to believe this wild story? We’re on a timeline.” He tries to tug Lando along.

“No, it’s okay.” Lando stands firm, studying you intently. “What proof do you have of any of this?”

You hold his gaze. “I can show you the birth certificate, but a DNA test would confirm if you’re the father. It’s hospital policy to notify and provide the father an opportunity to assume custody.”

Lando chews his lip nervously. His team murmurs among themselves.

After a long pause, he speaks. “Even if this is some scam or mix-up, that poor child deserves to have answers. Please, lead the way for a test.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. Wordlessly, you turn and lead Lando to the lab. His team protests but he insists on following through.

In the lab, you supervise as the technician takes a simple cheek swab. “24 to 48 hours for results,” she confirms.

Lando nods, looking dazed. “Right. Okay. If she’s really mine, I want to step up. Just call me, yeah?” He extends his number on a slip of paper.

You smile and promise to be in touch. As he turns to leave, you feel swarmed with emotions. One major hurdle down, but nothing certain yet.

The next 48 hours pass at a snail’s pace. When the lab calls, your fingers shake as you unfold the results. Positive. A 99.99% match.

You pass along the news and arrange a meeting at the hospital. The press can’t know about this yet.

Approaching the secluded waiting room, you pause to observe Lando through the window. He paces nervously, running his hands through his hair again and again. His usual polished veneer is gone, replaced by a young man anxiously awaiting life-changing news. Your heart goes out to him.

Finally knocking, he whirls around as you enter. “Well? Is she really mine?”

You nod, holding out the results. He accepts them with unsteady hands.

“I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” he says quietly. “This is just ... a lot.”

“I understand. It’s a complicated situation. But you’re here now.” You offer an encouraging smile.

Lando takes a deep breath. “Can I meet her?”

You lead him to the nursery viewing room. He presses against the glass, eyes scanning until they settle on bassinet D7. His brows knit together.

“That’s her?” His voice wavers slightly.

You nod. “Would you like to go inside and hold her?”

He hesitates. “I don’t want to confuse or upset her.”

You gesture reassuringly. “Newborns seek warmth and a gentle touch. She’ll appreciate the contact.”

Looking uncertain, Lando follows you into the nursery. You lift the swaddled baby, carefully transferring her into Lando’s awkward embrace. He peers down at her, his expression unreadable.

“She’s so tiny ...” he murmurs. The newborn girl yawns, eyes still shut, snuggling instinctively into his chest.

Lando’s guarded facade finally cracks, eyes glistening. He adjusts his arms to cradle her more securely.

“Hi there,” he whispers. “I’m your ...” He trails off, not quite able to say it.

You touch his shoulder gently. “You’re her father. And she needs you.”

He nods, never breaking his gaze from the newborn’s face. “I’ll do right by her, I promise. Whatever it takes.”

Relief sweeps over you. While an arduous legal process awaits, this sweet child will finally have a real family.

As Lando rocks the baby gently, he suddenly laughs. “She’s a real beauty, isn’t she? Look at that hair. Thick and curly, just like her old man.”

You chuckle. “It appears so. Have you thought about a name?”

He hums contemplatively. “I’ve always been partial to Georgia. Gigi for short.”

“Georgia Norris,” you say with a smile. “It’s perfect.”

The new father beams down at his daughter. “Welcome to the world, little Gigi. I can’t wait to take you home.”

As you observe this tender moment, your heart swells for both father and daughter. With someone as loving and dedicated as Lando by her side, Gigi’s future looks bright indeed.

Watching them meet for the first time — seeing a family begin to blossom out of hardship and uncertainty — is the greatest reward of your job. As you quietly slip out to give them space, you can’t hold back a smile. Everything, after all, is turning out exactly as it should.

***

After spending over an hour bonding with his newborn daughter in the nursery, Lando reluctantly hands her back to the nurse for feeding time. He turns to you, smiling but still looking dazed.

“I can’t thank you enough, Y/N. Really. You’ve given me and Gigi a new start.”

You touch his arm warmly. “Of course. I’m so glad I could help connect you two. She’s absolutely beautiful.”

Lando grins proudly. “She really is perfect. I already love her so much, it’s mad. I just ...” His face falls slightly. “I don’t have the first clue how to actually take care of a baby. Let alone with my job, traveling all the time for races and training. What have I gotten myself into?”

He runs an anxious hand through his curls. Your heart goes out to him.

“Hey, it’s okay.” You gesture for him to follow you out to the waiting room for privacy.

Lando collapses onto the sofa, head in hands. “Sorry, I’m just now fully realizing what this means. A baby, she’s completely dependent on me! I don’t know the first thing about babies. I’m barely an adult myself!”

You sit beside him. “Lando, look at me.” He lifts his head reluctantly. You offer an encouraging smile.

“It’s normal to feel overwhelmed. But you stepped up when Gigi needed you most. That’s what matters. With some guidance, you’ll be an amazing father.”

He doesn’t look convinced. You continue gently, “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll give you all the essential information for first-time parents. I’ll even set you up with parenting classes, and we have a support group-”

Lando groans loudly, letting his head fall back. You suppress a chuckle.

“Okay, forget classes for now. Just focus on learning the basics. Things like feeding, changing, bathing. Infant CPR. I’ll give you my cell to text with questions anytime. Day or night.”

You jot down your number and hand it to him. He nods, looking slightly encouraged.

“We’ll also get you connected with services that can assist first-time parents with supplies, nutrition consultants, and childcare options.”

His eyes widen again. “God, I haven’t even told my family yet! Or bought anything she’ll need!” He scrubs at his face anxiously.

You lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Breathe. Setbacks are expected. But you’ll get there.”

Lando takes a deep breath, regaining some composure. “You’re right. Sorry for the meltdown. I really appreciate you talking me down.”

“Don’t apologize. I’d be more concerned if you weren’t at all anxious about this huge life change.”

You smile warmly. “But you accepted your daughter unconditionally when it mattered most. Not every man in your position would do that. I know you’ll figure the rest out over time. It’s a process.”

He nods, starting to calm down. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. We’ll take it step by step.”

You spend the next hour walking Lando through all the basics — safe sleep, feeding schedules, hygiene, developmental milestones, and pediatrician visits. He takes vigorous notes on his phone, determination returning to his face.

“Clothes, blankets, nappies, bottles ...” He mumbles to himself as he types. “Maybe pick up a parenting book or two as well ...”

You grin, happy to see him growing more at ease and optimistic. When the nurse returns with a sleeping Gigi, Lando immediately takes her back into his arms.

“We’ve got this, little one,” he whispers to her. “I’ll give you the absolute best in life … starting with a nice new flat for us here in Monaco.” He looks back at you questioningly.

You nod in approval. “Giving Gigi a stable home should be your top priority.”

He smiles down at the baby, gently stroking her cheek. “Daddy will take good care of you. I promise.”

Your heart swells at the natural bond already forming between father and daughter. In this moment, any lingering doubts fade away. However difficult the road ahead, together they’ll be just fine.

After another hour visiting together, it’s time for Lando to head out. He’s clearly still anxious but also radiating love when he gazes at Gigi.

“Thank you again for everything,” he says sincerely, shaking your hand. “I’ll call my parents when I get home. Figure out how to break the news and beg for their help.”

He chuckles and you join in. “Don’t hesitate to text me anytime. About anything.”

Lando glances down at your scrawled cell number, then back up with a crooked grin. “Careful or I might take you up on the anything part.”

You blush slightly, waving him off. “Get out of here, you charmer. Go buy a crib and get some rest. Your life is about to get very busy.”

With a laugh, Lando walks backwards toward the exit, pointing finger guns at you. “Yes ma’am, Dr. Y/L/N. Catch you later.”

You stand shaking your head as he disappears from view. What an interesting patient case this has turned out to be.

Over the next several weeks, you and Lando text constantly. He sends cute videos and photos of Gigi along with his near-constant questions about her care. You don’t mind at all — you’re happy to guide him through this life transition.

True to his word, he quickly finds and furnishes a family-friendly luxury apartment in Monaco. He introduces Gigi to his stunned but excited parents via video call. He adjusts his training schedule to maximize time with her.

When his race travel resumes, he arranges for his parents or a local nanny to assist with Gigi full-time. Still, being apart takes an obvious toll on him.

The day before he’s set to fly to Australia for the first race of the season, Lando texts you a selfie looking forlorn, with Gigi snoozing on his chest.

Can you believe she’s already a month old? I don’t want to leave her!

You grin down at the photo. Gigi’s little rosebud lips are slightly parted as she sleeps. Lando’s staring at her adoringly despite the bags under his eyes.

I know it’s hard being away from her. But Gigi knows she has a father who loves her so much. Focus on making her proud out there!

You always know just what to say, doc. I’ll text you after the race!

You smile softly as you set down your phone. Over the past weeks, you’ve found yourself looking forward to Lando’s frequent messages and photos. He’s relieved when you reassure him he’s doing a great job as a new dad. And seeing Gigi thrive and grow under his doting care makes your heart fuller.

Professionally, your work is done now that Gigi and Lando are connected. But you can’t help feeling personally invested in this little family you helped create. You make a silent vow to always be there for them both, as long as they need you.

***

Weeks later, you’re jolted awake by your ringing cellphone. Bleary-eyed, you check the time: 2:37 am. Who could be calling at this hour?

You don’t recognize the number on your buzzing phone. But you answer anyway, just in case it’s an emergency.

“Hello?” You mumble into the phone.

“Y/N? Oh thank god!” The panicked voice on the other end makes you sit bolt upright.

Lando.

“Lando? What’s wrong?” Worry floods your system, instantly washing away any grogginess.

“It’s Georgia,” he cries. “She woke up crying and felt so hot. I took her temperature — it’s 39 degrees! I think she has a fever?”

You’re already throwing off your blankets, phone tucked against your shoulder. “Okay, stay calm. How is she acting otherwise?”

“She’s crying and really fussy. Won’t take her bottle. I don’t know what to do!” Lando sounds near tears himself.

“Shhh, deep breath,” you soothe. “Fever in babies this young is serious. You need to take her to emergency department right away.”

“Right, emergency, of course-” Lando rambles nervously.

“I’ll meet you there ASAP. Princess Grace Hospital, yes?”

“Yes, please hurry!” He ends the call abruptly. You scramble for clothes with adrenaline pounding.

In under ten minutes, you’re peeling out of your driveway towards the hospital. Even at this hour, Monaco’s streets remain congested. You drum your fingers anxiously on the steering wheel, praying Georgia will be okay.

Once you’ve parked, you race inside the ED doors. Your eyes scan the crowded waiting room until you spot Lando pacing in the corner, Georgia whimpering against his shoulder.

You rush over. “Lando!”

He turns, relief washing over his features. “Y/N, you came. Thank you.”

“Of course.” You squeeze his arm comfortingly before looking Georgia over with practiced eyes. Her cheeks are flushed, eyelids fluttering as she whines. Definitely not well.

Lando bounces lightly, trying to soothe her. “They told me it’s at least an hour wait. She’s getting worse though.” His eyes glisten with tears.

Your protective instincts flare, seeing them both so distraught. Striding to the check-in desk, you put on your most authoritative voice.

“Excuse me, I’m Dr. Y/L/N. I have an infant patient here who needs immediate evaluation.”

The nurse scans the packed waiting room. “I’m so sorry doctor, we’re doing our best. If you could just wait-”

You interrupt firmly. “This is a seven week old with a spiking fever. She requires urgent triage and treatment, not a waiting room. I must insist we be seen next.”

The nurse purses her lips, but can’t really argue with your reasoning. “Of course. I’ll let the charge nurse know to get you back immediately.”

You nod curtly before returning to Lando, who looks awed. “Blimey, remind me not to get on your bad side.”

The hint of a smile on his lips relieves you. Georgia’s still fussy as you both follow a nurse back moments later.

In an exam room, you help transfer the baby from Lando’s arms to the table. Her pitiful crying tugs at your heart.

Lando hovers anxiously as you take Georgia’s vitals and change her into a hospital gown. 39.1°C — higher than the concerning range for an infant. You frown in worry. Poor little love.

Soon the attending pediatrician arrives to assess her. You explain the situation from Lando’s frantic call to racing over. The doctor asks questions while examining Georgia’s ears, throat, and reflexes. Lando clutches your hand tightly the entire time.

After what feels like an eternity, the pediatrician steps back. “Given the fever with no apparent source, I’m concerned this could be a serious bacterial infection. We’ll run labs to check for things like meningitis. Start IV antibiotics and paracetamol to bring her fever down quickly.”

Lando pales, swaying slightly at the onslaught of medical terms. You slip an arm around him supportively.

“You’re saying she might have meningitis?” Lando chokes out.

The doctor holds up his hands. “It’s just one possibility. We’re not sure yet. The labs will tell us more.”

Lando buries his face in his hands. Your heart breaks seeing his shoulders shaking.

After the doctor departs to order tests, you guide Lando to sit down, keeping an arm around him. “Hey, try to breathe. Georgia needs her daddy calm and strong right now.”

Lando drags a hand over his wet eyes. “God, I’m trying. But she’s so little and sick. What if … what if it’s something serious?” His voice breaks again.

You turn him gently to face you, hands on his shoulders. “Listen to me. Whatever is going on, we will figure it out, okay? I’m right here with you both.”

He searches your face before nodding unsteadily. You draw him into a fierce hug.

“We’ve got this,” you whisper.

A nurse entering startles you apart. “Alright, time for labs.”

You both watch anxiously as she collects blood and other samples from a deeply unhappy Georgia. Her shrieking cries at the poking and prodding are harrowing. Lando has gone deathly pale.

Once finished, the nurse situates an IV line in Georgia’s tiny hand, securing it with tape and popping a pacifier in her mouth. Her eyelids droop, cries fading to soft whimpers as medication starts flowing.

You glance at Lando. “Why don’t you hold her again? Skin to skin contact will help soothe you both.”

Looking relieved by the suggestion, Lando strips off his shirt and takes Georgia, nestling her against his bare chest. You drape a blanket over them before rubbing his back comfortingly.

Georgia’s fussing settles as her father hums softly, eyes never leaving her face. The pure love between them makes your throat tighten.

Despite the uncertainty ahead, you know Georgia couldn’t be in better hands. And you silently vow to remain steadfast by their side, for whatever comes next.

Eventually Georgia drifts to sleep. The pediatrician returns shortly after with test results. “Good news. All the cultures are negative so far. With the antibiotics and paracetamol, her fever is already decreasing.”

You and Lando both sigh in relief.

“So no meningitis?” Lando asks hopefully.

The doctor shakes his head. “Doesn’t appear to be. We’ll repeat testing tomorrow, but likely just a minor bacterial infection. She’ll need to stay a few days for monitoring and fluids.”

Lando clutches Georgia closer. “Anything she needs. Thank you, doctor.”

Once you’re alone again, Lando gazes down at his sleeping daughter. “I was so scared,” he admits softly.

You nod, squeezing his shoulder. “I know. But she’s getting great care now. Try and rest — it’s been a long night.”

Lando glances at the empty cot along the wall. “Stay? Please? I … I don’t want to be alone right now.” His voice sounds so small and vulnerable.

Your chest tightens. “Of course.”

You help shift Lando and Georgia onto the little bed. She stirs slightly as you both get settled on either side of her.

Lando strokes Georgia’s cheek tenderly. “My brave girl. You’re going to be just fine.” Glancing up, his eyes meet yours. “Thank you, Y/N. For everything.”

You offer a tired smile, taking his hand. “That’s what I’m here for. Get some sleep.”

Exhaustion quickly pulls you under. But Lando’s hand remains wrapped firmly in yours until morning.

A strong bond has formed between the three of you. And you know that whatever the future brings, you’ll be facing it together.

***

A few weeks after the scare, you’re finishing paperwork at your desk when your cell rings. Lando’s name pops up, making you smile.

Since the hospitalization, you and Lando have fallen into a routine of near daily calls and texts about Georgia. You don’t mind at all — you adore hearing the latest antics and milestones of your special little patient. Not to mention Lando’s voice tends to brighten your day.

You answer warmly. “Lando! How are my favorite patients today?”

He chuckles. “Well, Georgia just mastered holding her head up while on her tummy. She’s getting so strong! But uh, that’s actually why I’m calling ...”

You detect the hesitancy in his tone. “What’s up?”

Lando sighs. “So McLaren just sprung a mandatory sponsorship meeting on me last minute. It’s in like an hour. I don’t have any childcare lined up though.”

You frown sympathetically. The demands of Lando’s career often collide with new parenthood. “Oh no. Can you reschedule or bring Georgia with you?”

“I tried, but it’s impossible to postpone. And definitely not an ideal environment for a baby,” he laments. “I don’t have any family nearby and my usual nanny said it’s too short notice.”

Your thoughts race, heart sinking at imagining his distress. “Hmm. Well, do you happen to have any trusted neighbors or friends there who could babysit?”

Lando makes a frustrated noise. “I’ve barely met my neighbors. And my mates, well, most are even less qualified than me for childcare. I’m stuck.” Defeat colors his tone.

You bite your lip, hesitating only a moment before saying gently, “Lando, I could come watch her.”

“What? Really?” He sounds stunned. “But isn’t it your day off?”

“It’s no problem, truly,” you insist. “I don’t live far. Be there in fifteen?”

“I-I don’t know what to say. You’re a lifesaver, Y/N. Thank you, thank you!” Lando gushes gratefully.

You smile, already grabbing your keys. “Anytime. See you soon!”

On the drive over, butterflies flutter in your stomach. You adore Georgia, of course. But something about visiting Lando’s home, being fully immersed in his world, feels monumentally intimate.

Taking a deep breath, you remind yourself that your priority is helping a friend in need.

You park outside Lando’s sleek modern condo building and take the elevator up after checking in with the concierge. Before you can even knock, the front door swings open.

“Y/N, thank god,” Lando sighs in relief. He looks unfairly attractive despite being slightly disheveled in a dress shirt and slacks. “Please, come in.”

Stepping inside the open concept condo, your eyes sweep over minimalist furniture and racing memorabilia decorating the shelves. Cozy baby items like a playmat and bouncer provide stark contrast. It’s uniquely Lando.

“Nice place,” you remark sincerely.

“Thanks. Still feels empty sometimes, but slowly making it a home for Gigi.” He smiles softly. “Speaking of which ...”

You follow Lando down a short hallway to the nursery. Your heart melts at the sight of Georgia kicking on a playmat, wearing a pink romper with a giant bow.

Lando swoops her up, blowing raspberries on her cheek. “Daddy’s got a big important meeting, princess. But Y/N is going to play with you instead.”

He passes the baby over. Georgia gives you a gummy smile, cooing.

“There’s my sweet girl.” You tickle her belly, eliciting a giggle. Lando beams proudly.

“Alright, her bottle is prepped in the fridge, and there’s clean nappies on the change table. Call if you need anything at all.”

Lando leans down to kiss Georgia’s head. “Be good for Y/N, monkey.”

With a final grateful smile your way, he heads out. You settle on the nursery floor with Georgia. “What adventures shall we have today, miss?”

The next few hours pass in a blur of playing, feeding, changing, and rocking little Georgia. You even manage a nap time by singing softly, something that always seemed to soothe her in the hospital.

Watching her sleep, you feel a rush of tenderness for the tiny being who has depended on you since her first moments. You vow to always be there when Lando and Georgia need you.

Soon enough, Lando returns home looking drained. But his whole face lights up seeing you and Georgia on the floor.

“How’d it go?” He asks, crouching down to tickle her toes.

“Perfect. We had lots of fun, isn’t that right, lovebug?” You hand the baby over for cuddles.

“Daddy missed you.” Lando nuzzles Georgia, before giving you a grateful smile. “I can’t thank you enough. Truly. You’re a natural with her.”

You wave off his praise, but can’t deny the warm spark his words ignite.

After chatting a bit more about Georgia’s afternoon and Lando’s meeting, it’s time for you to head out.

At the door, Lando halts you with a gentle hand on your wrist.

“Hey, let me take you to dinner this week — a proper thank you,” he entreats. “Anywhere you like.”

Your pulse quickens. It sounds suspiciously close to a date. But Lando’s smiling hopefully, and you find yourself nodding before overthinking it.

“I’d love that.”

Lando grins, looking both relieved and excited. “Brilliant! I’ll text you details. Have a safe drive home.”

Strapping into your car, your thoughts race wildly. This man and his daughter have captured your heart. What started as a professional duty has grown into so much more.

As you drive away, Lando and Georgia waving from the window, you can’t keep the giddy smile off your face.

Your lives are intertwining in the most marvelous ways. And you can’t wait to see what adventures are in store next.

***

The following Saturday evening, you stand in front of the mirror, fussing with your hair and makeup. Glancing at the clock, you feel butterflies swarming. Lando will arrive any minute to pick you up for dinner.

You smooth non-existent wrinkles from your knee-length black dress. It’s daringly low cut for you, but you want to feel beautiful tonight.

A buzz from your phone makes you jolt. Lando is here! Taking a deep breath, you grab your purse and hurry downstairs.

Stepping outside your apartment building, you freeze in awe. Gleaming in the golden hour sunlight is a sleek dark blue vintage supercar unlike any other you’ve seen before.

The driver door opens, and Lando steps out looking devastatingly handsome in a tailored suit. He beams. “Wow, Y/N. You look absolutely stunning.”

You blush at the sincerity in his warm gaze. “Thank you. This is … quite the car!”

Lando grins, patting the hood affectionately. “She’s my baby — a Lamborghini Miura. Isn’t she a beauty?”

You take in the aerodynamic lines and what you can only assume is a very powerful engine. “Gorgeous. And probably costs more than my yearly income.”

Lando laughs. “But she’s perfect for impressing a lovely date.” He winks before opening the passenger door for you.

You carefully climb in, hyper aware of the tiny black dress riding up your thighs. Lando’s eyes trace your legs appreciatively as you smooth your skirt.

Soon you’re zipping through the seaside city, wind whipping your hair through the open windows. Lando navigates the roads expertly.

He glances your way. “Hope this is alright! Wanted to take the fun car out while the weather holds up.”

You grin at him. “Are you kidding? I feel like a movie star!”

He looks delighted, picking up speed as you both relax into the ride.

Before long, you pull up at the legendary Hotel de Paris Monte-Carlo. A uniformed valet opens your door. Taking the proffered hand, you step out feeling like a princess.

Lando offers his arm. “Shall we?”

Inside the opulent restaurant, you’re quickly shown to an intimate table beside a window overlooking the glittering Mediterranean sea. Soft piano music fills the space.

“Lando, this is incredible,” you breathe, taking it all in.

He smiles, eyes never leaving your face. “Only the best for you.”

You blush again at his sincerity. A waiter appears to take your drink order. When you request just water, Lando insists you pick any wine on the menu.

You settle on a creamy chardonnay that pairs perfectly with your scallops and Lando’s steak. Thoughtful touches like him pulling out your chair or refilling your wine glass make the lavish meal all the more special.

The conversation flows effortlessly from racing to traveling to favourite films and music. More than once, Lando’s foot brushes yours beneath the table, sending sparks skittering across your skin.

After dessert, you both linger over coffee, hands unconsciously joined on the pristine tablecloth between you. The connection humming between you feels profound.

When Lando finally checks his watch with a reluctant sigh, you’re surprised to see you’ve been there for over three hours. It felt like mere minutes.

On the drive back, you steal glances at his sharp profile in the fading light. Joy bubbles inside you. The evening exceeded your wildest expectations.

Too soon, you’re pulling up outside your building. Lando hurries around to open your door, ever the gentleman. Clasping his hand, you step out onto the curb together.

Turning, you find him watching you closely. “I had the most wonderful time tonight,” you say sincerely.

Lando’s face breaks into a grin. “Truly magical. Thank you for coming, Y/N.” He squeezes your hand, thumb tracing delicate circles.

On impulse, you lean up and press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Lando.”

With a final squeeze of his hand, you turn and walk inside, casting a coy look back to see him touching his cheek in wonder.

Safely in your apartment, you kick off your heels, collapsing onto the sofa with a giddy smile. The evening played in your mind like a movie — the fancy car, exquisite dinner, effortless conversation. And that powerful connection with Lando blossoming into something new and tender.

What started as a professional relationship has organically grown into a deep friendship over your shared love of little Georgia. But tonight awoke a yearning for more. You sensed the same from Lando in the way he looked at you — with affection, wonder, and desire.

You drift off on the couch still reliving each vivid moment. This feels like the start of something life changing.

Meanwhile, Lando remains fixed outside your building, fingers brushing the spot your lips graced. The soft press seared an imprint deep within him.

People had warned him pursuing anything romantic with Georgia’s physician was unwise. But from the instant he saw you holding his fragile newborn girl, instinct told him you were special. That only grew each day as your compassion and devotion soothed his frightened heart.

Tonight confirmed what he felt blooming for weeks now — he’s completely enchanted by you.

With your laughter still echoing in his mind, Lando finally drives off into the night. He knows his future, wherever it leads, must have you and Georgia in it. He’s falling, fast and hard.

And for once, recklessly chasing his heart feels entirely right. He just hopes you’ll take this leap with him.

***

On a sunny afternoon, you’re sitting cross-legged on Lando’s living room rug playing with Georgia. At nearly four months old now, she’s mastered rolling over and absolutely loves tummy time.

You grin as she determinedly pushes up on her hands, rocking back and forth. “That’s it, clever girl! You’ve almost got it.”

Georgia gives you a gummy smile before toppling over with a huff. Behind you, Lando chuckles from the couch where he’s on hold with a takeaway place.

“I swear she gets more stubborn every day. Definitely takes after me,” he remarks fondly.

You smile. “She knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to work for it. Sound familiar?”

Lando laughs. “Too right. At this rate, she’ll be racing cars herself soon.”

You’re about to respond when the sound of the front door opening makes you both freeze. Before you can react, an accented female voice calls out excitedly.

“Lando, darling! Surprise, we’ve come to visit!”

Lando flies off the couch just as his parents round the corner. “Mum! Dad! What are you doing here?”

He embraces them both tightly while you hover awkwardly behind Georgia. What must Lando’s family think finding a strange woman playing with their grandchild?

But before you can open your mouth to explain, Lando’s mum spots you. Her face lights up. “Y/N! How wonderful to finally meet you in person!”

To your shock, she swoops down and hugs you like a long lost relative. Bewildered, you return the embrace.

Over her shoulder, Lando rubs his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, I may have told them a fair bit about you and Gigi ...”

His father approaches next, politely shaking your hand. “Lando speaks very highly of you, Y/N. Thank you for taking such good care of our boy and the little one.”

“Oh, um, of course!” You manage to stammer out. Lando mentioned you to his parents? The thought makes your heart flutter wildly.

Before you can dwell on it, Georgia lets out an impatient shriek from her abandoned tummy time.

Cisca gasps, immediately scooping her up. “Oh my goodness, look how big you’ve gotten, baby girl!” She tickles Georgia’s belly, eliciting sweet giggles.

Lando smiles softly at the sight. You feel privileged to witness this intimate family moment.

Soon you’re all seated around the living room, chatting comfortably. Adam keeps throwing not-so-subtle winks Lando’s way whenever you and Cisca fawn over Georgia together. Lando just shakes his head, cheeks slightly flushed.

Later, his parents insist on taking you both out to dinner at a nice restaurant. Over the meal, you observe how Cisca’s animated mannerisms and Adam’s dry wit remind you so much of Lando. He clearly inherited the best of both.

Walking back to the car afterwards, Cisca links her arm through yours fondly. “I’m just thrilled Lando has you looking after him and little Georgia. It takes a very special woman to so selflessly love and support someone else’s child.”

You squeeze her arm, touched. “Well, they make it easy. I’d do anything for those two.”

Cisca pats your hand knowingly. “I can see that, dear. Don’t ever let my son take that for granted.”

Glancing ahead, you watch Lando swinging a sleepy Georgia in his arms, gazing down at her with pure adoration. Your heart clenches.

“I don’t think that’s possible. He’s the most devoted father imaginable,” you reply softly.

Cisca follows your gaze, smiling. “He is at that. Just like his own.”

Adam wraps an arm around his wife, kissing her temple. Cisca leans into him with a contented sigh. Their easy intimacy and abiding love is relationship goals.

You find yourself sneaking another peek at Lando, imagining strolling arm in arm like that one day. But it’s too soon for such daydreams.

Still, meeting his wonderful parents today, seeing how he talks about you … it feels like things are shifting into place.

That night, as Lando walks you to your car, he stops you with a hand on your wrist. “Thank you again for today. You were brilliant with my parents — they’re absolutely smitten.”

You grin. “They’re lovely. I see where you get it from.”

Lando rolls his eyes but smiles bashfully. An impulse has you leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Goodnight, Lando.” With a little wave, you slip into your car before he can respond.

But the awestruck look on Lando’s face stays with you the whole drive home. Something big is on the horizon, you can feel it.

And if the way his family embraced you today is any indication, you have their full support too. You’ve never been more excited about what the future holds.

***

A few days later, you’re rushing around your apartment getting ready. Lando invited you over for dinner and a movie tonight while his parents watch Georgia. You’ve been looking forward to the rare child-free evening all week.

After debating outfit options, you decide on form fitting jeans and a silky camisole. Casual yet flirty. Dabbing on a bit of perfume, you check yourself in the mirror. You want to knock his socks off.

Precisely at six, your phone chimes with a text from Lando that he’s waiting outside. Taking a deep breath, you go meet him.

As expected, he looks effortlessly handsome leaning against his flashy car grinning at you. “Well don’t you look gorgeous tonight,” he remarks, opening your door.

You smirk, settling into the low seat. “Not looking too bad yourself, Mr. Norris.”

Lando just winks before speeding off into the golden hour sunlight. You chat easily throughout the short drive about your days apart. When you mention missing Georgia, Lando smiles softly.

“Me too, constantly. But she’s in great hands with my parents tonight.” Reaching over, he gives your hand an affectionate squeeze that makes your heart race.

Soon you pull up outside Lando’s sleek condo building. He leads you upstairs, fingers entwined.

Inside, mouthwatering aromas fill the air. You follow Lando to the kitchen where pots bubble away on the stove.

“I hope you’re hungry. My dad’s recipe for chicken curry.” Lando stirs one of the pots before glancing at you shyly. “I may have been practicing all week.”

You grin, touched that he went to such effort. “It smells incredible! I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Full of surprises.” Lando winks. “Now you just relax while I finish up.”

You perch at the kitchen island while Lando works. The domesticity of it all makes your chest feel warm. You could definitely get used to this.

Soon dinner is served along with a crisp white wine. You compliment Lando between bites, making him preen. Everything is delicious.

Over dessert, your feet become entangled beneath the small table. The simmering looks passing between you leave no doubt this is a date.

With dishes cleared, Lando leads you to the living room. “Now, the entertainment portion of the evening.” He gestures grandly towards the large TV.

You settle onto the plush grey sectional while Lando queues up your chosen rom-com. Before pressing play, he pauses.

“Do you maybe want to get more comfortable?” He gestures to the blanket and abundance of throw pillows nearby.

You smile, touched at how he’s trying to create a cozy movie watching environment. “That sounds perfect.”

Working together, you both strip down to t-shirts and lounge pants, then arrange the pillows and blankets into a comfy nest. Your heart races at the intimacy of it all.

Lando opens his arms for you to curl against his chest. You sigh, breathing in his comforting scent. His steady heartbeat thrums beneath your ear as the movie starts.

About halfway through, you glance up to see Lando staring down at you tenderly, movie forgotten. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, fingers trailing down to tilt your chin up. Eyes fluttering shut, you lean in as his lips meet yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

Everything around you fades away. The only sensation is Lando’s gentle lips moving with yours, laced with warmth and affection.

When you finally break apart, faces lingering close, he exhales shakily. “Wow. That was ...”

“Perfect,” you whisper, caressing his stubbled cheek. Lando nuzzles into your touch.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time,” he admits with a crooked smile.

You grin. “What took you so long?”

Lando laughs, pulling you closer again. Your lips find their way back together naturally. With your legs entwined and his hand trailing up and down your back, you lose all track of time and space.

Eventually you pull back just to catch your breath, lips pleasantly swollen. Lando strokes your hair tenderly.

“Y/N, you must know by now how truly special you are to me. From the moment we met, I felt fate bringing us together. And I never want to let you go.” His eyes search yours intently.

Your pulse quickens. “Lando ...”

“What I’m trying to say is ...” He takes a deep breath. “Will you be my girlfriend? Officially?”

Joy erupts inside you as you throw your arms around his neck. “Yes, I’d love nothing more!”

Lando’s delighted laughter vibrates against you as he squeezes you tight. You stay locked in an embrace, trading giddy kisses until sleepiness inevitably sets in.

Lando carries you to bed, tucking you both under the covers with your head pillowed on his chest. You drift off smiling, his steady heartbeat your lullaby.

Waking wrapped in Lando’s arms the next morning feels like pure bliss. He stirs, blinking awake to see you watching him fondly.

“Morning, beautiful.” Lando caresses your cheek before capturing your lips in a tender good morning kiss.

You hum contentedly. “I could get very used to this.”

“Well luckily, you’re my girlfriend now. So you’re stuck with me.” He grins playfully.

You snuggle impossibly closer. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

***

On a sunny spring morning, you’re in Lando’s kitchen pureeing some bananas for Georgia’s breakfast. At nearly one year old now, she’s mastered eating soft finger foods.

Lando wanders in with Georgia propped on his hip, her dark curls tied up in adorable pigtails. “Someone’s ready for her breakfast!”

You grin, smoothing Georgia’s hair back to kiss her chubby cheek. “Morning, my darling! Got your bananas all ready.”

Lando settles Georgia into her high chair, handing you her baby spoon shaped like a rabbit. “Not sure who’s more excited about mealtimes now, her or me,” he jokes.

You laugh. “Gotta get our girl fed so she has energy to get into everything!”

Georgia bangs her hands impatiently on the tray until you scoop up a spoonful of bananas. “Alright, here comes the Formula 1 car!”

You zoom the spoon around playfully before popping it in her mouth. Georgia squeals in delight, kicking her little feet.

Lando leans against the counter smiling as you continue taking turns feeding her. When the last bites are finished, he grabs a washcloth to wipe Georgia’s sticky face and hands.

“Who’s my big girl eating like such a pro?” He coos, tickling her belly. Georgia dissolves into adorable giggles.

Setting the washcloth down, Lando brushes a stray banana strand from her hair. “You’re the sweetest, most beautiful girl in the whole world. Yes you are!”

Georgia beams up at him, waving her hands excitedly. Then clear as day, she exclaims “Mama!”

You freeze in shock. Did she just ...

Lando’s eyes fly to yours, equally stunned. An awkward tension instantly permeates the room.

“I-I never encouraged that, I swear,” Lando rushes to explain, panicked. “I always call you by name when I talk about you to her.”

“No no, of course, I didn’t think-” You halt, flustered. “I would never try to make her call me ...” You can’t even say it, heart pounding wildly.

A heavy silence falls. You avert your eyes, anxiously twisting the washcloth between your hands.

Lando scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know why she ...” He trails off helplessly.

After a long pause, Lando touches your arm gently. “Hey, look at me?”

You reluctantly meet his earnest gaze. Lando takes your hands in his, tone serious.

“Y/N, you must know how much I respect your role in Georgia’s life. We’re partners in this, fully. I would never try to force a maternal label on you.”

His obvious sincerity makes you instantly relax. Offering a small smile, you squeeze his hands.

“Of course. I didn’t think that. It just took me by surprise is all.” You take a deep breath before continuing hesitantly.

“But, well … the idea of Georgia seeing me that way doesn’t scare me. Not if it happens naturally.” You chance a glance at Lando through your lashes.

His eyes soften. “Truly?” At your shy nod, a smile spreads across his face.

“Because, well, I was thinking the same.” Lando cradles your face between his palms. “You already are a mum to her in every way that matters.”

You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Joy and relief flood your system.

Georgia makes an impatient noise, breaking the tender spell. You both chuckle.

Lando lifts her from the chair into his arms. “Don’t worry princess, your mama isn’t going anywhere.”

Hearing those words from Lando sends your heart soaring. You join the cuddle, Georgia nestled happily between you.

“Our sweet girl,” Lando murmurs, meeting your gaze over her little head. The pure love reflected back at you erases any lingering doubts.

You place a soft kiss to Georgia’s curls, then lean up to capture Lando’s lips. The promise of your future together never felt stronger.

Many more milestones await, for Georgia and your relationship both. But you know without question that the bonds between you three will only continue growing deeper.

Of all the twists and turns on this journey, your little family is the sweetest gift of all.

***

The day of the Monaco Grand Prix dawns bright and clear. You finish braiding Georgia’s hair as she babbles happily. At 18 months old now, her vocabulary expands daily.

“There we go, pretty girl! All set to cheer on Daddy!”

Georgia grins. “Dada race!”

You smile, smoothing her dress. “That’s right, darling!”

A knock sounds right before Lando pokes his head into the nursery. “My two favorite girls about ready?”

Scooping up Georgia, you turn so he can admire her race day outfit. “Well don’t we look beautiful!” Lando tickles Georgia’s tummy before pulling you both into a hug.

“I can’t tell you how much it means to have you both here today,” he says softly.

You squeeze him tight. As a pediatrician, getting full weekends off for races proved nearly impossible. But for Monaco, you moved mountains.

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you assure him. Lando’s responding smile warms your heart.

The energy at the track is electric. Georgia’s eyes widen taking in all the sights and sounds. You carry her through the paddock towards the McLaren garage, Lando greeting various people along the way.

Inside, Lando steals a quick kiss. “I better go get suited up. See you after?”

You nod, adjusting a squirmy Georgia on your hip. “We’ll be cheering the loudest!”

Lando changes into his race suit, then leads you both over to his car. Georgia is mesmerized, reaching a tiny hand towards the shiny machine.

“That’s right munchkin, this is what Daddy drives!” Lando points out key features, then grabs a helmet from a crew member.

“Want to try it on?” Not waiting for an answer, Lando gently fits the helmet over Georgia’s curls. She immediately shrieks in delight.

Laughing, Lando scoops her up, zooming her around like she’s driving. “Look at you, a future champion in the making!”

You snap some photos of the adorable scene until it’s time for Lando to go off with his performance coach. After one last kiss for both of you, he disappears into the controlled pre-race chaos.

An assistant escorts you to the McLaren hospitality suite overlooking the pit lane. The view of the gleaming harbor and yachts reminds you this race is unlike anywhere else.

As start time nears, you cuddle a restless Georgia close, pointing out Lando’s car lined up on the grid. “See? There’s Daddy! He’s about to go racing.” Her little brow furrows, not quite understanding.

When the lights go out, Georgia startles at the loud roar of engines. Rubbing her back soothingly, you keep your eyes glued to the screen as the cars hurtle towards the tight first corner bottleneck.

“Come on Lando,” you murmur under your breath. He emerges from the chaos in 4th position. Off to a promising start.

Over the next 90 minutes, you fluctuate between pure elation and anxiety as the race unfolds. A collision forces Lando to pit unexpectedly. Just as your heart rate settles, another car spins right in front of him, spraying debris across the track.

But Lando holds his nerve, keeping the car under control to cross the line in P3. You leap up, cheering loudly with Georgia.

Soon Lando emerges, hair damp from the obligatory champagne shower.

His race suit is unzipped to the waist as he sweeps you both into an exuberant hug. “You did so good,” you murmur into his neck. Pulling back, Lando caresses Georgia’s head where it rests heavily on your shoulder.

“Little one tuckered herself out cheering for Daddy, hmm?” He takes her gently as she nuzzles into his chest with a yawn.

“Let’s get my best girls home.” With Georgia cradled in one arm and the other around your waist, Lando leads you out of the paddock like a proud family man. Your heart feels fit to burst.

That night after Georgia is tucked into bed, you curl up together on the couch. The TV plays highlights of the race you lived firsthand.

Lando absently strokes your hair. “You know, the lads invited me out to celebrate tonight.”

You lift your head. “Oh really? You should go have fun!”

But Lando just smiles, pulling you closer. “And miss this? Not a chance.” He kisses you tenderly. “Partying in Monaco holds nothing on being with my two favorite people.”

You kiss him again, touched. However far Lando’s career takes him, you know his heart will remain right here with you and Georgia.

***

Summer finally arrives, bringing a short respite between races for Lando. Eager to make the most of it, you suggest visiting your hometown to introduce him and Georgia to your parents.

“They’d love to finally meet you both,” you say over breakfast one morning.

Lando smiles, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. “That sounds brilliant, love. I can’t wait to see where you grew up.”

You grin excitedly. “It’s nothing glamorous like Monaco. But I have so many good memories there.”

With plans made, you set off early one sunny Saturday morning, boarding a flight with Georgia securely buckled into her carrier. She babbles happily for most of the flight, enchanted by the clouds and miniature landscape passing below. Lando keeps one hand firmly clasped in yours the entire time.

Late afternoon, you finally pull up outside the cozy house you grew up in. Taking a deep breath, you unbuckle a sleepy Georgia from her seat.

“We’re here, Gigi! Ready to meet Grandma and Grandpa?”

She rubs her eyes with a tiny fist, still drowsy. Lando comes around to lift her into his arms.

“Someone’s a bit tired from all the traveling, huh? Maybe a quick nap first?” He kisses Georgia’s fuzzy head as she snuggles into his shoulder.

You nod, smoothing down her rumpled sundress. Taking Lando’s free hand, you head up the front walk.

Before you can even knock, the front door swings open. Your mum stands beaming at the threshold.

“Y/N! Oh, let me see her!” She sweeps you into a tight hug before immediately cooing over a now awake Georgia. “What an absolute darling!”

You grin. “Mom, meet your granddaughter, Georgia.” Saying it out loud sends a little thrill through you.

Your mother gently strokes Georgia’s dark curls. “Look at all this beautiful hair! Those eyes are all her daddy though.” She smiles warmly at Lando.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you, Mrs. Y/L/N,” Lando says politely, shaking her extended hand.

“Oh please, call me Y/M/N! Now come in, come in!” She ushers you both inside the familiar cozy house.

Your dad appears from his office to exchange hearty handshakes and hugs. Lando looks slightly overwhelmed by the enthusiastic welcome.

Sensing this, you squeeze his arm reassuringly. “Why don’t I put Georgia down for her nap? You guys chat.”

Lando shoots you a grateful smile. You disappear down the hall to your childhood bedroom, now converted to a cozy nursery space. Georgia is out like a light before you’ve even finished tucking her in.

Returning to the living room, you pause in the doorway, heart swelling at the scene. Lando sits between your parents on the sofa as they animatedly show him your baby photos. His eyes shine taking it all in. This is the sense of family he’s long craved.

Eventually Georgia wakes, cranky and clingy. You scoop her up, breathing in that sweet baby scent as you rub her back.

“I know, lots of new things happening today. But you’re being so brave.” Dropping a kiss to her curls, you return to the living room.

Your mother immediately reaches for Georgia, who goes willingly into her arms. “Come sit with Grandma, sweetheart.”

Settling on the couch between your parents again, Lando slips an arm around your shoulders. Georgia babbles happily from your mother’s lap.

The rest of the day passes comfortably as your parents dote on their new granddaughter. Watching your mom help Georgia toddle around the yard, your dad pushing her on the tree swing, Lando’s arm stays wrapped securely around you.

That night after Georgia is down, you find Lando out on the back porch gazing up at the stars. You join him on the steps, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“You okay?”

Lando looks down at you with a soft smile. “More than. Today was really special.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face. “Seeing how your parents just immediately welcomed us into the family … it means everything. I never expected to find this.” His voice turns thick with emotion.

You lift your head to meet his sincere gaze, heart brimming over. No words needed, you convey it all in a tender kiss.

When you eventually pull apart, foreheads touching, Lando exhales shakily. “Being here with you and Gigi, it just feels so right. Like we were always meant to be a family.”

Joyful tears prick your eyes hearing him voice the same feeling living inside you. You cradle his face gently.

“We were, Lando. From that very first day in the hospital, I knew fate brought us together for a reason.”

Lando’s responding smile could outshine the moon and stars overhead. He kisses you again, soft and unhurried, arms encircling you on that familiar back porch.

***

Two years to the day after that fateful first meeting, you’re finishing rounds in the maternity ward when your supervisor requests you in her office. Brow furrowed, you make your way down the hall and knock lightly.

“Come in!”

You step inside to find her beaming behind her desk. “Y/N! Please, have a seat.”

Perplexed, you settle into the plush chair across from her. “Is everything okay?”

“Better than okay, I’d say.” She grins and slides an official document across the desk towards you. “Take a look at this.”

You scan the letter, eyes widening. It’s a notice of a 250,000 euro donation to the hospital’s maternity ward and nursery … made in your name.

“What? This must be a mistake, I didn’t ...” You trail off, completely baffled.

Your supervisor laughs. “Oh it’s quite real, I assure you. In fact, the donor himself insisted on being here today to celebrate.”

Before you can respond, a knock sounds. You turn to see Lando stroll in, right on cue, with a grinning Georgia perched on his hip.

“Lando!” You gasp. “Did you … is this from you?”

He smiles almost shyly, setting Georgia down so she can toddle over to you. “Wanted to do something meaningful to mark the anniversary of when we first met.”

You stand frozen in shock as Georgia crashes into your legs. Scooping her up, you turn back to Lando with tears in your eyes.

“This is too much, I … I don’t know what to say.” You glance between him and your equally emotional supervisor.

Lando moves closer, taking your hands in his. “Say you’ll come with me for a proper celebration? Just the three of us?” He brushes his thumbs over your knuckles, eyes twinkling.

Unable to form words, you simply nod. Lando’s face lights up with that smile that still makes your heart skip.

After signing some paperwork and hugging your supervisor profusely, you allow Lando to lead you out to the car, Georgia babbling happily between you. But instead of heading home, he drives to the glittering harbor front.

There, you gasp to see a magnificent yacht floating ready at the dock. A crew in crisp white uniforms wait nearby.

Lando grins at your stunned reaction. “Told you we’re celebrating in style today!”

The staff smiles warmly as you board, cooing over Georgia toddling around excitedly. She especially loves watching the foam trail behind the yacht as it pulls away from shore.

You stand wrapped in Lando’s arms, his chin resting on your shoulder. “I still can’t believe you did all this,” you murmur.

Lando presses a kiss to your temple. “You deserve it all and more, my love.”

You pass a blissful afternoon on the water, enjoying a gourmet lunch and each other’s company. Lando is attentive as ever, making sure you want for nothing.

As the sun dips low, a crew member approaches. “So sorry to interrupt, but we’ll be arriving shortly. Please follow me downstairs to prepare.”

You glance questioningly at Lando, but he just smiles and urges you to follow with Georgia. Down in your luxurious cabin, an elegant evening gown awaits on the bed alongside a tiny version for Georgia.

Your heart flutters wildly now. Lando is clearly planning something major. You help Georgia into her dress, your hands shaking slightly with anticipation.

A knock at the door announces the crew member has returned. “We’ve arrived back at port, whenever you’re ready.”

Back up top, Lando stands waiting in a sharp suit, holding a bouquet of roses. He looks devastatingly handsome.

Taking your hand, he leads you down the gangplank onto the dock where a car waits to whisk you away into the hills overlooking the sea. The sunset bathes everything in golden light.

When the car stops at a secluded lookout point, Lando helps you out then retrieves a sleepy Georgia. Hand in hand, you approach the cliff edge.

Down below, a massive light display flashes to life along the shoreline. You gasp as the glowing words become clear:

Y/N, will you marry me?

You clap a hand over your mouth, spinning to Lando with tears pooling in your eyes. He’s down on one knee, Georgia sitting next to him playing with flower petals.

“Two years ago, you came into our lives and changed everything,” Lando begins emotionally. “Your compassion and selflessness as a doctor saved my fragile new family.”

He takes a shaky breath. “But you gave me so much more than that. Your kindness, your beauty inside and out, your incredible love for me and Georgia … you’re my dream come true.”

Tears spill freely down your cheeks as Lando pulls out a glittering diamond ring. “So Y/N Y/L/N, nothing would make me happier than for you to officially become my family. Will you marry me?”

A joyful sob escapes you as you sink down, throwing your arms around him. “Yes, Lando, a million times yes!”

His relieved laughter vibrates against you. When you pull back, Lando takes your hand gently to slide the exquisite ring onto your finger. A perfect fit.

Georgia seems to sense the significance of the moment and toddles over to wrap her little arms around your legs. You lift her into a fierce hug between you.

“I love you both so very much,” you whisper emotionally. Lando’s responding smile outshines the luminous lights along the shore.

Cradling your faces in his hands, he seals his proposal with the sweetest kiss as the sunset fades to twilight.

You linger wrapped in Lando’s arms, Georgia nestled between you, as the first stars emerge overhead. Right here, surrounded by your little family, you’ve never felt happier or more at peace.

It’s extraordinary what two short years can bring — unexpected joy, profound purpose, and a love greater than you dared dream.

The brightest days are still ahead. But tonight, in this perfect moment, you know you’ve already found everything you’ll ever need.

***

The day of your wedding to Lando dawns bright and sunny — perfect weather for an outdoor ceremony overlooking the glittering Mediterranean sea.

Inside the bridal suite, your mother puts the final pins in your elegant updo while your bridesmaids fuss over the train of your lace gown.

A knock at the door announces your father’s arrival. When you turn to face him in your wedding finery, his eyes well up.

“Oh sweetheart … you look absolutely beautiful.”

You immediately tear up too, embracing him tightly. “Don’t make me ruin my makeup before I’ve even walked down the aisle!”

He laughs wetly, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. “Couldn’t help it! My girl is all grown up.”

Looking in the mirror, you hardly recognize yourself in the exquisite dress and pinned-back curls. But the overwhelmed bride staring back has the same little girl dreams you harbored all those years ago. Dreams that are finally coming true today.

Another quick knock precedes Georgia toddling in, chubby legs pumping. Your flower girl is absolutely angelic in her silky dress.

“Mama, pwetty!” She declares, rushing over for cuddles. You scoop her up, breathing in that sweet baby scent you adore.

“You look so beautiful, my love.” Blinking back fresh tears, you smooth down her unruly curls. “Ready to walk down the aisle with flowers?”

Georgia just grins and reaches for your necklace. You tickle her belly, making her dissolve into adorable giggles. Your heart swells with love for your daughter.

Too soon, the wedding coordinator is poking her head in. “Sorry to interrupt, but it’s just about time!”

Butterflies erupt as everyone hustles to line up. Your father tucks your arm through his, beaming with pride. Just outside the doors, Georgia toddles down the petal-strewn aisle ahead of you both.

Then the soaring orchestral processional begins, and you step out into the golden afternoon sunlight. Gasps and murmurs rise at the sight of your dramatic gown trailing behind.

But your eyes lock instantly on Lando under the flower-woven arch, looking devastatingly handsome in his slate grey suit. His face lights up, and you know that your own mirrors the same wonder and joy.

The ceremony passes in a blur of emotions. Before you know it, the officiant instructs you and Lando to face each other and take hands. Time for the vows.

You go first, hands shaking as you pull out your prepared words. But speaking from the heart comes easily.

“Lando, when we first met under the most unexpected circumstances, I had no idea of the amazing journey we’d go on together. My job was to ensure your new daughter received the care she deserved.”

Your voice wavers slightly. “But so quickly, you both became so much more. Being welcomed into your family was the greatest gift. Watching Georgia grow, guiding her first steps and words ...”

You have to pause, blinking back more tears. Lando squeezes your hands encouragingly.

Composing yourself, you continue thickly, “I vow to always provide that same nurturing love and support. I promise to be your safe place to call home after long days apart. And I pledge to show our daughter daily what it means to be a strong, compassionate woman.”

Taking a shaky breath, you finish softly, “You two are my entire world. Loving you is life’s greatest joy.”

Lando’s eyes glisten as he brushes away the single tear trailing down your cheek. His thumbs linger, cradling your face tenderly.

Clearing his throat, he begins his own vows, voice wavering with emotion. “Y/N, you appeared in my life like an angel that frightening day at the hospital. I was so lost, overwhelmed by the massive responsibility of suddenly having Georgia.”

He glances down at your joined hands. “But your compassion and wisdom guided me through those uncertain early days. You made us feel safe.”

Looking up, his eyes pierce yours intensely. “What started as our doctor-patient relationship grew into the most important friendship I’ve ever known. And then, miraculously, into true, deep love. Thank you for loving Georgia as your own and showing me what true partnership means.”

Lando’s voice cracks. He pauses to take a shaky breath. “So I vow to spend every day reciprocating that love and support. I promise to shield you from the chaos of my world and provide a peaceful home for our family.”

Then he turns, taking a folded paper from the best man. “I asked Georgia if she wanted to say anything to her mama today.”

He opens it to reveal a drawing of three stick figures, one much smaller than the others. Scribbled hearts surround you all.

Lando’s voice thickens. “She said to tell you she loves you ‘this much’ and that you’re the best mama ever.”

A sob escapes you as Lando refolds the cherished drawing and hands it over. You press it to your heart, blinking back a fresh wave of tears.

Finally, you slip the wedding bands onto each other’s fingers with whispered words of eternal love and commitment.

When the officiant pronounces you husband and wife, Lando sweeps you into his arms for the kind of kiss that steals your breath and stops time.

You are finally, officially, wholeheartedly one.

The reception flies by in more happy tears, moving speeches, delicious food, and dancing under the stars. Watching Lando twirl Georgia around the floor tugs at your heart.

Later, as you slow dance wrapped in your new husband’s arms, Lando kisses your hair and whispers, “Ready for this new adventure together, Dr. Y/L/N-Norris?”

You beam up at him. “Absolutely. Lead the way, Mr. Norris.”

No matter where life takes you next on this journey, your family will thrive and grow stronger. Lando’s love lifts you up in ways you never imagined possible. And you vow to cherish and repay that gift until your last breath.

***

Returning home from a blissful honeymoon, you settle back into domestic life with Lando and Georgia. Mornings are spent over pancakes, playing hide and seek, and dancing around the living room. The pure joy of your little family never ceases to warm your heart.

One evening after putting Georgia to bed, you curl up with Lando on the couch and hesitantly broach something you’ve been thinking about.

“So I wanted to discuss something with you. It’s just an idea, and please don’t feel pressured at all.” You take a deep breath. “What would you think about me officially adopting Gigi?”

Lando’s eyes widen in surprise. You rush to continue explaining.

“I don’t want you to think I need a piece of paper to love her with my whole heart, because I already do. More than anything in this world.” Your voice cracks slightly.

Reaching out, you grasp his hands. “I just want to make sure that no matter what, I have a legal right to take care of her. But only if you’re completely comfortable with it!”

Lando is quiet for a long moment, studying your anxious face. Then a smile spreads across his face. “Love, I think it’s a beautiful idea.”

You sag in relief. “Truly? I wasn’t sure if it was too much ...”

Lando silences you with a tender kiss. “Gigi is the luckiest girl in the world to have you as her mum. I want the whole world to know that too.”

Tears prick your eyes as Lando caresses your cheek. “The day you promised to love Georgia as your own was the moment I knew you were different. I see how you are with her — the time, the care, the unconditional love ...” His voice cracks slightly.

“You gave us the greatest gift. I want you to have the same security that she’ll always be yours.”

A single tear traces down your cheek. Lando brushes it away gently before drawing you into his arms. You cling to him, heart overflowing with love and gratitude.

When you finally pull back, Lando is dabbing at his own eyes. “So,” he says with a watery chuckle, “How do we make this official?”

You explain the process — paperwork, a hearing, lawyer fees. He waves it all off.

“Whatever it takes. I’ll call our attorney first thing tomorrow.” Lando squeezes you tight. “Soon you’ll legally be Gigi’s mum too!”

You grin and kiss him soundly. With Lando fully on board, excitement takes root.

Over the next weeks, you go through the steps — filing petitions, scheduling court dates, and explaining the process in age-appropriate ways to an occasionally grumpy Georgia when she can’t go play outside instead.

Finally, the big day arrives. You dress Georgia in her favorite pink checkered dress and do her hair in perfect pigtails.

“My beautiful girl,” you murmur, smoothing down a flyaway curl. Her answering smile melts your heart.

At the courthouse, you all meet the social worker assigned to your case. She questions you and Lando gently about your relationship, home life, and approach to parenting. You cling tight to Lando’s hand the entire time.

Finally, it’s time for the hearing before a grandfatherly judge. He smiles warmly, peering over his glasses at you all.

“Well, I must say, this is one of the more straightforward cases to come before me. I can see clear as day how much love exists in this family.”

Relief floods you. The judge continues, “Therefore, I am more than pleased to grant the petition to finalize the adoption of Georgia Senna Norris by her mother, Y/N Y/L/N-Norris.” He bangs his gavel with an air of finality.

Joyful tears pour down your face. Lando whoops and sweeps you into a spinning hug. Even Georgia seems to realize something momentous just occurred, clapping her little hands.

In a daze, you sign the final paperwork making it official before emerging from the courthouse into the warm sunlight, your family now fully complete.

That evening, after Georgia is asleep, you curl up with Lando in bed, reliving the special day. He kisses your hair and murmurs, “I’m so proud of you, Mama.”

You grin against his chest. “I never thought I could feel so much love. She’s changed my life in every way.”

Lando tilts your chin up, eyes glowing. “That’s exactly how I feel about you. My girls who make life beautiful.”

***

One sunny afternoon, you’re in the kitchen prepping a snack for four-year-old Georgia when she comes bounding in from preschool.

“Mummy, guess what? My friend Amy at school is gonna be a big sister!” She hops up on her stool, eyes bright with excitement.

“Oh really? That’s fun!” You slice an apple into bunny shapes.

Georgia nods vigorously. “Yeah! Her mum has a baby in her tummy. Can I have a brother or sister in your tummy too?”

You freeze, knife hovering over the apple. Slowly setting it down, you turn to face her. “You want a little sibling?”

“Yes yes yes!” She bounces in her seat. “I asked Daddy already and he said I should ask you too.”

Your mind spins. A baby … it’s something you and Lando have only vaguely discussed as a someday possibility. But with Georgia asking so eagerly, the concept suddenly feels very real.

Just then, Lando walks in from his office. Georgia immediately appeals to him. “Daddy, tell Mummy we should have a baby! I wanna be a big sister.”

Lando meets your startled gaze, scrubbing a hand through his curls. “Well, uh, what do you think, love? Could be kinda nice to add to our crew.”

You glance between their hopeful faces, heart swelling. “I think … that could be really special for our family.”

Georgia cheers while Lando grins, coming over to wrap you in a hug. “A mini you running around? Sign me up.” His smile falters slightly. “Only if you want to though, truly.”

You squeeze him back. “I really do. We’ve come so far since the days of newborn Georgia. I’d love to go through it all again with you.”

The joy lighting up Lando’s face erases any lingering doubts.

That night after Georgia is asleep, you curl up together to discuss logistics. “I’ll need to give notice at the hospital once I’m pregnant so they can find someone to cover my maternity leave.”

Lando waves dismissively. “Don’t worry about any of that. Focus on growing our little muffin and I’ll handle the rest.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Our little muffin?”

“Or crumpet. Jellybean. Peanut.” Lando grins. “Take your pick, I’ve got a million terrible nicknames ready to go.”

Laughing, you swat his chest playfully. Sobering, you add, “It won’t be easy juggling a newborn and busy four year-old. But I can’t wait to see Georgia as a big sister.”

Lando smiles tenderly, threading his fingers through yours. “You’re already the most incredible mum. Our kids are so lucky.”

Your throat tightens at the absolute faith in his voice. No matter the challenges ahead, you’ll get through them together.

When you share the news with Georgia, she screeches loud enough to wake the neighbors. Her enthusiasm never wanes over the following months.

Finally, the big day arrives. After a long but relatively smooth delivery, your son enters the world screaming indignantly. The sound is music to your ears.

Lando cuts the cord with shaking hands before your little boy is placed in your arms. Love surges fiercely and instantly.

“Hi Maddox,” you whisper through joyful tears. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Lando presses a kiss to both your heads before going to bring Georgia in. She gasps softly, climbing up to peer at her new brother with wide eyes.

“He’s so little!” Reaching out a gentle finger, she strokes Maddox’s downy cheek. Your heart clenches watching your babies meet.

Georgia cuddles close as you adjust her arm to help cradle Maddox. “I’m your big sister Gigi! I’m gonna help take care of you.” She drops a sloppy kiss on his forehead.

Blinking back a fresh wave of tears, you meet Lando’s equally wet gaze. The road that first led you to Lando has become so much more than you ever imagined. But you wouldn’t change a single unexpected twist or turn.

***

You link arms with Lando as you make your way through the familiar Silverstone paddock. The distinctive smell of race fuel hangs in the air, mingling with the buzz of excitement rippling through the crowd.

Georgia skips ahead, her brunette curls bouncing with each step, while Maddox clings to Lando’s free hand, his eyes wide with wonder. Alexa, your two-year-old, nestles securely in your arms, her tiny fingers clutching the McLaren teddy bear she insisted on bringing today. A small smile tugs at your lips as you glance down at her cherubic face, so much like Lando’s. Your heart swells with love for your beautiful family.

“Mummy, look!” Georgia calls out, pointing towards the McLaren garage suite. “Can we go in and see the car later?”

“We’ll see, darling,” you reply with a wink, knowing full well that Lando will ensure a special tour for the kids.

Lando squeezes your hand, his warm eyes twinkling with adoration. “Anything for my favorite girls … and Maddox,” he teases, ruffling Maddox’s hair playfully.

Maddox giggles, his freckled cheeks dimpling. “I’m your favorite boy though, right?”

“Of course,” Lando assures him with a conspiratorial wink.

As you continue down the bustling pathway, a Sky Sports reporter spots your family and rushes over, microphone in hand.

“Lando! Dr. Y/L/N-Norris! Do you have a moment for a quick interview?” He asks, his cameraman already rolling.

Lando nods, ever the professional. “Sure, mate. Go ahead.”

The reporter flashes a bright smile at the camera. “We’re here at the Silverstone Circuit with McLaren driver, Lando Norris, his wife, Dr. Y/N Y/L/N-Norris, and their children, Georgia, Maddox, and Alexa. It’s the weekend of the British Grand Prix, and the Norris family has been a fixture in the paddock for years.”

He turns to Georgia and Maddox, crouching down to their level. “So, you two must love coming to the races with your dad. What’s your favorite part?”

Georgia’s eyes light up as she launches into an enthusiastic explanation about the cars and the pit stops, her hands gesturing animatedly. Maddox, the quieter one, simply mumbles “the colors” with a shy grin.

The reporter chuckles, clearly charmed by the children’s responses. Straightening up, he addresses you and Lando. “And how about you two? Managing a hectic F1 schedule with three young kids can’t be easy. What’s the secret?”

Before either of you can respond, Georgia pipes up, “But it’s not three kids, it’s five!”

You tense, shooting Lando a panicked glance. This wasn’t how you’d planned to share the news of your pregnancy.

“Five kids?” The reporter’s brows furrow in confusion.

Georgia nods matter-of-factly. “Yep, there are two more babies in Mummy’s belly!”

A hush falls over the small crowd that has gathered nearby, and you can feel dozens of eyes trained on your still-flat stomach. Heat rushes to your cheeks as you instinctively place a protective hand over your abdomen.

The reporter blinks, clearly thrown off-script. “Well, I … congratulations! That’s certainly going to be a handful.”

You force a laugh, leaning into Lando’s solid frame. “Yes, well, Lando’s always said he wants a football team.”

Your husband grins, that cheeky grin you fell in love with, and wraps an arm around your waist. “What can I say? I like to keep things interesting.”

The crowd titters with amusement, and you can feel the tension dissipating.

“I can only imagine,” the reporter replies with a smile. “Well, thank you all for chatting with us today, and congratulations again on your growing family!”

As the reporter and his crew move on, you turn to Lando, your eyes shining with unshed tears — a heady mix of residual mortification and overwhelming love.

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur, stroking his stubbled jaw. “I know we wanted to share the news on our own terms.”

Lando silences you with a tender kiss, his lips warm and achingly familiar against yours. When he pulls back, his gaze is soft, adoring.

“Are you kidding? There’s no better way to announce it than through Gigi,” he says with a wink. “Besides, I’m just happy the whole world knows that I have super sperm.”

You laugh despite yourself, shoving his shoulder playfully. “You’re impossible.”

“But you love me,” he counters, that infuriatingly irresistible grin stretching across his face.

“God help me, I do,” you sigh, melting into his embrace.

Georgia bounds over then, Maddox and Alexa in tow, her expression a mixture of exhilaration and uncertainty.

“Was I not supposed to tell, Mummy? Did I do something wrong?” She asks, her eyes wide and questioning.

You quickly kneel down, gathering all three children into your arms and peppering their faces with kisses.

“No, my darling, you didn’t do anything wrong. You just … surprised us, that’s all.” You share a look with Lando over their heads, a look that conveys a thousand words — your hopes, your dreams, your boundless love for this incredible little family you’ve created together.

Lando reaches down, ruffling Georgia’s curls with one hand while gently squeezing your shoulder with the other. A silent promise, a vow to always be by your side as you navigate the beautiful chaos of your life together.

Rising to your feet, you adjust Alexa on your hip and take Georgia’s small hand in your own. Maddox slips his hand into Lando’s, and you set off once more, the television crew long forgotten.

This is your life — a whirlwind of races and airports, photoshoots and interviews. But it’s also quiet nights cuddled on the sofa, re-watching Disney movies for the millionth time. It’s family hugs and sloppy baby kisses, skinned knees and endless giggles. It’s laundry piled to the ceiling and sleepless nights spent pacing the nursery.

It’s messy and magical, exhausting and exhilarating. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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