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mjolnirswriststrap · 3 months

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Not My Type

Bucky Barnes x Plus Size!Reader x Steve Rogers

Word Count: 2,329 Masterlist Part 2

Summary: Bucky is dumb.

Warnings: Fatphobia.

A/N: something short, sweet and simple because I’m starting to feel guilty about not posting 😭

Steve watched, as his friend searched around the club with his eyes. He could assume Bucky was just waiting on the rest of their coworkers to get there, but he knew better. “She’ll get here soon enough, relax.”. Steve leans his back against the booth and takes a long drink of his beer. “Who?” Bucky asks, unconvincingly.

“Y/N.” He says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Bucky scrunches up his face “As if, man.” He ignores the look of disbelief Steve gives him. “Why deny it? I’ve caught you staring her down more times than I can count.”. Steve stands up and waves to signal Natasha to where they sat. “There’s nothing to deny, she’s not my type, leave it there so no one’s feelings get hurt, okay?” Bucky puts the bottle to his lips to shush himself when he sees you approach the booth.

“You guys look.” Steve’s speechless as he takes in the silk nighties the girls adorned. They all wore semi matching babydoll dresses. Color coded fishnets and heeled slippers adorned their long legs. Their hair was high and teased, makeup adding to the sultry bedtime look they were going for.

“You’re gonna catch flies.” Wanda remarks, leaving to find Vision having the time of his life with the DJ. Steve’s reaction to their costumes did nothing to calm your nerves. You went with the housewife costume too. Just a different approach entirely. Your hair sat in victory rolls atop your head, a thick stack of curls laying on your shoulders, a knee length dress with three quartered sleeves covered you. You’re painted your eyebrows on thinly, just to over line your lips, filling them in with your favorite red Mac lipstick. You were the most modest in your costume, but the most accurate.

You couldn’t wear a see through nightgown to the club. You would die of embarrassment, your rolls would be everywhere. At least in this thick cotton dress, no one could see the layers of shape wear you wore. You slid into the booth and sat beside Steve, getting sandwiched in when Sam finally arrives, late with no costume. “What took you so long, huh khakis?” You tease him, feeling nothing but comfort in his presence.

“You ever had to tell a 10 year old his idea isn’t good enough.” He laughs, “, You should go as yourself Unc!” He recalls the boys words over the phone. “Oh, of course, looks like a superhero to me!” You giggle, loving the thought of his nephews building up his self esteem. He was new to the team, no super strength or speed. Just courage, you admired Sam.

You finally take the chance to look around the booth. Steve wore his vintage Captain America suit, claiming it still fits like a glove. Bucky didn’t wear a costume, just his regular black t-shirt and leather jacket, no effort, even for Halloween. It helped Sam not look so out of place, so you just rolled your eyes at him. He tried way to hard to act like he didn’t care about anything, or anyone. You hate people like that, too self absorbed to carry on a conversation with someone who doesn’t benefit them.

You had been on the wrong side of his attitude before. Bumbling up to him after your first meeting. Stretching out your hand for a shake, he barely touched your hand as he shook your fingers, nodding at you with a curt “Welcome.” You didn’t think much of it till he sat beside Yelena, who got recruited the same day as you, and sparked up a lively conversation with her, telling her if she needs anything at the compound to come ask him. That was the first time Bucky hurt your feelings, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“Y/N!” Someone yells at you from the dance floor. It’s Yelena dancing alone, “You promised me a dance.” She says, holding her arms out for you. You nudge Sam on the shoulder and do the most embarrassing scoot out of the booth you could imagine. Your dress rode up in the time you’d been sitting there, causing your thighs to stick to the old leather. Your face grimaces and you peel your skin away, hoping no one noticed.

“I’m on the dance floor, as promised.” You say, holding her hands while she dances on you. “You’re gonna need to do more than stand there if you want him to notice you.” She remarks, not skipping a beat. Yelena knew you too well, she knew you picked the 40s for a reason, not going with their free spirit 60s slumber get up.

Giving her a wide eyed look, as if he heard over the thumping music. “We both know I have no rhythm, stop that.” You giggle when she presses her back against you and slides down into a squat. She goes behind you and grabs your hips, forcing you against her chest. She grinds you into her pelvis, using her hands to guide your hips in sync with hers. You never moved that way before, and the sensuality of it had your heart racing. Yelena could be anyone, tightly holding on to you, you closed your eyes and threw your head back on her shoulder, just to imagine it was him for a moment.

You feel Yelena’s lips tickle your ear and she’s whispering “Look who can’t take their eyes off of you.” You tilt your head down and open your eyes to lock them with Bucky’s. He looks angry, like you pissed in his cheerios. You turn your body around to face Yelena, “I think he’s upset I’m blocking his view from you.”. That causes her to laugh out loud, grabbing your shoulders to shake you. “You’re mad woman! Look at what’s right in front of you.”. You laugh and look behind you to see Bucky staring down his beer now, instead of you.

“Yelena, I don’t know how to put this, he probably doesn’t even go for girls like me, skinny blonde seems more his type. You, you seem more his type.” You plead with her. She just shakes her head, “He doesn’t like me, I promise, Y/N.” You nod your head, trusting the closest friend you had.

You make your way to the bar, grabbing a drink to cool yourself off. You’re walking back to the booth to get off your feet when you overhear Steve and Bucky’s conversation.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“You look like a helpless puppy, just make your move.”

“As if I’d need to, she’s probably never had male attention, that’s too easy.”

“Just admit that you’re afraid of rejection.”

“From her? Never in a million years would fatty have a chance. Like I said she’s obviously not my type.”. Bucky instantly regretted the words as they came out of his mouth, he didn’t mean it. But Steve wouldn’t stop accusing him of having a crush on you.

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but you push them down. You knew better, Yelena didn’t, you shouldn’t have let her give you false hope. You choke down your pride and turn the corner, sliding into the booth as if nothing happened. “I think this is my last drink guys, I’m getting tired, and winter training starts tomorrow.”.

An echo of ‘boos’ and a “noooo why.” Almost tempt you to stay. But you know you’re not wanted here, by the one person that mattered. Steve catches your attention, “Are you sure? The nights still young.” He wiggles his brows. You give him a tight lipped smile, knowing he tried to get Bucky to make a move.

“Yeah, there’s really not much for me here. I came for Natasha.” He nods, giving Bucky a death glare. You finish your drink and when you stand up the previous shots you had with Wanda hit you. You quickly sit back down, grabbing the table for stability. “Are you alright?” Steve rests his hand on your lower back, scooting closer to you.

You shake your head, not being able to form words. You think you’d faint if you didn’t focus on breathing. “Let me help you home.” He can see the unsure expression on your face. “Wouldn’t be respecting the suit if I didn’t make sure you got home safe.”. With that he convinced you.

When the cold October air hits your face, it sobers you a little bit, taking away the dizzy feeling, leaving you with a thumping head. Steve takes a few minutes to join you outside, you left him in a heated whisper match with Bucky.

You’re leaned against the side of the building when he finds you. “Ready to go?” He offers you his arm but you shake your head. “No need to be such a gentleman, it’s just me.” You say, knowing he’s doing it just to be nice.

Steve cocks his head to the side. “Why shouldn’t I be a gentleman towards you?” He asks. You press your pounding head against the brick wall, closing your eyes to think of the right words. “The only reason a guy needs to be a gentleman is for good impressions. I highly doubt you feel a need to impress me.”.

He scoffs at you, “What gives you the impression that you’re not worth impressing?”. Even though you were tipsy, Bucky’s words seared your frontal lobe. You suddenly are at a loss for words. How do you tell him you were eavesdropping on their conversation.

“I just don’t get much male attention I guess.” You let him in, his eyes widen in realization that you heard Bucky’s harsh words. “I’m sorry about him, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” He says, stepping closer to you. You roll your eyes at him.

“No, he knew exactly what he was talking about. Fatty is no one’s type. No one looks at me and thinks “woah, the most beautiful woman in the world just walked in the room”.” You push yourself off the wall. “I understand that you wouldn’t get that, since you’re so perfect Steve. Women lay down at your feet, your options are endless. But not for someone like me.”.

Steve’s face had turned into a stone. His jaw clenched tightly. He let you vent out your frustrations. “The way you looked at the girls, the way half the club looked at the girls, I’ll never have that.”. You look at your feet and notice him take a step closer to you. You look up to see your faces not too far apart.

“I was looking at you too.” He reaches out, letting his hands hover over your waist. He rests them on your hips when your don’t push him away. “I don’t care what he said, he’s just insecure, he can’t admit that he thinks you’re hot.” You scoff at him this time.

“Steve whatever you’re doing, I get the whole nice guy thing. But just stop.” You say, pressing your hand against his chest. The thin polyester did nothing to conceal his smooth muscles. You feel him squeeze your sides tighter, his thumbs pressing into your belly. “He doesn’t speak for me.”.

You look into his dark eyes. “What are you saying?”. You’d never even humored yourself by considering Steve. You now had to rethink every encounter you ever had with him. “Forget him, let me show you how a real man appreciates a woman.”

He slides his hands down, letting them grasp as much of your ass that could fit in them. You gasp, he wasn’t afraid of your body, he knows what it has to offer. Judging by the way he gripped on to your ass like his life depended on it, he liked it.

“What if someone sees?” You say, pushing his hands off of you. He replaces them “I’m not afraid, why are you?” He leans down, connecting your lips, you’re frozen for a moment. How do you kiss him back? Before you could find out you feel a hand on your shoulder, ripping you away from Steve.

“What are you doing?” Bucky is talking to his friend, ignoring your existence. “Excuse me, we were in the middle of something.” Steve steps between you and Bucky. “You shouldn’t be out here hooking up with a random coworker.” Bucky says, trying to convince himself.

“Y/N isn’t a random coworker, Jesus Bucky, what’s your problem?” Steve asks, letting his anger show. He knew what he was doing, if Bucky wouldn’t admit it on his own, jealousy would work just fine. Bucky balls up his fists at his side “You know what my problem is.”.

You’re staring at Steve’s back, you don’t know what Bucky’s talking about. Is he so repulsed by a plus size woman, he doesn’t even want his friend with one? You were done, you’d never done anything to Bucky besides exist. He had an imaginary problem with you.

You stepped around Steve, crossing your arms in front of your chest. You don’t know where the boost of confidence came from, probably Steve’s lips and hand placement. You look Bucky up and down, truly taking him in.

He was perfect, and he knew it. It was starting to disgust you. “Just because ‘fattys’ like me have no chance with you, doesn’t mean that I’m not worthy of another man being attracted to me.” You take a step back, pressing yourself against Steve. Just to show Bucky, you meant business.

Basing it off of the hard indentation on the front of Steve’s spandex, he liked watching you tell Bucky off. You turn your body around to face him, throwing a look over your shoulder at Bucky, “Take me home Stevie.” You sing song in his ear.

A smirk falls on his lips, “Let’s do that princess.” He says while leading you out of the alley. Bucky is stuck in place, having an internal war with himself, that you weren’t gonna stick around for.

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blue-ink-pearls · 2 months

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Fig Isn't Meant to Be Cassandra's Paladin, Bucky Applebees Is

As most of us have realized since Ankarna's original domain was revealed, Fig is clearly supposed to be her paladin. The archdevil of rebellion united with the goddess of conviction and justice would be an incredible force for fighting wrongs, for inspiring revolutions, and creating true positive change.

But Fig wasn't wrong that Cassandra would be immensely helped by having a paladin swear themselves to her. Even though Kristen is an extraordinary cleric, she's only one person.

When we first meet Bucky Applebees in Junior Year, he is filled with doubt and uncertainty. He's a paladin of Helio, the same religion (cult) that Kristen fled from and he has been forced to take on the role of protector to his younger brothers that Kristen once held as the eldest daughter. He hasn't told his parents about the gold Kristen gave them, he thinks he's going to hell for lying, he misses his sister but thinks she's living in sin (maybe?), and he's curious about what beer tastes like (but never mind, he doesn't want to know. He bets it would be great. For sinners, would love it.).

When Cassandra dies/is kidnapped, Kristen first feels a connection to her goddess again when she thinks of how her doubt and uncertainty led to her escaping that life and finding freedom from Helio and her parents.

Ally: "I think she spent so much time trapped and feeling, like, super wrong, that doubt and mystery actually feel like a really beautiful escape, and more true." Brennan: "The concept of escape hits you. And for a moment you hear (clicking). And all of the locks on the windows and all of the locks on the doors of this room just open slightly. A little bit of divine magic flows through you....[W]hen you thought of escape, you thought of, yeah, embracing the unknown gives you the strength to leave a bad situation. Escape."

Bucky, Bricker, and Cork are still trapped and now that Brennan's brought Bucky back into the story, I don't think the season is going to end with Kristen leaving her little brothers in an abusive home life when there's every possibility for them to find safety and acceptance at Morded Manor.

I believe that if Kristen is able to help her brothers get away from their parents and the Church of Helio*, then Bucky is going to need a new god to follow. Why wouldn't Bucky, a scared, uncertain 14 year-old kid, not follow a goddess in the image of his older sister, whose very essence is that "whenever you're in the dark, I'm here holding your hand."

Kristen has always had a hard time doing the work of growing her church, of telling people about Cassandra. I think she'd find it easy to tell her siblings all about Cassandra when she's trying to help them find enough doubt and uncertainty in what they've known all their lives, that they'll have the courage to escape too.

*Also, there's definitely going to be further exploration of the Church of Sol, and by extension the Church of Helio, as they were 100% involved in what happened to Ankarna and Kristen is probably going to try to keep Bobby Dawn away from Bucky, just as she absolutely rejected Buddy Dawn becoming her brother's mentor.

#fantasy high #fhjy spoilers #kristen applebees #fig faeth #bucky applebees #fantasy high junior year #fhjy

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lucysarah-c · 3 months

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Fifteen, what an age to be alive. Dad!Levi

Summary: Steal your father's car! What could go wrong? Author note: Since the Marley world seemed to be around the 30s-40s, I’ll set this idea in a world that looks like the mid-50s. This is POST WAR. Warnings: Cursing 'cause Levi, obv. And slightly mention of a group taking advantage of a girl, nothing really happens and there's no graphic description at all. Word count: 3.9k Pairing: Dad! Levi x Mom! Reader

His hands gripped the big round wheel of the car as his eyes scanned the dark night with a nervous smile, quickly turning into clenched teeth. His attention shifted to the passenger seat, soft as if it was a scene from one of the horror pictures he saw at the drive-in.

A light blond girl lay unconscious, her head resting against the door, appearing lifeless. She wore a typical sleeveless red button-up shirt and very short white shorts, with white socks crumpled down to double-coloured loafers. Her hair was still in a ponytail, exposing her face completely. It was August, plain summer break, and he knew that most of his classmates wore shorts or even swimsuits at the pool or beach. But somehow, her exposure made him blush and feel ashamed, as if even staring felt wrong.

Turning to the back seat of the car, he picked up his letterman jacket and placed it on top of her, covering her as much as possible. It looked big on her, and somehow, Adrien blessed every deity mentioned; he probably was inheriting his father’s uncle’s height and not his father's, a fact becoming rather obvious every day, as he was only 15 and already almost 1.80m.

“Calm down, Adie… you got this,” he whispered to himself, “I’ve no idea what I'm going to do but I got it.”

How did he get into this situation? It was supposed to be a silly night out; one of his friends invited him to a party of the seniors who were graduating from high school that year. What was the issue if he was just a freshman? Fifteen, eighteen, it’s the same! Plus, it was some party at some old forgotten building, half destroyed during the rumbling around ten years ago, in the middle of nowhere. Nothing wrong with that.

Yes, perhaps he stole his father’s keys and car. Yes, perhaps he lied about sleeping in his room. Yes, maybe he stole a bit (a lot) of money from his parents. “I mean… deep down, it’s my father’s fault for not allowing me to come legally,” Adrien argued with his own reflection in the car's mirror.

But everything went downhill when he saw a group of guys dragging a girl who was clearly not feeling well and decided to step in. Now, here he was, the party had turned into a mess as the fight happened, he got kicked out with an unconscious girl, and who knew what they had given her. He hit his forehead against the wheel as time slipped through his fingers; he was supposed to be back home already.

“Fucking shit! Who told me to step in!” he cursed under his breath. Deep down, he knew stepping up for what he had been told was horrendously wrong, knowing he had the strength to fight those assholes back. ‘The curse of being a fucking Ackerman, man,’ he thought.

He had done the right thing, at least one right thing during the entire night, but now he had to face the consequences. Muffled cries mixed with distressed groans filled the car, “My father is going to kill me!”

His forehead kept hitting the wheel repeatedly as if that would knock some common sense into him or perhaps give him a concussion and fake that he had been kidnapped or something. Surrounded by trees in a dead-end road, it wasn’t even paved. Only the footprints of multiple cars to follow back to civilization. The distressed teen didn’t even know where he was; his older friend had guided him there and left with his girlfriend at some point of the party.

Slowly raising his head up again to admire the endless kilometres of dim nothing, contemplating his options, seizing his courage. “Come on, Adie. Be a man, be a man!”

The trees’ branches creaked in the middle of the night, the car slightly swayed under the strong summer wind. “I want my mommy,” he muttered.

Hand on the wheel and turning on the car, one step at a time, he took a deep breath and then decided to go out on the road again. Forgotten somewhere, his father’s car’s papers and driver's license. In them it read “Levi Ackerman.”

Each branch from the forest that scraped the car was a personal pain, praying to any god's existence that it didn’t scratch it. Of course, his father had filled up the tank, obviously he had. Levi was like that, always cautious. Adrien did a personal wish his father had a map stored in the glove compartment, but obviously, he didn’t. After all, Levi knew the streets of the city like the back of his hand. He drove a lot, especially since his legs weren’t what they used to be anymore. Perhaps he didn’t need any support for walking any longer, but walking long distances wasn’t in Levi’s plans anymore.

“Perhaps I can… drive to the hospital, leave her, and like run away,” he contemplated, before groaning loudly, “No, I can’t do that. God, I’m dead.”

‘I could have walked away, but no, Mr. Adrien Ackerman has to be a hero. Mr. Ackerman has to do the right thing.’

Adrien had driven twice in his life; this one was the second. The first was a few years ago when his father sat him down on his lap and let him do it for a little bit. He was happy he hadn’t encountered much traffic and only had to drive ahead because he wasn’t completely sure yet what the third pedal was for.

“I got it, do not worry,” he said, trying to sound reassuring to the unmoving girl on his right. Adrien’s grey eyes checked on her from time to time, but she seemed deeply asleep, or so he hoped. “I’ll get to the hospital in no time, and you’ll be alright,” he promised.

His smile created a couple of dimples on each side of his face, but it quickly faded as fear kicked in. “And if you’re not alright, do not worry. I’ll throw myself off a bridge, and we can be not alright together,” he kept joking as if, by some miracle, the girl would reply.

He didn’t even know her name, and somehow, that made him feel even guiltier. As civilization began to appear and the sky began to lighten up, he lost hope of not dying at the hands of his own progenitor, but he was also hopeful that at least he was getting somewhere without crashing. The sun hadn’t shown up yet, but the deep blue of the sky had a particular glow to it that made it imminent.

The streets were deserted, and rightfully so; it was the middle of the night on a Monday. Adrien tried to park the car as best as he could, finally reaching the only hospital he somehow remembered the route to. Rushing to the other door, he carefully picked her up.

When he crossed the doors of the main hospital, which was almost empty at those hours, the doctors on duty quickly took her in, some searching for identifications inside her clothes. The police officer at the front gates forbade him from leaving the place.

“Alright, please hand me your ID,” the front gate secretary asked after informing him that the girl was out of danger, but she would have to stay for monitoring. Adrien’s suspicious silence made the woman raise her eyes from the form she was filling out to look at him. “You know that carrying IDs is obligatory, right?”

“Yes, madam…” He felt his palm sweating as he feared being taken to the police station.

“How old are you?”

Her voice sounded calm but tired as she quickly understood the issue, “… eighteen.”

With a loud sigh, she took off her cat-eye red glasses and then slowly blinked back at him. “Look kid, I’ve been on night watch for three days straight. I’ve no energy to deal with this.”

Adrien’s eyes remained glued to the floor, feeling small despite his stature. “… fifteen,” he admitted reluctantly.

Her unpleasant groans echoed in the empty walls that reeked of disinfectant. He slowly turned to the gates, and the security guys began to chuckle as they drank coffee. Feeling the need to clarify, he said, “I swear it wasn’t me who hurt her.”

“Kid, people who drug girls don’t carry them to hospitals,” she replied disinterestedly, pouring the information into the typewriter, the typing echoing in the place. Finally, she picked up a post-it with a pencil and raised it to the top of the reception table. “Your parents' contact number, please.”

Her eyes quickly moved to him and then back to her writing as he hesitated to fill out the paper. “You know I’ve done nothing; can’t I just go?” Adrien insisted, trying to escape the situation.

“Kid, you’re breaking national curfew and walking around without identification. A responsible adult must come and sign for you to leave; otherwise, you’ll live here until you turn 18.”

“Could you at least wait until 9 am to call my mother’s work number?” He smiled awkwardly, trying to find a way to avoid his father’s rage. The secretary looked up at the clock; it wasn’t even 5 am and then back to him, deadly. Unpleasant complaining groans echoed as he reluctantly wrote his house’s telephone number. “Sorry.”

Sat down at one of those uncomfortable waiting room’s seats with a latte and chocolate donut he brought at the cafeteria, he waited as someone waits to be hanged. The doctors and nurses moved here and there attending to the few people that came in with emergencies. Until the secretary walked by and said, “Your father picked up the phone; he said that getting the car and coming this way.”

Adrien’s grey eyes quickly turned in fear to check out of the window, grimacing uneasily as he admired the family's car parked outside. “Great…”

The longer it took, the more Adrien knew he was in trouble. Pressing his eyes closed and clenching his jaw, as if he could already feel the kick in his ass. Despite the nerves, his head bobbed forward as he fell asleep, and the tug of falling forward snapped him back awake. At some point, he rested his head on the joined seat and fell asleep, mouth open.

The front gates snapping open woke him up, and he wished to make himself smaller so he could hide behind the back of the seats. But as he turned backwards, Levi was at the front desk talking to the secretary and security guards. His dark hair was a mess, and it seemed like he had just put on some shoes and a shirt because he still had the pyjama pants on. Outside, the cap that his father had probably been forced to take there.

As the secretary picked up the forms for him to fill, his father quickly raised his grey eyes to shoot him across the room the deadliest glance he had yet to witness. ‘Goodbye everybody, it was nice knowing you.’

Avoiding facing death, Adrien remained seated, giving his back, but he quickly heard the footsteps of his father, characterized by the slight hobble he had after the war. With his presence looming, he looked down at Adrien, who slowly raised his attention up.

Smiling innocently, “Hi, dad.”

Levi didn’t smile back; quite the opposite, he frowned even more and extended his right hand that was missing two fingers. “My fucking keys.”

The teen searched for them inside his jeans and quietly handed them over with puppy eyes. Levi snapped them, but his hand didn’t withdraw. “And my damn money.” Repeating the same action but with the bills, Levi grabbed them and began to count. “And the rest?”

Adrien mumbled some incoherent groans as he refused to make eye contact. “Tch,” Levi clicked his tongue and gripped his shirt neck, raising him from his seat, pushing him to the exit. “Get in the fucking car.”

The walk of shame only accentuated as his father's angry tone didn’t match the polite one he used to greet the secretary and guards on his way out. He cowered in the passenger seat, trying to make himself a tiny ball as Levi slammed the door shut. Loud sighs that didn’t withdraw the deep frown before he turned on the car again.

“You’re so fucking wrong if you think I’ll stand this type of behaviour; I'm telling you,” Levi spat the words as he drove back home. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

“Adrien!” Levi insisted as the kid didn’t even reply, looking to his right as he waited at a red light. “You don’t want to talk? Fine, fucking ungrateful brat. You know how fucking worried your mother was when we received a call from the shitty hospital? Eh?”

“The drive-in the other day, the supposed hang out at your friend’s house that you were never fucking there, and now this. Are you fucking proud?” the ex-captain of the scouts kept going as his eyes were glued to the road despite only one of them working anymore. “You’re grounded, you’re so fucking grounded that I’ll fucking die, and you’ll have to get a damn Ouija board to contact me to see if you can go out to buy groceries.”

The teen just silently rolled his eyes as the long list of unhappiness of his father about his behaviour couldn’t care less. “Don’t you dare to roll your eyes on me, brat. You heard me? Drop that fucking attitude.” Somehow his father always seemed to have eyes everywhere. “Happy now? You ruined your entire summer break; beg all you want later on. You’re not leaving the house.”

“As if you’d let me go out anyway,” Adrien murmured mockingly under his breath.

“What?” Levi demanded. “If you’re going to have the guts to steal MY car, MY money, and break MY orders, then grow the guts to speak the fuck up.”

“That you never let me go anywhere!” Adrien shouted back angrily.

“For what? To go to this damn party in the middle of nowhere to hang out with fucking rapists and get

shit-faced?” Levi argued back. “You think I was born yesterday? I know exactly which places I don’t want you to get involved with. You think you’ve everything figured out, but that’s not it, Adrien! You’re 14! Fourteen!”

“I’m fifteen!”

“You turned fifteen two weeks ago, for fuck’s sake!” Levi shouted, slightly turning to his right before focusing back on the road. “I’m telling you, better fix your attitude or this is not going to end well. You may be getting big and feel cocky, but you won’t play smart-ass with me. You can grow up to be as tall as the fucking Colossal Titan, and yet you would do whatever the fuck I tell you!”

“I did the right thing! I stood up for her; I’m not stupid enough to do whatever my classmates do. Why can’t you see that?!” Adrien complained as they reached the front of the house, and Levi stopped the car.

“’Cause you were stupid enough to steal my car even when you don’t know how to fucking drive!” Levi complained as he got out of the car, walking to the front door. He kept going with the lecture but lower as he didn’t want to wake up the neighbours. “You don’t like it? Choose another father in your next life; in this one, it’s me, and I’m not going to let my teenage kid not give a fuck about the decisions I take. I’ve gone through too much shit for a fucking brat to tell me what I believe is the best for them.”

They both walked in, and Levi locked the door behind them. The room was still dim for the early hours, and their dog greeted them enthusiastically. The keys dropping at the front plate echoed loudly, and the tuxedo cat of the family finally appeared to rub himself against the legs of the teen, who quietly picked him up. Y/N quickly rushed to check on her kid.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did they hurt you somewhere?” She seemed clearly agitated, and Adrien remained with his eyes glued to the floor.

“No, mom,” he murmured, downcast. “I’m fine.”

“Oi, to your damn room,” Levi quickly ordered. “and clean it up; I won’t say it again.”

The kid left, cursing under his breath as he went upstairs and slammed the front door shut.

“What happened?” she asked Levi, who was preparing himself a tea to calm down, enveloping herself in a negligee.

“What happened? That kid is driving me nuts, that’s what's happening,”

Y/N sighed loudly, positioning herself behind her husband and running her hands through his arms, seeking to provide some comfort. She then switched to hugging him from behind. “He’s going through a phase… his new classmates are mostly kids who survived the rumbling, and some of them aren’t the best influence. He just wants to fit in, you know how important that is at his age.”

“Tch,” Levi kept facing the countertop, murmuring as the anger didn’t quickly wash away. But eventually, he closed his eyes and sighed loudly as the adrenaline slowed down. “The audacity of that kid, where the hell does he get it?”

Y/N couldn't help but chuckle against his back, “MH, I wonder,” she said sarcastically. “If they were still around, perhaps we could have asked some senior MPs… perhaps they could enlighten us on how you were as a teen,”

“I wasn’t like that,” Levi softly replied, almost ashamed of the point out.

“No haha you were worse,” Y/N was entertained as she kissed his shoulder blades tenderly. “Or do I have to remind you how you made me sneak out to meet you after curfew?”

“That’s different…”

Forcing him to turn around to place a kiss on his scar as she caressed his face softly, “He’s your kid,” she murmured against his lips. “He hates to be told what to do and has the strength to know he can get out of almost any situation. Asking him to be submissive is like asking him not to be an Ackerman; he got it in his genes,”

Levi just groaned, accepting the caress, her loving his face as if he was brand new and the residues of the war had never happened.

Days passed by, and while the mood in the house was slowly returning to calmness, the punishment still stood, and Adrien was reading in his bedroom, suffering the heat of summer without being able to go out with his friends. He couldn’t even play his record player because if in normal cases his father tolerated him to play his favourite bands loudly, now he was almost cursed to quietness. Levi didn’t seem to be very fond of Rock; perhaps Paradise music was too behind, and the period of adaptation was lacking. It sounded like loud noise to him.

A quiet knock at the front door was heard, mostly because the dog that was resting beside him in his bed raised hastily and rushed downstairs. The noise was almost imperceptible as his father was vacuuming the living room’s carpet while his mother prepared dinner. Adrien was about to raise himself from his bed and open the door himself, but the overwhelmingly loud noise of the vacuum stopped, so he guessed his father was on it.

Levi opened the front door without checking; he had faced so many adversities in life that he hardly doubted that anyone who rang his bell at 6 pm on a Thursday in their quiet family neighbourhood was a threat. “Yes?” he crossed his arms as he admired the young girl at the front gates. She was wearing the usual outfit of the time, white and brown loafers, crumpled low white socks, an inflated pastel yellow skirt that was tightly around her waist with a white blouse. The matching light cardigan was hanging from her shoulders, but she didn’t seem to put it on, another thing that Levi thought was some stupid new fashion trend from teens. That and his son’s imperious necessity to fold the sleeves of his t-shirts. High ponytail and blushed cheeks.

“Good evening, Mr. Ackerman,” The girl greeted him with kindness and politeness.

“Hello,” Levi replied, almost uninterested, his usual unfriendly nature not withdrawn even after years of not being on service.

“I was wondering if Adrien is at home,” she asked, and Levi wished he could roll his eyes at how almost immediately the girl blushed at the mention of his son’s name. “I’m the girl from the other night; I wanted to thank him…” seeing Levi’s slight frown at the memory of that early morning, she nervously added, “And you, of course, for what he did for me,” The young girl handed a package that was easily deduced to be a cake.

“He’s grounded,” Levi quickly replied. “And you don’t need to thank him; he did the only right thing to do. I don’t raise abusers,”

“Oh…” the disappointment in her voice was palpable, “Well, but please at least take the cake? For all the inconvenience,”

“No, kid, it’s alright-”

“Hi, sweetie! Adrien will be down in a minute!” Y/N popped behind Levi, slightly pushing him to the side and smiling softly at the girl. “Do you want to wait inside?”

Levi looked at his wife, confused and slightly offended by how quickly she overstepped him in the conversation.

“Ah, no, it’s alright; I don’t want to be a bother-”

Adrien appeared behind his parents, wondering what the whole issue was, and his mother quickly pushed him forward. “There he is!” She added while tugging Levi back inside. “Let’s give him some space,” she whispered to her husband, who was refusing to move.

“Oi,” Levi complained as he was forced back inside.

Both parents faking to be doing something in the living room to not be seen; Levi wasn’t spying, but his wife was. “She’s so cute,” she whispered, “and she’s crushing so much on him.”

Levi clicked his tongue, “He’s tall. All girls of that age crush on tall boys,” he argued back.

Y/N chuckled and turned to look at him, “talking from experience?”

“Ha ha,” Levi faked a sarcastic laugh. “He’s supposed to be grounded,”

“Shh, I can’t hear!” She hushed him back and then moved slightly as Levi joined her next to the window.

“Great,” Levi said annoyed, “she’s fucking bonnie,”

Confusion was written all over his wife's face as she grimaced dazed and raised an eyebrow, silently asking how those words could be said with such disappointment.

“Now I won’t only have to buy him all those stupid vinyl records, textbooks, and uniforms for the school team, but I’ll also have to start buying condoms; there goes my fucking salary,”

Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @i-literally-cant-with-this @angelofthorr @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @s0meb0dy-0nce-t0ld-me @trashblackrainbow @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @flxrartsstuff @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 Wanna join my tag list? Here!

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loosescrewslefty · 2 years

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I feel like some people within this fandom have forgotten this fact, so this is a super friendly reminder that Hunter has higher-than-average observation skills, especially with other people.

He is able to make quick and accurate assessments of Luz and Amity's personalities in Hunting Palismen and Eclipse Lake, despite both episodes being the first time he spends any significant amount of time with either of them (Because threatening Luz for two minutes in Separate Tides doesn't really count as a meaningful conversation)

Hunter is powerless, with a weapon pointed at his face, and is still able to maintain his composure and clearly and confidently lay out the fact that he knows Luz is bluffing here.

Likewise, he's able to quickly get a read on Amity in Eclipse Lake, and relate her insecurities about her relationship with Luz to his own struggles with his Uncle in order to gain Amity's sympathy and trust while also being the one who was most knowledgeable about their surroundings and keeping them alive, in spite of Eda and King's antics.

This continues into the end of the episode. Even when he's in the middle of a mental breakdown, Hunter is STILL able to keep his observation skills sharp and realize that; 1.) He has come into this fight already pretty spent after fighting off the other Coven Scouts 2.) He's using a new weapon he isn't used to yet, which differs enough from his former staff to throw him off 3.) Amity has allies in the form of King (who kept jumping in and making the fight more difficult for him) and Eda (who he knows is probably on her way) 4.) Amity's not a slouch, so all of these disadvantages will probably NOT work in his favor if he keeps trying what he's doing and doesn't change tactics.

The fact that he's got her at a stalemate is already pretty impressive, given the fact that the fight is heavily weighted in Amity's favor here. But, rather than continue combat, Hunter goes for what he knows to be Amity's weakness in order to secure what he needs, and reminds her that if she keeps the key, Luz WILL be in danger.

Then we have my personal favorite example of this, where we watch Hunter look at Willow and go from "Wow, she's awesome (neutral)" to "Wow. She's awesome (affectionate)"

Right off the bat, Hunter clocks Willow's talents. Her strengths with both magic and her physical skills, as well as her courage. But then she does something no one else ever did before.

She proves that his skills of observation, which he is obviously VERY proud of, are not infallible.

Hunter wrote off the rest of the Emerald Entrails as lost causes when he first laid eyes on them and nearly walked away from what ended up being one of the best things to ever happen to him, but Willow stopped him and proved his first impressions of the others to be wrong.

I feel like people underestimate just how much this exchange impacted Hunter, in many different ways. THIS was the turning point that made him take notice of Willow as more than just a potential Emperor's Coven scout. Here, she proved herself not only to be a capable leader, but even better then HIM at observing and assessing the talents of others. With Luz and Amity, Hunter was able to observe them in about the same amount of time, assess them accurately, and apply what he observes to get the outcome HE wants. But with Willow, right from the second he meets her, he's caught off guard, and swept up in HER energy. She's constantly surprising him, and effortlessly has him marching to the beat of her drum.

And even after he insulted her team and tried to blow them off, she gave him a second chance. Second chances are NEVER offered in the Emperor's Coven. There, failure is final. Which is probably a big reason why upsetting Willow impacted Hunter as much as it did.

And even at the end of the episode, Willow is still surprising Hunter. It's clear as day he didn't expect her to give him another chance, after he tried to have them indoctrinated into the Coven. He thought there was no coming back from that. He wasn't doing it to be forgiven. He was doing it because he cared about the team, realized he made a mistake, and wanted to save them from that mistake before it was too late to do so. Even though he obviously thought that Willow would never want anything to do with him ever again. But, just like before, Willow proved that he thought wrong.

So yeah, Hunter is NOT the naive, sheltered, inexperienced abuse victim that's completely ignorant of how to interact with others that some people like to portray him as. Not only does Hunter possess the power of observation and the ability to quickly assess someone's strengths, weaknesses, goals, and capabilities, but he's used to being quick and accurate in doing so even in extreme situations, and takes a great deal of pride in this ability. And he is NOT walking into his crush on Willow blind. He's been observing her, and his respect and affection for her has grown with every new side of her that he sees.

#the owl house #toh #toh Hunter #Willow Park #huntlow #character assessment #character analysis #slight fandom callout but a gentle one #please help I am CONSUMED.

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ecc-poetry · 1 year

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BALANCE THE PARTY

social justice barbarian Never met a nazi they wouldn't punch. Never met a cop they wouldn't call a nazi. Treats the soft animal of their body like a lance to the heart of a tyrant. Their anger is a gift from God– it transubstantiates.

social justice necromancer Reads her history. Says their names. Goes through cemeteries leaving flowers, grave-borrowing tactics. Coaxes the spirits from their beds to let them dance; we realize we have always been beautiful.

social justice rogue Unplucks the landlord's tapestries at night. She covers her face, she code-names, wipes the prints from her hand after shaking. She's a lot. A blade in the dark that daylight can't soften. She hums a mantra called mission; it's all the warning you'll get.

social justice bard Makes his sincerity a lute and plucks fingers raw upon it. Has brass knuckles on the inside of his throat. Knows what to say to soothe the scared guy sleeping rough, to make the officer laugh instead of shove.

social justice druid Gives you grace and space to grow. Makes a weird balm to calm your hurts. Turns into a panther once a day dispensing courage; turns into a dove once a day dispensing peace. Serves the world from the half-empty vessel in their heart.

social justice warlock Sold her soul to do DEI for a Fortune 500 company. Walks each day through thicketed razors, carving footholds in a hill of glass. The job takes its pint of blood so slowly, it is possible to believe she doesn't feel it.

social justice paladin Always knows the words. Is afraid of what will happen if they forget them. It's not an excuse, but it is sandpaper, truths nailed into the shoebeds. They're implacable from the outside. They can't believe I would love them without their fury.

social justice cleric The people tell her, "Your mouth ruined our movement. You suffer in silence all the time–what's one more?" She believes in a love whose demands cut friends and enemies alike. She cleanses, sad surgeon. She is martyred twice. From the ground where her tears fall, a perfect flower grows.

social justice warforged Has a fuckin' truck!!! He rolls up to mutual aid and the people rejoice at his truck. He is become a mover of things, a Christ-bearer: mattresses and gasoline, the girl who needs a ride across the state. She says bless you, bless your truck, and his heart swells. He never knew he could be so needed.

social justice giant crab Strength +1. Intelligence -5. She is a crab. She has 13 hit points and claws for hands– but she can breathe water and air. She knows what the surface looks like from underneath. She carries wisdom in her crab body that the arc of the universe will always bend to rediscover. Don't you get it? That we all have gifts to give?

-elisa chavez

#poetry #d&d #i could not wait to share this one with all you nerds #activism #tag yourself im social justice necromancer #you are all so necessary #even when it doesn't feel like it #and you can't see it #a friend told me years ago “not every part of a movement has to be embodied by every person in it” and it was really good advice #social justice giant crab

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bloodreinasbathwater · 12 days

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Little Dove

Quinn Hughes X Pregnant! Reader

a;n it took me forever to finish this chapter, but I think I'm finally back in my groove. I can't wait for you guys to read I've been so excited to put out more fics.

Warnings: pregnancy, arguing, toxic family, suggestive wording lol, anxiety

masterlist link / previous chapters

summary: Y/N's world is turned upside down when she suspects she might be pregnant. Consumed by fear and uncertainty, she takes a pregnancy test but can't bring herself to face the result. She throws the test away and seeks solace in a hot shower, trying to escape the relentless thoughts plaguing her mind.

word count - 4629

...

Y/N stood before the imposing black door, her heart pounding in her chest as she struggled to gather the courage to face what lay beyond the wooden door. The sleek, polished surface seemed to mock her, its very presence a reminder of the power her parents held over her life.

The stone wall surrounding the entrance loomed above her, casting long shadows that seemed to reach out and grab at her, pulling her towards the inevitable confrontation.

She inhaled deeply, the cool evening air filling her lungs and doing little to calm the storm of emotions that raged within her. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to turn around, to run back to the safety of the car and drive away, leaving behind the suffocating expectations and demands of her family.

With a trembling hand, Y/N reached out and grasped the golden handle, the cold metal biting into her palm. The sensation was almost a relief, a sharp contrast to the burning anxiety that coursed through her veins. She squeezed the handle tightly, as if the physical act could somehow give her the strength she so desperately needed.

"Come on," Quinn urged softly, his voice a gentle whisper in her ear. She felt the warmth of his hand on her back, a comforting presence that seemed to anchor her in the midst of her thoughts. His touch sent shivers down her spine, a reminder of the love and support that he offered her unconditionally.

At her silence, Quinn pressed harder, his fingers kneading the tense muscles of her back. "It won't go as bad as you think it will. I'll be with you the whole time, honey."

Y/N closed her eyes, trying to draw strength from his words. But the unease that had settled in the pit of her stomach refused to be silenced. "I know, Quinn," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the pounding of her own heart.

"It's just... I have a really bad feeling right now. They've never wanted to meet any of my boyfriends, let alone invite them for family dinner. Something about it feels so wrong."

Quinn's hands continued to move along her back, his touch a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. "How about this," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "How ‘bout we play perfect couple with your parents, and then after all of our pain and suffering, we head back home, and I give you one of the Quinn special massages.”

As he spoke, Quinn's hands inched higher, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of her spine before coming to rest on the smooth skin of her shoulders. Y/N couldn't help but let out a soft moan as he massaged a particularly tense spot, the sensation causing her head to fall back against his shoulder. “You can relax and let me take care of things."

"Sound good?" Quinn asked, his voice low and full of promise.

Y/N allowed herself a small smile, the first genuine one she'd felt all evening. "That sounds amazing," she breathed, her body already beginning to relax under his expert touch.

Quinn pressed a soft kiss to her temple, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulled away. "Let's go before they get suspicious, hmm?"

With a final squeeze of her hand, Quinn stepped forward and rang the doorbell, the sound echoing through the stillness of the night. Y/N took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders and preparing herself for the awkward silence and judgmental stares. She knew that with Quinn by her side, she could face anything her parents threw at her.

As Quinn gently pushed Y/N forward, taking the lead and opening the door, they were greeted by an eerie silence that seemed to permeate the house. The absence of voices, the usual bustle of family life, was unnerving, and Y/N felt a chill run down her spine. The only sound that pierced the stillness was the high-pitched, excited barking of the family dog, Cinnamon.

From the shadows, a blur of fur came charging towards them, a ball of energy and enthusiasm that seemed to light up the dimly lit entrance. Y/N couldn't help but let out a squeal of delight as she knelt down, her arms outstretched to catch the wriggling bundle of joy.

"Hi, Cinnamon baby," she cooed, her voice filled with affection as the small dog eagerly licked at her face, its tail wagging furiously. For a moment, all of Y/N's worries and fears melted away, replaced by the pure, unconditional love that radiated from the tiny creature in her arms.

Quinn watched the scene with a smile, his heart warming at the sight of Y/N's happiness. Her laughter, so rare in the face of her family's expectations, was like music to his ears. He chuckled softly as Cinnamon hopped off Y/N's lap and made a beeline for his own legs, her tiny paws clawing at the fabric of his neatly pressed suit pants.

"Hello there," Quinn said, his voice soft and gentle as he leaned down to pat the dog's head. Cinnamon's fur was soft beneath his fingers, and he marveled at the way such a small creature could bring so much joy and comfort to those around it.

But the moment of levity was short-lived, as a voice suddenly spoke from the opposite side of the room, shattering the brief respite from the tension that hung heavy in the air.

"Sorry for the interruption, Miss Y/N," the voice said, its tone formal and detached. "Your parents are ready for you. Please follow me."

Y/N felt her stomach drop at the words, the bitterness and unease settling back into her stomach. She glanced at Quinn, her eyes wide and filled with a silent plea for strength. He gave her a reassuring nod, his hand finding hers and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Together, they followed the worker, their footsteps echoing on the polished marble floor. There was something ominous in the air, a sense of foreboding that seemed to grow with every step they took. But she pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the warmth of Quinn's hand in hers, the strength that flowed between them.

…

Y/N stepped through the sliding door, her heart racing with anticipation and nervousness, she was immediately greeted by the sight of her mother rising from her seat at the table.

Dedra's movements were graceful and measured, her posture perfect and her expression carefully composed. Y/N could feel her father's piercing gaze on her and Quinn, his eyes narrowing as he silently assessed the young man by her side.

Despite the palpable tension in the room, Quinn maintained a charming smile, his demeanor confident and unflappable. He strode towards Derek's seat at the head of the table, his hand outstretched in a gesture of greeting. "Mr. L/N, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," he said, his voice smooth and polished. "I've heard so much about you."

Derek regarded Quinn for a moment, his expression unreadable, before accepting the handshake with a firm grip. "Quinn," he acknowledged, his tone cool and measured. "Welcome to our home."

Y/N quickly guided Quinn to the seat beside her, her fingers lacing with his under the table in a silent show of support. She could feel the weight of her parents' scrutiny, the unspoken questions and judgments hanging heavy in the air.

Dedra, ever the perfect hostess, smiled warmly at the assembled group, her face a mask of polite interest. "Let's begin, shall we?" she said, clapping her hands together. At her signal, a team of immaculately dressed servers emerged from the kitchen, bearing trays laden with an array of sumptuous dishes.

As the servers efficiently set the table, Dedra settled back into her seat, her dress clinging to her figure like a second skin. The chandelier above cast a dazzling light across the room, its crystals refracting and casting shimmering patterns on the walls.

Y/N couldn't help but marvel at her mother's impeccable appearance, the way she seemed to effortlessly command attention and admiration.

But the illusion of perfection was shattered a moment later, as Dedra fixed Y/N with a critical gaze, her lips curving into a small, condescending smile. "Well, you've gotten fat," she remarked, her voice dripping with false concern as she raised a delicate flute of champagne to her lips.

"You know, the past few weeks, your cheeks have seemed to get chubbier. Are you skipping out on that yoga class I recommended?"

Y/N felt the blood drain from her face, her stomach twisting with a mixture of shock and humiliation. She glanced at Quinn, her eyes wide and pleading, silently begging for his support. Quinn's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he fought to maintain his composure.

Clearing her throat, Y/N forced a smile onto her face, her voice trembling slightly as she replied, "I've been focusing on my career, Mom. The yoga class hasn't been a top priority."

Dedra tutted softly, shaking her head in disapproval. "Darling, you know how important it is to maintain your appearance. You don't want to let yourself go, do you? What will people think?"

Y/N bit her lip, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She could feel Quinn's hand tighten around hers, a silent promise of support and protection. But even his comforting presence couldn't erase the sting of her mother's words, the way they cut straight to the heart of her deepest insecurities.

…

As the servers cleared away the first course, Derek turned his attention to Quinn, his eyes narrowing slightly as he appraised the young man. "So, Quinn," he began, his voice deceptively casual, "I hear you're a hockey player. For the Vancouver Canucks, is that right?"

Quinn nodded, his expression confident and self-assured. "Yes, sir. I've been with the team for a few years now. It's been an incredible experience, both on and off the ice."

Derek leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him. "And what exactly do you do for the team? Are you a starter, or do you mostly warm the bench?"

Y/N bristled at her father's tone, the barely concealed disdain dripping from his words. But Quinn seemed unfazed, his smile never wavering as he replied, "I'm a forward, sir. I play on the first line and contribute regularly to the team's success."

Dedra chimed in, her voice saccharine sweet. "That must keep you very busy, Quinn. Do you have any time for hobbies or interests outside of hockey?"

Quinn chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Of course. I believe in maintaining a balanced lifestyle. When I'm not on the ice or training, I enjoy volunteering at local youth centers, mentoring kids who come from tough backgrounds. I also have a passion for photography and love exploring the city with my camera."

Y/N felt a swell of pride at Quinn's words, the way he spoke with such conviction and sincerity. She knew how much his volunteer work meant to him, how he used his platform as a professional athlete to make a real difference in the lives of others.

But her father seemed unimpressed, his mouth twisting into a sardonic smile. "Photography and volunteering? How... quaint. And I suppose these activities are what brought you and Y/N together?"

Y/N's heart skipped a beat, her palms growing clammy as she anticipated Quinn's response. They had agreed to keep the details of their relationship private, to avoid giving her parents any ammunition to use against them.

Quinn, however, remained unruffled. "Actually, sir, Y/N and I met through a mutual friend. We connected over our shared love of art and culture, and things progressed naturally from there. We've been seeing each other for almost a year now, and I can honestly say that she's one of the most incredible women I've ever met."

Y/N's cheeks flushed at Quinn's words, a warm glow spreading through her chest. But her happiness was short-lived, as her father's expression darkened, his eyes flashing with barely contained anger.

"A few months?" he repeated, his voice dangerously low. "And you didn't think to inform us of this development, Y/N? Your mother and I have a right to know about the people you associate with, especially when they're..." he trailed off, his lip curling in distaste as he glanced at Quinn.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She opened her mouth to respond, to defend herself and Quinn, but the words stuck in her throat, trapped behind the lump of fear and anxiety.

Quinn, sensing her distress, reached under the table and took her hand in his, his fingers intertwining with hers in a silent show of support. "With all due respect, sir," he said, his voice calm and measured.

"Y/N is an adult, capable of making her own decisions. Our relationship is built on mutual trust, respect, and love. I understand your concerns as her parents, but I assure you that my intentions towards your daughter are nothing but honorable."

Derek scoffed, his eyes narrowing to icy slits. "Honorable intentions? From a professional athlete? Forgive me if I find that hard to believe."

The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with unspoken accusations and barely contained hostility. Y/N's hands clenched into fists beneath the table, her nails digging into her palms as she struggled to contain the rage that boiled within her.

She had endured her father's snide comments and thinly veiled insults all evening, biting her tongue and forcing herself to maintain a facade of civility. But as Derek's words dripped with venom, his contempt for Quinn and their relationship laid bare, something inside her snapped.

"Enough!" she shouted, her voice trembling with barely contained fury. "I will not sit here and listen to you disrespect the man I love, the man who has shown me more kindness and support than you ever have!"

Derek's eyes widened in shock, his face reddening with anger. "How dare you speak to me like that, young lady? I am your father, and you will show me the respect I deserve!"

Y/N laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and grating in the tense silence of the room. "Respect? You want to talk about respect? Where was your respect when you belittled my dreams, when you dismissed my accomplishments as nothing more than frivolous whims? Where was your respect when you tried to control every aspect of my life, molding me into your perfect little puppet?"

Dedra gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in a gesture of feigned shock. "Y/N, please, let's not do this here. We have a guest."

Y/N's gaze snapped to her mother, her eyes blazing with a fury that bordered on hatred. "Oh, spare me the theatrics, Mother. You're just as bad as he is, always pushing me to fit into your narrow little world, to be the perfect daughter you can parade around like a goddamn show pony."

Quinn reached for Y/N's hand, his touch gentle and reassuring. "Y/N, baby, it's okay. We don't have to do this."

But Y/N shook her head, her jaw set with determination. "No, Quinn, it's not okay. I'm done letting them dictate my life, done letting them treat me like some kind of possession they can control."

Derek slammed his hand down on the table, the dishes rattling with the force of his anger. "That's enough, Y/N! I will not tolerate this kind of disrespect in my own home. If you insist on continuing this relationship with this... this hockey player, then you can consider yourself cut off. No more trust fund, no more fancy apartment, no more cushy job at the family company. You'll have to live off your precious Quinn's salary and see how far that gets you."

Y/N stared at her father in disbelief, her heart pounding in her chest. She had always known that her parents' love was conditional, that their support came with strings attached. But to hear it laid out so plainly, to know that they would cast her aside so easily, was a blow that left her reeling.

Slowly, she rose from her chair, her legs trembling beneath her. "Fine," she said, her voice low and steely. "Cut me off. Disown me. Do whatever the fuck you want. But know this: I will never, ever forgive you for this. You may be my parents by blood, but you are not my family. Quinn is my family, and I choose him, now and always."

With that, she turned on her heel and strode out of the room, her head held high and her heart shattered into a million pieces. Quinn followed close behind, his hand resting on the small of her back.

they stepped out into the cool night air, Y/N let out a shuddering breath, her entire body shaking with the force of her emotions. Quinn pulled her into his arms, holding her close as she sobbed against his chest, her tears soaking through his shirt.

"I've got you, baby," he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. "I've always got you. No matter what happens, we'll face it together. You and me against the world, remember?"

…

Y/N stood motionless in the bathroom, the white tile floor cold and unyielding beneath her bare feet. The room was a sanctuary of sorts, a place where she could escape the chaotic thoughts that swirled through her mind like a relentless whirlwind.

The pale blue walls, once a source of calm and tranquility, now felt oppressive, as if they were closing in on her, trapping her in a prison of her own making.

The air was thick with the scent of lavender and vanilla, the candles she had lit earlier in a futile attempt to soothe her frayed nerves. But even the familiar, comforting aroma couldn't ease the tension that coiled within her, the knots of anxiety that twisted her stomach and made her heart race with a sickening pace.

Her gaze was drawn to the vanity, its white marble surface cluttered with the detritus of her daily life. Makeup brushes and half-empty bottles of lotion jostled for space with hair ties and stray earrings, a chaotic jumble that mirrored the turmoil within her own mind.

And there, amidst the disorder, sat the small, unassuming box that held the key to her fate, the answer to the question that had haunted her for weeks.

With hands that trembled like leaves in a storm, Y/N reached for the box, her fingers clumsy and uncoordinated as she tore at the plastic wrap. The pregnancy test felt heavy in her palm, a tiny stick of plastic that held the power to change her life forever. She stared at it for a long moment, her breath catching in her throat as she tried to summon the courage to take the next step.

y/n had bought the pregnancy test on a whim, a nagging suspicion in the back of her mind that refused to be silenced. She had always taken pride in her appearance, in the way she maintained her figure through rigorous exercise and a carefully controlled diet. But lately, no matter how much she pushed herself at the gym or how little she ate, the numbers on the scale continued to climb.

She thought back to the dinner with her parents, to the cruel words her mother had hurled at her like poisoned darts. Fat. Lazy. Worthless. The insults had cut deep, leaving invisible scars that ached with every breath. And now, with each passing day, those scars seemed to grow, festering like open wounds that refused to heal.

And then there were the other symptoms, the ones she had tried so hard to ignore. The sudden bouts of tearfulness that overtook her at the most inconvenient moments, leaving her sobbing in the grocery store aisle or curled up on the couch in the middle of the day. The strange cravings that hit her out of nowhere, leaving her ravenous for foods she had never even liked before.

With a deep breath, Y/N tore open the box, her hands shaking as she removed the small, plastic stick from its packaging. She read the instructions carefully, her heart pounding in her chest as she followed the steps, her mind racing with a thousand different scenarios, each more terrifying than the last.

Y/N's mind raced with a thousand different scenarios, each more terrifying than the last. What if she was pregnant? What would Quinn say? Would he be happy, or would he see it as a burden, a trap that would tie him down and ruin his promising career? And what about her own dreams, the hopes and aspirations she had clung to like a lifeline in the face of her family's suffocating expectations?

She felt a sudden wave of nausea wash over her, and she gripped the edge of the vanity for support, her knuckles turning white with the force of her grasp.

The room seemed to spin around her, the walls and floor blurring together in a dizzying kaleidoscope of color and light. She closed her eyes, taking deep, shuddering breaths as she tried to regain her composure.

After what felt like an eternity, Y/N opened her eyes, her gaze falling once more on the pregnancy test that lay on the counter, its display window facing downward. She knew that she couldn't put it off any longer, that she had to face the truth, no matter how painful it might be. With a trembling hand, she reached for the test, her heart pounding in her ears like a drum.

But at the last moment, she faltered, her courage failing her. Instead of looking at the result, she tossed the test into the trash can, burying it beneath a pile of crumpled tissues and discarded cotton balls. She couldn't bear to see the truth, couldn't face the reality of what it might mean for her future.

The sound of the shower called to her then, the steam billowing out from behind the glass doors like a siren's song. Y/N stripped off her clothes mechanically, her mind numb with fear and confusion. As she stepped under the spray, the hot water hit her skin like a thousand tiny needles, the pain a welcome distraction from the chaos that raged within her.

She let the water wash over her, her eyes closed as she tried to lose herself in the sensation. The heat seeped into her bones, melting away the tension that had coiled within her like a snake ready to strike. She breathed in the damp, misty air, the scent of her lavender shampoo mingling with the steam in a heady, intoxicating aroma.

Behind her, the pregnancy test lay abandoned in the trash can, its display window hidden from view. Y/N had thrown it away without even looking at the result, too afraid of what it might reveal. She knew that she would have to face the truth eventually, that she couldn't hide from reality forever.

in this moment, alone in the bathroom with nothing but the sound of the water and the pounding of her own heart, Y/N allowed herself to be still, to exist in a world where the future was still unwritten, and anything was possible.

She clung to that fleeting sense of peace like a drowning woman clinging to a life raft, knowing that it was all she had left to keep her afloat in the stormy seas of her own mind.

…

Quinn turned the key in the lock, the soft click echoing through the stillness of the house. He pushed the door open, the familiar scent of home washing over him like a comforting balm. The living room was dark, the only light coming from the soft glow of the streetlamps outside the windows.

He set his bag down by the door, the heavy thud of it hitting the floor breaking the silence. His shoes came off next, the laces loosened and the soles kicked off with a careless ease. He padded across the carpet in his socks, his footsteps muffled by the thick, plush fibers.

The house was quiet, almost eerily so. Quinn listened for any sign of Y/N, any hint of her presence, but he was met with only the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of a car passing by on the street outside. He wasn't surprised by the silence, given the late hour of his arrival. Y/N was likely already in bed, lost in the sweet oblivion of sleep.

Quinn made his way down the hallway, his steps heavy with exhaustion. The bathroom door was ajar, the soft glow of the nightlight spilling out into the darkness. He pushed the door open, the hinges creaking softly as he stepped inside.

The first thing he noticed was the damp carpet beneath his feet, the fibers squishing slightly with each step. He chuckled to himself, shaking his head at Y/N's characteristic forgetfulness. She always seemed to leave a trail of water behind her after her showers, a small quirk that he found strangely endearing.

Quinn reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion. The cool air of the bathroom hit his bare skin, sending a slight shiver down his spine. He tossed the shirt into the hamper, the fabric landing with a soft thud amidst the pile of dirty clothes.

He turned on the shower, the water sputtering to life and filling the room with a soft, steady hiss. As he waited for the water to heat up, Quinn's gaze drifted around the small space, taking in the familiar surroundings.

The white tile gleamed in the soft light, the grout lines perfectly straight and clean. The mirror above the sink was slightly fogged, the edges blurred with condensation.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, Quinn caught a glint of something shiny, a flash of light that seemed out of place in the muted tones of the bathroom. He furrowed his brow, his curiosity piqued by the strange reflection.

He scanned the room, his eyes searching for the source of the light. And then he saw it, a small, foil-wrapped object nestled in the bottom of the trash can. His heart skipped a beat, a sudden sense of unease washing over him like a cold wave.

Quinn crept closer to the trash can, his steps slow and cautious. He peered down into the empty bin, his eyes widening as he recognized the shape of the object within. It was a pregnancy test, the plastic stick lying stark and white against the dark plastic of the can.

With trembling fingers, Quinn reached into the trash, grasping the test by its hilt. He lifted it out of the can, his heart pounding in his chest as he turned it over, the display window facing upward.

The moment of truth, the answer to the question that had been weighing on his mind ever since he had noticed Y/N's strange behavior over the past few weeks. The late-night tears, the unexplained mood swings, the way she seemed to retreat into herself, lost in a world of her own thoughts and fears.

Quinn stared at the test, his eyes tracing the lines that appeared in the small window. And then, with a sudden, sickening clarity, he saw it. Two lines, bold and unmistakable against the white background.

Positive. Y/N was pregnant.

Quinn felt the world tilt beneath his feet, his mind reeling with the implications of what he had just discovered. He leaned against the sink, his knuckles white as he gripped the cool porcelain. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, his lungs burning with the effort of drawing in air.

…

Tag List <3

@ru-kru, @bunbunbl0gs, @hischierswhore, @alwaysclassyeagle, @shawnshoney, @fearfam69691, @fulla02, @njdkatie, @dancerbailey3. @jamieeboulos, @ceces-obsessions

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blingblong55 · 3 months

Text

Perfect imperfection- John Price// Simon Riley

Photo credits: @ave661

Based on a request: Hi! can you please maybe do price or simon w a reader who gave birth to a child with some sort fo dissability or sickness and when reader and simon/price goes out reader sees a happy family and reader starts to feel insecure that they couldn't give price/simon the "perfect family" and price/simon is like oh no u and the kid are already perfect and ill beat up who ever made you feel insecure

---- F!Reader, established!relationship, mum!reader, dad!price, dad!ghost, fluff, baby with a disability/sickness, comfort ----

A/N: didn't tag those in my list since I wasn't sure they'd be comfortable with this one

Price:

It was a long day today. After your daughter was born, it had become a routine to go on walks. Even on days when she would make you stay up later than usual, a walk was a must.

Now, John walks hand in hand with you, his beautiful wife, through the bustling streets, your newborn daughter cradled in her stroller. Isn't she so beautiful? The soft coos and occasional giggles from the baby filled the air with a sense of warmth and joy. But beneath that happiness lingered a layer of worry, a shadow that casts the knowledge that your precious daughter was born with a disability.

As you three stroll along, you can't help but notice the curious glances and sympathetic looks from passersby. Each stare felt like a dagger to your heart, a reminder of your daughter's differences. You try and push away the feelings of insecurity, but they claw at you, threatening to overwhelm your fragile confidence.

"John," you whisper, your voice tinged with uncertainty, "do you ever…feel like she's not…normal?" What a question.

John stops in his tracks, turning to face you with a gentle smile. He reaches out, gently brushing a stray lock from your face.

"Y/N, listen to me," he says, his voice soft but firm. "Our daughter is perfect, just the way she is. Her uniqueness doesn't make her any less beautiful or valuable. She's a miracle, a blessing in our lives."

Tears well up in your soft eyes as you look into your husband's loving gaze. At that moment, she felt a surge of gratitude for the unwavering support he offered, even in the face of your insecurities.

And this was usual at times, he knew best that when they had run tests when you were pregnant, and you had been informed about your daughter's disability something in you doubted carrying the pregnancy. He knew you didn't like to announce your pregnancy anywhere you went. Instead of having that beautiful look all pregnant women had, your face was dull. It wasn't that you would hate that precious angel you carried but rather you were scared for if anyone besides John and you would appreciate her in this world.

How could anyone ever hate this precious baby? How can anyone not want to hold her and squeeze her chubby little face?

"But what if…" you trail off, unable to voice your deepest fears.

He gently takes your hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "We'll face whatever comes our way, together," he promised. "And no matter what, our love for her will never waver. She may be different, but she's still our little miracle."

With his words echoing in your mind, you feel a newfound sense of strength and resolve. You wipe your tears away, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"You're right," you say, your voice steadier now. "I'm sorry for….doubting this, I'm just scared," you mention and he cups your face. "I know, doll," he kisses your forehead and smiles, his eyes falling upon his sweet princess. "Let's get her home soon, her mum is about to have a dinner date soon," he smiles.

As you continue your walk, the weight of the insecurities feels as if they are slowly leaving you. In the embrace of his love, you slowly find the courage to block away the what-ifs.

At this moment, your little family was perfect. As it's always been.

Ghost:

Simon Riley, renowned for his bravery and resilience on the battlefield, found himself facing a new kind of challenge at home: parenthood. His days of clandestine operations and covert missions had taken a backseat to the joys and responsibilities of being a father. Together, with you, he now takes the journey of being a dad to his son, that little ray of sunshine amidst the chaotic world he lives in.

Your son, however, was born with a condition that makes him different from other babies. As you two navigate through doctor's appointments and endless nights of worry, Simon and you find yourselves grappling with insecurities that were never anticipated.

One sunny afternoon, as you both stroll around through the park with your daughter cradled in Simon's arms, you can't shake off the feeling of inadequacy gnawing at your heart. You watch other parents with their perfectly healthy babies, and a wave of self-doubt washes over you.

"Simon," you murmur, "do you ever wish things were different? That our baby wasn't… like this?"

Simon halts, his eyes gentle yet firm as he meets yours. "Hey," he whispers, his free hand reaching out to caress your cheek, "our baby is perfect the way he is. And you, my love, are the most incredible mother he could ever ask for."

Tears well up in your eyes as you listen to his reassuring words. "But… he's not like other babies," you choke out.

there is one thing besides being a soldier that Simon is and that is a father, a proud one at that.

He presses a tender kiss to your cheek. "And that is what makes him special," he declares. "He's unique, just like his beautiful mum. We're a family, and our love for this baby is stronger than the nasty stares from those other parents. Plus, I doubt their baby is as cool as ours," he smiles.

What other baby makes their parents laugh at the cute little stuff they do? What other husband is as amazing as him?

His words were a balm to your wounded spirit, easing the burden of doubt that weighs heavily on your shoulders.

You nod and rest your forehead on his shoulder.

Why must just being this close to him be so comforting? He is precious, isn't he? They are both precious.

This is gorgeous.

Tags:

@scarletdfox @fivmedibenxina @aethelwyneleigh27 @annoyingdragonheart @undercover-smutlover @goldenmclaren

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celestialvoid-fanfiction · 2 months

Text

Imagine what Peter would have been like with Erica. Peter likes Lydia because she had the strength and isn’t afraid to give his sass and snark in return. Erica would be the same. She doesn’t care if he’s a former Alpha or that he’s Derek’s uncle, if he starts acting up, she’s quick to put him in his place.

And Peter never seems to get mad at her. Maybe because he admires her courage and strength, maybe because he sees a part of himself in her (the social outcast who was hurt—him with the fire and her with her epilepsy that nearly killed her). Maybe it’s the fact that she reminds him of Laura.

Imagine Peter not knowing how to be ‘nice’, but there are little things he does to show how he feels: bringing Erica a glass of water, saving the last dumpling when the pack is having takeout and giving it to her, rushing to her side of the pack is attacked, helping her to her feet during training, sitting with her when the full moons get rough.

#teen wolf #teen wolf au #teen wolf imagine #imagine teen wolf #hale pack #hale pack au #hale pack imagine #imagine hale pack #peter hale #erica reyes

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cosmicflw3rr · 2 months

Note

I NEED A FIC WHERE READER GETS HURT DURING RHEAS MATCH AT RINGSIDE AND DOM GETS ALL PROTECTIVE AND STUFF

care for me.

dominik mysterio x fem! reader

summary: getting injured was the worst thing that could’ve possibly happened to you at this stage in your career. dealing with the injury alone was impossible, you needed to let someone care for you. he was that someone.

A/N: this oness longgg😭😭 I got carried away guys I’m sorry😔 and I also kinda don’t like this but yea, I changed it a bit so I’m sorry if it’s not what you were looking for😔😔.

you were about to preform your finisher, a corkscrew senton from off the top rope. you had practiced it countless times and knew that you could pull it off, but it was still nerve-wracking every time. as you looked around at the crowd, the cheers and chants grew louder and more intense, urging you on. you could feel their energy coursing through you, giving you the strength and courage to take the leap.

as asuka rose to her feet, so did you. spotting a gap, you launched into a flip. but as you were about to collide with asuka, she sidestepped. you feet hit the ground with a jolt, a sharp cry escaping you as pain spiked through your right leg.

you crumpled to the floor, gripping your leg tightly, tears streaming down from the intense pain. the referee rushed over, bombarding you with a flurry of questions.

"are you okay?" overwhelmed, you could only respond with your actions, nodding before your voice could catch up. "can you continue the match?" once more, you managed to nod in, despite knowing you should've told him to end the match and acknowledged the pain, you stayed silent.

the referee stepped away, and asuka approached you, yanking you up by your hair hair before shoving you down. you winced, your hand instinctively reaching for your leg. she then snatched your leg away from you and delivered a kick that had you crying in pain.

she kicked your leg again, before locking it into a single leg boston crab. the pain was unbearable, and you found yourself tapping out frantically, your screams echoing in the air.

tears streamed down your face as you pleaded for her to stop. the referee quickly intervened, in an attempt to get her to cease the hold.

"get her off! get her off!" you pleaded with the referee, screaming for him to help you. finally, he managed to separate her from you, but the damage had already been done.

as asuka dancing around to her music, you gripped your hurt leg, tears streaming down. the ref assisted you to sit up, bombarding you with questions that your mind just couldn’t comprehend.

overwhelmed by the pain in your leg, the cheers, and the barrage of questions from the referees, “I can’t move it!” you cried out in frustration, “I can’t move it!!”

"listen," the ref urged, your sobs hushing as you looked at him. "we gotta take you to the medics."

"get dominik, please," you pleaded, your tears subsiding as you covered your face.

"I understand, but we need to get you medical attention first." the referee said, then another ref arrived, both assisting you to your feet.

they supported you out of the ring and onto the floor, your right leg lifted to avoid touching the ground. the audience applauded as you slowly but surely headed backstage.

when you guys reached the medical, the carefully set on the exam table, a wince escaping you as you shifted for comfort. “someone please get dom.” you told them as more tears escaped your eyes.

———

dom was backstage, eyes glued to your match. you were putting up a good fight. he watched as you climbed the ropes, hitting your chest, before doing the shoulder shimmy with your tongue out, paying homage to the late great eddie guerrero.

a soft chuckle escaped him, totally amused. he watched you launch off the ropes, fully expecting to land the move and put asuka away.

as soon as he saw her dodge and your legs buckle beneath you, crashing to the mat, he sensed something was wrong.

he straightened up, hand going to cover his mouth, worry washing over him as the cameras zoomed in on you, clutching your leg.

the camera caught the tears that were streaming down your face while the ref bombarded you with questions. dom glanced at damian beside him, both of them etched with worry.

turning back to the match, dom’s heart was racing.

dom saw the agony in your expression, but you gave a nod, and the ref backed off – he knew you were stubborn and were gonna be set on finishing the match. "what are you doing, amor," he muttered under his breath, cracking his knuckles nervously.

he felt totally powerless watching the attack . asuka approached, yanked you by the hair, and slammed you down.

watching her go after your injured leg, dom felt the anger boiling up inside. she was being ruthless on purpose.

he knew the industry – it's all about the win at the end of the day. but there's also an unspoken rule about keeping it safe enough so no one gets seriously hurt in the ring.

dom’s face twisted in a wince as he saw her strike your leg once more, locking in a single leg boston crab. your cries of pain pierced the air while you tapped out desperately.

the bell rung signaling the match's end, but asuka wouldn't release you. dom could hear your pleas on the TV, begging her to stop. his anger surged as the ref had to pry asuka away from you.

she showed no concern, just preoccupied with her win. dom watched, tense, as the refs swarmed to your side.

“what the fuck was that?" he muttered, taking a deep breath to mask his anger.

damian gave his shoulder a reassuring pat, "go check on her, I'll fill in the others." with a nod, dominkk acknowledged as damian left.

he glanced at the screen, shutting his eyes briefly at the sound of your distress. risinv swiftly, he left the screen behind, urgency driving him as he hurried to find you.

———

In the medical room, joseph, the medic was trying to talk to you, "we need to start checking out your leg to see what's wrong."

you shook your head, tears streaming down. "no, I'm waiting for dominik."

"but—“

"where the hell is he?" you snapped, the words coming out sharper than intended, pain and frustration getting the better of you.

"where is she—?" he stopped mid-sentence as he spotted you and stepped inside. "what happened? are you alright?" dom asked, just having come into the room. he moved closer, gently cradling your face and planting a kiss on your forehead.

feeling his presence, you eased up. "finally."

even with the comfort of his presence, you couldn't help but start to fall apart. he wrapped you up carefully in a soft hug, mindful not to cause you any more pain.

tears streamed down as you clung to him. "It's fucking hurts, dom. It hurts really bad," you wept, squeezing your eyes shut, the agony in your leg overwhelming.

his expression shifted to deep worry at your sobs. gently, he eased back, cradling your face in his hands, coaxing you to meet his gaze. "hey, look at me, please, look at me."

opening your eyes, you met his gaze, a frown etched on your face from the pain. you wished you could just vanish into thin air. your crying softened as you looked at him.

tears welled up again, the timing couldn't be worse—you were at the height of your career, and an injury was the last thing you needed. you attempted to steady yourself, but the mix of pain and stress was starting to wear on you.

he was worried for you, and felt how broken you felt. he felt powerless and wanted to do more to ease your pain. he spoke reassuringly, “you’re going to make it through this, just hold on. I'm right here with you, and everything's going to be alright." you nodded, brushing away your tears.

yet, new tears found their way down your cheeks.

joseph spoke up, addressing dom, "she refused any examination until you got here." Instead of scolding you, dom simply took your hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

you squeezed back, feeling utterly shattered inside—this injury was a nightmare come to life.

with that, joseph set to work, conducting the necessary tests on your leg. it wasn’t long before he returned with the results. you glanced up at him, your eyes pleading for him to tell you good news, as anxiety knotted your insides.

he gave you a sympathetic look, bracing to deliver the difficult truth. "I'll be honest with you, y/n. and there’s just no easy way to put this, but It's a torn ACL and meniscus."

you bit your lip, holding back the tears. the room was silent until he spoke again. "you probably know a bit about this injury," you nodded. he took a seat on the bed across from you.

"given the severity of your injury, it won't heal by itself. surgery is necessary. It's less common to have a meniscus tear alongside an ACL tear."

"post-surgery, you'll need plenty of rest. then we'll have you gradually start rehab to build strength and mobility in your leg."

you held onto dom’s hand tightly. "how long am I gonna be out?" you murmured.

"you might be out for 6-9 months, maybe a year in the worst-case scenario. It all hinges on how well rehab goes and your recovery process. we've got to be thorough to ensure your leg is back to its best."

a feeling of disappointment hit you. "a year?" you said softly, barely above a whisper.

"It's not a guarantee you’ll be out that long," he reassured, and you nodded faintly. "but we have to be realistic—it's a pretty long recovery," he continued.

you nodded again, masking your emotions. "I'm going to review the other tests we did on your leg. I'll talk to your doctors and we can go over your next steps when I return," joseph said, then left, leaving you and dom in a quiet bubble. the two of you just sat there, enveloped in the stillness.

dom could tell you were reeling from the news, respecting your space and thoughts. he quietly held your hand, providing a comfort while you processed everything.

he couldn't do much, but his support was clear. he believed in you, confident that you'd get through this.

meeting your gaze, dom spoke up his voice steady. "you’ve been through a lot, y/n/n, and you have always made it through. this is just another hurdle. you’ll get past this one too. everything’s going to be okay."

at his reassuring words, the dam burst, and tears cascaded down your cheeks, your hand muffling the sobs.

dom wrapped you in another tight embrace, tenderly wiping your tears and cradling you as you wept. he stroked your back, trying to ease your pain with his comforting touch.

"shhhhh baby, it's gonna be okay. you're gonna be okay." dom whispered, his voice soothing.

"It's just... this has been my dream since I was a kid," you managed to say between shaky breaths, struggling to steady your voice. "I’m at this huge part of my career, a part where-" your words were swallowed by sobs.

your tears began to subside, replaced by soft sniffles. "I'm at this point in my career, where I’m the top—" you paused as tears continued to fall, and you let out a sigh, gazing upwards. "I'm at the top, everything's going great, and now I have this injury and-."

"hey," dom interjected gently, halting your rush of words. he wasn't trying to downplay your feelings, but he wanted to make sure you understood this wasn't the end. his hands cradled your face, guiding your gaze to meet his with kindness.

“I know, I know. but this isn't the end. the last thing I want is for you to believe that all your hard work and dedication is going to waste." you sighed looking up, you knew he was right. but it just felt so hard to come to term with it at this moment.

———

a few weeks later

resting in the hospital bed with nurses bustling around, prepping for surgery, you glanced at dominik, a wave of nerves hitting you. yet you felt a little more secure knowing you had the best surgeons on your service.

dominik leaned in close, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze, whispering just for you, "you'll be okay. they'll take care of you, mi vida."

his gentle voice enveloped you in a blanket of security. "I know, I'm just a bit nervous," you replied with a faint smile.

he kept his hold on your hand, his thumb gently caressing the back of it. "you shouldn't be," he murmured, "there’s no reason to be nervous, I’m gonna be right here until you get out and your parents are on the way, everything will be okay."

the nurses signaled it was time for surgery, he stepped back, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead, leaving you with the lingering sense of his comforting warmth.

"I'll be right here," he whispered, giving your hand another squeeze, "te amo."

"I love you too," you responded, feeling his kiss on your forehead followed by a tender kiss on your lips. the nurses began to wheel you away to the operating room, where the stark brightness of the hospital lights was the last thing you saw.

———

your eyes gradually open, the glaring lights making you squint. glancing around, you spot dominik beside you, his thumb soothingly stroking your hand.

gazing at your leg, you notice the brace snugly fitted and bandages beneath it. the beep of monitors fills the air, and a chill from the hospital room wraps around you.

"hey," dominik's voice is a gentle whisper, "how are you feeling?" his hand gives yours a reassuring squeeze. "don't worry, mi vida, everything went well."

"hey," your voice comes out a bit rough, but you manage a soft smile in response.

"are you okay?" he murmurs, concern flickering across his face as he hears the rasp in your voice. he glances at the monitors, checking they're all reading normal, then turns back to you. "are you thirsty?" he asks gently, his eyes filled with care.

you nodded, he grabbed a big jug of water from your bedside table. he grabs the straw, holding it up to your mouth and helping you take a sip of water. you realize how thirsty you were, you drank quickly taking a few sips to quench your thirst.

“better?” he asked, putting the jug down you were done drinking water, you nodded.

suddenly, your gaze moves to the chairs in the room, you see your parents you smile. "mom, dad," you greet them with a gentle yet happy tone. they approach, your dad planting a soft kiss on your forehead while your mom takes your hand in hers.

dominik watches closely as you interact with your parents, he watches them both interact with you with such affection, he can see your face light up when you see them.

he observes the tender scene for a moment, then turns to you with a small, smile. "how are you feeling honey?" your mom asked.

catching her question, you respond, "I'm okay, just a bit sore," your voice scratchy from not talking.

"I’m going to go tell the doctors you woke up." dominik announces before he leans in, whispering, "back in a sec," and plants a gentle kiss on your cheek before exiting the room.

a smile lingers on your face as you turn to your parents. noticing their exchange of smiles, you ask, "what?" with a hint of curiosity.

your mom gently sweeps your hair aside. "he hasn't left your side since you got back from surgery," she shares.

"how long was I asleep?" you asked curiously.

after a brief pause, she calculates, "the surgery took roughly 2 and a half hours, and you've been resting for about three hours since. so, around five hours, more or less."

Surprised, you say, "he didn't get up once? not even for food or like to use the bathroom?"

with an amused look, your mom replies, "nope, he refused to leave your side, I tried to tell him to go take a break but he wouldn't leave. he insisted on staying."

as you reflect on it, butterflies flutter in your stomach. It's reassuring to know he stayed by your side, just as he promised.

you briefly close your eyes, "you tired?" she asked, you nod, allowing your parents to have their own conversation, a mix of worry and relief for your well-being.

a few minutes pass, before the door swings open, and dominik enters to the room. you stir awake at the sound of the door opening and closing.

he greets you with a warm smile, gently caressing your hand and planting sweet kisses on your forehead.

you smile back, and right on cue, dr. smith enters the room. your parents step aside, allowing the doctor to check the monitor next to you, ensuring that everything is running smoothly and your vitals are stable.

dominik stepped back to give the doctors space to examine you.

after the doctor finished up examining you, the looked at you, "your surgery was successful, and we've reconstructed your ACL and meniscus." you glance at your leg propped up on a hospital pillow and nod. "we’ll keep you here for a night or two to monitor your healing progress before deciding on the next steps."

"okay," you said a polite smile on your face as the doctor excused himself and left the room.

your parents embraced you warmly, your dad planting a gentle kiss on your forehead, before they headed out to the cafeteria. you mom told dom to call them if there was any problem or if you needed them.

dominik watches your family leave the room, leaving it completely quiet and still inside, he turns to you, “you alright, amor?” he whispers.

your eyelids were heavy as you murmured, "yeah, I'm good."

a gentle smile crossed dominik's face, noticing how tired you were. he tenderly swept a stray hair from your forehead. "want to get some more sleep?" he asked quietly.

with your eyes closed, you replied, "no, I just need to rest my eyes for a little while."

understanding, dom reached for his phone to update rhea and the rest of the judgment day, letting them know you were awake and all was well.

"rhea and everyone was pretty worried—" dom’s words trailed off as he glanced back to find you already dozing off, gentle snores escaping you.

he gave a tender smile and then did what he knew would be best for you right then. He took the blanket from the foot of your bed, draped it over you, and after positioning a chair near your bedside, he sat down to stay close.

———

as your blinked your eyes open, the room glowed with the soft light of early morning. near your bed, dominik was eating.

"good morning," you said, a sleepy smile on your face as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes.

dominik caught your voice, glancing your way, before flashing a smile. "morning, baby," he greeted, leaning in to plant a kiss on your forehead. the subtle, soothing scent of his cologne filled the air, calming you down.

"you grabbed some food?" you asked, your stomach rumbling a bit.

"no, rhea and damian dropped it off. they were going to stay till you woke up, but had to catch a flight to the next show," he explained, and you nodded, totally getting it. he motioned to his meal that looked like it came from the dunkin' donuts nearby. "they got something for you too," he said, sliding over with your food in hand.

"they also got your favorite coffee," he mentioned, pulling up a chair. “do you wanna eat now or later?”

"definitely now," you replied, your hunger making itself known loud and clear.

dominik gave a nod and set the food on the hospital bed tray before you. "everything feeling okay? any pain?" he asked gently, his eyes following you as you started to eat.

you shook your head, mouth full of food, swallowing it before you spoke, "just sore, so it's a bit uncomfortable."

he smiled, seeing how eagerly you were eating. "looks like you're enjoying breakfast.”

"mhmm, it's really good," you managed to say between bites.

"don’t worry when we get out of here, I’ll take you to get dunkin again." he chuckled, amused by your enthusiastic eating.

"please do," you agreed, slowing down a bit. you set the sandwich down, still chewing, as you looked at him.

"you’re the cutest when you eat, you know that?" he murmured with a soft smile, then took a bite of his own sandwich.

you gave a playful eye roll in response. "how's that even cute?" you chuckled, questioning the logic.

"I can't explain it," he chuckled, "you just remind me of a baby dinosaur." he laughed, taking a sip of his coffee.

you burst out laughing. he beams at you. "you don't think so?" he teased, and you just smiled, taking another bite.

you caught him looking your way again before he gently asked, "everything taste okay?"

"yeah, it's perfect, thanks.”

"good," he smiled, then took another bite of his food. “I can’t wait till we get you home,” he said, eyes flicking up to you as he continued eating.

you finished off your sandwich, murmuring, "me too." after wiping your hands, you reached out for his.

he set his sandwich aside and took your hand, fingers intertwining. the warmth from his hand infused into yours.

a small smile played on his lips as he looked at you, "thank you," you said to him.

he glanced at your interlocked hands, noting the size difference with a smile. "of course," he responded gently, appreciating the closeness.

he brought your hand up placing a gentle kiss on it, before giving it a reassuring squeeze, “no seriously, for everything.”

he was silent for a bit. "you don't need to thank me for being there and caring about you." his grip on your hand tightened gently. "I wouldn't want it any other way."

looking at you, his eyes brimmed with fondness. "te amo," he said gently, content to remain just like that for eternity.

"I love you too," you replied with a playful pause, "If you really love me, you'll let me have a sip of your coffee."

he chuckled quietly, "i guess." he said sarcastically after taking a quick sip, you hit his arm lightly as he lifted the cup to your lips for you to drink. It was pleasantly warm and delicious.

"thanks, babe."

with a grin, he replied, "anytime, amor,"

LIKED BY DOMINIK 35, RHEARIPLEY_WWE, ARCHEROFINFAMY, NIKKIGARCIA & 5 MILLION OTHERS

y/n: acl tear has got nothing on me.💪

VIEW COMMENTS

dominik_35: hurry back hermosa, shits not the same without you 🖤

y/n: love you baby🖤

rhearipley_wwe: I need you back to help me deal with the boys😔 heal up soon 🤍

y/n: dw I’ll be back before you know it💗

archerofinfamy: we have your back forever, heal up chiquita💜⚖️

y/n: thank you damian💜

yaonlylivonce: can’t wait for you to come back. 🤍

y/n: love you girlie🤍

archerofinfamy: we have your back forever, heal up chiquita💜⚖️

y/n: thank you damien🤍

jd_mcdonagh: it took an injury to stop you. hurry back sis, we miss you already! ⚖️🖤

y/n: 🖤🖤

finnbalor: you’ll come back stronger and better 💯💜

y/n: 🤍

wwelover: i miss her sm😖

ethereal.st4rr: women’s division isn’t the same without her😒.

nikkigarcia: been there! here to tell you it gets better! you’ll be back and better before you know it!! 🤍

y/n: ❤️❤️

#dominik mysterio #dominik mysterio imagine #dominik mysterio x reader #fanfic #the judgement day #the judgment day x reader #wwe #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagines

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mikasa-imadebiscults · 1 year

Note

How would each Hashira act if you hugged them?

Excellent request, thank you for sending you ask. I hope you enjoy this post :)

How the Hashira would React if you Hugged them

(No warnings just fluff)

(Characters included- All the Hashira)

Mitsuri Kanroji

If you hug Mitsuri her heart would melt and almost explode with happiness and joy. Definitely would hug you back, she would wrap her arms around you very very tightly and lean back a little bit so she can lift you up. If you’re tall like me, than Mitsuri would still be able to lift you up due to her strength, she is determined.

Shinobu Kocho

If you hug her at of nowhere, at first she would be worried that something might be wrong or if something happened to you, but then that feeling of being worried quickly fades away once you tell her that you just wanted to hug her. Shinobu will give you a small hug back and give you her usual smile she wears.

Gyomei Himejima

Gyomei was praying at his usual spot, until then he could sense that you were walking over to him. He then stopped praying and waited to see what you wanted. Gyomei felt your arms wrap around him the best they could, he smiled softly and gently hugged you back and put a small pat on your head.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

When you hugged him he was in shock, he couldn’t believe it, he froze in place. After he got out of his shock, he got flustered and tried to act like he was mad at you. He would yell at you and say to never do that again, but we all know he enjoyed it.

Muichiro Tokito

Due to Muichiro’s poor memory, he wouldn’t even recognize you if you two met before. When you hug him he would be confused and kind of just stand there for a few seconds, then he would walk away without saying a word.

Giyuu Tomioka

Giyuu would be another one who would just stand there. He’s not used to getting hugged or just any type of physical affection, so he wouldn’t exactly know what to do. Giyuu truly does appreciate the hug though.

Kyojuro Rengoku

Rengoku would be so happy and he would also think that you are very sweet. I feel like he would think higher of you now, and he would think you are very thoughtful and considerate. He respects your courage and bravery for going up to him. He would definitely hug you back.

Iguro Obanai

Obanai is also not used to physical affection or comfort, so if you hug him he would most likely tense up. Even if by him being tense it might seem like he is uncomfortable, but really he’s not. He just needs some time to get used to being hugged. But despite him being tense he would still give you a small pat on the back.

Tengen Uzui

Uzui would be surprised at first, but then he might tease you about it or just joke around about it. He would lift you up in his arms and give you a big hug. (He probably accidentally cracks your back) If Suma is around she would definitely join in for a group hug.

——————————————————————————-

Hope you Enjoyed this post :)

——————————————————————————-

Masterlist

In the Masterlist there’s a link to make requests

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echo-lover · 3 months

Text

Why are you watching this, it's for kids. Focus on life, find yourself a partner, have your own family. You are an adult. Grow up.

You don't understand it. This is not just a series...

This series gives me a chance to feel like a kid again. I find comfort, safety and care in the arms of characters who mean the world to me. I experience each of their moments of sadness, each of their smallest joys, as if they were my own. This is my home, my safe space. I love them with all my heart. Thank you Star-Wars for my beautiful family.

I love Wrecker because he always managed to put a smile back on my face, even when I was having the worst day ever. His cheerful personality makes it impossible not to like him. Sometimes he is just a child, trapped in a large man's body. Behind all this muscles and enormous strength that can easily hurt you, there is a soft heart made of gold. He can be gentle, soft, even quiet if he has to. He would do absolutely everything for his family. He is also way more intelligent than he might think. The way he takes care of Omega melts my heart every time. Kids love him and he loves kids.

I love Tech because he can quickly adapt to situations. His voice is so special... I could listen to him for hours and never get tired of his facts about everything he saw and heard on his missions. He showed me that being smart is not something I should be ashamed of. His voice is calming, gives me comfort... I love his little jokes and moments where he was just a little savage in conversations. Even though he processes moments and thoughts differently, he is still able to share his own feelings with Omega. She helped him open up and show the part of himself that he kept closed from the world, even from himself. He loved his family so much that he sacrificed himself for their safety, paying the biggest price. He is worth every tear I shed for him (and there were so many).

I love Echo because I see a part of myself in him. He has been with me from the very beginning of my journey with Clones, and is one of the most important characters for me. I relate to him for many personal reasons. Even though he has experienced so much evil in his life, he is still able to be gentle, caring and show love to those who were closest to him. I especially love his bond with Omega, they both understand each other through their traumas, and way more. Omega quickly became the most important to Echo, but he couldn't give up on fighting, even for her. He felt that he has to somehow compensate for all the lost years when he was a prisoner on SkakoMinor. His honor, loyalty and courage inspire me every day. And his tenderness and softness touch my soul deeply. I could talk about him for hours and never get bored. I wish I'd be able to give him the biggest and warmest hug, and tell him how important he is to me.

I love Crosshair because he's the type of character I could easily hate, but I don't. In fact Cross is very close to my heart, I feel sorry for him and I want to help him get back to his old self. He is so much more than what the Empire has done to him. This sniper who never misses, who doesn't have to use his muscles to hurt - words are enough for him - silent, yet sharp. Precise, accurate, always on point. Confident, knowing his skills. Painfully honest, but needing to prove his worth to others at the same time. I know there is this soft side of him, hidden, but it is there for sure. The side that loves his brothers and little sister more than his own life. He need some time to understand that he is worth all the love in the Galaxy and I hope that Omega will help him to realize, that his brothers never really left him. They would take him back, if he just wanted...

I love Hunter because he makes me feel safe. I can't put it into words, but he's a character that reminds me of home... a loved one that I lost some time ago. He is so much like my dad at some point and his bond with Omega is so special for me. I know he's not perfect, he makes mistakes just like everyone else, but he always wants to do the right thing. He is a leader, not the one that only gives orders, but he is more like the head of the family who protect them - a father. He always puts his family first and is willing to do anything for them. For any of them, including Crosshair. He often doesn't give direct orders, just suggestions. His squad is not just soldiers, but they are his brothers, his closest family. His priorities changed when Omega appeared in his life - a child in need of a family, who trusted him and gave him love that he had never received before. From a soldier, he became a father, who would give everything for his daughter's safety and joy. His relationship with Omega is the most important to me. I loved him from the first moment and I could talk about him for hours, just like about Echo. I will always defend him. No matter what.

I love Omega because she took the best parts of each of her brothers. She is fearless, brave, strong and ready to defend her family until the very end. She's just a sweet little girl who can't have a normal childhood. She's different, just like her brothers, and she's so proud of it. She is not afraid to show her individuality. But even though she is strong and brave, she is still just a child. She needs love, protection... family... and Bad Batch gave it to her... a home, a safe place, loving brothers... Words cannot describe how important she is to me. Now she has changed so much, she is no longer this little Omega from first season... I think she becomes so much like Hunter.

#the bad batch #star wars #clone wars #clones #never stop loving clones #tbb echo #tbb wrecker #tbb crosshair #tbb hunter #tbb tech #tbb omega #tbb #personal thoughts #i love bad batch

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teambyler · 2 months

Text

Will's anti-Vecna song should be David Bowie's "Heroes"

We know from the new BTS pic that he has headphones and a Walkman. Like Max, he might be fending off Vecna:

Max's anti-Vecna song was highly personal to her. It helped her through her guilt and depression and feeling like she deserved to die.

For Will, "Should I Stay or Should I Go" is cute, but it doesn't have emotional weight. It might have helped a child Will in the Upside Down in s1, when it made him think of home and Jonathan, but he's all grown up now. He's changed.

If Byler becomes realized, David Bowie's "Heroes" is the perfect song for Mike and Will's relationship that would help Will resist Vecna. It's canon that Will likes David Bowie: kid Mike prefers the androgynous rock star over Kenny Rogers (s2e1).

@surferbeto on YouTube comments:

This is a heroic love song. Bowie starts out crooning but pretty soon he ramps up and belts it out hard. This song is about risking getting shot by East German border police and dragged over barbed wire for love. This is about young love against impossible odds. It's about that gloriously tragic fantasy... of giving our life in some grandly romantic way to save the life of our beloved. Maybe by taking a bullet for them and dying in their arms in the shadow of the Berlin Wall.

Having David Bowie's "Heroes" in the show would call-back to Peter Gabriel's somber 2010 cover from s1, when Mike hugged his mom thinking Will was dead. But Bowie's original is defiant, triumphant, and bittersweet. (Seriously, if you haven't yet, listen to it before reading further. It's perfect.)

It would play when Mike and Will have their first kiss. Their song of losing each other is now of finding each other.

If Byler is realized, it could play as Mike and Will dare to hold hands in the school hall, as we fade out to the end credits.

Will would put it on his Walkman. If Will and Mike are bullied for their relationship, "Heroes" perfectly expresses their defiance and willingness to love each other despite the harm that might come to them.

It's the song that would most help Will in case he gets Vecna'd. It doesn't just remind him of Mike; it culminates his journey over the five seasons. As a kid he told Jonathan he's not a baby, not just a victim. Despite seeming shy and weak, he has a huge amount of quiet courage, but his struggle in s3 and s4 was largely internal. ("I'm not gonna fall in love.") Show creator Matt Duffer says about s5: "Will's going to be a big part and focus... We're starting to see his coming of age, really... You're starting to see him come into his own." If Byler becomes real, then his fight becomes external, confronting the homophobia in Hawkins and the literal hell threatening his friends. He will rise to the occasion.

"Will really takes center stage again in [season] 5," Ross Duffer told Variety. "This emotional arc for him is what we feel is going to hopefully tie the whole series together. Will is used to being the young one, the introverted one, the one that’s being protected. So part of his journey, it’s not just sexuality – it’s Will coming into his own as a young man."

In s2, Will only allowed Mike to protect him because he didn't feel pitied by Mike; Mike saw his strength. A stronger Will will pay him back and protect him from the twin dangers they face.

It's Will's turn to be the hero. His fight for others is his fight for himself. "Heroes" perfectly expresses his journey of defying all odds to fight for HIS RIGHT TO LOVE.

-teambyler

#byler #will defends mike with a gun #stranger things #vecna #speculation #song #should i stay or should i go #david bowie #heroes #headphones #walkman

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hookhausenschips · 16 days

Text

Unbreakable Bonds {T. Wolff}

500 Follower Special!!!

Navigation

Summary: Y/N & Toto try to navigate through their feelings as the season progresses.

Taglist

part one

@omgsuperstarg wanted a second part to 'I'll Be There", so here it is!

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Third Person POV

In the days following Y/N’s courageous decision to leave her toxic relationship, Toto Wolff found himself more intertwined with her life than ever before. The transition was far from smooth, but Y/N’s resolve was unyielding, and Toto’s support unwavering.

Y/N had moved into a small apartment, a space that was hers alone, a stark contrast to the oppressive environment she had escaped. Toto was there to help her settle in, bringing boxes and offering to assemble furniture, though he often found himself more focused on being present for her than the tasks at hand.

Late one evening, as they sat on her new couch, surrounded by the remnants of unpacked boxes, Y/N looked over at Toto, her eyes reflecting both exhaustion and relief. “I don’t think I could have done this without you,” she admitted softly.

Toto smiled, the warmth in his eyes reassuring. “You’re stronger than you realize, Y/N. But I’m glad I could help.” He hesitated, then added, “How are you feeling?”

Y/N leaned back, sighing. “It’s a mix. Freedom is exhilarating, but there’s still fear, and a lot of uncertainty. But having you here makes it bearable.”

Toto reached out, taking her hand gently. “You’re not alone. You never will be.”

Their connection deepened with each passing day. Toto found solace in Y/N’s company, her presence a balm to his often tumultuous life in Formula One. He marveled at her resilience, her ability to find joy even amidst the chaos of her new beginning. Y/N, in turn, found a steady anchor in Toto, his unwavering support giving her the strength to rebuild her life.

Despite the growing intimacy between them, Toto was mindful of the power dynamics and the significant age gap. He wanted to ensure that Y/N felt empowered and independent, not reliant on him for her happiness. They navigated this delicate balance with grace, their mutual respect and understanding forming the foundation of their relationship.

As the racing season progressed, Toto and Y/N's bond continued to evolve, drawing the attention of those around them. Colleagues noticed the subtle changes in their interactions, the stolen glances, and the way they gravitated towards each other. Speculations arose, but neither Toto nor Y/N felt the need to justify their connection. It was theirs to define, and they were content with that.

Then came the Brazilian Grand Prix, a race renowned for its intensity and unpredictability. Toto was immersed in the strategic complexities of the weekend when he received a text message from Y/N: “I need to talk to you. Can you meet me?”

Despite the hectic schedule, Toto’s concern for Y/N took precedence. He found her in a quiet corner of the paddock, her expression serious yet composed.

“Toto,” she began, her voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of emotion, “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. About us, about everything. I don’t want to rush into anything, but I also don’t want to keep denying what I feel.”

Toto’s heart raced. “Y/N, I understand completely. I’ve been thinking about it too. I care for you deeply, more than I can express. But I want to make sure that whatever we do, it’s right for you.”

Y/N stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his. “You’ve been my rock, Toto. I don’t want to live my life with regrets, and I don’t want to miss out on something potentially amazing because I was scared. So, what I’m saying is, let’s take this one step at a time. Together.”

Toto’s smile was one of pure relief and joy. “I’d like nothing more, Y/N. One step at a time.”

The rest of the race weekend was a whirlwind, but beneath the surface, there was a new sense of calm and anticipation. They navigated their professional responsibilities with the same dedication as always, but with an added layer of personal connection that made everything feel more meaningful.

As the season drew to a close, Toto and Y/N found themselves looking ahead with a mix of excitement and trepidation. They were ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing that they had each other. Their journey was just beginning, and with each passing day, they grew more certain that they had found something truly special.

On a crisp winter evening, after the final race of the season, Toto and Y/N sat together, watching the snow fall outside. The world was quiet, the only sound the crackling of the fire in the hearth.

Y/N leaned her head on Toto’s shoulder, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m glad we took this step. It feels right.”

Toto kissed the top of her head, his heart full. “Me too, Y/N. Me too.”

And so, they embraced the future, hand in hand, ready to face whatever came their way. For they had found in each other not just love, but a partnership built on trust, respect, and an unwavering commitment to face life’s challenges together.

==================================

Toto Taglist: @tallrock35, @yourbane, @lightdragonrayne, @evie-119, @ilivbullyingjeongin, @xoscar03

F1 Taglist: @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery

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everythingelseisextra · 11 months

Text

Work

Part Eleven: You're Like Me

Description: After a miscommunication, Tommy apologizes in the only way he knows how. Warnings: Language, self-hatred, Thomas being inept at communication Word Count: 2439 Tag List: @theshelbyslimited @ttaechi @weaponizedvirtue @majesticcmey @optimisticsandwichgladiator @zablife @princesssterek @mm0thie @callsignvenus @ay0nha @mgdixon @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @look-at-the-soul @globetrotter28

You are brave. You insist on this in the cab, and you insist on this when you walk up the driveway, and you insist on this when you knock on the door. You have courage. You think this as you settle in the dining room, at the edge of the long wooden table, the high ceiling and portraits and pale yellow lamps and grandfather clock making you small, insignificant. You speak with strength. You tell yourself this as Tommy walks in, checks on you, and all you can do is nod when he asks if you’re ready. You are worthy of him. This one is the hardest for you to master, the hardest for you to hold onto. You remind yourself this as you hear him greet her, hear their footsteps in the hallway.

When she appears in the doorway, all drawn back shoulders, piercing eyes and impeccable fashion, you lose all sense of yourself. You stand and bow your head, as if a queen has appeared in Arrow House, which in a way, she has. Like Tommy’s, her eyes flick over you like a cat watching a bird, that intensity and deep rooted sense of predatory analysis. She walks right up to you, and you resist the urge to step back, to remove yourself from her aura.

“Polly Gray.” A cigarette dangles from her lips and her outstretched hand is steady, stable, while the one you reach out to shake with shakes slightly. When you don’t respond with your name, her thin smile widens slightly and she tilts her head. “And you are?”

You open your mouth to speak, to give her something, anything, and nothing comes out. Frustrated and embarrassed, you look to Tommy for help, but he gives the slight shake of his head, barely moving it. You’re on your own.

Polly glances back at him, amusement in her sharp brown eyes. “Does she talk?”

“When she wants to.” His answer is immediate. His gaze flickers between the two of you, so neutral that you can’t read what he thinks, whether there’s shame in those deep blue eyes. Whether he regrets choosing you, out of all the women in Birmingham and England and Warwickshire.

“Now would certainly be the time.” She looks back at you, expectant. “Have you not got anything to say for yourself?”

You bite your lip, gaze still on the ground beneath you, desperately wanting to speak, to be strong, to be the person you want to become. You know you can, know you’re capable, but your voice gets stuck and your heart freezes and your lungs stop working and suddenly you’re frozen in a panic you feel in your body but not in your mind.

“I think speaking is a base-level necessity, Thomas.” She turns and starts the long walk out of the room, slowing as she passes him. “You could do better.”

“You don’t even know me.” You step forward, dragging your gaze off the ground to stare at the back of her head. She’s paused, listening as your cracked and clenched voice reaches her. “You have no idea what my life has looked like, and you decide that I’m not good enough just because I can’t always get the words out?”

She chuckles and turns to face you, that reserved smile back on her lips. “That’s more like it.”

Your brow furrows. “Forgive me if I’m not as thrilled as you are.”

“Tommy told me you’d take some convincing. Worth the work, he said.” She moves back towards you, slow, languid, a panther pacing.

“Did he, now?” You shoot a look at him, and find his eyes away from you. “You planned this, did you?”

He takes a drag from his cigarette, gaze still pointedly elsewhere. “Had to. Only way to get you talking.”

“I see.” Your voice grows tight. “Was I all you expected, then, Mrs. Gray? Do I meet your expectations?”

“It’s Polly.” Her smile stays, almost threatening in its own right, proof that no matter what you say, you will not shake the ground she stands on. “You don’t need to be like that. Tommy’s been needing a good woman on his arm. Glad to see he’s found one, after how the last one worked out.”

You laugh humorlessly. It’s supposed to be a compliment, you know this, but Polly also must know that any intelligent woman wants to be more than an ornament on a man’s arm, a trophy for him to parade. She underestimates you, views you as another pretty face, and you don’t know how to prove her otherwise. She’s not to be taken at face value, either. The Shelby’s, the whole lot of them, hide beneath a facade. Arthur’s is brute strength, John’s is humor, Tommy’s is intensity, and Polly’s is charm. Ada seems to be the only exception.

“I think I do need to be like that, actually.” You cross your arms, fingers playing at the shirt you wear. “I’m stepping from one dangerous world to another. I’d rather keep my guard up, thanks.”

“Danger comes from wanting more than what you have.” She glances at Tommy, quick and sweeping. “I doubt you’ll do that.”

You’re at a loss for words. How do you explain to her that you never had the privilege of wanting more? How do you explain that you’re stuck as a child learning to crawl, and you can’t lift your head to see that others can walk? Her words point towards Tommy but squash you at the same time, making you simple and lesser.

“This is wanting more.” You look down. “This is more than I’ve ever had.”

Your vulnerability earns you silence. You think that, in their world, no one wants to admit that they’ve been hurt, that they’ve been on the ground looking up at the sky, wishing they could fly like the birds. No one wants to admit that they’re human. And you just did exactly that. After a moment, you look up at them, afraid of what you’ll see but even more afraid of what you might miss.

Polly’s eyes lock onto Thomas’. Quiet communication flows between them, something so quick that you can’t follow. Within a couple seconds, Tommy gives her a subtle nod, and she sighs. Her eyes shift back to you, searching your face for something. You swallow hard. Keep your head up, your shoulders back. Meet her eyes and let her peer into you.

“I hope you know what you’re getting into,” she says to you, her tone softer than before, more welcoming.

“I do.” You think it might be a lie. You think you’re stepping into a storm that you’ve never weathered before, thinking that you can save yourself while battling the wind.

“And you.” She turns to face Tom again. “I hope you tell her what you’re doing.”

“I do.” His eyes flick to yours, and you immediately look away. You don’t feel warm towards him at the moment, don’t feel like allowing him the privilege of silent connection.

“Alright.” She smiles faintly at you, then turns to start her walk out of the room. “Then my job here is done. See you at the meeting, Tom.”

You watch her go, your heart in your throat. You close your eyes and fall into a brief fantasy where everything is simple and everything is good. In this world you aren’t battered or bruised, aren’t scarred or scared, and you’re brave enough to speak without being manipulated to do so. In this world you know that his ‘I do’ was not a lie like yours. In this dream you hold a knife and your hand does not shake when you lift it.

Tommy clears his throat and you open your eyes and the world of your creation disappears, and you’re left with the coldness of the dining room, the emptiness of the fifty seats, all but one unoccupied. You sit back down and place your head in your hands, your elbows on your knees.

“Thomas,” you say, a little hesitant, a little scared. Now that Polly is gone, now that your own mask has dropped, there’s hollowness to your chest and a strange pulling sensation on your eyes, like you haven’t slept in days. “Am I just… work to you?”

He stays where he is, leaning against the wall to your right, his suit jacket in one hand and his cigarette in the other. As usual, he seems to be searching for something in your expression, eyes observing the subtle changes in your face like one would study a newly-discovered animal. His jaw works slightly and he looks away. “Sometimes you are. Sometimes you aren’t.”

You look down at your hands in your lap, your fingers pulling at each other until they hurt, then relaxing. “Oh.”

“Everything’s fucking work.” He gestures vaguely, voice too tense to be calm but too casual to be conflict.

“I’m not supposed to be work,” you say quietly. “I’m not supposed to be part of that.”

He pauses, dropping his arm with the cigarette to his side and furrowing his brow slightly. He opens his mouth to speak, but you stand and speak before he can.

“I need to get to the horses. I better go.” You start for the door, half hoping he’ll follow you, try to convince you to stay, but he doesn’t. He stays where he is, watching you go in silence, his brow still furrowed in that strange, almost confused expression.

You work in the orange hour of the evening, sweating and thirsty and hungry and ignoring all of it. Work, work, work, all of it a reminder that you yourself take up too much energy, that you’re a burden on those around you. You squint in the falling light and convince yourself that the extra liquid in your eyes comes from the dryness of the coming cold.

You thought that, maybe, he’d tolerate you. That his lying and stealing and cheating and all the crime that creep through his bones would balance you out. That all the pent-up anger and vulnerability and broken promises and the gentleness of your touch would make up for the fact that it was you he was looking at, you he was pursuing. You didn’t want to be saved, you wanted to feel worthy of being saved.

You’re a chore. You’re work.

You retire to your house long after the sun has set, wiping the sweat from your brow and skipping the bath to crawl into bed. You don’t close your eyes. Staring out at the stars in the sky, wondering whether you’ll ever be small enough to fit into someone’s life. You’re a broken thing, and yet, you stare out at the sky like you did when you were a child, wanting to touch the stars even if they burned you.

A few hours later, the clattering of machinery and the steady pound of horse hooves outside your house disturbs your stupor. You sit up in bed, trying to see through the haze of night. Squinting, the shape of a horse-drawn carriage comes vaguely into view. You catapult out of bed, pulling clothes on haphazardly, and your bare feet patter down on the cold wooden floor as you make your way to the kitchen. You unlock a drawer, open it, and pull out a gun, ready to defend yourself, unwilling to be a victim in your own home.

You rush out into the night, and freezing air hits your face. You’re not dressed for the cold, wearing a simple short-sleeved shirt and pants. You hold the gun up, aiming carefully at the carriage from the doorstep, waiting for someone to draw a bead on.

“Put the gun down.” Tommy’s voice calls from the carriage. You do as he says, stepping back into your house to place it back in its drawer. When you come back out, your eyes fall on a gleaming white horse, elegant and seemingly glowing in the night.

“What the fuck?” You step down onto the driveway, slowly approaching Tommy, who holds the horse’s lead rope loosely, allowing him to hold his head up high, staring out into the darkness.

“You didn’t get a horse from the track.” His quiet, irritatingly calm voice answers your question smoothly. “Figured you could use someone helping you.”

“Tommy.” Conflicting thoughts bounce through your skull. You don’t want to see him, not after what he said, but he’s brought you a horse all the way from the racetrack, something that usually costs you a few months worth of savings. You open your mouth, then close it and shake your head, not knowing what to say.

“His track name is ‘Watch Me Forever.’” He reaches out a hand to stroke the stallion’s neck. “Needs a barn name.”

“This is the gray you liked. The one with the broken leg.”

“Paid to have it fixed. A few months of recovery and he’ll be ready.”

“Tommy.” You resist the urge to punch his chest. “You can’t just do that!”

“Why not?”

“Now I’m— I’m in debt to you.” You shake your head. “You can’t do this.”

The stallion’s neck arches and he reaches down his soft pink nose to sniff at you, ears forward, eyes soft. Tommy is quiet for a moment, and all that’s heard between you is the warm breath of the horse.

When he speaks, it’s not the usual, well thought out, precisely planned phrasing. It’s awkward and rambling and, you have to admit, endearing. “Gentling a horse is work. It’s not easy. Teaches you more about yourself than it does about the damn horse. Makes you a better person; more patient, kinder. It’s— It’s work, but if I could choose between that and anything else, I’d choose the horse every fucking time. Does this make any sense?”

You stare at him, and a weight lifts off of you. “Yes. I think it does.”

His eyes search your face, soft and beseeching. “You understand me?”

“Thank you for explaining what you meant, Tom. I forgive you. I—” You hold back the cliches bubbling in your throat, trying to push you to say something too soon, too recklessly. “I understand you.”

He nods, looking as relieved as you feel. His eyes turn back to the stallion, his posture straightening, his expression moving back to something harsher, more businessman-like. “What will you call him, then?”

“I think… I think Iris is good.” You stroke his soft nose, looking at his eyes, one blue, one brown

“That’s a woman’s name.”

“It’s a fucking flower, Tom. Flowers don’t have gender.”

He shrugs. “Iris it is, then. Iris it is.”

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