I Loved Everything About This

Sleepy Baby Part 5

a/n: I am super flattered by how many people have liked this little story.

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin / Reader

Warnings: Cursing

Word Count: 1700 ish

Summary: Jake has thoughts about you.

Masterlist     Part 4

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promise

frank castle x reader

It was the first time in a long time Frank was in a deep sleep, when he heard a loud bang on his front door.

He was out of bed, half-asleep, gun cocked as he made his way to the sound, fearing the worst. As he quietly opened the door, gun ready, he let out a groan when he recognized your prone body collapsed outside of it.

“What the fuck, I was sleeping.”

You glared up at him half-heartedly. “Just calling in a favor, Castle.”

He could tell you were injured, blood staining your jacket and trailing from a cut on your cheekbone. He didn’t even think twice as he leaned down to carefully scoop you up into his arms and into his apartment; you’d done it for him enough time that he really did owe you one.

“What is it this ti-fucking christ.”

You’d pulled your jacket off, lifting up your sweater to reveal the 8 inch gash along your side. It was deep, blood pumping out at a terrifying amount.

“Just a quick stitch-n-ditch, I promise.”

Frank rolled his eyes, trying to hide his concern as he quickly grabbed his kit from under the sink. “I’d be amazed if you didn’t pass out from blood loss within the next ten minutes, sweetheart. You ain’t going anywhere.”

You gave in pretty easily, considering there was no way you were walking out by yourself at this point. A stab wound to the ribs, possible broken wrist, and most likely a concussion.

Frank didn’t say a word as he stitched you up, focusing on his work. He could feel your gaze on him, heated and soft. Like always. He could move his face an inch and kiss you. But he wouldn’t.

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- start of a silver fox

summary - back from deployment, you notice a change in your boyfriend's appearance. pairing - jake seresin x (fem!)reader word count - 1.4k rating - no smut, but 18+ anyways, mdni! content warnings & tags - age gap (reader is in her early twenties, jake is in his early thirties) / fwb to lovers / no use of (y/n) / vague allusions to sex / mentions of nudes / mentions of masturbation / no actual smut / mentions of death (sorta) / lmk if i missed anything! a/n: saw these recent photos of glen ➙ became possessed ➙ wrote this. reblogs, comments, and likes super appreciated!

Jake is back after three long months on deployment, a fourth of your relationship — not counting the first couple months when you were ‘just hooking up’. This is your first welcome back. Having texted extensively with Nat’s girlfriend, Sasha, you were given a pretty good lay of the land by her, informed of what to expect.

Homecoming day has arrived, and excitement has consumed your entire body, making your limbs buzz. 

Awaiting his arrival on the pier, your foot tapping out a nervous rhythm, you stand in the back, allowing spouses and children to be the first in line. You’re just the girlfriend, the one almost a decade younger than him, the one you know his friends assumed wouldn't be around long. You assumed you wouldn't be around long. Jake is a charmer, and when he set his sights on you, you assumed it would be a one-night stand, a fling at most. 

But one night turned into two and then three, which turned into nearly three months of falling asleep and waking up next to him. Most days you’d get a text the second he was done with training, the buzz of your phone always kicking up your heartbeat. 

At first, you’d just meet him at The Hard Deck for drinks, then dinner at sit-down restaurants — the preambles to him fucking the shit out of you growing longer and decidedly less casual. Post-coital, he’d sling an arm around your waist in an attempt to keep you from slipping out, waking up with that same soothing weight on you. Eventually, he casually mentioned that you could keep some of your stuff at his place — for convenience, he said. He tried slipping the suggestion under the radar, pre-coffee on a Saturday morning. Bleary-eyed and half-asleep, you barely processed his words, absent-mindedly humming in response. 

Then you saw the half-cleared-out drawer — which you later learned was a measure in order not to spook you. Like a full drawer would make you wise to his intentions, like he was trying to acclimate you to the idea of commitment, to a relationship with him.

You remember the feeling of placing spare clothes in that drawer; a spare bra and sweatshirt. Jake watching you from the doorway, trying to not act too pleased in response.

You liked him, his company and his laugh and his baffling love of Taylor Swift that he blamed on his nieces. The man under the bravado wormed his way into your brain. 

Though, you could appreciate how he looked puffed-chest and cocksure. Near equally competitive as you are. The first game night you spent with his friends meant you both were banned from ever being on the same team again. Pictionary, trivia, One-Night Ultimate Werewolf — you mopped the floor with them. The rule wasn't entirely the case of sore losers, you can acknowledge the fact that you two were immediately, freakishly in sync. Ultimate Werewolf may have ended in tears of betrayal being shed.

And that's how things progressed for a while, falling deeper while avoiding acknowledging the fact that you were in a relationship. Afraid to say the words and make things complicated. Near everyone in both your and his life were trying to push you both to just trust it. Have a little faith in one another.

One minute you were his girlfriend in all but name, and then you were just his girlfriend. A confession on his couch in the midst of rewatching Veep, ‘Relax, cow eyes’ the soundtrack to everything falling into place.

────────────────────────

Once officers start filtering off the ship, your mind blanks in anxiety. Around you, tears are shed, and poster board is ditched in favor of tight hugs. Laughter and children squealing background noise. You scan the crowd, the sun beating down on you, searching for the handsome shape of Jake Seresin. People come and go, giving you a better view of the naval officers, till you finally spot yours moving towards you. He weaves through the throng with ease, standing before you in a matter of seconds. 

A smile stretches your face, eyes squinting from both happiness and the sun. You scan him, categorizing any minute change. Gray. A small streak above his right ear. Your nerve endings light up like a Christmas tree, the sensation doubling at the slight hint of age. Reaching out, your fingers run across his scalp, nails tracing back, playing with the hair that has decided in his relatively brief absence to go gray. 

He doesn't shy from your touch, his lashes fluttering at the sensation, an intimate moment playing out in public. Though no one is probably taking notice, wrapped up in their own reunion. He does seem to be a hint abashed at your attention. 

He breaks the quiet, “Hey, sweetheart.”

The sound of his voice, clear and unobstructed by distance, rushes through you. Fuck. You're trying to suppress the blatant arousal coursing through your system, keep it out of your voice. Words startled, voice pitched, “You've gone gray.”

Despite your age gap, it’s never been your thing, your Tinder age range has only ever been set 3 years older — but seeing Jake in the flesh, and with a few more grays, is making you muster every ounce of self-control so you don't fuck him in the parking lot, ride him in the backseat of his truck. He probably wouldn't enjoy getting dishonorably discharged.

He hefts his duffle over his shoulder, free hand taking your own to lead you to the car — his truck that he handed the keys over to, something in his gaze when he told you to not let the battery die. Maybe a way for him to feel connected to you, maybe a reassurance that you'd be around when he got back. Your board is still in the bed, having taken up surfing in the mornings since your time was no longer being occupied by Jake slowly fucking you into the mattress.

“I already had grays, I'm just… grayer now.” His pace is quick. It's clear that he's itching to get home. Your boots stamp on the pavement as you practically skip behind him, content with his hand in yours. He looks at you out of the side of his eye, eyebrow raised, “And I wonder why that is.”

“That suspiciously sounds like an accusation.”

“Those photos…” He stops at the teal-striped Ford, throwing his duffle next to your surfboard. Crowding you against the side of it.​, his​​ voice dropping, “​I was opening my mail in the mess, ‘bout gave me a heart attack.”

You’d sent them on a whim — a well-researched whim, ​​you didn't need some random desk jockey finding out your taste in lingerie. But you had missed Jake and wanted him to miss you in return. And what better way to make the heart grow fonder than with scantily clad pictures of your body?

“Well? Did you like them?” You know he liked them, it was a whole production to take them, but even if it wasn't — he’s a man, and you were in lingerie. You looked hot, are hot, present tense. An indisputable fact. And he’s not reserved with telling you and showing you that, but you can't pass up a moment to hear it voiced to you, not after how long he’s been gone.

“I think I have carpal tunnel.” 

You snort out a laugh as he exaggeratedly shakes out his hand, clenching and unclenching his fist for your amusement. Eyes skating along your features, he huffs, “Add that to the long list of ailments you've inflicted.”

Letting your fingers lightly trace down his biceps, you press your body even closer to his, perhaps a touch too scandalous for a parking lot in broad daylight. A coy reply rolls off your tongue, “I keep you young.”

“You're going to send me to an early grave.”

Rising to your toes, you brush your lips against his, holding back from full contact. You feel his breath stall in his chest, desperate for it. His hands settle on your waist, squeezing, his face awash in anticipation. He’s beautiful.

Your palm stroking the side of his head, you brush the hair away from his face, pinky skimming the top of his ear. You single out the silver strands between your fingers, silky soft as ever. He’s real and yours — home. 

“Ditto. Might as well invest in matching plots, right?”

Broad shoulders shaking with laughter, he brushes his nose against yours. Palms cupping the side of your face, thumbs sweeping across your cheeks, he stops waiting. A long-awaited kiss pressed to your lips, neither one of you able to keep the smiles off your faces.

e/n: thank you for reading!

How did I not hear about France banning hijabs? What’s going on?

long story short, there’s legislation in the process of being passed that would

ban girls under 18 from wearing any form of religious head covering in public, and although it’s obviously aimed at muslim women, it would also affect other faith groups that practice similar forms of modest dress

ban islamic swimwear in schools and public (there is already a modest swimwear ban in place at public beaches, this just extends it)

ban mothers wearing hijab from entering schools or participating in school field trips or extra curriculars

ban the slaughter of halal poultry - the cheapest and most easily accessible form of meat protein for the muslim community

extend school hijab bans to universities

prevent muslim women from choosing healthcare providers based on gender (which many muslim women prefer to do, since many exams require removal of clothing, etc)

ban muslim parents from homeschooling

force halal markets to sell pork and alcohol or face closure

ban foreign flags at weddings

Born In Flames || Chapter Four

Pairing: Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Being the daughter of a mafia boss was hard enough growing up. You got out and made a new life for yourself as a bartender only to be sucked in when your old man made a bad deal and he thinks you need protection. Enter Bucky Barnes, your new bodyguard and roommate.

Warnings: minor character death, mentions of guns, human trafficking, drugs, and blood.

Word Count: 2,653

Authors Notes: Kinda curious to see what you guys think of this one! If you want to be tagged, send a message or ask or else it will probably be ignored.

Born In Flames Masterlist

Reblog & leave some feedback!

A week had gone by since that fateful shooting. Every little sound had started to rattle you when you were at home. Work was the only place you were distracted enough, but it did take a couple of days. You had given Bucky a couple of long sleeved tees that had the bar’s logo on them and told him to change, considering he was the only one in the bar looking less like a drinker and more like a mobster. Your boss came to understand why he was there and allowed it, even throwing some food his way while Bucky waited for your shift to end.

The morning after the shooting, you found your car missing. You were just about to head back inside and cry into your pillow before Bucky grabbed your hand and led you to a sleek black car. He reassured you that your car was being taken care of and that this one would get the two of you around. You took his word for it, even letting him drive.

The relationship between you two was slowly leaving the side of hatred and more of just convenience. Bucky was pretty understanding about you wanting to keep up with talking to Miss Liz, but he kept a close eye. If you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn Liz was trying to flirt with him. It was cute, actually. You often found yourself out in the living room earlier than usual, due to the nightmares. Bucky would check in and softly push you awake, but would leave once you were awake. He knew what it was like to have nightmares every night. It wasn’t just about being in combat or losing his arm. Being in the mafia had its disadvantages, one being that he saw the face of his victims every time he closed his eyes. His were less screaming and crying and more sweating and mumbling.

He had decided to wear tees around the apartment, trying to show that he was making a step to be more comfortable around you. You didn’t hide that you hated the suit and ties, but you also didn’t force him to show the arm. He did that on his own.

Currently the two of you were sitting in the living room. Bucky was looking over the cameras through his phone that were placed around the street by some of your fathers men while you worked on your laptop. It was another day off and you were a bit too scared to try going out and shopping again, so you had things delivered instead.

Bucky’s phone started to go off and he answered it. “Boss.”

Oh great, it’s dad.

He was quiet for a moment, though you couldn’t quite make out what was being said on the other side. He glanced over to you and said a soft “we’ll be there” before hanging up.

“We?” You leaned up in your seat, setting the laptop down.

“Looks like they may have caught those men who shot at us,” Bucky stood and slid the phone in his pocket. “He wants us to go to the warehouse so you can identify them. Guess the guy is saying it wasn’t him,” he muttered and rolled his eyes.

You brought your hand up to your ear, fingers brushing over the scabbed over wound. It wasn’t as painful anymore. But then it hit you, the warehouse.

“Are you serious? I’ve never been allowed in there. I don’t even think my mom was,” you frowned, looking over at him.

Bucky shrugged. “That’s what he said. I don’t think he’ll have you stay for the aftermath. We just need to make sure it was really him. You did get a good look, right?”

You nodded gently, unable to forget the faces of the men. “They only got one?”

“For now,” Bucky walked past you and headed into his room to change.

It seemed you probably should do the same.

You went simple, just a pair of black jeans and a tank. Much different than the outfit you last saw your father in. You pulled your hair up into a ponytail just in case another shootout happened. Hair flying in your face was not so fun last time.

Bucky could feel the anxiety radiating off you the whole drive. He let you pick the music and watched as you slid down lower in your seat. Had one near death experience really caused you to be this scared? You kept asking yourself that.

The anxiety didn’t go away as Bucky pulled up to the warehouse half an hour later. It was in an industrial area, one with quite a few abandoned buildings. This one you knew was used for…less than savory things. A lot of blood had been spilt inside. You remember seeing someone hobbling out with his face beaten in when you were about ten. That was the first time you knew something was up.

“You ready?” Bucky asked softly, worried about your state of mind as you stared at the building in front of you.

“Do I have a choice?” You retorted, though you sighed. “Sorry I just…yeah. I’m ready,” you muttered and got out of the car.

Bucky led you inside and immediately the smell of iron hit you. Years of blood without being properly sanitized. No wonder you were never allowed in it. You stayed close to Bucky, your hand brushing along his gloved one. He didn’t mind, as long as you were able to help now.

Pushing a door open, you froze when you saw the scene before you.

Your father sat in one chair, looking as much of a mafia boss as ever. About ten feet from him sat a man tied to a chair, head lulled to the side. One of the men standing had his jacket off and sleeved rolled up, blood trickling down his knuckles from punching the other guy.

“Ah, good. You’re here. Dear, can you tell me if this was the guy?” Your father asked.

Frowning, you slowly walked in and kept your distance from the man bleeding in the chair. He coughed before leaning his head up and that’s when you sighed.

“Yeah, it’s him. He was with another guy. Bald, bigger nose, sort of looked like a taller Danny Devito,” you spoke, crossing your arms.

Bucky left your side and walked beside the bleeding man in the chair. Squatting down for a moment, he moved the guys tied up hands before standing.

“It’s him. I got a good shot on his hand and that’s what made them retreat I think,” Bucky walked back over to stand by your side. “Pierce’s guy?”

Your father nodded, his own arms crossed as he stayed in the chair. “Believe so. Just need to figure out why they’re targeting you unless it’s just to get to me,” he looked over at you and you rolled your eyes slightly but said nothing.

“I won’t tell you shit,” the bloodied man finally spoke, groaning when another punch was landed. “You should kill me now, but there will be more. There will always be more. We’ll get that little whore just like we did her mother,” he yelped when a second punch was thrown.

Your eyes widened, though you knew it couldn’t have been true. It was cancer. You knew it was. You saw how sick she had gotten in the end. Looking back to your father, Michael nodded at the man and immediately a gun was pulled out and he shot the man point blank.

You yelped and turned away, covering your mouth.

Now you wished you had never stepped foot in the warehouse. Bucky groaned and wrapped an arm around you, leading you out. He wanted to yell at Michael, to tell him that he had just traumatized you once again, but he couldn’t exactly fight his boss. So he decided to move you away instead. You let him lead you out to the car, but once you were inside, the flood gates opened and Bucky was left with a terrified version of you that he only saw briefly before.

Getting in the driver's seat, he waited to turn the car on. “I wish he hadn’t done that,” he whispered, glancing over to you.

You wiped at your eyes, trying to catch your breath. “This is…why I wanted out. Couldn’t he have waited until I was gone!?” You gasped, but it wasn’t working.

Bucky frowned and leaned over the console of the car. He took your face in his hands, being gentle but also demanding. “Look at me. Hey, right here,” he pointed at his own eyes, waiting until you met them. He kept the hold on your face as he spoke. “It was better him than you. It’s going to be okay. It’s…not easy to see whether it’s the first one or the hundredth. I know this because I still see them all. Just…try to breathe,” he spoke. He took deep breaths as you followed, doing it until your tears had stopped and you were able to stop shaking.

“What did he mean…about my mom?” You muttered, watching as Bucky’s hands left your face.

“I don’t know. I swear I don’t,” he shook his head, equally as confused as you were. He didn’t know what it meant and he needed to find out.

“Promise me, you’ll tell me if you find something out?” You looked at him with pleading eyes.

Bucky took your hand and squeezed it softly. “I promise.”

Three hours later, Bucky found you sitting in the living room on the floor with a bunch of photo albums beside you.

Birthdays, vacations, school photos. Scrapbooks both you and your mother had made over the years. Scrapbooks that seemed to mainly include you and her, with rare appearances from your father.

Bucky took a seat beside you with a raised eyebrow. “What’s this?” He asked, leaning to the side a little.

“My second birthday. Complete with a Little Mermaid cake. Of course dad isn’t in these either,” you muttered, scooting closer for him to see.

Photos of you smashing a little cake with your face, white icing and chocolate cake smushed in every crevice. You looked happy, carefree, ready to take on the cake and the world.

“I take it your dad wasn’t around for big things?” Bucky asked, surprised a father wouldn’t even be there for his kid’s birthday.

“Not often. Sometimes. He came to my graduation and some early birthday parties but that’s about it. Hell, I couldn’t even get him to a choir show when I was in middle school. Mom was my biggest supporter,” you ran your fingers over a photo of your icing handprint on her cheek, smiling at the camera. “She made sure everything was okay.”

Bucky smiled but then furrowed his brow. “Can I?” He asked, holding his hand out.

“Oh, yeah,” you nodded and handed him the scrapbook.

“You said your second birthday? Do you have any from your first?” He asked, making you wonder.

“No, I’m not sure why but I don’t have any from then. I have a couple baby pictures but not many actually. Why?” You asked, tilting your head.

Ever so carefully, Bucky pulled one photo out of the slot and looked at it closer. “Do you know this man?” He asked, pointing to a guy in the background.

“No, not that I can remember,” you shrugged.

Bucky pulled out another, pointing to him again. This time his arms were around your mother.

You took the photo and tilted your head. How did you not see that before? You were in the forefront, face clean and opening a gift. In the back, you mom looked to be cuddling with another guy.

“Yeah, I have no clue who that is,” you handed it back.

“That would be the boss of the man that was just killed holding your mom like they were together.”

Your eyes stared at Bucky for a few moments before you were able to find words.

“I’m sorry, what?” You took the photo back and looked it over again.

“Alexander Pierce. He’s another mafia boss that had his hands dipped in a little of everything. Guns, drugs, even illegal animal trading. Pretty sure he’s been involved in human trafficking too but we haven’t been able to find enough evidence. What I want to know is why your mom was cozying up to this guy,” Bucky explained. Setting the photo to the side, he began to look through the rest of the photos.

You sat quiet beside him. Your parents didn’t have a pristine relationship by any means but you could never remember a time where they broke up. And your mom was never the type to cheat no matter how bad things got. She was loyal and kind.

You leaned against Bucky’s arm as he looked, trying to piece things together in your mind. You heard Alexander’s name over the years but it was more about business. Your father having a meeting with him or the two of them making a deal. You weren’t exactly invited into the meetings themselves, nor do you ever remember meeting the guy in person.

Bucky tried to find more photos of him but it seemed those were the only two. Closing the book, he looked down at you with a soft sigh. “Can I do some digging? This is bugging me and I feel like you should know why,” he offered.

You hesitated. Did you want to know? Not exactly, not if it involved a man who did all of those terrible things, but you did want to know why the man talked about killing you like they did your mom.

“You can use my computer in your room, if you want. These are all of the scrapbooks I have though,” you moved the other five in front of him.

Bucky nodded and got up, helping you to your feet. “Do you want to stick around and help?”

You knew it wasn’t a good idea but it was better than sitting in front of the television, failing to distract yourself.

“C’mon,” you muttered, picking up the scrapbooks and following him into the room.

Bucky hadn’t done much with it. He hung up his more important suits while the rest of his items sat neatly in his bag. The dirty clothes were in a hamper you gave him to use. He really didn’t make a dent in showing he was there. Bucky took a seat in the chair as you sat cross legged on his bed.

“Do you have any theories?” You asked as you opened up another book, though this time you paid more attention to the details in the back.

“Not quite. Unless they caused your mother to get sick, but I still need to figure out why. Even if Pierce and Michael had a fallout of some kind, there would be no reason to hurt her and then wait all this time for you. It’s not as if you’ve made yourself completely invisible with the bartending and social media profiles. They obviously knew you were here if they sent him those photos. Keep looking through those for anything, even if you think it’s nothing.”

And that’s how the two of you were for the majority of the night. Bucky had his ways of scouring the Internet, but things kept popping up empty. You had shown him multiple photos but nothing ever clicked for him.

It was about 10:45pm when Bucky leaned back and frowned. “What was your mother’s maiden name again?”

“Hartley,” you looked up at him, having taken his pillows and put them beside you while you leaned back against the wall.

Bucky pushed the chair away from the computer.

A photo of a young Charlotte and Alexander sat on the screen.

A marriage announcement from two years before you were born.

Tag list: @crownstealer @borikenlove @bitchassbucky @babyboibucky @buckybarneschokeme @buckys-blue-eyes @vanillanaps @bibbidibobbidibucky @spicynudlesoup @bemine-bucky @suchababie @kaaabiii @rebekahdawkins @sebsbrokentoe @marvel-3407 @acmbooksandfilm @stucky-my-ship @boofy1998 @valsworldofcreativity @yaszx

Coffee and Bagel.

Word Count: 2.5k

Category: Angst-ish, fluff

Warning: curse words

Summary: Overprotective!Chris and pregnant!actress!reader get swarmed by paps and Chris loses his shit when reader almost trips.

Follow the couple's life here.

..

You loved going on short walks ever since you became pregnant.

The swelling of your feet was always very frequent, and it was why you didn’t favor walking and standing on them for too long, especially since the big bump you carried around not only strained your ankles, but your back as well.

“I can’t remember the last time I had coffee,” you said, fixing the big t-shirt you were wearing that rightfully so belonged to Chris, but since your marriage, what was his was yours, and what was yours, was yours. 

“You deserve that treat,” Chris said from his place on the floor, tying your shoe laces.

You hummed, one hand on his shoulder to keep yourself steady, “You know, I’m so ready for the baby to be here,” you said, “Need my caffeine so bad.”

Chris chuckled as he stood up, “I think it’s not just caffeine you need,” he said, “I think–I think you miss having good back days.”

You groaned, “God, yes,” you cradled your bump, “And not having you scolding me for, I don’t know, going up a step or something,” you giggled, teasing your husband who rolled his eyes at you with a smirk.

“You do dangerous shit, Y/N,” he reasoned, “You do!” He confirmed when you laughed, “Like–Come on, stepping on a chair to get turmeric from the shelf?”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“Wait for me,” he pointed at himself, “Why else am I here?”

You gasped dramatically, “Oh-Oh, so you’re just here to bring down stuff now? Never mind the woman that you got pregnant, never mind her feelings. Never mind that she needs some loving on, some affec-”

“Stop, stop,” Chris laughed, wrapping his arms around you before he pecked your lips a couple of times, causing you to giggle, “And I’m here to love on you,” he said, “Also I wasn’t the only one who got you pregnant. If I–If I remember correctly, we were both o-”

“We’re not going to talk about it,” you shook your head, “Absolutely not.”

He laughed before pressing his lips against yours, “Ready to go?”

You hummed, fixing your hair, “Let’s go before you decide I need to be on bed rest or something.”

“Actually–”

“No,” you put your hand on his mouth, “No.”

With your statuses, you and Chris almost always expected paparazzi taking your pictures and trying to get any answers and statements out of you. 

With your fingers intertwined with Chris’s, you walked on the sidewalk, only 5 shops away from your coffee place, and already, 3 men were in front of you, walking backward so they could film you and your husband.

“We should’ve brought the car,” Chris said quietly, his hold tight on your hand, and his body stiff as if he was getting ready to attack at any given moment.

“I miss walking to get my coffee,” you told him, fixing your sunglasses on your face, “Are you okay?”

Chris smiled softly, removing his hand from yours so he could wrap his arm around your shoulder, “I am. Are you?”

You nodded, keeping your face down from the paparazzi.

“Y/N, Chris, do you know the gender of the baby?”

“Y/N, you’re looking big!”

“How far along are you?”

“Are we going to see you on the big screen again soon?”

“Y/N, how do you feel about Chris’s new projects?”

You took a breath, concealing yourself against Chris before he stepped a little to the side, finally opening the door to the coffee place and letting you get in before him.

The soft mummers could be heard, and you could always feel when the phones were out, “discreetly” taking pictures of you and your husband. 

Chris’s hands were on your shoulders from behind as the both of you walked to the familiar cashier you had befriended two years ago from how frequently you and Chris got coffee and bagels from that place.

“Hey, Omar,” you beamed at the 20-year-old boy.

“Hey, man,” Chris also greeted with a smile, “How’s it going?”

“Hey, you two!” Omar grinned, “These assholes giving you a hard time out there?” He nodded his head towards the door at the paparazzi.

Chris sucked in a breath, “When are they not?”

You glanced behind you at the door before your eyes widened, “Fucking hell, they got more.”

Omar shook his head, “We’ll help you get back to the car, no worries.”

“We walked,” you said with a small chuckle, “Bad idea.”

“Oh shit,” Omar made a face, “You can Uber though.”

“That’s a good idea,” Chris agreed, “What do you think, honey?”

You shrugged before letting out a huff, “I just want my coffee and bagel.”

Both chuckled, before Omar spoke, “The usual?”

You and Chris nodded as you leaned back against Chris while putting your hands under your bump to support it. 

Chris paid, leaving a generous tip for Omar and his other colleague, Mona, before the both of you moved to the side, him pulling out a stool for you to sit on before he stood beside you.

He glanced back at the door, a sigh leaving his lips as his eyebrows furrowed in exasperation. Your hands moved to clutch his t-shirt from the sides, making him look at you, “We can get an Uber,” you told him, sensing his anxiety.

“I wanted you to walk like you wanted,” he said, looking at you in defeat with a tilt of his head.

You shook your head slightly, “It’s okay. Just another LA day,” you said, “I’ll walk as much as I want when we go to Boston after your press is done,” you assured him as you looked up ay him, “Loosen up, will you? We’re fine.”

Chris only sighed, wrapping his arms around you to bring you in a hug, his lips pressing a kiss to your head. He pulled away, his hand instantly finding your baby bump, bringing a smile to his face, “Hey, bubba,” he cooed, softly rubbing your bump.

You smiled, one of your hands reaching up 

to softly graze his arm as you looked down at your 7-month bump.

“Hollywood!” The barista called out the name that she and Omar had created for you and Chris, sliding your drinks before giving you your cream cheese and salmon bagel.

“Thanks, Mona,” you smiled at the hijabi, taking your order from her.

“Any time, Hollywood. You have a good day,” she waved at you with a beam.

“You, too,” Chris smiled at her before she went back to her job, “Do you want to drink here or do you want us to leave?”

“Let’s just leave,” you said, wiggling your butt to get off of the stool before Chris was quick to hold on your waist, a worrying frown between his eyebrows as he helped you down. You let out a breath, “Even getting off a stool is a huge deal.”

Chris only chuckled, watching you take your bagel out of the wrap to take a bite, “Oh shit, the Uber,” he muttered, taking his phone out to request a car, “Come on, let’s sit you back down.”

“No no, I’m fine,” you assured him with a shake of your head, opting to lean on the chair a little.

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, don’t worry.”

Chris thought that the universe was working in his favor because the moment he requested an Uber, it was only 2 minutes away.

He raised his eyebrows, “Two minutes.”

You hummed as you chewed, nodding at your husband as you stood straight before swallowing, “What’s the car?”

“It’s,” Chris smirked, tilting his head at you, “It’s a Honda Civic.”

With being the highest paid actress in the industry, with brand deals, and high-grossing movies, no amount of money could have ever made you let go of your hatchback 2008 black Honda Civic. Sure, that beat-up baby remained parked at your other house, but you clung to it like it was a child.

That explained the way your face beamed, making Chris burst out laughing, wrinkles by his eyes as he threw his head back a little.

“Don’t shit me,” you grinned excitedly.

“I’m not, baby, I’m not,” he laughed, showing you his phone.

You giggled, “It’s like—It’s like finding a missing sibling.”

At that, Chris laughed again, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to bring you closer to him, his hand stroking your head softly for a moment, “You’re actually crazy, you know that?”

“It’s a good car,” you reasoned, pulling away to look at him, “It’s super comfortable, and it’s—it’s, like, spacious but also compact. It’s just so perfect.”

“You’re a dinosaur for still having that car.”

“Says the person who had an iPhone 6 in 2022,” you replied back, teasing him with a raised eyebrow.

“It was a 6S,” he raised a finger, giving you a look as he put one hand on his hip.

“Oh, I’m sorry, so you’re not that much of a fossil, right,” you nodded jokingly, laughing when he poked your side.

“He’s here,” Chris announced, looking at his phone, “Here, let me take your bagel,” he offered.

You frowned, moving the bagel away, “But I want to eat it.”

“While we’re walking?”

“Yeah?”

“Okay,” he chuckled, rubbing your bump, “I’d rather not piss you off.”

“Good boy,” you teased, leaning to peck his lips after you had stood straight.

Chris linked your arms together, his smile falling from his face at the sight of the paparazzi who seemed to triple outside.

“Don’t let go, okay?” He asked.

“Do you need help?” Mona asked, “I can get Omar to help,” she said, pointing at her colleague.

“That’d be—That would be great actually,” Chris replied.

Omar and Mona were quick to switch, with the former hurrying towards you, “Let’s go, Hollywood,” he said as he pulled the door open, reaching his arms out, “Get back! Get back! Get back—Habibi, you’ll hurt someone like that, lak ya Allah!” (Love, you’ll hurt someone like that, oh my God!)

Omar, a bearded, tall 20-year-old wasn’t enough to handle the invasive men with cameras, and even though you kept your head low, and Chris had his other arm in front of you, you felt like you were close to crying and you probably had the pregnancy hormones to blame.

“Y/N! Chris! Is it true you’re getting a divorce?!”

“What are you going to name your baby?!”

“Chris, is it true you cheated on Y/N with Ana de Armas?!”

It was when Chris felt your body halt and turn that he quickly looked at you, noticing one man getting too close in your face.

“Can you take a step back, please?” You had respectfully asked, blocking your face with your arm.

“Hey! Hey, get the fuck back, man, get back,” Chris frowned, putting his arm between you and the man.

“I just want a shot, come on,” the man replied.

“I don’t care about your shot, get away from her,” Chris instantly replied back, his tone stern and getting louder, the veins in his neck looking prominent. 

It was what happened next that seemed to happen in a blur that had your heart dropping to your stomach.

You took two steps forward with Chris, and the next thing you know, your coffees were spilled on the floor, your bagel was lying upside down, and Chris had both arms around you, preventing your fall from tripping on another paparazzi’s foot. One of your hands instantly went to your bump while the other clutched on to Chris.

“For fuck’s sake!” Chris shouted, shielding you with his body, motioning with one arm while the other was behind him, wrapped around you, “Get the fuck out of here!”

“Calm down, man, it was just an accident!”

“She almost fell, dipshit! If you don’t move the fuck away, I promise you won’t have your jobs by noon,” he pointed, watching as everyone got quiet, “Get. the fuck. back! Is that so hard? Is that so hard?” He shouted before they quietly made a path for you and Chris.

Your husband turned back to you, holding your hand tightly in his, “Eyes on me, baby,” he said with urgency, “You okay to walk?”

You nodded, “I’m okay.”

Chris nodded, moving in front of you with one arm out and the other behind him, holding your hand before you reached the car.

He opened the door for you, “Easy there, let’s go, baby, good job, baby, that’s it,” he almost cooed as you got in before he followed beside you.

He quickly took out his wallet, and looked at you when you sniffled, “Give O something for the spilled coffees, too,” you muttered, rubbing your temple, knowing what Chris was about to do.

Chris took out $600, the only amount he had in cash, giving them to Omar who closed the door for you and Chris, “Thanks for the help, and sorry about the mess, man.”

“Really sorry, O,” you said sympathetically, genuinely feeling like you were seconds away from crying as you cradled your bump.

“That’s too much, Hollywood,” Omar shook his head at the both of you.

“It’s not,” Chris said, “Come on, just take them so we can leave these little shits.”

Omar reluctantly took the money, “Are you okay, Y/N?”

You nodded, giving him a small smile, “I’m okay, O. Thanks for the help,” you said. 

“I promise we’re working on the back entrance,” he said, a frown on his face.

“It’s alright,” you replied, “We’ll see you later.”

Omar nodded, waving at the both of you before your driver drove off.

“Should we stop at the hospital?” Chris asked you gently, turning his body to the side slightly as his eyes ran over you, checking for any bruises or any sign that you were hurt.

You shook your head, your eyes going tearful, “I’m okay.”

Chris noticed, his heart breaking and his face falling before he brought you into his chest, “Honey…”

“My bagel,” you cried.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, rubbing your back, “I’ll make you one, how does that sound?”

“Not the same,” you cried again, “But—But thank you.”

At that point you were sobbing, holding on to Chris for dear life.

“You’re okay,” Chris mumbled to himself more than to you, “You’re okay, honey. You’re okay.”

“Are you okay?” You asked him, sniffling as you looked at him.

“I’m—I’m so mad,” he answered truthfully, “If something had happened to you, I—God, Y/N.”

You understood, nodding along to him before you placed your hands on his chest, “You did an amazing job.”

“You almost fucking fell, Y/N, do you know how—Do you know—“

“I didn’t,” you shook your head, “I didn’t fall and you handled it so fucking well, baby. So well.”

Chris sighed, reaching one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Chriiiis,” you dragged, feeling your eyes get tearful again over your husband’s own tearful eyes, you placed your hands on his jaw, “We’re okay. I’m okay, you’re okay, the baby’s okay. I promise.”

“Yeah, just—That was—That was scary.”

You nodded, “It was,” you agreed, “But you handled it,” you said before pecking his lips, “And I love you for it.”

Chris sniffled, giving you a small smile, “I love you.”

Heeey i wanted to ask you if you could maybe do a Muslim male reader where maybe like they are on a case and hitch tells him to go talk with the victims family and they are like we are not gonna talk to a ter**orist and like the BAU team defending him and like comforting him (if you don’t feel comfortable writing about it don’t feel pressured please)

I am so sorry if this isn't good. I tried to make it as fluffy as possible. Please let me know if I did something wrong! Edited by @mystic-writes

"Mr. And Mrs. Hawthorne?" you ask as the door opens in front of you.

"Who're you?" Mr. Hawthorne asks, glaring at you.

You take out your badge and say, "My name is Agent [L/N]. I'm with the FBI. I'm here to ask you a few questions."

"The FBI is hiring terrorists now?" he asks and you freeze. "I don't want you here to blow up my house!"

He slams the door in your face, and you sigh. You pull out your phone and call Hotch, and after two rings he picks up.

"[L/N]," he says over the phone. "What did you find out?"

"They won't let me talk to them. Says I'm a terrorist and I'm going to blow up their house. Can you send Rossi over? Maybe he can help?" you ask and you hear a sigh on the other end of the line.

"Yeah. Sure. I'll send Prentiss as well," he says, and you nod though he can't see you. "Do you want to come back to the station?"

You shake your head. "No, I'm fine. It would just be nice to have some backup," you say, before saying goodbye to Hotch, and hanging up. You lean against the car you were given, a big black SUV, and you cross your arms over your chest, watching the house. After five minutes you see Mrs. Hawthorne peeking out the window every couple of seconds, staring right at you before hiding again, like she just got caught.

Finally, after only a couple more minutes, another black SUV pulls up and Rossi and Emily get out, walking over to you.

"We heard what happened," Rossi says, and Emily nods, walking over to you.

"Are you sure you want to be here?" she asks, and you nod.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You should just take the lead," you say, and Emily and Rossi both nod, and start walking towards the house.

–

"Hello, Mr. Hawthorne. It's good to see you again," you say as you sit down in front of him, placing a file on the metal table in the interrogation room.

"You can't hold me! I know my rights!" he yells, pulling against the handcuffs holding him to the table.

You shake your head. "You assaulted a federal officer and threatened to shoot me. You're already going to jail for who knows how long, so how about you tell me what I want and we can make a deal."

"I won't negotiate with terrorists!" he exclaims, jumping towards you, but the handcuffs keep him latched to the table.

You jump out of your seat and run out of the room, your breath coming in short gasps as you say, "I'm sorry. I can't do this."

You sit down on one of the chairs outside the interrogation room and put your head in your hands, hyperventilating, when you feel hands on your shoulders.

"Breathe. I need you to breathe for me," you hear JJ say.

You start taking deep breaths in when you feel more hands on you. Looking up, you see Spencer sitting next to you on the other side and you lean into him, breathing deeply as JJ rubs her hand up and down your back.

You see Emily and Rossi walk up, the former with a cup of something and the latter with a plastic bag of crackers, and Derek trailing behind, a sheepish smile on his face. You smile as your breathing starts to even and you reach out, taking what seems to be water from Emily and the crackers form Rossi, downing the cup in three gulps and stuffing a cracker into your mouth. You sigh through your nose as you chew, and watch as Hotch walks over, kneeling down in front of you.

"Are you okay?" he asks and you nod. "I had some words with Mr. Hawthorne. He has now assaulted two Federal Agents, which doesn't look good for him." You frown and Hotch rolls up his pant leg, revealing a bright red splotch on his shin that's probably going to turn into a bruise tomorrow. "Even if he isn't the unsub, we've been able to unearth some… disgusting things from this man's past, with help from Garcia."

You nod and smile, taking his hand as you swallow your cracker. "Thank you, Hotch," you say, before looking at all the faces around you, affectionately. "Thank you, all of you. I really appreciate it."

They all nod.

"Now, I would like to get back to this case and catch this bastard," you say and they all grin. "Also, it's not Mr. Hawthorne."

"How do you know?" Derek asks, massaging his knuckles. He probably punched Mr. Hawthorne and you're not sorry about that.

You smile. "Mr. Hawthorne is a racist, white supremacist. He would never kill white people."

They all nod, and JJ helps you up, and you all get back to work.

Hello honey bunnies !!! I don’t know if you are comfortable writing it but I would really love to request some Mreader x Yelena I didn’t find any on Tumblr nor ao3🙃

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Male!reader

Warnings: character death mention, angst, mourning

Word count: 600

a/n: yes i made this angst i will do so whenever given the chance 👍

!-!-!-!-!-!

Opposing the classic stereotype, it didn't rain when Y/N and Yelena visited Nat's grave for the first time. In fact, it was as clear as a day could possibly get. Not a single cloud speckled the bright blue skies, and the gentle breeze was not too strong nor was it absent.

If not given the current circumstances, Y/N and Yelena would've taken advantage of the sunny day to go out for a run with their dog, Fanny, or gone out on a picnic date. But, of course, they could not.

The two walked, side-by-side and in silence up the path, treaded upon so many times it was clear to see and find in the somewhat tall grass. Y/N glanced at Yelena, fighting the sudden urge to grab ahold of her slightly trembling hand. She kept her gaze ahead, frown growing the closer they got to the two trees where her sister lay, tilted away from each other to form a 'V' shape.

Several other graves lay scattered around Nat's, but it was clear none had been as visited as hers. The grave, freshly embedded into the soil, was crowned by flowers and surrounded by more. A few teddy bears, candles, and pictures could be seen among it all, as well. Y/N's stomach clenched, and his gaze immediately snapped towards Yelena. Not to his surprise, she kept as straight a face as possible. Everything in her face, apart from a deep, pained frown, seemed emotionless.

They got to the grave and while Y/N sat down before it, Yelena crouched and got to tidying the clutter. Moving pictures and bouquets around, she revealed the words carved into the lower part of the stone.

Daughter - Sister - Avenger

Y/N's words got caught in his throat. If there had even been any, in the first place. So he watched wordlessly until she felt she was done and moved back to sit beside him.

Y/N searched for the right words, distantly wondering if he should even speak at all. Before he could decide, Yelena beat him to it.

"Two years," she said, voice wavering. She pressed her palm to the soil, eyebrows pinching in barely held-back anguish. "I had her back for two years."

Y/N sighed and finally decided to take her free hand into his own. She squeezed it tightly, head dipping. Definitely not for the first time, his pain for Yelena grew when he recalled she'd been blipped, taking from her five whole years to spend with her sister.

"Two years to make up for almost a lifetime," she said, frustration seeping into her tone. Her hand trembled in Y/N's.

"I know," he whispered, moving closer to her, shoulders pressed together. "I know."

"She didn't- She never got to retire. To live out the rest of her life without being an Avenger or worrying about saving the world or-" her voice gave out, and Y/N didn't need to see the tears building up in her eyes to know she was about to break.

He twisted around and pulled her against him. And although he was uncomfortable and his side was straining with the awkward position, he let her cling to him.

"I'm sorry," now it was Y/N's turn to tear up. It was so unfair. He could remember as if it were yesterday how thrilled Yelena had been after finding her sister again. And now she had lost her all over again. For good this time.

After a while, Yelena rested her head on his shoulder, gazing tiredly at the gravestone.

"She loved you so much, you know that, right?" Y/N murmured after pressing a gentle, long kiss on her temple.

"I know," she said. "I know."

---

a/n: fun fact i cried harder during the post-credit scene for this movie than i did watching marley and me 👍

maverick regularly calls iceman snow queen. and snowman. and jack frost. and frosty. sometimes ice cream when he’s feeling crazy.

when frozen (2013) comes out, pete mitchell has a field day. after a month tom kazansky already reacts to „elsa” as if it was his god given name.

Love this

Keep The Secret?

MAINLY JAKE LOCKLEY X GN READER , SOME MARC SPECTOR AND STEVEN GRANT X GN READER

prompt : marc and steven had gotten themselves sick. luckily for them, they have a wonderful and loving partner who’s willing to take care of them(you). unbeknownst to you, another person is taking care of them in their own way. (yes it’s jake.)

i finally finished this and it ended up a lot longer than i had planned but i’m pretty okay with it, so, enjoy!

likes and reblogs appreciated, also leave me requests cause im running out of ideas!!

warnings(?) : fluff. maybe angst? but mostly fluff. my knowledge on DID is very limited but im hoping i didn’t mess anything up and if i did, feel free to message me about it!!

word count : 2,705

masterlist

Here you are, preparing all of your boyfriends’ pills for them cause they’re too tired to get out of bed. Someone had coughed on Steven while on his way to the museum and now they’re sick with a sweltering hot fever  and a horrid cough. They were constantly switching with each other because neither of them wanted to deal with the sickness and while yes, being sick without fronting is still being sick, it is still much better than actually having to experience a sick body. Sometimes you wonder why or how you had fallen in love with these two idiots.

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