#I don’t think. I’ll ever recover from this emotionally

[shima-draws]

[ssruis]

Reaching 200 with Peak (I’m mine). as god intended.

[ziparumpazoo]

I love technology… just watched the Roomba try to spot clean a sunbeam and then skulk backwards out of the kitchen while waving a squeaky cat toy.

[drowneddinosaur]

i was texting in my dms ! and someone asked me if i was on grindr bc of the text format apparently

[postmanlinksbootyshorts]

i don’t think i’ll ever emotionally recover from fujieda’s bad end

[kunasthiast]

sunshine

“you ever think about how lucky you are to have me?”

you didn’t even look up from your phone as you continued scrolling, sprawled out like a lazy cat on the living room rug (it’s comfy, okay?), half under a throw blanket.

“literally never,” you replied.

“liar,” your husband sukuna said from the couch, not missing a beat. “you’re lying and the universe knows it.”

he was half-focused on some work file on his tablet. he had his reading glasses low on his nose (which should’ve been illegal) and was wearing one of those loose black tees that hung just right on his arms. it’s like his arms were sculpted for violence and thirst traps. it was offensive, really. all of it.

a few minute passed by and you were still just scrolling on your phone. 

“you been quiet for a whole five minutes, brat. you dying or scheming?” he asked, not even glancing up.

“maybe both,” you said lazily.

that got his attention. he finally glanced at you over the rim of his glasses, flashing that signature i-know-you-want-me smirk. “if you die, i’ll sue god.”

you snorted. “you think god wants beef with you?”

“babe,” he leaned back, stretching — showing just enough abs to ruin your life, “god’s scared of me.”

a beat passed.

then you peeked over the your phone and said casually with a grin, “baby, serious question.”

“oh boy,” he muttered, lowering the tablet a little. “let’s hear it.”

you sat up cross-legged on the rug, head tilted. “every time you look at me, do you think i’m the sun or the moon?”

sukuna didn’t miss a beat. “sun.”

“oh?” you squinted at him. “so you’re saying i’m blinding and too hot to handle?”

“that,” he drawled, “and you’re dramatic, impossible to ignore, and have a dangerous habit of setting shit on fire.”

you laughed, grabbing a throw pillow and tossing it at him. he caught it without looking. “so i’m the sun, huh?”

“absolutely. you wake up and immediately decide to shine in my face whether i’m ready or not.”

“rude,” you huffed. “the correct answer was the world.”

he raised a brow. “mm. nah.”

“excuse me?!”

“you’re not the world,” he said, standing up and walking over to you — towering like the menace he is. “you’re the universe.”

you blinked. “…seriously?”

he crouched in front of you, grin widening. “yup. everything in me, around me, orbits you. even when you’re pissing me off, i still revolve around you, baby.”

you opened your mouth to say something, but your brain short-circuited halfway through. “...that’s so full of yourself.”

“no, you’re full of me,” he shot back instantly, smug and unbothered, and grinning with way too much teeth.

you groaned, shoving him away as he laughed. “you ruin everything, oh my god.”

“you asked,” sukuna laughed, snatching the pillow and smacking you gently with it. “don’t start shit you can’t emotionally recover from.”

“i hate you,” you muttered and flopped back dramatically.

“nah,” he said smugly, grabbing his tablet again. “you love me. you’re the universe, remember?”

a few minutes passed with only the soft clicks of sukuna’s tablet and your scrolling. but of course, peace in this house lasted as long as a soap bubble.

“babe,” sukuna called, not even looking up.

“hmm?”

“you know how planets revolve around stars, right?”

you groaned, already sensing the bullshit brewing. “don’t say it –”

“just saying,” he continued, smug, “i must’ve had some gravity to pull the universe.”

you stared at him. “you’re so full of shit, babe”

he finally looked up, smirking in that god-awful way that made your heart skip and your eyes roll at the same time. “and yet you married me. whose fault is that, brat?”

“definitely mine. i take full accountability for this karmic lesson,” you muttered, hiding your grin behind the throw pillow.

sukuna stood up, stretching his arms — muscles flexing in that unfair, jaw-dropping way — and walked over to you with the audacity of a man who knew he was too hot for his own good. 

“nah, you knew what you were getting into.”

he leaned down and kissed your forehead, then right under your eye, before pulling back just enough to grin at your expression. 

“but since you’re the universe,” he said, “guess that makes me your favorite star.”

“you’re a black hole,” you said flatly.

“damn right,” he said with a wink. “sucks you in and leaves you breathless.”

you choked on a laugh, smacked him with the pillow, and swore to the heavens that this man was a menace wrapped in abs.

“try harder, baby,” sukuna teased. “that weak-ass swing won’t even knock a planet off orbit. and this is planetary alignment,” he winked. again.

“god, i hate you.”

“nah,” he leaned down again, cocky as hell, “you love me. more than the sun. more than the moon.”

he paused, lips twitching. “more than sanity.”

“i’m divorcing you.”

“can’t,” he said, grabbing your hand to try and pull you up from the floor, “you’re obsessed with me.”

you just sighed, making yourself heavier, the ultimate act of petty defiance—still holding his hand.

“that’s what i thought,” he said triumphantly, letting go of your hand. “now get off the floor, we’re ordering takeout and you’re not choosing — i still have PTSD from that vegan sushi you made me try.”

“it was fusion!”

“it was trauma.”

“you are so dramatic—”

“and you,” he cut you off, pointing, “are still the universe. but don’t push it.”

you huffed, dragging yourself up. “you better be getting dessert.”

“only if you promise to orbit back to me tonight.”

“you’re disgusting.”

“you’re obsessed.”

you didn’t deny it.

[jungwnies]

f1 grid | building legos

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : building legos with your f1 boyfriend ୨ৎ : word count : 1002

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : ive been contemplating getting one of the lego sets but i do not have the dedication to be doing all of that...

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen

dead serious from the second you open the box

“we build it exactly like the instructions or we don’t build it at all”

holds up a single sticker for 5 minutes trying to align it perfectly

mildly offended that the lego car doesn’t come with DRS

does not speak the entire build but high-fives you when it’s done

yuki tsunoda

swears 8 minutes in after dropping a tiny piece under the couch

refuses to use the little sticker tool and ends up misplacing like three

makes engine sounds the whole time for vibes

snacks between steps and gets crumbs on the instruction booklet

still insists on putting the minifigure in the seat at the end and says “me.”

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

overconfident at first. “we’ve got this. easy.”

15 minutes in: “i think we skipped step 14.”

reads every single instruction like it’s an ikea manual

makes a whole system for sorting the bricks by color and size

gets genuinely offended if you freestyle any part of the build

kimi antonelli

quiet, focused, lowkey terrifying levels of concentration

absolutely the type to be like “you missed a piece” without even looking up

corrects a misplaced sticker with tweezers and surgical precision

“this is relaxing” he says, fully sweating

secretly keeps the finished car on his desk and won’t let anyone touch it

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

“do we really need to follow the instructions?”

10 minutes later: deep regret

gets dramatic when the stickers start peeling on the corners

flips the box over like it’s going to give him the answers

names the finished car “baby ferrari” and displays it like it’s his child

lewis hamilton

you do the building, he handles the stickers and vibes

puts on music and makes it a whole chill date night

gets way too into picking which minifig is “you” and which is “me”

encourages you the whole way like you’re building a real f1 car

posts the finished build on his story with “teamwork”

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

“easy. we’re finishing this in one hour.”

chaos ensues. one piece gets vacuumed. another disappears into thin air

you’re handling most of it while he’s dramatically reading sticker names aloud like a race intro

tries to modify the car to give it “sidepods with better airflow”

laughs the entire time but genuinely proud of it when it’s done

oscar piastri

reads ahead in the instructions to “strategize” the next three steps

calmly hands you pieces like a surgeon with a scalpel

only loses his cool when a sticker folds, then he just quietly groans

lowkey competes with himself to get it perfect

says “that was fun” but doesn’t touch it again for three days because he’s emotionally recovering

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso

critiques the design as if it's a real f1 car

“this suspension would never survive turn 3 at silverstone, just saying”

gets oddly competitive about finishing it quickly

tells you he’s “just watching” and ends up doing 70% of the build

when you finish: “another one?” like he didn’t just age 3 years in stress

lance stroll

chillest builder ever. doesn’t care if stickers are crooked

puts random pieces on top just because “they look cool”

definitely zones out mid-build and makes a coffee without telling you

holds the finished car up like a trophy and says “you crushed that”

more excited about the little lego pieces than the actual car

ʚ・williams

alex albon

very into the details, especially the color coordination

“no no, give me the sticker — i’ll get it lined up perfectly”

halfway through starts giving the car a backstory like it’s a pixar character

lets you fix mistakes even when he already saw them

displays it on his shelf like it's his new prized possession

carlos sainz

extremely precise, very methodical — treats it like a team strategy

puts the sticker on with a ruler. yes, a ruler.

“this piece is off-center.” disassembles entire front wing

gets emotional when it’s finished. “look how beautiful it is.”

lowkey wants to buy the next set before this one’s even done

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman

claims he’s built “like every lego set ever”

gets overconfident and skips a step, causing minor panic

absolutely freaks out over missing pieces (they’re not missing, he sat on them)

makes race car noises while testing the wheels

“let’s do another one” 5 minutes after finishing

esteban ocon

reads the instructions like it’s a sacred text

says “wait wait wait” every time you try to jump ahead

makes dramatic eye contact while applying the tiniest sticker

slightly judging you but in a “you’re cute” kind of way

proudest when the tires go on — “now it’s fast.”

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson

chill about it until a sticker goes on crooked, then suddenly stressed

“it’s fine” tries to peel it back off for 10 minutes

ends up more invested than he thought he’d be

takes over the trickiest steps so “you don’t get annoyed”

takes 14 pictures of the finished build for absolutely no reason

isack hadjar

talks a big game but lowkey doesn’t know what he’s doing

“i swear this piece doesn’t exist” — it does. it’s upside down.

makes you do the stickers because “your hands are steadier”

gives the car a ridiculous name like “the hadjar hauler”

wants to race it across the table once it’s done

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly

chaotic good.

actually good at building, but gets bored halfway and starts joking around

puts the little fire extinguisher piece in the front seat “just in case”

flirtatiously distracts you so he can sneak a piece on your side

once finished: “let’s build another team next”

franco colapinto

giddy like a kid in a toy store

“this is so cool. this is so cool.”

does the engine part twice just to get it extra neat

lets you place the last piece and takes a pic of you doing it

insists the car stays on his nightstand

ʚ・kick sauber

nico hulkenberg

mutters “bloody hell” every time a piece doesn’t snap right

lowkey loves it but refuses to admit it

gets hyper-focused on the tiny spoiler details

ends up building it alone because you gave up and watched

“done. never again. also, let’s get the bigger one next week”

gabriel bortoleto

full golden retriever excitement

“wait this actually looks so good”

applies every sticker with his tongue sticking out in concentration

says “vroom” after every completed step

takes a selfie with the car like he’s on the podium

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 36: To The Sea

Summary: It's time to move on. You're not sure where you're going exactly, but anywhere is better than Texas

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7,811 words

Warnings: ANGST, injuries, medical stuff, descriptions of pain and injuries, brief discussion about strangulation, mentions of PTSD and nightmares, so much crying, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, a very little sprinkle of comfort, language, mentions of medications, still very heavy emotionally

A/N: Not actually a lot of warnings for this one. It's a lot of dialogue and inner monologues. Not a lot happens, just mostly setting the scene for the next chunk of the story. Bring tissues though, the last part of the chapter emotionally wrecked me but also might be the best thing I've ever written.

11/30/24: **This Chapter has been edited and rewritten from its original version**

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

It’s warm outside. 

Not even the shade from the building can completely shield you from the dome of heat that seems to surround the base. It seeps into the concrete and asphalt that lock it into place, trapping everyone in a bubble that may as well be an oven. It’s always hot in Texas, though. You hate it. You’ve been spoiled by the cold, rainy seasons in England. You’d gladly take that over Texas. 

You’d take anything over Texas. 

The heat prickles at your skin, your arm starting to get sweaty in the sling. It had been Dr. Keller’s idea to keep your shoulder as still as possible so you don’t continue to cause yourself pain when you move. It still hurts, but at least you won’t instinctively try to use your left arm now.

Despite the warmth, there’s still a chill deep in your bones. The warmth of the pain medicine has worn off and you’ve been left with the perpetual ice that has seemed to coat your insides. Dr. Keller says it's the stress giving you a fever. Every nightmare, every flashback sends your body temperature spiking, your heart beating right out of your chest. You’re not out of the woods yet. It can take a long time to recover from that level of distress and the omega taking over. You almost regret it, but there was no guarantee you would have lived either way at that time. You did what you had to do, and it did work out in the end. 

But at what cost? 

Dr. Keller’s phone buzzes in her pocket and she pulls it out, staring down at the screen for a moment. “Kyle wants to come by.” 

You don’t want to see him. You don’t want to see any of them. 

“I think you should see him. Even if it’s just for a moment.” She squeezes your hand. “I’ll be right here.” 

It’s a predicament. Dr. Keller supports your decision to keep them away, putting some distance between all of you for the time being. Yet, she also says being close to your pack will help your healing. Having your pack around will help your omega settle once again. She needs that safety, that security before she finally lets go completely. 

You don’t want to be close to them, but you may not have any other choice. 

You sit there in silence, picking at the fabric of your sweatpants as you wait for Kyle’s arrival. Sweat has started to bead on your back, the day only getting warmer and warmer as the sun moves higher in the sky. You want to go back inside, back into the cool air conditioned building. You want to crawl back onto the hospital bed and lay there for the next few hours. 

You can’t. 

Footsteps approach, but you don’t look up. You know who it is. You don’t want to see him. 

“Kyle.” Dr. Keller greets. 

“Christine.” He says back. It still throws you off, hearing Dr. Keller's first name. She'll always be Dr. Keller to you. Kyle turns his attention to you, still standing a few steps from the bench you're perched on. “Hi, love.” He says. The affectionate nickname almost makes you wince. You don't look up at him. You don’t want to see his face. “I wanted to stop by and see how you’re doing.” 

You don't move, don't give an answer. You don't have an answer to give anyway. You shouldn't have to give an answer. 

He lowers himself onto the bench, sitting as far away from you as he can. “It’s hot today.” He says, adjusting his hat. Always wearing a hat. Maybe that's why he and Price work so well together. 

He stares at you for a long moment but you don't bother moving, your gaze still on your sweatpants. They're starting to get a bit warm, even with your perpetual chill. 

“I’m not here to apologize.” He says, breaking the silence. “You’ve probably heard enough apologies to last you a lifetime.” He shakes his head. “Words can’t fix what we did. Nothing can fix what we did. All we can do is give you what you need, try and make you as comfortable as possible.” 

Tears burn your eyes as you listen to him. He's not wrong, an apology won't fix what happened. No words will ever be able to fix what they put you through. You're not sure there's anything they could do that would make up for it. An apology still would have been nice, despite the fact you know how guilty he is. Their avoidance of you, their willingness to give you such space in an unknown place just proves how guilty they all are. 

That doesn't make things hurt any less. 

You slowly turn away from Kyle, angling yourself towards Dr. Keller. 

He doesn't say anything further in that regard, taking your movement as an answer to his non-apology. He leans forward instead, resting his elbows on his knees. “I just wanted to let you know that we’re getting ready to leave soon. We’ll be heading somewhere safe, somewhere quiet and secluded. I think you’ll like it.” 

Dr. Keller had informed you of that earlier after she went to speak to them. They've decided what to do, what's best for the pack again. You might have protested, except for the fact it meant you were getting to leave Texas. Where exactly they're taking you, you're not sure. You just know it's not Texas. 

“I want you to know that we’re here if you need us.” He stares at you for a moment longer before pushing himself up to stand. 

If, not when. 

Maybe they're finally getting the message. 

Dr. Keller stands, touching your right shoulder gently before she steps away with Kyle, speaking quietly with him, but you can still hear every word in the nearly silent space around you. 

“In an attempt to remain a neutral, professional party in this situation, I feel it would be appropriate for me to tell you not to beat yourself up too much about this.” Dr. Keller says. “The unprofessional side of me has many words I’d like to say to all of you.” She clears her throat. “That being said, on a positive note I can say you’re all doing the right thing for once, prioritizing your omega and fulfilling her needs, even if her needs require you to leave her alone for now. I know it’s hard, I know every instinct is screaming at you to help her, but just take comfort in knowing you are helping her. You’re doing the best thing you can do for her at this time.” Dr. Keller puts a hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. “Even if it is tearing you up inside.” 

“Thanks, Doc.” He says. 

“I’ll see you soon.” She says, patting his arm before she heads back towards your bench. 

You turn your head just slightly, not missing the way Gaz lingers for a brief moment before he turns his back on you, walking back down the sidewalk. 

It hurts. 

You want to cry with every swallow. No matter how much you chew, it doesn’t ease the pain of trying to swallow solid food. Even the worst sore throat you’ve ever had pales in comparison to this pain. Tears burn in your eyes as you eat, unable to refuse this time in favor of choking down some liquid nutrients. Even liquids make your throat ache, but they are easy to chug to get it over with at once. 

This feels like torture. 

Dr. Keller looks guilty as she spoon-feeds you the soup. Chicken noodle, something simple and easy but still something with some substance. It makes you think back to when you were sick as a child, your mother dutifully feeding you homemade chicken noodle soup until you reached the age you could feed yourself. 

You do feel like a child again, unable to even hold the spoon. Well, you could hold it, but it would have come at the expense of some burns from how badly your hand was shaking. 

So instead you sit here, being spoon-fed soup you can barely stand eating. 

“I know.” She says as a tear finally falls, your inhale shaky from the ache in your throat. “You need something in your system for the sedative. It’s a long flight and you’ll be sick when you wake up if you don’t have anything in your stomach. That’s going to hurt a lot worse than eating now.” 

Yeah. You’ve already figured that out. 

“Strangulation is a tough thing to survive.” She says, dragging the bottom of the spoon against the edge of the bowl to wipe off any soup that might drip on you. “Then again, so is getting shot, and distressing to the point of your omega taking over.” She holds the spoon up to your lips, and you’re tempted to refuse. “You’ve survived a lot, more than most could. And to look this good after...” 

You blink up at her, teary eyed and sickly looking, exhausted and bruised. Your left eye is still almost swollen shut, and your hair is tangled perhaps beyond saving, tied up in a bun at the top of your head. All just reminders of what you survived, all reminders of what happened to you. Of what was allowed to happen to you. 

You’re not quite sure when the last time you had a real shower was either. 

“I know.” She says, spooning more soup into your mouth. “You might not feel like it, right now.” 

“I want a shower.” You say, your voice still hoarse and cracking through your throat. A real shower might solve a lot of problems for you right now. It won’t fix much, but being truly clean would make a lot of things feel better. 

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Dr. Keller says. 

You give her a look. You don't smell that bad. She should know, she’s the one that cleaned the blood off of you and the one who gave you the sponge bath this morning. 

She gives you a look back. “I meant it would be nice to take a real shower. Once we get where we’re going, we can work on the logistics of a shower.” 

Right. You can’t exactly stand for a long time on your own, not to mention the problem of only being able to use one arm without bringing blinding pain upon yourself. That’s where the pack would come in handy. 

The thought of one of them seeing you vulnerable like that, putting their hands on you right now makes your skin crawl. 

A shiver runs down your spine, your body shuddering uncontrollably. You grunt as your shoulder screams in pain, another electric jolt burning straight through your nerves and down through your feet. Fuck. You mouth the word, squeezing your eyes shut. It makes your stomach churn, the soup starting to burn a path back up through your esophagus.

“Breathe for me.” Dr. Keller says, putting a gentle hand on your right shoulder. 

In and out. You focus on your breath, the only thing you can do without feeling like you’re going to go insane from the pain. It’s all you can do in this situation. It’s the only thing you can do at all. Breathe. Just keep breathing. 

Sometimes you don’t want to. 

The pain passes as it always does, leaving behind a subtle ache that will linger until the next flare of pain. It’s a constant, never-ending cycle that you can’t escape from. Weeks, Dr. Keller had said. It can take weeks to heal. You’ll be stuck in this cycle for weeks and weeks. What if it never heals? That is a possibility. It’s always a risk with any injury. 

What if the rest of your life is like this? 

You’re crying again, hot tears blazing a path down your cheeks. They won’t stop, they never stop. There’s a constant stream down your face, even in your sleep. You’ve woken to find your face and neck damp from the never ceasing flood of tears. 

How you can’t wait for the time to come when you have none left.

You’d welcome the numbness at this point, greet it like an old friend and invite it in for tea. Anything over the pain and tears that won’t stop. The depression-fueled numbness that had filled you when Price and Gaz left, then Soap and Ghost would be a welcome relief at this point. Anything would be better than the pain. 

You almost wish you were in a coma right now. Then you wouldn’t feel anything at all. 

Dr. Keller puts the spoon back into the soup bowl before rolling the table to the side. She puts a hand on your head, gently stroking your hair as you cry. The room is silent aside from your sniffles, Dr. Keller not having to say a single word. The silence is almost a blessing. You’re tired of hearing words, of hearing people speak. There’s nothing anyone can say that will do anything to help you, to comfort you, to make it better. 

There’s nothing anyone can do to make it better. 

You’re so tired of being like this. 

The sedative is kicking in before you even reach the airfield. She can see the way your head is drooping further and further forward in the car, your body jostling without any complaint. It had started kicking in before you even got into the car, as you offered very little resistance when Kyle helped her mauver you into the front seat. She chose Kyle out of everyone to help her in hopes it would be easiest on you. Your claimed alpha’s beta is a good place to start in rebuilding the bonds within the pack, and his calm demeanor certainly helps. He is a caretaker through and through, that beta trait prominent above the others in him. He would have made a good medic, had he gone that route. 

Your chin drops to your chest as the car comes to a stop in front of the plane, your body slumping to the side against the door. 

“She’s out.” Christine says, unbuckling her seatbelt. 

“Makes this easier.” Kyle says, getting out of the car. 

They maneuver you into the wheelchair, Christine easing your head onto your right shoulder to avoid aggravating the left. The less pain you’re in when you come out of it, the better, though pain will be unavoidable. Kyle pushes the wheelchair up the ramp of the plane, Christine following close behind. She’s glad she gave you the sedative before you left the med center to avoid as much pain as possible. She almost wishes she had given it to you earlier, as getting you into a sweatshirt had been a battle of its own. Though, the longer it stays in your system, the longer you’ll sleep through the flight. The longer you sleep through the flight, the longer they can delay the inevitable emotional storm of being enclosed in a tight space with your pack. 

If you’re lucky, you’ll be out of it long enough for them to reach the cottage without incident. 

John is waiting near the front of the aircraft, his eyes watching carefully as Kyle helps maneuver you into a seat. Even with the turmoil in the pack bonds, an alpha will always feel protective over their omega. There’s some things that can’t be undone, even in such a fragile state. Some instincts can’t be unlearned, no matter what. 

“I gave her a sedative.” Christine explains as she gets you as comfortable as possible in the seat. “It won’t last the whole flight, but it’ll take a while to wear off regardless.” 

“Is that more for her or for us?” John asks. 

“Both.” Christine says. “Mostly for her. It helps with the pain of moving around, but it will also keep her calm in close quarters like this.” 

“Here.” John says, handing her something. It’s a blanket, brand new by the feel of it. “Johnny made a store run this morning. It’s going to get cold in here, so he got the warmest one he could find.” 

Christine takes the blanket, the fabric thick and soft in her hands. It’s a touching gesture, speaking volumes of their desire to still care for you despite everything, their willingness to do what they have to, to keep the pack together. “Perfect.” She says, carefully draping it over you and tucking it around you before John gets you secured in the seat. 

“It’s going to be a long flight.” John says, taking a step back. 

“It is.” Christine says, pulling out her thermometer. She takes your temperature, letting out a hum at the number that pops up on screen. “I need to monitor her temperature.” She explains as John gives her a look. “It’s been spiking when she gets stressed.” 

“She's not quite out of it yet, is she?” John asks.

“Not quite.” She says, putting the thermometer back in her bag. “I’ve only seen two omegas successfully come back from that point, and I know the number across the board isn’t very high. It takes a long time for the body and the brain to get back to normal.” 

“And on top of everything that happened...” 

She stares up at him for a long moment. “She’s very strong. I knew she was a fighter, but to come out the other side even where she is now...” Christine shakes her head. “I didn’t want to say this at the time, but I was expecting the worst. When that call came in about what state she was in...” She bites her lip, holding the emotions back. “Her resilience and fortitude is what kept her alive. That and Simon’s courage to do what needed to be done.” 

“I know.” John says, looking past her. “We all owe a lot to him.” 

Christine puts a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re doing what’s best for her. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much it goes against every instinct you have, it’s what she needs.” 

“That’s all that matters to us right now.” John says, staring down at her hand for a moment. “There’s nothing else we can do, so it’s time we start putting our priorities where they should have been the whole time.” 

Christine gives him a small smile. “I’m proud of you for that. It takes a lot to unlearn the things you’ve been told since the beginning.” 

The corner of John’s lips twitch before his face falls into the emotionless mask he’s been wearing for the last few days. “It’s about time we get our heads out of our arses.” 

“I can’t blame you totally.” She shrugs. “We were all just doing what the initiative was telling us to do. We couldn’t have known. There wasn’t any room to question it.” 

“I wish we would have figured it out sooner.” He sighs. 

“Things might have been worse if the truth did come out sooner. If you started digging into the initiative too soon, Shepherd might have gotten antsy and taken more drastic measures to stop the truth from coming out entirely.” She glances down at you. “I think this was all inevitable.” She turns her gaze back to John. “What happened, happened. None of us can change that. All we can do is keep moving forward with what we have right now.” 

He stares at her for a long moment. “The more time passes, the more I’ve come to realize why Kate chose you for this position.” 

The corner of her lips turns up in a smile. “Well, I am rather good at my job, which, among other things, involves advocating on behalf of omegas.” 

John huffs. “Wish we would have listened sooner.” 

“You can’t change the past.” She repeats, looking down at you again. “But you can change the future.” 

You woke from your sedation about four hours from Helston. 

Well, ’woke’ might have been too strong of a word for it. Your eyes opened, but you were still hazy, movements sluggish and entirely unaware of the world around you. You floated between sleep and awareness for an hour before finally gaining consciousness completely. Awareness took quite a while to return, though. Not until they were moving you to the car from the plane. 

Even still you’re groggy, slumped against the door in the back seat of the car. You blink slowly, eyes unfocused as you stare out the window at the blur of green passing by. 

“How is she?” John asks from the driver's seat, glancing up at the rearview mirror. 

“Cow.” You say, blinking slowly as the car passes a field of cows. 

“Still out of it.” Christine answers from the back seat where she's sitting next to you. Your response might have been enough to answer that. “Better than being in pain, though.” 

“How long will it take for her to get out of it?” Kyle asks. 

“Hopefully she’ll be more lucid by the time we get there, but it could take a few hours for it to completely wear off.” Christine says, wiping a bit of drool from your chin. “Probably not a bad thing. This is a big change, and with everything that’s happened, it’s going to take some time to settle in.” 

“Things are going to be rough.” Kyle says. 

“Yes.” She agrees. “Being enclosed in a small space with the people you want to see the least in the world isn’t an ideal situation. It’ll be an adjustment for everyone. I trust all of your abilities to adapt, though. Just don't go in expecting things to be the way they were.”

John's hands tighten around the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. Kyle cracks his window open, prepared for the thickening of John's scent in the air. Christine knows she hit a nerve, but it needed to be said. Even if you were open to forgiveness right now, even if they had chosen to go after you right away, things still wouldn't be the same. Things won't ever be the same. It is their fault deep at the root of it. Those cameras were put up because of them, you were taken because of them. You were chosen for the “initiative” because of them, because Kate thought you'd fit in well with them. Their decisions shaped your life, and will continue to shape your life. 

Can you ever come to forgive them? Christine likes to think so. She has the hope that they can put in the work and regain your trust and earn eventual forgiveness. She knows you'll allow them to try once the initial hurt and emotions begin to fade, once the two of you put in enough work to start processing the trauma around the events that happened. It will take time. Probably a long time. 

She'll be there every step of the way. 

“Ashley did some shopping for us, picked up some stuff to get us until we can get into town.” Kyle says, looking at his phone. 

“Good.” John says, his shoulders starting to relax. “Should wait a couple days before going. Get settled in.”

“She's still working on cleaning up. Probably still be there when we get there.” Kyle says, putting his phone back in his pocket. 

“That's fine. We’ll probably have to utilize her a bit.” 

“Doubt she'll complain.” Kyle says, looking out the window. “Be thrilled to have something to do besides work.” 

You let out a quiet groan, shifting against the door. “Hurts.” 

“I know, honey.” Christine says, carefully adjusting your left arm. “I’ll give you more pain meds once we get to the cottage.” 

“We’ll be there in half an hour.” John says, glancing up at the rearview mirror again before turning his eyes back to the road. 

The half hour seems to take the longest as you continue to become more and more lucid and aware. The pain sets in first, your brain picking up on those signals before anything else. John’s knuckles are white around the steering wheel as you begin to whine and whimper around every bend in the road and turn he has to make, every jostle of the car. Every instinct in his body tells him to pull over and comfort you, but he can’t. It’s more important to get to the cottage, and there’s no guarantee you’d even let him. It might make things worse. 

The last thing you need right now is for things to get worse. 

Christine breathes a sigh of relief as they pull up to the cottage, glad she can finally get you somewhere more comfortable. You’ve been in far too many uncomfortable positions today, moved around too much. She would have liked to keep you in Texas a couple more days, but she knew as soon as you were able to travel, the better. The sooner they could get off the grid, the better. 

The sooner they could get out of Texas, the better. 

Kyle is getting the wheelchair out of the trunk when Johnny and Simon pull up, not having been far behind. They likely took a turn around the back roads to ensure no one was following and to keep things from looking too suspicious. 

Christine keeps you from slumping out of the car as she carefully opens the door on your side. You’re more awake than you were, blinking up at her with almost startlingly aware eyes.

“Crutch.” You pout when she pulls the wheelchair closer. 

She gives you a look. “Honey I'm not sure you could even stand right now.” You may be more aware, but that doesn’t mean your body is working as it should.

You let out a defiant noise as you attempt to get your legs out of the car, trying to hide your grunts of pain and discomfort. 

She's tempted to stand there and let you try, but she knows all hell will break loose if she lets you fall. She's not willing to take that risk, not to mention it will cause you more pain to get you up off the ground. 

“Come on,” She says, stopping you before you can get your feet under you. “Nice and slow.” 

You let out a quiet growl of indignation but you allow her to help you, your legs trembling as she eases you up. Kyle is there with the wheelchair, getting it as close to you as possible so she can sit you down quickly. 

“Ow.” You breathe, eyes pinched closed as you breathe through the pain. 

“I know.” She says, patting your good shoulder lightly. She's glad she put you in the sweatshirt before you left Texas. It's chilly outside, chillier than it was further inland a few days ago. 

It's hard to believe it's only been a few days since you were taken. Barely even a week. So much happened in such a short period of time. It feels like it’s been weeks since everything started, but then again, it had been weeks since John and Kyle first left. It had been weeks since you had been around your whole pack together by the time you were taken. The deep depression you sunk into before the events of the last week had been draining you slowly for weeks before this. It had started before John and Kyle were deployed, back to that day when you revealed the cameras and the secret you had been hiding from them. 

How long you’ve gone in such turmoil. 

How far you still have to go. 

The path up to the door is rocky and uneven, the wheelchair jostling as she pushes it up towards the door. She can picture your face, the way it has to be screwed up in pain. You're silent though, holding it all in. She almost wishes you weren't being silent about it. 

The door is already open, light shining from inside as she approaches. Kyle is in the house already, having gone ahead to greet his sister. John is right behind the two of you as Christine turns to wheel you up the steps into the house. His eyes are on you, focused and ready should you fall.  

Christine would never let you fall, and from the way your hand is gripping the arm of the chair for dear life, you probably couldn't anyway. 

She wheels you through the entryway, the inside warmer thanks to a fire that's burning. It's a nice cottage, far nicer than she had been expecting judging from the outside. 

Johnny lets out a low whistle as he enters behind John, looking around. “Yer parents own this?” 

“It was given to our mum by our grandparents. They did some...renovations before they passed it on.” Kyle says. 

“Yer tellin’ me.” Johnny says. 

It looks new inside. New wood floors, freshly painted walls. The furniture looks like she would expect to find in an English seaside cottage, though. Kyle’s parents went to France for summer vacation instead of utilizing the cottage, and none of his siblings had wanted to use it, he told them. It looks almost perfect, like it came right out of a home renovation show. Kyle’s sister must have worked some sort of magic to get it this clean. 

It is a very nice cottage. It’s small, the door opening right to the main area. There’s two couches and a chair in the middle of the room around a coffee table. To the left of the couches is a fireplace, the fire already lit and crackling. It looks original, likely having been untouched in the renovations. There’s a door to the left of the fireplace closer to the main entryway. A bedroom maybe? To the right of the front door are two doors, one on the far wall and one facing the front door. 

The stairs are in the middle of the house, leading up to the second floor where there’s likely more bedrooms. On the far side of the main area is the dining area and beyond that is a sliding glass door. Around the corner on the far side of the stairs is likely the kitchen. She can see the fridge from where she’s standing. It’s new. Very new. Makes her wonder just how long ago it had been renovated. 

“Everyone, this is my sister Ashley.” Kyle says, introducing the other woman in the room. 

“Hello,” she says, giving everyone a wave and a dazzling smile. 

She’s dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt, her medium box braids pulled up into a bun on top of her head. They look a lot alike, her and Kyle. Tall and slender and stunning. They have the same smile and the same soft brown eyes. She's wearing scent blockers, but Christine can imagine her having a soft scent like lavender or something fresh like mint. 

“There's two rooms down here, and two upstairs.” Kyle says. “The main bedroom is through there.” He points towards a door to their left. “I figure we'll give that to our omega. The bathroom in there has a walk-in shower.” 

“Perfect.” Christine says. That will make getting you in and out of the shower easier at least, and you won’t have to go far to use the bathroom.

“You should take the other room down here.” John says, looking at Christine. “So you can be close in case of an emergency.”

And so you don't have to be too close to them, so you won’t feel like they’re hovering.

He doesn't have to say that part out loud. 

“I put new sheets on all the beds.” Ashley says. “I also picked up everything Kyle sent on the list. Food, some clothes, some other necessities.”

You let out a quiet groan, Christine patting your head gently. You have to be exhausted and sore after the day. She should give you another dose of pain medicine like she said she would. You’re going to need it tonight. 

“Let's get you laying down for a bit.” She says, wheeling you towards the door. 

Kyle opens it for her, revealing a spacious room with a big window looking out towards the sea. You're going to spend a lot of time in front of that window, she thinks. The bed is in the middle of the room, and there’s two chairs facing the window. She’s almost tempted to sit you in one of the chairs, but laying down will be more comfortable for you right now. 

You're still too out of it now to care much as she wheels you to the double bed. With Kyle's help they get you horizontal, Christine draping the blanket at the end of the bed over you. It’s not very soft, but it will do for now. She’ll have to get the guys to pick up some soft blankets for you when they go to town. She has a whole list of things starting in her head she needs them to pick up.

She leans your crutch against the end of the bed just in case you might need it for an emergency. She hopes you’ll yell first, but you always have been stubborn. Being mostly bed-bound has only made that worse. 

“I’m going to go look through the things Ashley picked up.” She says, patting your leg gently. “Get some rest.” 

Christine leaves the door open a crack as she exits, wanting to give you a little privacy as you nap, or at least she hopes you’ll nap. It’s going to be a rough adjustment, and you’re going to need as much rest as you can get. 

“I’m assuming you’re Christine.” Ashley says, walking up to her. 

“I am.” She says, giving Ashley a smile. 

She can’t help but get lost in Ashley’s soft gaze for a moment. The Garrick siblings seem to share the same magnetic energy. There’s something almost ethereal about them. She could easily imagine them with glowing halos and angel wings. It’s almost like she’s being blessed with the opportunity to look upon her. She could spend an hour staring at Ashley’s face and not grow tired of looking at her.

“I picked up the items Kyle said you needed.” She says, motioning to the bags on the coffee table, pulling Christine out of her daze. “I couldn’t find the exact nutrient powder you asked for, so I got one that was as close as I could find.” 

Christine glances through the bags. She was thorough, getting at least two of everything. 

“I got warmer clothes for her too, since it can get chilly out here this time of year. Just some simple things for now until you guys get into town.” Ashley says. “I did some research too and I read that omegas like comforting things so I picked up some extra blankets and pillows” Ashley says, motioning to a couple bags sitting on the couch. “I also picked up this,” She pulls a stuffed dog from one of the bags, holding it up. “It was the softest one I could find. I thought it might help.” 

A small smile forms on Christine’s face, her heart fluttering in her chest from the sweet, thoughtful gesture. Ashley doesn’t even know you, nor did she know exactly what happened to you, and yet she went so far as to pick up some comfort items for you. You have nothing right now, only the borrowed clothes on your back. All of your belongings are still on base, all of the things that you had built to make your perfect nest. Would you want any of them still? Or have they been tainted by the events of the last few weeks? 

That Ashley thought to do this has warmth flooding Christine’s body. You can have some comfort now without having to wait for their trip to town. She almost feels the urge to cry. She wants to hug Ashley, thank her over and over for her kindness. Ashley has no idea how much her small act of kindness means, how much it's going to mean. 

A smile forms on Christine’s face as she stares at the stuffed dog. “It’s perfect.” 

You can hear it. 

In the distance, the quiet roar reaches your ears as you’re dragged from the sweet arms of sleep. It must be a dream, or perhaps the sedative is still clinging to your mind, making you imagine things. 

No. 

You’d know that sound anywhere. 

The effort to push yourself up to sit is a momentous one, every cell in your body protesting after a day of being moved and jostled. The last thing you want is to move right now, but you have to. 

The pain meds have done little to help.

The crutch at the end of your bed must be a thousand miles away as you sit there and stare at it. The ache in your body only increases as you become more and more aware of the pain, almost as if it can tell what it is your mind is planning. 

The door is cracked open, letting in a slit of light from outside. It’s dark in the room, the curtains pulled over the window. It’s a blessing compared to the bright yellow light outside the door. You welcome the darkness as your head begins to throb. You could call for assistance. You’d get more help than you needed. More help than you want. 

No. 

You need to do this. 

The effort it takes to get standing nearly sends you back onto the bed. The pain nearly blinds you as your feet touch the floor, your body leaning against the side of the mattress out of desperation. If you fall, you’ll never be alone again. You can’t afford that. You don’t want that. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

The breaths out of your nose are short and sharp as you reach for the crutch, fingers trembling in the effort to fight the pain threatening to blind you. You’re trembling like a leaf in a storm as your fingers finally wrap around the cool metal. The rubber bottom drags across the floor as you tug it over to you, holding it against your chest for a moment. 

Breathe. That’s what you need to do. Breathe. 

In and out. 

Nice and slow. 

The pain is only a memory. The pain is nothing. The memories forming at the edges of your mind will take over and wipe out the pain and the misery. You just have to be sure. You just have to be certain.

You push yourself upright using the crutch, tucking it under your arm. You should go back to bed. You should rest. 

No. 

You need to know. 

You need to be certain.

The first step you take nearly makes you sick. 

It’s like watching a baby deer walk for the first time, knees wobbling, feet shaking. You lean heavily on the crutch, your determination the only thing keeping you from tumbling to the floor in a heap. That might almost hurt worse than forcing yourself to stand upright. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Inch by inch you move across the floor, silently grateful for the socks on your feet. They allow you to slide across the hardwood, but they also pose a threat. Slide too far and you’ll lose your feet. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

The determination and your desire for certainty is what keeps you sliding inch by inch across the floor towards that strip of blinding light in front of you. It’s hovering before you, threatening you. How do you know there’s not one of them standing guard, waiting for you to try and leave? You can’t know. You don’t have a clue what’s waiting on the other side of that door. It could be nothing. It could be your entire pack. 

Breathe. 

In and out. 

You take a moment at the door, resting your aching feet. Your body is throbbing from the effort to keep yourself upright, the sedative still numbing your brain and your movements. It’s like treading through honey, everything twice as hard as it should be. You can walk. You’ve done it before. You did it in the medical center. 

You can do it here. 

You use the crutch to push the door open more, your free arm still tucked in a sling to keep you from moving it. Reaching for it with that arm would have put you on the floor, would have caused more pain than you needed, would have made you fall. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Breathe. 

The light burns. Explosions of yellows and whites erupt behind your eyelids as you screw them tight against the sudden onslaught. The sun is in the room, shining its rays directly into your sensitive eyes. Your stomach churns, your fingers tightening around the crutch so tight your knuckles begin to ache. The oppressive light makes you want to recede back into the darkness of the room behind you like a vampire shying away from the light of day. 

No. 

You won’t be defeated by the harsh artificial lighting. You need to know. 

You need to be certain.

The others are moving around. You can hear voices around the corner, voices upstairs with thudding footsteps. The air is thick with a mesh of scents, cleaning chemicals, and the burn of scent blocker. Your nose wrinkles at the sudden onslaught against your senses, your sedated brain making it all seem so much worse. 

You need to know. 

The hardwood floors continue and you use them to your advantage as you shuffle your way across the main area. The fire crackles as you pass, the popping of a log making you startle. Your feet slide again, your body pushing up against the crutch to hold yourself steady. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Your target is dead ahead, a mile away but so close you can almost taste it. Just past the dining table and straight on till morning. 

Despite your snail’s pace, no one seems to notice you shuffling your way across the house. It should make you upset, the fact that none of them notice you moving around, but instead it makes you glad. They’d try to stop you if they noticed you, turn you around and shuffle you back to bed. Or worse, they’d carry you. 

How easily you could slip away, though. 

Well...in theory. 

Perhaps that’s why they ‘re not paying you any mind. How far could you really go in your current state? 

Why would you want to stray from the only safe space you have? 

The world outside is more dangerous with the state you’re in. Not just because of your injuries and your status, but also because you know Shepherd is still out there, and for all you know Graves is as well. 

He could be waiting right outside the door. 

No. 

They’d know. 

They’d protect you. 

They failed. 

You push past the fear in favor of certainty as you push forward, passing the dining table in your slow crawl towards the sliding glass door. 

It poses an entirely new threat as you stand before it, staring out the darkened glass. You have to get it open. Getting it open takes strength and you’re down to one hand that’s trying to keep you upright. 

You have to know. 

You have to be certain. 

You lean your weight on the crutch, ignoring the way it digs into your armpit as you reach for the handle. You click the lock, wrapping your fingers around the plastic before pulling. Your body screams with pain as you tug, the door sliding in the track as slowly as you had moved across the small living area. It’s almost as if it's mocking you. 

It’s open only as wide as you need to crutch your way through, doing your best not to knock your left shoulder against the frame. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Breathe. 

You can smell it. 

The salty sea air invades your senses, slipping up through your nose and straight into your brain. Memories come flooding back of childhood vacations back when things were simpler. Back when nothing mattered but the sand and the water and avoiding getting chased by your brothers carrying the piece of seaweed they found. 

Polkadot bathing suits, bright red to be seen easily. Toes in the water, sand everywhere. The nap in the silent car home. 

How simple life was back then. How easy life was. 

Your heart aches for those days again. The days when you could exist without a care in the world, trusting your pack would keep you safe, trusting your family would care for you. Your mind yearns for that sense of safety and security again. 

The world is grey as you hobble across the porch, the grey seeming to go on forever. You missed it, the chill in the air, the gloomy grey overhead. How you yearned for the gloom of England while stuck in the heat of Texas. 

Anything is better than Texas. 

Your forward shuffle pauses at the edge of the deck, your eyes looking out into the grey. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare out into the distance, the ache in your chest intensifying. It blocks out the pain in your body, numbing you to everything else as you stand there, legs trembling from the effort of going the short distance from your room to the end of the porch. 

You can see it. 

Emotions swirl inside of you like a hurricane as you stare out where the grey water meets the grey sky in the line of the horizon. Those emotions threaten to choke you as you stand there trembling at the edge of the porch. There’s a breeze, a cold one that bites through the fabric of your sweatshirt and into the skin below, but you don’t care. 

You can’t care. 

Your legs shake from the exertion, the neverending exhaustion that’s settled deep into your bones. It’s not just a physical exhaustion, but a mental one as well. It’s been a long week. 

Only a week. 

So much has happened in a week. 

You want to sit. You want to sink down onto the porch and rest. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

There’s a pain in your chest as your breath catches in your throat. The emotions are whirling, tightening around your chest, squeezing your lungs until they feel like they might pop. 

Breathe. 

In and out. 

You needed certainty. You needed to know. 

You can hear it. You can smell it. You can see it. 

A single tear rolls down your cheek as you stare out at the sea. 

NEXT ->

To be notified about new chapters, please follow HERE and turn on notifications

[sturniololuvz]

Heyyy, can you make a fic where Chris and his girlfriend (y/n) announce their relationship on tour or on some kind of social media platform? (🦌)

okay!

“Soft Launch, Loud Love”

The venue was buzzing — not with music, but with the sound of fans laughing, cheering, and asking questions during a live Q&A segment in between shows.

Y/N was offstage, hanging near the crew, trying not to be too noticeable. She and Chris had been dating for nearly a year — quietly, privately. The triplets, close friends, and family all knew. But the internet? That was a whole other beast.

Still, things had been getting harder to hide. The side glances. The matching bracelets. The way Chris would beam every time someone said “love” in a sentence.

Fan question on the mic:

“Be honest — is any of you in love right now?”

Chris looked at Nick. Then Matt. Then straight ahead, chewing the inside of his cheek.

Matt smirked. “Uh-oh. Chris has that face.”

Nick raised his brows. “The ‘do I say it or do I keep it between us forever’ face?”

The crowd laughed. Chris leaned into the mic, eyes flicking offstage for just a second — only Y/N noticed.

Chris (a little breathless): “Yeah. I am.”

The venue went wild.

Nick yelled, “OKAY???”

Matt clapped dramatically. “Go off, lover boy!”

Chris smiled shyly, his face flushed. “It’s real. It’s private�� but it’s real. And I’m really happy.”

⸻

That night, back at the hotel, he looked over at Y/N on the couch, legs crossed, one of his oversized sweatshirts swallowing her whole.

He grabbed his phone. Opened Instagram.

chrissturniolo [posted]

Photo: A blurry backstage mirror pic — Chris kissing Y/N’s temple while she’s laughing, his arms around her shoulders.

Caption: “we hug now. we dance around green rooms. we order room service. we fall asleep on tour buses. i love being yours.” 🦌

⸻

Comments:

@tripletsforeverrr

I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW ITTTTTT

@honeychrisluv

this is so soft. so real. so deer emoji-coded.

@mattsleftsock

we hug now ??? don’t think i’ll ever emotionally recover from that

@nickybaby_fanpage

chris found love and now i believe again

@yn.is.pretty

drop her @ so I can stalk in peace, respectfully

⸻

Later that night, she curled up next to him on the bunk of the bus, scrolling through the comments.

“You good?” Chris whispered, brushing her hair back.

She nodded. “They love us.”

He kissed her forehead. “Told you they would.”

And in the hum of the wheels on the highway, Y/N finally let herself believe it was okay to be known — to be his.

⸻

[qrrieterisunnq]

Please write a John Marino smut since I miss him so much… I hope he’s fine in Utah recovering, maybe like y/n playing a nurse for him to “recover”? It’d be hilarious if he takes an extra recovery time to spend his time with his girlfriend at home🥴

Personal Nurse - John Marino

MINORS DNI - 18+ content below the cut — WARNINGS: sex scenes, fluff — SUMMARY: John Marino, recovering from shoulder surgery, shares an intimate moment with his devoted girlfriend, Y/N, as they reconnect physically and emotionally after weeks of tension. Their love and passion reignite, blending tenderness and fiery desire, reminding them of their bond's strength. — WORD COUNT: 3,3K

Pain is all John felt for the past few months after his shoulder surgery. His shoulder was mostly on fire, but in the last few weeks, he’s feeling less pain and feels ready to hop on the ice and play like he’s used to.

But the team’s medical staff had other ideas. “One more week, Marino,” they kept saying, like a mantra designed to test his patience. He’d spent most of his recovery pacing around his house, stretching his arm in exaggerated circles, and muttering under his breath about “wasted time.”

That’s where Y/N came in. She had taken on the unofficial role of his live-in nurse—not that she minded, really. John could be grumpy and restless, but he was also endearingly stubborn. Besides, she enjoyed the rare opportunity to fuss over him.

“You’re not skating yet,” she reminded him one morning, setting a steaming mug of coffee on the table. “And don’t give me that look. You’re still supposed to take it easy.”

John groaned, leaning back against the couch with an exaggerated pout. “I feel fine, though. Better than fine.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? You feel so fine that you don’t need your pain meds anymore? Or the physical therapy sessions I have to drag you to?”

He hesitated, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “I mean… those are helpful. But come on, I’m bored out of my mind. If I don’t get back out there soon, I’m gonna lose my edge.”

“Your edge?” she teased, sitting beside him. “I thought the whole point was for you to rest and not wreck yourself again. Do you really want to deal with another six months of me bossing you around?”

John smirked, the corner of his mouth curling into that signature grin she knew too well. “I don’t know. I think I could get used to it. You’re a pretty cute nurse.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed. “Flattery won’t get you back on the ice any faster. Besides, I think you’re enjoying this whole ‘recovery’ thing more than you let on.”

He leaned closer, his good arm sneaking around her waist. “Maybe I just like having you around. Ever think of that?”

“Nice try, Marino. You’re not charming your way out of another week off.” She poked his chest gently, laughing at his exaggerated wince.

“Fine,” he sighed, resting his forehead against hers. “But only if you promise to keep me company. I’ll take extra time off if it means more mornings like this.”

Y/N smiled, her resolve softening. “Deal. But you’re still doing your stretches. No slacking.”

John huffed dramatically, sinking back into the cushions as though the weight of the world—or at least, the weight of not skating—rested entirely on his shoulders. He gave her his best puppy-dog eyes, the kind that usually melted her resolve.

“You’re ruthless, you know that?” he said, shaking his head with mock defeat. “I’m out here, helpless, recovering from major surgery, and you won’t even let me slack off for one day.”

“Helpless?” Y/N snorted, crossing her arms. “You’re like a toddler on a sugar high. The only thing helpless here is the state of this house if I leave you unsupervised.”

“Wow,” he said, clutching his chest dramatically. “You wound me.”

“Good.” She grinned, standing and reaching for his arm. “Now, come on, Mr. Helpless. Time for your stretches.”

John groaned again but allowed her to pull him up. She guided him to the open area in the living room, where she’d already laid out a mat for his routine. Despite his grumbling, she knew he secretly appreciated the attention.

As he moved through the motions—reluctantly at first but gradually loosening up—Y/N caught herself watching him. Even in his injured state, there was something magnetic about the way he carried himself, all lean strength and understated grace. It was a shame he couldn’t see how impressive he was, even off the ice.

“You staring at me?” John’s voice broke her train of thought, and she realized too late that she’d been caught.

“No,” she lied quickly, turning her attention to the clock. “I’m just making sure you’re doing it right. Don’t want you slacking.”

“Mmhmm.” He smirked, rolling his shoulder carefully before shooting her a playful glance. “Admit it. You’re impressed.”

“By you? Not likely,” she said, though the corners of her mouth betrayed a smile.

“Oh, come on,” he pressed, stepping closer. “I see that look in your eyes. You think I’m irresistible.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, standing in front of her now. His eyes sparkled with mischief, and his voice dropped just enough to send a shiver down her spine. “But you haven’t exactly been rushing out the door lately, have you?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, refusing to let him get the upper hand. “Maybe I just like bossing you around.”

His grin widened, and before she could react, he’d scooped her into his good arm, pulling her close despite her half-hearted protests.

“Well,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “if I’m stuck here, I guess I might as well make it worth your while.”

“John—your shoulder!” she squeaked, though her laughter betrayed her concern.

“It’s fine,” he murmured, leaning closer. “But thanks for caring, Nurse Y/N.”

Her heart raced as his lips brushed against hers, the world narrowing to just the two of them.

Y/N tried to push away, half-heartedly, but John held her firmly—just enough to make her heart skip a beat without straining his injured shoulder.

“John,” she muttered again, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Yeah?” he asked, his lips hovering dangerously close to hers, his grin widening.

“Your physical therapist is going to kill me if you hurt yourself because of… this,” she said, gesturing vaguely between them.

“I’ll tell them it was an accident,” he teased, brushing a strand of hair from her face with his free hand. “Or maybe I’ll say my nurse was too good at her job. They’ll understand.”

Y/N couldn’t hold back her laughter, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” he said softly, his voice dipping into that husky tone that always made her melt.

Before she could reply, he closed the gap between them, kissing her gently at first, then with a little more intent. She let herself sink into it for a moment, her hands resting on his chest, before reality nudged her conscience.

“Okay, okay,” she said, pulling back, her cheeks flushed. “You’re supposed to be recovering, not… whatever this is.”

“Pretty sure this counts as therapy,” John argued, smirking. “Emotional support is important, right?”

“Uh-huh. And what happens when you overdo it and have to stay out another month? You’ll drive me insane.”

“Is that a bad thing?” he asked, leaning in again, but she put a finger to his lips, stopping him.

“Yes,” she said firmly, though her smile softened the blow. “Now sit down before I have to explain to your coach why you’re still out.”

John sighed dramatically, dropping onto the couch like a petulant child. “Fine. But only because I don’t want to ruin my perfect recovery record.”

“Perfect, huh?” Y/N shot him a knowing look, grabbing a notebook from the table. “You mean the record where you complain through every stretch and refuse to follow half the instructions?”

“Hey, I’ve been improving!” he shot back, crossing his arms.

“Sure you have,” she said with a wink, flipping through the pages. “But don’t think I’ll go easy on you. You’ve still got a long way to go, Mr. Marino.”

He watched her with a lopsided grin, his heart swelling despite the teasing. Maybe he wasn’t quite ready to hit the ice again, but with Y/N by his side, he was starting to think that recovery wasn’t so bad after all.

John followed her instructions as she showed him how to do the exercise to help him recover quickly. It was clear he’s absolutely annoyed by the fact he has to do this but he followed her instructions just to watch her round ass moves with so elegancy and delicacy.

“Stop staring at my ass Marino!” she sighs turning her head around to sed him a glare.

“I am not!” John raised his hands above his head, grinning like a small boy. “Or am I?”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “You’re supposed to be focusing on your form, not my… assets.”

John shrugged, the motion slightly restricted by his healing shoulder. “Can’t blame a guy for appreciating the view during such grueling recovery exercises.”

She turned fully now, hands on her hips, leveling him with a glare that only made his grin widen. “You’re impossible, Marino. Do you even want to get back on the ice?”

“Sure, I do,” he said, leaning lazily against the back of the couch. “But I’m starting to think this rehab routine has some hidden perks.” His eyes flicked pointedly downward, earning him a sharp smack on the shoulder—the good one, of course.

“Behave,” she said, though her cheeks flushed at the blatant way he was ogling her.

“Or what?” he challenged, his voice low and teasing.

“Or I’ll make you do an extra set of stretches,” she shot back, leaning in just enough to make her point. “No complaining, no shortcuts, and definitely no flirting.”

John raised an eyebrow, his grin shifting into something more devilish. “You think you’re the one in control here?”

“Obviously,” she replied with mock authority, folding her arms.

In a swift motion, John grabbed her wrist, tugging her down onto the mat beside him. She let out a surprised yelp as she landed unceremoniously, his good arm looping around her waist to keep her from escaping.

“Guess again,” he murmured, his breath warm against her neck.

“John,” she said, half-laughing, half-scolding. “You’re supposed to be-”

“Recovering, yeah, yeah,” he interrupted, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “But you didn’t say I couldn’t multitask.”

Y/N squirmed, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism, but the heat radiating from his body and the way his fingers traced lazy circles on her hip made it nearly impossible.

“You’re unbelievable,” she said, her voice breathier than she intended.

“And yet, here you are,” he whispered, turning her head gently with his hand so their eyes met.

Her resolve wavered for only a moment before his lips found hers, claiming them in a kiss that was all heat and urgency. Her protests melted like snow under the sun, her fingers instinctively threading through his hair as she gave in to the moment.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she murmured against his lips, earning a chuckle that rumbled low in his chest.

“And you’re lucky I’m injured,” he teased, pulling her closer, “or I’d really show you how grateful I am.”

Her laugh was soft, but her eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned back just enough to smirk at him. “Oh, don’t worry, Marino. When you’re fully healed, I’ll ensure you work twice as hard.”

John groaned dramatically, but the way he kissed her again told her he didn’t mind one bit.

“Twice as hard, huh?” John murmured, his voice dipping into that dangerously smooth tone that always unraveled her. His good arm tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against him. “Guess I’ll need you to supervise… closely.”

Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but whatever clever retort she’d planned was lost as his lips trailed down her jaw, grazing the sensitive skin of her neck. Her breath hitched, fingers curling into his shirt.

“John,” she managed, though it came out more as a whisper than a warning.

“Yeah?” he asked, his lips brushing the hollow of her throat.

“This isn’t—” She sucked in a sharp breath as his teeth grazed her collarbone, sending a shiver straight through her. “—part of the rehab plan.”

“Feels therapeutic to me,” he muttered against her skin, his hand slipping beneath the hem of her shirt to rest on the small of her back. “Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying this.”

Her silence was answer enough, and John smirked as he leaned back slightly, his eyes locking onto hers. “Thought so.”

She glared half-heartedly, her cheeks flushed and her lips slightly swollen. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re irresistible,” he shot back without missing a beat. His hand slid higher, fingers splaying against her skin, his touch both firm and teasing. “Admit it, Y/N—you like me better when I’m a little bad.”

Her laugh was breathless, her resolve crumbling with every passing second. “You’re lucky you’re injured, Marino. Otherwise, you wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”

“Is that so?” His smirk deepened, and before she could react, he flipped their positions, pinning her gently beneath him. His weight was balanced perfectly to avoid straining his shoulder, but the dominance in his stance was undeniable.

“Careful,” she teased, her voice dropping to match his. “One wrong move and you’re stuck in rehab even longer.”

“Worth it,” he replied, his voice low and gravelly. He dipped his head, capturing her lips in a kiss that left no room for argument.

Her hands slid up his chest, tracing the lines of his toned muscles before curling around his neck. The heat between them was intoxicating, but they both missed each other.

“John,” she murmured as his lips moved to her ear, his teeth tugging lightly at the lobe.

“Mm?” he hummed, the vibration sending another wave of heat coursing through her.

“We’re supposed to be taking it slow,” she reminded him, though her voice was shaky.

He leaned back just enough to meet her gaze, his eyes dark and full of promise. “Trust me, Y/N. I’ve been holding back. You don’t want me to take it slow.”

Her heart raced as his lips claimed hers again, his hand sliding up her thigh with a confidence that sent sparks shooting through her. For a moment, all thoughts of recovery and boundaries vanished, replaced by nothing but the heat between them.

John’s lips moved against hers with a passion that made her toes curl. His good hand roamed her body, fingers tracing the curve of her waist, pulling her closer until there wasn’t a sliver of space left between them. His kisses were hot and insistent, leaving her breathless and wanting more.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured against her lips, his voice deep and husky.

Y/N smirked, her nails dragging lightly down his chest. “Good. Someone has to keep you on your toes.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, his lips brushing over her jaw, trailing kisses down her neck. “You do that just by walking into a room.”

Her laugh dissolved into a soft gasp as his teeth grazed her skin, his tongue soothing the spot immediately after. He kissed lower, his hand slipping beneath her shirt to tease the bare skin of her back. She arched into his touch, her fingers sliding into his hair and pulling him closer.

“Off,” he muttered, tugging at the hem of her shirt.

She raised her arms, letting him pull it over her head and toss it aside. His eyes darkened as they roamed over her, drinking her in like she was the most exquisite thing he’d ever seen.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said, his voice almost reverent.

Her cheeks flushed under his gaze, but she didn’t have time to respond before his lips were on her again, searing and desperate. His hand slid up her back, unhooking her bra with practiced ease. She shivered as it fell away, his lips immediately descending to the newly exposed skin.

“John,” she gasped, her hands clutching his shoulders as his mouth closed around her nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak.

“Mm?” he hummed, his good hand sliding up her thigh, pushing her pants lower as he kissed his way across her chest to the other side.

“You’re so—” She broke off, a soft moan escaping her lips as his teeth grazed her skin, his hand squeezing her thigh.

“So what?” he teased, his breath warm against her skin as he leaned back just enough to slide her pants and underwear down in one smooth motion.

“So good at this,” she admitted, her cheeks burning as she met his gaze.

He grinned, his good hand tracing slow, deliberate circles on her inner thigh, getting closer to her core but never quite reaching it. “Oh, I’m just getting started, baby.”

Her breath hitched as his fingers finally slid between her legs, brushing over her most sensitive spot. He groaned softly, his eyes darkening even more as he felt how ready she was for him.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her again, his lips devouring hers as his fingers teased her with agonizing precision.

“John,” she whispered, her hips bucking slightly against his hand.

“What do you need, baby?” he asked, his voice low and full of promise as he kissed along her jawline.

“You,” she said, her voice trembling. “I need you.”

He didn’t make her wait. Carefully, he removed the last barrier between them, his sweatpants sliding off as he positioned himself above her. His eyes met hers, the intensity in his gaze making her heart race.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said softly, his lips brushing over hers.

She smiled, her hands cupping his face. “I’ll tell you if you’re not enough.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. Slowly, he pressed into her, his good hand gripping her hip as he moved with painstaking care. The feeling of him stretching and filling her sent a shiver through her entire body, her nails digging into his shoulders.

“God, Y/N,” he groaned, his forehead resting against hers. “You feel incredible.”

She couldn’t form words, her body arching into his as he began to move. Every thrust was deliberate, his pace slow and steady as he focused on her reactions. Her soft moans and whispered encouragement only spurred him on, his lips finding hers again as their bodies moved together.

Her hands roamed his back, her touch gentle yet urgent as she pulled him closer. “Faster,” she murmured, her voice breathless.

“Careful,” he teased, his lips brushing over her ear. “I don’t want to overdo it.”

“John,” she said, her tone carrying a hint of frustration that made him grin.

“Anything for you,” he murmured, his pace quickening slightly. The change sent a wave of pleasure through her, her back arching as she cried out his name.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice a low growl as he kissed her neck, his hand sliding down to grip her thigh and hitch it higher around his waist. “Let go for me, baby.”

Her nails dug into his back, her breaths coming faster as she neared the edge. His name fell from her lips like a prayer, her entire body trembling as the tension finally snapped. The release was overwhelming, waves of pleasure washing over her as he held her tightly, his own release following moments later.

They stayed like that for a while, their breaths mingling, their bodies still intertwined. Finally, John leaned back just enough to look at her, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“You, okay?” he asked softly, his voice full of concern and love.

She smiled, leaning up to kiss him gently. “I’m perfect.”

“Good,” he said, grinning as he settled beside her, pulling her into his arms. “Because I think that was the best therapy session I’ve ever had.”

She laughed, resting her head on his chest. “You’re still doing stretches tomorrow.”

“Fair trade,” he murmured, his hand tracing lazy patterns on her back. “As long as you’re there to supervise.”

[unluckiestmember]

how do you think BES characters would react to reader getting sick? i have a feeling taigen would have no clue what he’s doing lmaoo

Coming right up!

Blue Eye Samurai X Sick! Reader

Characters: Mizu, Taigen, Ringo and Ito Akemi

Tags: Established Relationship, Overprotectiveness, Fluff, Worrying boyfriends and girlfriends, Taigen being Taigen

Warning: None. SFW.

A/N: If I ever get sick, take me to Akemi! XD

Mizu

“What’s wrong?... Don’t tell me you got sick? Fine, let’s see what I can give you…”

When you got sick, Mizu wasn’t very quick to realize it. It wasn’t until after a fight did she realize you were sloppy in execution and your movement. That’s when she realized you weren’t feeling so well. Though her cooking skills are not the best, she will do her best to brew up some hot soup for you and even go to villages to find proper medicine for you.

At first she’ll keep her distance so she doesn’t catch your cold, but after many nights of seeing you struggle against your infection she just can’t help but hold your hand tenderly and kiss it while rubbing circles with her thumb. The worse your sickness gets, the more she’ll pamper you and the more worry seethes into her. She may keep a level head, but she’s genuinely concerned for you. As soon as you feel better, expect her to keep an eagle’s eye on you. She’ll be damned if she loses you to a common cold. She’ll be damned if she loses you to anything.

Taigen

“Drink it. Stop being stubborn- As cute as that is, I need you to drink this medicine. Hurry up.”

Taigen is quicker to notice when you catch a cold. He can just tell you’re not yourself physically and emotionally. So expect this man to stop everything to make sure you’re alright. Mizu will find it annoying, yes, but Taigen will not let her annoyance stop him from trying to make you feel better. He’s not the best at making medicine, soups or even tea, but he tries his best and even asks Ringo for assistance.

Being the kind of person he is, expect Taigen to tease you while you’re sick. Not ruthlessly. With love. He will go to the ends of the Earth just so you can get rid of your cold and risk everything as long as you’re okay. When you do get better, Taigen will still have you take medicine and drink soups. Yeah you may be fine now, but for all he knows the next common cold is around the corner! If you gently assure him you’re okay, he’ll be a good boy and lay off.

Ringo

“As soon as you’re done with your soup, why don’t you lay down? Rest is the best medicine next to. Well. Actual medicine.”

Ringo is quick to know when you are sick. If you cough, he’ll ask if you’re okay. But when you start coughing and sneezing up a storm, he will stop traveling and make shelter for a while. He’s very calm when you are under the weather, worried yes, but also calm and collected. He will give you soup, warm up a bath for you as best as he can and make sure you sleep somewhere just as warm. While you’re sick, he will tell you stories in hopes of seeing you smile and even hear you laugh. Just seeing you happy makes him happy.

When you have recovered from your sickness, Ringo will hesitate to stop giving you assistance, but is more lenient to give you space. He will still stay by your side and check up on you, but he won’t be helping you twenty four seven out of worry. Just expect a shower of kisses and many bear-like hugs.

Ito Akemi

“You’re sick? Oh, my darling. Don’t worry, I’ll have service fetch you the best remedies, okay?”

Akemi automatically knows when you are sick. You can cough once or let out a baby sneeze and she’ll proclaim that you’re sick. She will have all of her servants go around Japan to find the best medicine to knock the cold out of you. All while staying right by your side to check your temperature and ask endlessly if you are alright. Akemi is extremely worried when you catch a cold and can’t focus on anything else except you in these circumstances.

Her people will be upset that she’s spending every waking hour taking care of you, but she doesn’t care. You come before everyone else. When you finally get better, she will shower you in love and playfully scold you to not get sick again. But everyone shouldn’t expect to get their princess back immediately because she’ll be too busy giving all of her energy to you for a few days.

If you got any requests for Blue Eye Samurai, send them my way!

Likes and retweets are always appreciated! I love you all, stay hydrated and have a good day! &lt;3

[oopsiedaisiesbaby]

been thinking of omega!John and alpha!Gale, but they go home from the war to beta!Marge. who was not expecting Gale to show up with John at the train station. he hadn’t written it in the letters at all, but when she sees the state that John is in. she knows, she knows he needs someone to love him and baby him back to himself.

and Buck has kinda sorta maybe emotionally bonded to the omega, while John cannot fathom why Gale would want anything to do with him. what they had to do during the war was simply Buck being a good alpha, keeping Bucky safe and taken care of. it was not because Gale wants him as his omega, because the alpha has a pretty beta at home waiting for him.

but cue Marge making them meals, cutting their hair for them, taking care of them. while Gale takes care of John quietly, scenting him, scruffing him softly, telling him he can sleep in his and Marge’s room whenever he wants. but John always declines, telling them that that is their den.

so color them surprised when one night their door opens and John comes crawling into their room. his scent absolutely skewed with terror, and the blinds just look at one another before pulling him in between them. snuggling him close and cooing at the omega, telling him how much they love him, how good he’s been coming to them for help.

and if that is what sets John into his first post war heat, then nobody can blame them when Buck is knotting inside of him while Marge is riding him. John is a blubbering mess under them because it feels so good, and he deserves this? what do you mean he deserves this? but if Marge is holding his face and telling him that he deserves to be loved and taken care of. while Buck is pumping him full of his knot, large hands dragging along his sides and body to soothe him.

then who is John to argue with either of them?

-🦕

xx

Had to wait to answer this one so it wasn’t just incoherent screaming 🥰

Cleganmarge is my shit anyways, but this in particular has my heart! John’s insecurity about whether or not/how he belongs in their relationship and feeling burdensome, Marge just immediately accepting it without blinking and taking care of her boys, Gale out here just loving the shit out of both of them so deeply (and probably so awkward and stunted about it but that’s neither here nor there).

John crawling into bed with them though? I don’t think I’ll ever recover from that 😭🥰 Gale and Marge fucking him into having some sense of security and self-worth? 10/10🙌

Gonna be thinking about this one for a while ❤️

[valeisaslut]

HOLY FUCK. I know I’ve already said this a million times but I’m saying it AGAIN!! I ADORE your writing, I worship it, I would tattoo it into my soul if I could. You manage to leave me speechless every single time. I am actually mourning the end of Collide so much. Like actually grieving. It’s the end of an era and I’m not okay!!! But also it’s going to live in my head and heart forever.

THE ENDING. I don’t have words. I cried so hard. I could NEVER have asked for a more beautiful and filling ending. It healed me. HEALED ME. After all the pain and suffering WHICH YOU PUT ME THROUGH BTW the most gorgeous ending ever. A CAT? THEN GETTING MARRIED??? MELODY???????? I CAN'T BREATHE 😭😭😭

But the REUNION. The REUNION. I am unwell. It was so melancholy and just so beautiful. I want to live in those paragraphs FOREVER. I want to wrap myself in them like a blanket and never leave.

ALSOO I did one question....

Does Ellie ever ask about reader breaking up with Abby because I feel like that would be the funniest conversation ever. Would Ellie eventually ask about Abby?? Would she laugh or poke fun at reader for moaning her name?? or would she feel...sad or guilty???

Anyway Val I actually love you so insanely much thank you for this peice of ART. I hope you are finally able to take a long and VERY deserved rest.

HOLY FUCK RIGHT BACK AT YOU 😭😭😭 i read this and immediately had to pace around my room like a medieval peasant with news too powerful to bear. what do you mean you’d tattoo my writing into your soul. what do you mean you want to live in the reunion paragraphs like a blanket. how am i supposed to emotionally recover from that.

and YES. the cat. the wedding. melody. it was the softest violence i could offer after the feral destruction i caused and i’m so glad it healed you because god knows it healed me. i wanted that ending to feel like peace after war. like light slowly blooming after ruin. and the fact that it made you cry that hard??? highest honor imaginable.

but ALSO LMAO. THE ABBY QUESTION??? that’s the most you thing ever and i’m obsessed with you for asking it.

and yes. i promise you: ellie 100% asks about abby eventually. she waits a while, out of respect, but one night they’re in bed and she’s just like:

“so…why were you dating miss crossfit?”

you blink. “oh my god.”

“no, go ahead,” she grins “tell me all about your dramatic little rebound arc with the walking protein bar.”

“ellie—”

“did she spot you at the gym and then bench press your emotional damage?”

“are you done?”

“absolutely not.” she’s way too smug now, “was she good in bed? actually don’t answer that. you’ve got nothing to compare it to now.”

“jesus christ.”

“though now that i think about it… if you moaned my name while sleeping with her, doesn’t that technically mean i won?”

you throw a pillow at her. she catches it. smirks.

and then—her voice softens, just enough to make your stomach flip. she looks at you for real this time.

and suddenly you realize… she’s not jealous. not bitter. she just wants to understand the crater she left behind. and you want to tell her that no, you never loved abby. never the way you loved her. no one ever came close. not even for a second.

but instead you just crawl into her lap and say, “you’re so annoying.”

and she kisses your shoulder and mutters, “yeah, but you’re mine.”

and it’d be tender. it’d be real. she’d hold that truth, not to weaponize it, but to understand it. because she’s not afraid of the past anymore — not when she finally has a future again.

i will 100% be writing more post-collide ellie and reader content. when ellie found out reader moaned her name w abby??? wedding fics?? honeymoon fics?? their first night in the new house?? melody being chaos incarnate??? GIVE ME A MINUTE. once i’m done with exams, i’m diving in. head first. no floaties.

i love you so much. thank you for loving this story like it was your own. thank you for feeling everything. and thank you for the kindest words that i’ll carry with me forever. 🩷🩷

[beelzebubsis]

i don't think i’ll ever emotionally recover from

bbh: as long as richarlyson is upstairs, i'm okay foolish: WHAT ABOUT YOU BAD??

[cressthebest]

i’m trying to mentally prepare myself to read another marauders fic like i had previously planned.

HOWEVER

i am so emotionally devastated from the ending of just lovers that i don’t think i’ll ever recover.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

Quick question.

I don't know if you answered this before, but how do you think any of the boys would react if the reader was.... big?

Like I'm chubby and I need some reassurance :'D

okay first of all? come here. big hug. (for reassurance purposes and because i'm a hugger.)

i have never answered this, but i was a bigger girl a couple years back (i had a whole damn baby, and went up like six dress sizes AND stayed there until last year because my metabolism decided to become a sloth) so i have THOUGHTS!

the way these fictional, emotionally unwell men would never recover when they laid eyes on a bigger girl. let’s talk about it. because i promise, the boys would lose their entire minds over it.

with all this in mind? (alexa: play "big girl" by mika) let's begin.

SAM WINCHESTER sam’s hands were made to hold you. he’s so fucking big and gentle and he loves softness—adores how plush and warm and real you are. he wraps his arms around you and it’s not just affection—it’s relief. he’s whispering: “perfect. just like this. i love how you feel in my arms.”

he’s the type to trace your curves while you sleep. kiss your tummy like it’s sacred. fuck you slow with one hand on your hip and the other holding yours tight like he’s scared to let go.

and if you ever say something self-deprecating? he stops everything. cups your face and tells you: “don’t talk about yourself like that. not when you’re everything to me.” and he means it.

DEAN WINCHESTER dean is a fucking fiend for curves. he lives to grab, grope, bite, mark. “look at all this, sweetheart,” he murmurs as he drags his hands over your thighs, your hips, your stomach, everywhere. “gonna lose my mind over you.” and he does. he’s moaning into your skin, fucking you face-first into the mattress, obsessed with the way your body takes him.

and dean's a foodie. so he loves watching you eat. he’ll sneak up behind you in the kitchen, grip your hips and growl in your ear: “don’t stop, baby. i like feeding my girl. keep lookin’ this good and i might have to bend you over the damn counter.”

if you ever doubt yourself? he’s lifting your chin and saying: “you think i’d be this obsessed with you if you weren’t the hottest thing i’ve ever seen?”

BEN/SOLDIER BOY ben sees softness and immediately goes feral. he’s from an era where curves were the standard—and he’s still living there. he calls you “soft girl,” “my sweetheart,” or “cushion” (affectionately) of course. he adores how you feel under him. presses his whole body weight into you like it’s home. grips your thighs and mutters, “fuckin’ love how soft you are. i'm gonna make you bigger.” (breeding kink implied.)

he’ll kiss your belly and smack your ass and wrap you in his arms like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered. and if you ever express insecurity? he growls, “don’t you ever talk shit about my girl. you hear me? i’ll fuckin’ fight the mirror myself.”

ben doesn’t tolerate self-hate. you’re his. you’re perfect. end of discussion.

WILLIAM BUTCHER butcher is so into it. he’s all about softness, body heat, plush thighs he can bite and grab and wrap around his head. he’ll slap your ass in public. pull you into his lap and say shit like: “fuckin’ love my curvy girl. you got any idea how much you do for me?”

and then ruin you in bed. because yes, he’s a menace, but he’s also a worshipper. he’ll say the filthiest, most reverent shit right into your skin: “you were built for me. all this softness—jesus. i’m gonna live here.”

if you ever call yourself fat or criticise your body? he’s immediately up in arms. “oi. none of that. not on my fuckin’ watch.” and then he’s reminding you with his hands and his mouth just how much he loves it.

BEAU ARLEN beau is that slow, southern kind of worship. he loves every inch of you like it’s part of a holy ritual. holds your hips when you’re on top, eyes locked, voice low: “that’s it, darlin’. ride me just like that. god, you’re beautiful.”

he calls you “sugar,” and “peach,” AND “my soft thing.” kisses your stretch marks. lays his head on your belly while he rubs your thighs and says, “i could stay here all damn day.”

he loves how you feel in his arms. how you fit against him. how you look in the morning, wearing nothing but his shirt and a sleepy smile.

and if you’re ever down on yourself? he tips your chin up, serious and tender, and says: “you think too small of yourself. i see everything—and i’d still choose you every time.”

in conclusion: they don’t just accept your body. they adore it. they crave it. they worship it. they touch you like you’re a miracle. and they never want you any other way.

you deserve that. always. <3

i went heavy on this one because the way i just LOVE women is obscene. hope this was a good answer. thank you for the ask! <3