#I needed a break from writing something else

[monzabee]

run for the hills – lh44 (+18)

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where fate decides to bring you back into Lewis’ life, making him question his belief in fate.  

Pairing: lewis hamilton x rosberg!reader

Word Count: 9.3k 

Warnings: cursing, crying, drinking and mentions of alcohol, mentions of brocedes (rip), kissing, unprotected sex (you shouldn’t be surprised at this point), oral (m receiving), hand kink, praise kink, minors dni!!

Request: “hey, Merry Christmas 🫶🏽 I was hoping I could request a Lewis smut fic where the reader is Nico Rosberg's sister (with a age gap of around 6-8 years with him and Lewis) and before 2016 they were just really close friends who just kissed once but chose to pretend it didn't happen. after years, they run into each other at a club or a party and they're pretty snappy at each other but there's a lot of tension too and they end up having sex where Lewis is really cocky and also the reader has a hand kink and praise kink? I'm so sorry if I made it too long, i love your writing <33” + “oooo please could i request something w lewis?! something gut wrenchingly angsty? sorry i don’t really have a plot in mind hhhh thank you heheh”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! HAPPY NEW YEAR, i started this fic last week and i honestly didn't think I'd finish it this quickly but here we are. don't let my words fool you, i got the request last christmas but if you know me then you know that i am not quick when it comes to working on requests (i'm working on this i promise), not that this fic is even remotely christmassy, but let’s just appreciate that it is supposed to be set during the holiday period lol. this was supposed to be a shorter one but here we are, lol, i'm not even surprised at my inability to keep things short at this point. i posted this fic and realised i forgot to copy and paste a big chunk of it so oh well. as always, feedback is appreciated, and i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee 

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

Lewis decided he doesn’t like cold a long time ago. That’s why, being the ever-decisive person he is, he chooses to spend his winter vacationing in places like the Maldives or Bali. His decisiveness is an important part of him, given what he does for a living. When he is on the track, in his car, there is no room for hesitation – he needs to be able to make split-second decisions under intense pressure, what’s not to love about that? So, once he decided he’d rather spend his time off basking in the sun rather than freezing to death somewhere else, he never looked back. He enjoys spending his time off in someplace tropical with his family, or without his family; most of the times away from the prying eyes and camera lenses of the media. 

But this time, it’s different – he's alone. 

Or rather, he thought he would be alone. The villa he rented out for the duration of the month is isolated, just how he likes it. He wakes up to the sound of waves crashing against the shore right outside his windows, and the distant chirping of tropical birds to accompany him as he lounges on the large deck, overlooking the infinite expanse of blue. There are no spectators around to gauge his reaction, try to get him to speak out about his plans for the next year when he moves to Ferrari, or what he’s going to do when he eventually retires one day. He hasn’t seen anyone from the racing world for weeks, and it’s been a much-needed break. He’d usually love to spend Christmas with his family, the only time he would ever tolerate the cold being when he is with his family, but this year he just wanted to get away on his own. 

There is no one around that expect anything from him. Just peace. 

He’s not a hermit, of course, but he enjoys spending his time by himself mostly isolated from all the other guests of the touristic area he’s staying in. The chef that works at the villa is on call for when Lewis decides that he wants to stay in for the night, the housekeeping staff come every morning to clean up around the house, then promptly leave, providing Lewis with the privacy he so desperately needs. But other than that, and a few nights spent outside in a restaurant or a club? He is all alone, and he is not complaining about it. Another thing about Lewis Hamilton is that he doesn’t believe in fate. He believes in setting and achieving goals; after all, that’s what he’s done all his life. His success isn’t some cosmic coincidence. It’s years of sacrifice by his parents, relentless effort, and unwavering determination. So, when things happen that feel serendipitous, like running into someone from his past, he doesn’t chalk it up to destiny. He chalks it up to the sheer unpredictability of life. 

And yet, as he steps out of the villa to head to a nearby beach club after dinner, he doesn’t expect to run into you, especially not after how the things ended last time, but there you are. His eyes find you at the bar with some guy next to you – he has to do a double take. Just to make sure, he tells himself. But no matter how many times his attention reverts to you, he knows it’s you. Of course, it’s you. Though he’s not a believer in fate or destiny, or whatever you might want to call it, there you are – dressed in a flowy linen dress. His first instinct is to ask the server to seat him somewhere else so that he wouldn’t have stare at you and your ‘date’ for the night. His grip on the glass in his hand tightens momentarily, and he exhales slowly, forcing himself to look away. This is not the moment, he tells himself. It’s not his business, not anymore. But still, his gaze drifts back to you. You’re laughing at something the guy says, your head tilted slightly as you sip from your drink. He can’t hear your laughter, no – but what a sound that would be to hear, he thinks for a moment. 

He knows he shouldn’t care who you’re with or what you’re doing; it’s been years since the two of you shared anything beyond... well anything, really. But something about seeing you here, in this place he thought was his private retreat from the world, feels like a twist of fate – or the kind of cosmic joke he claims not to believe in. But his eyes watch you as you throw you head back in a laugh and he can practically hear the sound in his head, his mind taking him to years ago when he used to be one of the people who got to hear it first hand; when he joined your family on karting days, or when you celebrated with him when he won a race, or even back to that one time when him and Nico were trying to drive those unicycles and you kept doubling over in laughter when they fell down – something your brother did not appreciate, but Lewis couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face as he watched you from the ground.  

Somethings never change, he thinks, as he notices the smallest of smiles that has crept its way onto his face, quickly disappearing the moment he catches himself. He knows it shouldn’t matter to him – let alone bother him. But old habits die hard, and the sight of your smile, that easy laugh, stirs something in him that feels like both longing and a pang of annoyance. You’ve always had a way of getting under his skin. Back then, it was teasing remarks that somehow felt more genuine than any praise he received elsewhere. He catches himself glancing your way again, his jaw tightening when the guy beside you leans in a little too close. It’s irrational, this surge of jealousy that claws at his chest. He knows he has no right to feel this way, but that doesn’t stop it from burning through him. He looks down at his drink, willing himself to focus on anything but you. But memories have a way of sneaking up on him, unbidden. The days spent at karting tracks, the shared dinners with your family, the quiet moments when it was just the two of you, talking about everything and nothing at all. Back then, it was easy. Natural. Like you were two pieces of a puzzle that fit together perfectly, until you didn’t. 

Just then, you glance over, your eyes scanning the room before they land on him. For a moment, everything stills. The laughter fades from your face, replaced by something unreadable. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition. His breath catches in his throat, and he curses himself for the way his chest tightens under your gaze. He watches as you excuse yourself, heading towards the restrooms, and he swears he has never gotten up so fast and walked so fast in his life. He doesn’t think, he just moves until he spots you in the hallway, queued behind some people waiting for the bathroom line. What kind of a club only has one bathroom? He thinks, but that’s not the point. 

He clears his throat. 

You turn, eyes widening in that familiar, guarded way. “Lewis.” Your lips open in shock as you glance behind him and then focus on him again, “Did- did you follow me here?”  

“Were you on a date with that guy?” The words come out of his mouth before he can stop himself, his voice colder than he expects. 

You blink, taken aback by the question. “Excuse me?” 

He stands there, regretting the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but that doesn’t stop the irritation from creeping up his spine. His gaze flickers to the bar behind him, where the guy you were with is still talking to the bartender, oblivious to what’s going on. “I asked if you were on a date,” he repeats, a little sharper this time as he emphasises the last word. 

You raise an eyebrow, the surprise on your face melting into something more guarded, a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “What if I was?” You cross your arms, your eyes narrowing. “Maybe I’m just out enjoying my night. Ever think of that?” 

He feels a rush of heat in his chest. “It’s not like I care,” he mutters, though it’s clear from the edge in his voice that he does. “Just curious.” 

You scoff, your lips curling into a sarcastic smile. “Sure, Lewis.” 

“So?” He inquires, “Are you? On a date with that guy, I mean.” 

You raise an eyebrow, clearly not amused. “Are you serious right now?” you snap, your arms tightening across your chest. “You’re standing here, in the middle of a hallway, asking me about my love life? What is this, high school?” 

Lewis feels the heat rise in his neck, irritation mixing with a sense of frustration he doesn’t quite understand. “I’m not asking for your life story, just... just an answer. Is it that hard?” His voice is tight, but he doesn’t back down. 

You scoff again, your lips curling into something between a smirk and a sneer. “You really think you can just waltz back in and start demanding answers like we’re still... You know what? Yes, Lewis, I’m on a date.” You throw a glance over your shoulder at the guy still sitting at the bar. “We met on the beach at the hotel I’m staying at, and I thought I’d let him treat me to a dinner and a couple of drinks before I’d let him fuck me six ways to Sunday.” You roll your eyes at someone on the queue gasping at your choice of words. “Not that it’s any of your business. Are you happy now?” 

Lewis’s hand grips your wrist, a little too tight, and without warning, he’s tugging you away from the bar, his jaw clenched. “Come on,” he mutters, his tone low and urgent, as he steers you towards the back exit. You’re caught off guard, stumbling to keep up with his forceful pace, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“What the hell, Lewis? Let go of me!” you snap, yanking your arm free once you're outside in the chill night air. The chill hits you like a slap, the heat of the club’s atmosphere fading behind you as the door slams shut. 

“Seriously?” he spits, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and frustration. “You’re gonna play it like that?” 

You take a step back, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t know what game you're playing at, but I’m not interested. What the hell was that back there? Dragging me out like I’m some kind of... of property?” 

He glares at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “You’re unbelievable.” His voice rises, sharp and cutting. “I ask you a simple question, and you throw that crap at me? What the hell did you think I was supposed to do? Just stand there and pretend like I didn’t care?” 

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Pretend like you don’t care? That’s rich coming from you. You don’t get to just waltz in, after all this time, and act like you can demand answers, Lewis. Like you have any right to know what’s going on in my life.” 

“Your brother would be so disappointed in you right now.” His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the air between you two freezes. The breeze picks up, but the sudden silence makes the world feel too loud.  

“You don’t get to talk about my brother,” you seethe, as Lewis's face hardens, his jaw tensing, but it’s the look in his eyes that hits hardest — it’s a mixture of hurt and fury, both so raw, you almost feel sorry for what you’ve just unleashed. 

“What did you just say?” His voice is low, almost dangerously so, the words slipping through clenched teeth. 

You swallow, but it doesn’t help the sharp edge in your voice. “You heard me. You don’t get to talk about him, you don’t get to fuck up my life and you don’t get to come back here acting like you still have any claim on me or my life.” You’re breathing heavily now, the anger and hurt mixing into a bitter cocktail that you can’t quite swallow – funnily enough, Lewis can smell the cocktail you had earlier. “You left. You made your choice, Lewis. And now you don’t get to barge back in and pretend like I owe you anything.” 

Lewis stands in front of you, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His eyes are dark, his jaw tight as he processes your words. He doesn’t know when the two of you got closer together, he can practically feel the anger radiating off you, “You think I don’t know that?” he spits, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You think I don’t know what I did?” His voice cracks slightly, the vulnerability slipping out before he can stop it. “I fucked up, alright? I fucked up more than you’ll ever understand. We all did – me, Nico, you.” 

“You don’t get to make me feel guilty about this, Lewis. You don’t get to act like I’m the one who fucked everything up.” Your voice shakes, but you keep going, the words coming faster, more bitter. “You kissed me and called it an ‘accident’, a fluke. You fought with Nico every chance you got. I had to pick up the pieces on my own.” 

Lewis flinches at your words, but his anger doesn’t dissipate—if anything, it only sharpens. His hands remain balled into fists at his sides, but there’s something else behind his eyes now, something raw, something almost desperate. “We wouldn’t have worked out,” he mutters, it’s something that he said to himself time and time again to convince himself of it, “I am– was your brother’s friend, you–” 

“You were my friend, too!” You exclaim, your hands swatting at his arms, chest – anywhere you can reach. “You left me, as if I meant nothing to you! You stole my first kiss and shattered my life to pieces on the same day!” You manage to get in some good hits despite Lewis’ attempts to calm you down, and the lump in your throat makes it harder for you to continue talking, “Do you know how many times I wondered if you kissed me just to piss Nico off? Do you know how that feels?” 

“What?” He asks, his voice low. Each hit, each accusation, it stings. But nothing hits harder than the raw emotion in your eyes – hurt, betrayal, and the weight of everything he left behind. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words catch in his throat. “You think I kissed you to get at Nico?” he says finally, his voice quieter now but no less intense. There’s an edge of disbelief, of hurt, as if the idea itself cuts deeper than your accusations. “Do you really think so little of me?” 

You cross your arms tightly over your chest, holding yourself together in the face of his raw honesty. “I don’t know what to think, Lewis. What was I supposed to think back then? You shut me out. You made me feel like it never happened – like I never happened.” 

“You were twenty-three years old,” he points out, “our age difference–” 

“Oh please,” you scoff, pushing at his chest one last time, “you’ve fucked girls younger than that.” 

Lewis flinches at your words, as if they’ve struck a nerve he didn’t even know was exposed. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. “You don’t get to throw that in my face,” he finally says, his voice low and clipped, tinged with a kind of frustration that feels different from before. 

“Why?” You ask, head cocked to the side. “I can’t comment on you fucking other people, but you can question my actions because I want to fuck–” 

“Say ‘fuck’ one more time and I swear I’ll–” 

“—what, Lewis?” you snap, cutting him off before he can finish his threat. “You’ll what? Walk away again? Pretend this conversation never happened, just like you did last time?” 

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his face tightening as he tries to rein in his emotions. “Don’t push me,” he warns, his voice low and taut, but there’s no real menace in it—only desperation. 

“Oh, I’m pushing?” You laugh bitterly, throwing your hands up. “I’m the one pushing? You’re the one who showed up here, dredging up every memory I’ve spent years trying to bury. Don’t you dare put this on me, Lewis.” 

“You think this is easy for me?” he shoots back, his voice rising. “You think I don’t hate myself for what I did? For what I didn’t do? I’ve lived with this every single day, and you—” 

“Fuck you!” you shout, stepping closer, your finger jabbing into his chest. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck–” 

His hands shoot up, grabbing your wrists – not harshly, but firmly enough to stop your movements. You don’t even fully register how quickly he pushes you against the wall, “You think I ran off and lived some perfect life?” he hisses, his face inches from yours as he inhales deeply. “You think I didn’t miss you every goddamn day? You think I didn’t lie awake at night, wishing I’d had the guts to ask you to stay?” 

His words hit you like a tidal wave, the rawness in his voice leaving you momentarily speechless. For a moment, the anger in his eyes softens, replaced by something else – something that feels far too close to the hope you’ve been trying to suppress. “Well... yeah.” You inwardly cringe how your voice sounds so weak, but Lewis tilts your chin back to make you look at him.  

“Is that so?” He mumbles, thumb caressing your chin as his eyes hungrily take in how your chest moves with each deep breath your inhale and exhale.  

Your breath hitches as his thumb lingers, his gaze dropping to your lips like he’s fighting every instinct to close the distance between you. “Lewis...” you start, but his name comes out softer than you intend, more of a plea than the warning you meant it to be. 

“What?” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous, but there’s a softness to it, an undercurrent of vulnerability that sends your heart racing. “What do you want me to do, huh? Walk away again? Because I can’t. Not this time.” 

You shake your head slightly, but his grip on your chin keeps you from fully looking away. “I don’t know what I want,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “I don’t even know how to feel about you anymore.” 

His eyes darken, and his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans in, his forehead almost brushing yours. “Then let me remind you,” he says, his voice a low rasp. 

Your pulse quickens, every nerve in your body screaming at you to push him away – or pull him closer and he tension between you is suffocating. “Don’t,” you whisper, but your voice wavers, betraying the battle waging inside you. 

“Don’t what?” he asks, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. “Don’t do this?” You don’t answer, your throat too tight, your mind too clouded with memories, anger, and something else you’re not ready to name. He waits, his breath mingling with yours, his patience stretching thin. “Say the word,” he whispers, his voice rough with restraint. “Tell me to stop, and I will. I will let you go back and take him back to your room and do whatever you want.” 

But you don’t say it. You can’t. Because as much as you hate him, as much as you want to scream at him, cry, and push him away... you also want this. Want him. 

And Lewis knows it. 

His hand releases your wrist, sliding down to your waist as his other hand stays on your chin, tilting your face toward him. The kiss that follows isn’t soft, isn’t sweet – it’s desperate, raw, and filled with years of unspoken words. It’s anger and longing, heartbreak, and desire, all crashing together in a way that steals your breath and sends your heart into overdrive. A softer kiss might have been what you wanted, but Lewis knows this is what you need. His body presses against yours, and your hands instinctively find his shoulders, clinging to him as if letting go would leave you falling apart. His lips are warm and insistent, the taste of him intoxicating. Every move, every touch, feels like he’s trying to make up for everything he never said, everything he left behind. 

The kiss deepens, each second unravelling more of the carefully constructed armour you’ve built around your heart. His fingers grip your waist tighter, grounding you even as everything else feels like it’s spinning. You can feel the heat radiating off him with every press of his body against yours. Your mind screams at you to stop, to think, to pull away before you lose yourself completely – but your body betrays you. The years of hurt, anger, and confusion dissolve into the fire burning between you, ignited by a kiss that’s as much a battle as it is a surrender. 

Lewis pulls back just enough to let you breathe, his lips still hovering close, his forehead resting against yours. His breath is hot against your skin, his voice low and rough when he finally speaks. “You still want to go back and fuck your little lover boy?”  

“Who?” You mumble, breathless as a result of the kiss as your eyes become heavy with something you can’t quite describe. 

Lewis smirks, a glint of triumph flashing in his dark eyes. "Exactly," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your waist in slow, deliberate circles. His confidence is maddening, but the heat between you makes it impossible to summon the indignation you’d usually feel. 

You try to muster a response, something sharp and cutting to put him back in his place, but the way his gaze drops to your lips again makes the words dissolve before they even form. “Don’t do that,” you manage, though your voice lacks the conviction you intended. 

“Do what?” he asks innocently, though the rasp in his tone betrays his intent. 

“Act like this changes everything.” 

His smirk falters, replaced by a seriousness that roots you in place. “It doesn’t change everything,” he admits, his voice quieter now, almost tender. “But it changes something. Doesn’t it?” 

Your heart pounds against your ribs as his words sink in. You hate how easily he disarms you, how effortlessly he pulls you back into his orbit no matter how much you’ve tried to escape it. But deep down, you know he’s right. “I hate you,” you whisper, though even you can hear the weakness in your words. 

“I know,” he replies, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your skin like he’s memorizing every inch of you. “And I hate myself for making you feel that way.” 

The sincerity in his voice cuts through the haze, making your chest tighten. But before you can think about it, you find yourself tugging on the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, pulling him closer to yourself as you mumble, “Kiss me again.” 

Your hands, which moments ago were pushing him away, now find their way into his hair, pulling him closer, as if to anchor yourself in the storm he’s unleashed within you. Lewis doesn’t hold back. His grip tightens on your waist, pulling you flush against him, the wall at your back the only thing keeping you steady. The kiss deepens, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that borders on desperation, as though he’s afraid this moment might slip through his fingers if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. When the need for air becomes undeniable, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours. Both of you are breathing heavily, the space between you charged with everything unsaid. “Tell me you didn’t feel that,” he says, his voice hoarse, his thumb brushing against your cheek. 

You can’t answer right away, your heart hammering so loudly in your chest it drowns out any coherent thought. But eventually, you manage to find your voice. “I hate you,” you whisper, but there’s no conviction behind the words. They sound hollow, even to your own ears. 

He lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “No, you don’t.” 

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” you snap, but the edge in your voice falters. 

“I’m not,” he murmurs, his gaze unwavering. “I’m telling you what I see. And I see you... still here. Still looking at me like that.” His hand trails down to your hip, his touch light but grounding. “If you hated me, you would’ve walked away by now.” 

You close your eyes, willing yourself to regain some semblance of control, but it’s impossible with him standing this close, his presence overwhelming. “This doesn’t change anything,” you say, though it feels more like you’re trying to convince yourself than him. 

“Maybe not,” he concedes, his voice softer now. “But it’s a start.” You don’t say anything to agree or refute his statement, and after a brief pause, he straightens, fixies your dress and tries to fix your hair as well. “Come on,” he says, “I’ll take you back.” 

“But, my bag,” you mutter, pushing out your lower lip in a pout when you realise your bag is on the floor. Lewis has to restrain himself when he sees your lips all puffed up because of him. Your voice is whiny, and he realises you’re slurring your words a little bit when you tug on his shirt, “I don’t wanna leave my bag here.” 

Lewis looks at you for a moment, his expression softening as he reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing against your skin with the same tenderness he’s shown all night despite all your fighting. With a soft exhale, Lewis bends down to pick up your bag, holding it out to you with the same quiet care. “Don’t make that face,” he murmurs, his voice teasing but laced with something tender. “You really wanna go back to that room, after everything that just happened?” 

You look at him, a mix of confusion and desire swirling inside you. “I don’t know what I want,” you admit, the honesty slipping out before you can stop it. The words feel raw, vulnerable, but there’s something about his presence, the way he’s here, still so close, that makes you feel safe enough to say it. 

Lewis doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, his eyes soften, his thumb grazing the strap of your bag as he watches you closely, as though he’s searching for something in your expression. Finally, he steps closer again, the space between you narrowing once more. “I get it,” he says quietly. “But I’m not letting you go home alone tonight.” 

The words send a shiver down your spine. You want to protest, to push him away, but there’s something in his gaze, the way he’s looking at you now, that makes you second-guess everything you thought you wanted. You hesitate for a moment longer, the weight of your thoughts heavy in the air, but the pull between you is undeniable. It’s the kind of pull that’s magnetic, that doesn’t let you escape even when you try to resist. 

Finally, you nod, the decision feeling both like a surrender and a choice you can’t take back. “Okay,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. “Take me back, then.” 

You don’t even remember getting into his car, but you do remember the smug look he shot at your date – Carl, you think – when he helped you through the club with a firm hand on your back. The villa Lewis rented for his little getaway is entirely what you expect it to be – modern, grand, and secluded enough so no one uninvited would know he is there and bother him. The couch in the living room looks way too inviting and you make a mental note to avoid it for now. Sitting on it might make this whole situation feel too real, too comfortable, and you’re not ready for that. You glance around the space instead, taking in the clean lines of the modern furniture, the polished wood floors, and the sprawling windows that offer an unobstructed view of the moonlit ocean. You walk towards the windows, eyes taking in the view from inside the villa. The ocean stretches out endlessly before you, its surface shimmering under the moonlight. The soft sound of the waves crashing against the shore is faintly audible even through the glass, a gentle hum that seems to echo the turmoil in your chest. 

You wrap your arms around yourself, partly to steady your nerves and partly to shield yourself from the vulnerability creeping up on you. The view is breathtaking, but it does little to quiet the storm of emotions swirling inside you. You faintly hear Lewis calling out your name, but as if you are in a trance, you can’t take your eyes off the view in front of you. His voice calls out to you again, softer this time, closer. “Hey,” he says, and you feel the warmth of his presence before you even see him. Lewis’s reflection appears in the glass, his dark eyes fixed on you as he stands just behind you. 

You finally tear your gaze away from the ocean and turn to face him, your arms still wrapped protectively around yourself. “It’s beautiful,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile moment. 

Lewis nods, his expression unreadable as he follows your gaze back to the window. “It is,” he agrees, but there’s a weight to his tone, as if he’s not just talking about the view. His eyes flicker back to you, searching your face. “But it doesn’t seem like it’s helping much.” 

You let out a shaky laugh, more to fill the silence than anything else. “It’s not that simple, Lewis.” 

“Nothing ever is,” he replies, stepping closer until there’s only a breath of space between you. “But I’m here. You don’t have to deal with whatever this is alone.” 

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into it. “I don’t know what to do with you,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “With... us.” 

He exhales deeply, his hand lifting as though he wants to touch you but hesitates. “You don’t have to figure that out right now,” he says, his voice steady. “I just want to make sure you’re okay tonight. That’s all that matters to me.” 

Something about his words, his presence, eases the knot in your chest, if only slightly. “I don’t even know where to start,” you murmur, more to yourself than him. 

“Then don’t,” he says simply, his voice carrying a quiet reassurance. “Just be here. With me.” 

You look up at him, your eyes searching his face for any sign of pretense or ulterior motives, but all you see is the same man who’s managed to undo you with a single glance. “Show me your room.”  

“We don’t have to do that.” His eyebrows furrow as he reaches for your cheek, “That not why I brought you here.” 

“Isn’t it?” You try to joke, but his deep sigh is a sign of his disapproval. “I know that’s not why you brought me here, but it can be one of the reasons you brought me here.” 

“Can it?” He drawls, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.  

“For God’s sake, Lewis.” You sigh, turning your body towards the man standing next to you. “Do I need to beg you for you to fuck me?”  

Lewis’s smirk falters, his expression shifting into something deeper, darker, but undeniably tender. “Don’t,” he murmurs, his voice low and edged with restraint as he steps closer. His hand comes up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You don’t need to beg me for anything. Not now, not ever.” 

The intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch, and for a moment, the air between you feels electric. “Then fuck me,” you whisper, your voice trembling with equal parts frustration and desire. “If you want me, show me.” 

He closes his eyes briefly, like he’s steadying himself, and when he opens them again, the resolve in his expression takes your breath away. “You think I don’t want you?” he asks, his tone low but firm. “You don’t know how hard it is to hold back, to stop myself from–” He cuts himself off, his jaw tightening as if even admitting it is too much. He reaches for one of your hands, freeing from your hold and places it on his crotch. “See what you do to me?” 

The crude act manages to steal a gasp from you, your eyes widening at how hard he already is. “Lewis,” you mutter, he responds with an affirmative hum, “show me your bedroom.” 

He takes your hand, his grip firm but careful, and leads you down a sleek hallway. The sound of your heels clicking against the polished wood floor echoes softly, a counterpoint to the pounding of your heart. When he pushes open the door to his bedroom, you’re momentarily distracted by how much the space reflects him. The massive bed dominates the room, its crisp white sheets and plush pillows inviting. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the silver glow of the moon, casting the room in a soft, ethereal light. The massive bed dominates the room, its crisp white sheets and plush pillows inviting. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the silver glow of the moon, casting the room in a soft light.  

You walk towards the centre of the room, the corner of your lip trapped between your teeth as you glance at Lewis over your shoulder before you run towards the bed and throw yourself onto the soft bedding. Lewis watches you with an amused smirk as you sprawl across the bed, your carefree motion starkly contrasting the simmering tension in the air. “Comfortable, baby?” he asks, his tone teasing, but the heat in his eyes betrays his calm façade. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows, giving him a challenging look. “Very.” Then you narrow your eyes at him, “But don’t call me baby, I am not your baby.” 

He chuckles, low and throaty, as he steps closer, loosening the top button of his shirt with a deliberate slowness that sends a shiver down your spine. “No?” he muses, stopping at the edge of the bed. His eyes roam over you, drinking in every detail as if committing you to memory. 

Your breath hitches when he leans over, placing a hand on either side of your body, effectively caging you in. His face is so close to yours now that you can feel the warmth of his breath. “I like seeing you like this,” he admits, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Relaxed, it suits you.” 

A flush creeps up your neck at his words, but you refuse to let him have the upper hand completely. Your fingers trail up his chest, over the defined planes of his torso, and then slide beneath the open collar of his shirt. “I could say the same about you,” you reply, your voice soft but loaded with meaning. 

His response is immediate. His lips crash against yours with a fervour that steals your breath, his hands gripping your waist as he pulls you flush against him. The kiss is raw and consuming, years of tension and unspoken words pouring into the connection. When he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing ragged, he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. 

You smile, your hands slipping down to the waistband of his pants. “Why don’t you show me?” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. In one smooth motion, he lifts you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he carries you to the centre of the bed. He chuckles at the sound of your giggling, as he carefully lays you back down on the soft bed. His fingers work diligently to get you out of your dress, pulling the linen garment over your head as Lewis lets his eyes hungrily take you in. When your dress finally falls away, leaving you in nothing but lace and skin, Lewis takes a slow breath, his eyes scanning over your body with a mixture of awe and hunger. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice thick with admiration. His fingers trace the curve of your waist, his touch sending shivers of desire through your body. 

You arch slightly into his touch, your breath coming faster, and you meet his gaze with a challenge in your eyes. “Are you going to just gawk at me, or are you going to actually do something?” 

He smirks, a flash of cockiness in his eyes. “Patience,” he teases, but there’s no mistaking the hunger in his voice as he lowers himself over you. With one hand bracing himself above you, his other hand slides down between your bodies, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His touch is slow, almost teasing, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as his fingers inch closer to where you need him most. “You like this?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly, his lips just inches from yours. His fingers find the lace of your underwear, his touch deliberate as he pulls it aside and slips a finger inside you, making you gasp. “You’re fucking perfect,” he groans, his lips crashing against yours as he deepens the kiss, his finger working inside you with a slow, steady rhythm. You can feel the heat building between you, the tension in the room thickening with every passing second. 

“Don- don’t say ‘fuck’, Lewis,” you tease him with a small smirk as your breathing becomes deeper, “it’s unbecoming.” 

“You’ll see who will be coming in a few minutes, baby.” He chuckles at the way your expression changes at the mention of the word, his fingers moving in deeper as your let out a disapproving moan, “What? You don’t like it when I call you that?” 

With another dissenting hum and a raise of your hips to meet his hand, you let out a long exhale. “I’m not your baby Lewis, stop calling me that.” With the patience that only he can tolerate, he continues the leisurely movements of his fingers. “I want more, please.” 

Lewis tuts at your words softly, chuckling as he takes in your reactions. “I think you have a very important decision to make here,” he murmurs, his eyes suddenly painted with something more serious, “because once I fuck you, I’m not letting you go.”  

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” The words come out choppy as your breathing gets more erratic, his fingers stubbornly keeping to the slow rhythm he’s set.  

Lewis's gaze sharpens, the challenge in your tone sparking a flame in his dark eyes. “Oh, you’ll see it, alright,” he murmurs, his voice a velvety promise as his hand withdraws briefly, leaving you breathless and aching. Before you can protest, he moves with deliberate precision, tugging his shirt over his head and revealing the expanse of his chest – sculpted, strong, and utterly captivating. “Get on your hands and knees.” 

The command leaves no room for debate, his voice firm but laden with heat. Your heart skips a beat as you meet his gaze, a mixture of defiance and curiosity flickering in your expression. “Bold of you to assume I'll listen,” you quip, though the slight tremor in your voice betrays your anticipation. 

Lewis smirks, leaning down until his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Oh, you'll listen,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “Because you know exactly how patient I can be, but the same can’t be said for you.” 

A shiver runs through you at his words, and before you realize it, you’ve complied, shifting onto your hands and knees in the centre of the bed. You can practically feel his gaze on you, then all of a sudden, you can actually feel him behind you, the bed dipping slightly under his weight as he moves closer. “Good girl,” he says softly, his voice rich with approval, and the way your body reacts to the praise is almost embarrassing. “Oh, my beautiful darling.” His hands skim over your back, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on your hips. The grip is firm, possessive, sending a thrill through you.  

The sounds of him taking himself out of his trousers and pumping cock in his hand is pure debauchery, yet you find yourself pushing your hips back against his thighs. Lewis's low chuckle reverberates through you, a sound full of confidence and desire. His hand tightens on your hips, steadying you as he leans in, his chest brushing against your back. The heat of his skin against yours makes you arch into him instinctively, earning another throaty laugh from him. “You're eager,” he teases, his voice dark and dripping with amusement. “I like you like this.” 

You bite your lip to suppress the needy sound threatening to escape, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Maybe you're just slow,” you retort breathlessly, glancing back at him over your shoulder, a challenging look in your eyes. 

Lewis growls low in his throat, his hands sliding across your back. “Careful,” he warns, though there's a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “Push me too far, and I won't be nice.” Your breath catches at his words, but before you can form a response, you feel him guiding himself to your entrance, teasingly dragging against you. The deliberate slowness makes your frustration peak, and you push your hips back, a wordless plea for him to stop teasing. 

“Patience, darling,” he murmurs, his voice a husky promise. But even as he says it, he shifts forward, entering you with a deliberate motion that steals the breath from your lungs. 

The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve in your body alight as he holds still for a moment, letting you adjust. “Lewis,” you breathe, your voice shaky with need.  

His hands gently caress over the skin of your back and hips, soothing over the sharp feeling of Lewis easing himself into you in small movements of his hips. “You’re doing so well,” he shushes your whiny moans, his hands tracing your sides, grounding you. “You feel perfect, we’re almost there, darling.”  

“A-almost?” Your voice cuts his words off, voice shaky with need, “It’s not going to fit, Lewis, I can’t-” 

He leans over you, his lips pressing tender kisses along your spine, each one sending a ripple of warmth through you. His voice is a soothing murmur in your ear. “Relax for me, darling. Let me take care of you.” Your breathing steadies under his touch, the initial sting giving way to a fullness that leaves you breathless as he pushes himself fully into you. You arch your back slightly, pressing into him as his hands continue their gentle exploration of your body. The tenderness in his actions contrasts with the raw desire in his voice, creating a heady mix that leaves you yearning for more. “That's it,” he praises, his tone soft but laced with heat. “You’re incredible. See? We made it fit.” 

“I feel so full.” You manage to let out, voice whiny as the moan is ripped from the back of your throat. “It feels so good, Lewis.” 

He begins to move, a slow, steady rhythm that builds gradually, allowing you to feel every inch of him. The friction ignites a fire within you, and you can’t help the soft moans that escape your lips, each sound spurring him on. His grip on your hips tightens, his pace increasing as he finds the perfect rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. “You feel so good,” he groans, his voice low and thick with desire. His hand slides up your spine, tangling in your hair as he pulls you back slightly, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re mine, you know that? Only mine.”  

The moan that comes from you is dissenting, causing Lewis to slide his hand down your throat to use the leverage to pull you up on your knees, pressed against his chest. “No,” you say, hands extending backwards to keep holding onto him in an attempt to keep up with the rhythm in which he is fucking you now. 

His words send a shiver down your spine, the possessiveness in his tone igniting something primal within you. “Say it,” he commands, his voice rough as his movements grow more urgent. “Say you're mine.” 

Your breaths are shallow, punctuated by soft whimpers as you cling to him, trying to keep pace with his movements. The way he pulls you against him, his hand firm on your throat, sends a jolt of heat through your core. His hand is firm around your throat, but not uncomfortable to the point that you can’t breathe. 

“I’m not yours,” you gasp defiantly, your voice trembling with every move he makes.  

Lewis growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your back as his hand tightens slightly around your neck—not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you in place. “We’ll see about that,” he says darkly. 

His hips snap against you harder now, his rhythm relentless as if determined to prove you wrong. The overwhelming sensation leaves you gasping, your fingers clutching at his forearm for balance. His free hand slides down your body, gripping your waist to hold you steady as he drives deeper, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. 

“Still not mine?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. His tone is equal parts teasing and commanding, daring you to resist him. “Still think someone else can fuck you better than I can?” You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moans spilling from you, but the way he moves, the way he claims you, has you crumbling. “Say it,” he repeats, his voice a low growl that echoes through your very core. 

Torn between defiance and surrender, you meet his challenge with a shaky breath. “I’m-” you begin, but he cuts you off with a particularly deep thrust that has you crying out his name instead. 

“Hmm?” Lewis chuckles darkly, clearly enjoying your struggle. His grip on your neck softens slightly as his fingers trace the column of your throat in a soothing gesture. “Come on, baby, just say it.” 

“I’m-” The word catches in your throat as he shifts slightly, the angle of his hips hitting a spot that sends a jolt of pleasure through you. A broken moan escapes your lips instead, and Lewis smirks against your ear, clearly revelling in your unravelling. 

“Say it,” he demands again, his voice low and demanding. His hand slides from your throat to your jaw, turning your face just enough that his lips can brush against the corner of your mouth. The gentleness of the gesture is at odds with the raw intensity of his movements, leaving you breathless. 

“I’m yours,” you finally gasp, the words tumbling out in a mix of desperation and surrender. 

Lewis freezes for a heartbeat, his chest heaving against your back as the admission settles between you. Then, with a triumphant growl, he resumes his pace, his grip on you tightening as if he intends to imprint himself into every fibber of your being. 

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. His lips trail along your shoulder, leaving a path of heat in their wake. “Say it again.” 

“Yours,” you whisper, the word coming easier this time, though the weight of it still sends a shiver through you. 

His rhythm grows more urgent, his body moving with a single-minded purpose as he pushes you both toward the edge. “Never forget it,” he groans, his voice rough and ragged, “now come for me.” You blame the singular cocktail you had three or so hours ago for your compliance to his words, as you feel the wave of pleasure crash over you, obliterating any coherent thought. Your body trembles uncontrollably in his arms, your cries of release echoing in the room as he whispers sweet words of praise in your ear.  

There are a million other things Lewis expects you to say, but you surprise him with a, “I wanna taste you.”  

Lewis's movements still, his breath catching at your unexpected words. He pulls back slightly, his dark eyes locking with yours, filled with surprise and a flicker of intrigue. A slow, mischievous grin spreads across his face. “Oh, is that so?” he murmurs, his voice tinged with amusement and undeniable heat. 

You nod, your cheeks flushing under his intense gaze, but there’s a spark of confidence in your eyes. “I really do,” you say softly, the tremble in your voice betraying both your boldness and your eagerness. 

He studies you for a moment longer, his expression shifting to one of reverence laced with desire. "Well," he says, his voice low and gravelly, "who am I to deny you, darling?" With a gentleness that contrasts the fervour of moments ago, Lewis guides you to sit up, his hands warm and steady as they support you. He shifts to the edge of the bed, leaning back slightly, giving you room and letting you take control. His gaze never leaves you, his dark eyes glinting with anticipation. You settle between his thighs, your hands skimming over his skin, marvelling at the way his muscles tense under your touch. There's a sense of power in the way his body responds to you, in the way his breathing hitches when your lips brush against him. You look up at him, meeting his gaze with a small smile before leaning in. The moment your mouth closes around him, Lewis groans low in his throat, his head falling back as his control begins to slip. His hands find their way to your hair, his touch gentle but firm as he guides you, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Just like that,” he praises, his voice rough with pleasure. “You’re perfect, baby.” 

The sound of his voice, the way he says your name like it’s the only thing that matters, spurs you on, and you lose yourself in the moment, intent on unravelling him the way he did you. Your lips move with deliberate intent, your tongue tracing teasing paths that have him groaning your name like a prayer. His fingers tighten in your hair, a gentle tug that makes you glance up at him through your lashes. The sight of him – head tilted back, his lips parted as he struggles for breath, sends a thrill through you. 

“God, you’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice ragged and filled with awe. His eyes find yours, and the intensity of his gaze makes your pulse quicken. “You have no idea what you do to me.” Encouraged by his reaction, you take him deeper, your hands gripping his thighs to steady yourself. The sound he makes is primal, his control slipping further as his hips jerk involuntarily. He tries to hold himself back, but you can tell he’s close to losing himself completely. “Baby,” Lewis rasps, his voice thick with need, “you keep that up, and I won’t last.” You hum around him in response, the vibration pulling another groan from his lips. His hand slips from your hair to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a tender contrast to the raw passion between you. “Look at me,” he whispers, his tone almost pleading. 

You meet his gaze, and the connection between you feels electric. His chest heaves as his breaths come in quick, shallow bursts, his control hanging by a thread. “I’m so close,” he warns, his voice a low growl. “Do you want me to stop?” The shake of your head is all the answer he needs. With a curse under his breath, he lets go, his body shuddering as he gives himself over to the waves of pleasure crashing through him. He holds your gaze the entire time, his grip on you tightening as if anchoring himself to the moment. 

When he calms down, he collapses back against the bed, his chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths. You sit back after swallowing, a triumphant smile playing on your lips as you take in the sight of him, utterly undone. “That was fun,” you rasp as you take in the sight in front of you. 

Lewis chuckles softly, the sound low and breathless, as he drapes an arm over his face, trying to regain his composure. “Fun?” he repeats, his voice laced with amusement and lingering satisfaction. He peeks at you from under his arm, his dark eyes glinting with a mixture of adoration and disbelief. “You’ve got no idea what you just did to me.” 

You tilt your head, feigning innocence as you crawl up the bed to lie beside him. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” you tease, your voice light but with a hint of pride. 

He turns toward you, propping himself up on one elbow, his free hand reaching out to trace lazy circles along your arm. “You’re dangerous,” he murmurs, his tone soft yet filled with a reverence that makes your cheeks flush. “And I’m completely at your mercy.” 

You laugh, the sound light and genuine, as you nuzzle into his touch. “I think you like it that way,” you reply, your fingers grazing over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch. 

“More than you know,” he admits, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your temple. The tender gesture contrasts with the raw intensity you’d just shared, and it sends a warm flutter through your chest. 

For a moment, silence falls between you, the only sound the soft rustling of the sheets and the slowing rhythm of his breathing. Then Lewis shifts, his arm slipping around your waist to pull you closer. “You know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your hair, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.” 

The weight of his words settles over you, and you glance up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his gaze. “Good,” you whisper, a small smile tugging at your lips.  

He smiles back, a look of pure contentment spreading across his face as he tightens his hold on you. “That’s all I get?” 

“We’ll see how you feel after we get home,” you mumble as you run a finger along the curve of his jaw, “you might be bored of me by then.” 

“Home,” Lewis muses quietly, breaking the silence and ignoring your words. His voice is softer now, contemplative. “I like the sound of that.” 

You glance up at him, his face so close that you can see the faintest hint of vulnerability in his expression. It stirs something deep within you – a mix of tenderness and longing that takes you by surprise. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, leaning in to brush your lips against his. “Me too.” 

[uglygirltrying]

insecure princess!reader x barbarian!ghost cw: angst, brief sexual mentions, bad writing, confusing ghost insecure princess!reader who has never had any suitors. her sisters overshadow her. her mother pities her, afraid that her daughter will never marry.

fortunately, due to an alliance that her father has made, she finally marries. he's a barbaric prince, shameless and perverted. mean and scary.

princess!reader who tries her best to make love kindle between them, to live the fantasy that she's always had. she rubs lavender oil on her neck, tugs one of her nightgowns straps down her shoulder, to be desirable like the women in paintings. her lady-in-waiting helps her make her hair silky, and her dresses pleasing to the eye. but you can't put lipstick on a pig.

the prince only has her from the back. it's a relief that he wants to make love to her, but at the same time it breaks her heart. she wants to have a face that he wants to look at.

the princess' anxiety only worsens when she notices that the prince's older brother keeps looking at her. she's not used to attention from men, she doesn't know how to interpret it. he might want to hurt her, show everyone just how disgusting she is. or maybe he laughs with his mates about her, just like everyone else. or maybe... he likes the look of her, maybe he'd like to tug her nightgown down and have her chest to chest. it's a stupid thought, she shouldn't entertain them and embarrass herself. and he's her husbands brother!! it's wrong!

then, one night during a feast, her husband's drunk antics drive her to walk away. she wanders the dark hallways of the castle, moonlight and candlelight illuminating the paintings on the walls.

the princess stops to look out of a window, a lone tear running down her cheek. it's an unending weight on her shoulder. she hates the presence of other princess', the prettier princess', they only remind her of what she isn't. knights don't fight for her, artists don't paint her beauty, and princes don't ask her to dance at balls.

a noise makes her jump out of her thoughts, she whips her head around to look down at the hallway. it's him. her husband's brother, ghost. he stands few feet away from the princess, looking her up and down.

"c'mon," he urges, his voice deep and rough. ghost nods, gesturing down the corridor, to the feast. before the princess can even respond, he has already turned around and began to walk back. but she doesn't follow.

the princess stays in place, looking down at the floor as she sniffles. why should she go back there? they don't want her there. the man in armor turns back around when he doesn't hear the princess following after him. ghost lets out a sigh, as he hears her sniffle. with couple of steps, he's standing in front of her.

"why do you cry, princess?" he mutters, reaching up and gently holding her cheek in his scarred hand.

"i hate him..." it's a silent whisper, lost to the silence of the cold castle. her face twists as she fights against more tears.

"walls have ears, and they will twist your words into treason," ghost says firmly, shutting the girl up before she can be her own doom. his thumb run over the bottom of her eye, wiping up the tears that spill. ghost sighs and leans down, pressing a small kiss between her eyebrows.

"sweet princess, you need to return to the feast... i cannot take you away tonight," he whispers huskily.

"take me away...?" she repeats, even quieter, her brows knitted in confusion.

"if i killed him, i could claim you for myself," ghost murmurs. he looks down at her, letting the princess ingest his words.

her eyes are wide in shock. kill? for her? that is the most romantic thing she's ever heard. is this what courting is? if so, then she only wants more of it. she can't tell if he's mocking her, but there's something in his voice that makes her stomach stir with excitement. the wine in his breath makes her consider for a moment that he's messing with her, but she also wants to enjoy the attention.

"h-how would you take his life?" the girl straightens her back, trying to sound more confident.

"i would slit his throat, as easy as slicing a warm pie," ghost says it as if it's nothing, his running along her cheek. "i could take you far away, we would live in a house by the sea and you could wear pretty dresses for only me to see."

her breath hitches, feeling that flutter in her stomach. jesus christ. her hands clutch onto her cute little dress as she squeezes her thighs together. now she regrets giving her virginity to that twig, when a man like this could've had it, a man who truly deserves her purity.

"now be a smart girl and return to the feast." ghost murmurs and turns to walk back to the feast.

what?

she quickly reaches forward, desperately clinging onto the man's arm, to keep him there. if she let's go now, he might just come across a wench or two and change his mind. "b-but you said that-!" she stammers, utterly confused by the change in the air. there's no one there for her. no one who she's welcome to. her heart aches. she thought that this prince wanted her. what did she do wrong? ghost scoffs, gently prying the girls hands off his forearm. "you think it’ll be like a story, a hero slaying the villain and sweeping the princess off her feet. but this is real life," his tone is suddenly colder, more detached. “you’re chasing something that will never be yours.”

her hands stay in the air for a moment when he pulls away from her, reluctant to let go. his words sting, dig in deep and leave a pit for her to collapse in. her hands fall down and settle over her stomach as she fidgets with them.

she opens her mouth to say something, but the words escape her. it all changed so fast. some wench must've bewitched him, taken him from her. why can't she have anything, not even a man who wants her?

he looks at her again, his gaze intense, unflinching. his expression hardens, though there’s still a part of him that almost looks regretful. and then, he just walks away.

the princess can do nothing else than stand in place and hold back tears. she's alone again. the moonlight makes her shaking hands look blue. did she misunderstand? did she wrongly assume the meaning of his words? or was she just so naive?

it hurts to think, and the thoughts themselves hurt even more. it'd better if she just went to bed. ------------------------------------

inspired by the fact that i'm ugly and never had a boyfriend

[jifloulette]

heads up . . ! not proofread.. 0.7k wrds!

you should be used to these midnight break-ins of shidou by now. he was your boyfriend after all and you didn't really tell him that he wasn't allowed to do it, you just gave him a reminder to text you if he were to do so. but him texting you meant giving you a heads up at least an hour before he was going to break in! though this attitude of your lover was something you were already familiar with..

now here he was, knocking on your bedroom window ever so quietly as to not wake up anyone else inside the house. you had just read the message he sent you three minutes ago and now he was already here, you knew he was fast in terms of running but to have walked that long from his place to yours in that small amount of time and without sweating seemed absolutely impossible??

"heyyyy baby!", shidou said in a low yet excited tone. he gives you a quick peck on the lip before going inside your bedroom. you looked obviously annoyed and he doesn't know why, he did give you a message before climbing up to the second floor of the house... "why'd you come here in such a short notice? you could've at least given me a bit of time to clean up and look good, you know!" you scold him to which he laughs and responds by giving you another quick peck on your forehead. "what were you doing here anyways? yer room's so messy..", he asks to which you just scoff and go back to your laptop, working on finishing this project of yours that was supposed to be due during christmas break, who even gives projects during christmas anyway??

it didn't even reach his usual three minute mark of bothering you before he pulled you out of your chair to a tight embrace on your bed, he seemed much more needy than last time but who you were to worry about that now? you were already working on something and here was your big baby of a boyfriend holding you in his arms as if it was a lifeline of his. "shidou! i'm literally working on the same project that i was doing when you barged here the last few times this week!", you remind him as you try to get off of him but really, your strength couldn't compare to his so it was useless. "okay okay, but do you reaaally need to be working on that now? ya could just do it the second i leave which would be in another hour or so!"

this was like a regular thing for him now, to give you a message five minutes before knocking on your window, then pulling you aside whatever you were working on after waiting at least three minutes, and then you'll just stay in his embrace the whole time he was there. that's how frequently these midnight break-ins occurred, you had memorized how long shidou took to send you a chat and to climb up to your bedroom. "how'd you even get here so quickly anyways.. it's at least a few kilometers from here to yours and you sent that message 3 minutes before already knocking at my window?" you ask, "well, i was already in front of your house when i sent it, just waited a bit before getting up here" he replied before giving you a kiss on your forehead. and before you knew it, you were already fast asleep on his chest, your project being long forgotten once again. even if shidou really wanted to hold you in his arms for as long as the night lasted, he was bound to be caught by your parents if he did. so once he knew that you were deep in your slumber, he laid you on your bed and put a blanket on top of you. but before he left, he needed to do one last thing.

when you woke up, you could've swore your bedroom did not look this.. clean? or unorganized? it looked like your boyfriend did a semi-good job of tidying it up, it still looked better than what it originally looked last night. you check your phone before seeing a message sent of 2:04 am — "heh.. cleaned ur room because im such a good boyfriend arent i??? make sure to gimme a kiss latr as a thank you gift ;)"

©🇯​​🇮​​🇫​​🇱​​🇴​​🇺​​🇱​​🇪​​🇹​​🇹​​🇪​, do not steal, translate, or repost any of my writings anywhere else. ౨ৎ

[majinael]

Kaiser, how we know him in the manga, absolutely does not know how to love and would never end up in a relationship or at least, a healthy one, so, I'll write here one of my most important works (that I'll probably refer to in a lot of my future writings), helping you guys understanding what I think is the most realistic way he could love anyone.

★TW : mentions of mental abuse, depression.

★1k words

✾ You absolutely fell in love first and stayed even after seeing him fail and witnessing the worst sides of him with your own eyes.

✾ Kaiser would eventually notice something special in you, something he didn’t see at first. As time passed, he couldn’t help being drawn to you because you saw through his facade—the ego, the arrogance—and treated him with both blunt honesty and quiet compassion.

✾ He desired you, though not in a romantic way at first. To him, you were someone he needed around, someone he didn’t want anyone else to have, almost as if you were an object to be kept.

✾ One day, you found enough courage to confess your feelings to him. To Kaiser, it was an opportunity to keep you tethered to him, to have control over you. He accepted, assuming you were the type to be so stupidly in love that you’d let anything slide—and you did.

✾ Even then, he tried to “love” you, though selfishly. He didn’t want you to leave, even if he didn’t truly know how to put you first or care for you in a way that wasn’t about his own gratification.

✾ You stayed because you saw glimpses of the person he could be, because you believed he deserved to be loved, and because you were far too attached to walk away.

✾ Over the years, however, the emotional weight of loving someone so broken—someone who was unwilling to change no matter how many arguments or breaks you endured—began to take its toll. His jealousy, his possessiveness, and his inability to communicate left you exhausted.

✾ “Why do you always forgive me, even when I don’t deserve it?” he asked one night, his frustration laced with disbelief. He thought you might have finally given up on him. You just smiled sadly and replied, “Because someone has to.”

✾ Eventually, your love alone wasn’t enough to hold you together. You left—not out of anger, but out of self-preservation. You were on the brink of losing yourself entirely.

✾ At first, Kaiser wasn’t overly concerned and was mostly in denial. He convinced himself you’d come back, just as you always had. When hours turned into days, he believed you felt the same need for him as he did for you. But as the days turned into weeks, the silence began to gnaw at him.

✾ He spiraled, masking his pain with his usual bravado—if not more exaggerated than ever. Yet when he was alone, he was consumed by thoughts of you being with someone else. The idea drove him mad, and for the first time, he felt true, raw heartbreak. He realized your leaving wasn’t an act of abandonment but a final act of love—giving him what he thought he wanted most from you towards the end: freedom.

✾ Kaiser wasn’t used to losing or feeling such despair paired with a complete loss of control. Refusing to accept the end, he did everything in his power to win you back—grand gestures, heartfelt confessions, and promises he’d never made to anyone before.

✾ Of course, you were deeply hurt and hesitant. “Words don’t mean much, Kaiser. You need to show me,” you said firmly.

✾ He offered you everything—luxury, security, anything money could buy—but you demanded something far more valuable: his willingness to change.

✾ One of your conditions for reconciliation was therapy, something Kaiser initially scoffed at. “You think talking to some stranger is going to fix me?” he said, incredulous, thinking he knew everything about psychology already.

✾ But he agreed, not just out of desperation but also because when he saw your tearful, pleading eyes filled with hope that this time it could change, he couldn’t refuse. For the first time, he understood that this was something he had to do—not even for you, but for himself.

✾ The sessions were slow and grueling, forcing him to confront parts of himself he’d buried for years—his insecurities, his fears, and his warped view of love.

✾ Over time, after almost two years, he began to heal. He learned to express his feelings in healthier ways, to apologize without deflecting, and to listen instead of always trying to be right. Winning you back wasn’t a quick process. It took years of effort, of proving he had changed—not just for you, but for himself.

✾ During this time, you were together but not entirely as close as most couples might be. You still needed proof that he had truly changed, even though you frequently told him, “I’m proud of you.”

✾ When you finally accepted him again, it was under the condition that he continued to grow. This time, he was willing to meet you halfway and love you in a way that didn’t destroy you. “You stayed when I didn’t deserve it,” he said one night. “Now it’s my turn to stay, no matter how long it takes to make things right.”

✾ You were the first person—the only person—who cared for him so deeply, who showed him what selfless, innocent, and unconditional love looked like.

✾ And, in turn, Kaiser became someone capable of deep, selfless love himself. He cherished you not as a possession but as an equal partner.

✾ The scars of your past together never fully faded, but they served as reminders of how far you had come. “You taught me how to love,” he told you one day, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving I deserve it.”

✾ For the first time, he said the words he never thought he could mean, the words he never expected to truly feel: “I love you.”

MK:"Someone beautiful, smart, and full of love."

[adamsrcnan]

honestly i think it's a little redundant to write any think pieces on what jean's endgame ship will be. it's going to be jerejean whether you like it or not. that's the story nora is writing. she said it herself when she announced it. this story is a love story but it's also a story about jean and his journey to recovery (and just because jeremy is the future love interest that doesn't diminish the importance kevin has on jean's life either. jean's feelings for kevin are very much still there but so is the betrayal and hurt of him leaving him in the nest. it's a very convoluted relationship of which we still don't know much about. only what jean has told us, so far. as the man who believes his feelings have not been reciprocated to the same degree, mind you. like, we still have two more books to go, one with more scenes with kevin in them where we will learn more.).

as for jeremy...lmao. have we not been talking about how little we know of him since the book dropped? and now all of a sudden people are claiming to know everything about him and decided he's no good? based on one book? and for some reason because he isn't handling his new traumatised teammate perfectly like a professional with a psychology degree he's somehow not right for jean? since when has anyone in this universe been perfect? or dealt with trauma professionally and perfectly?

do i think it's right that jeremy crossed some boundaries to get some answers about jean's past? no. do i think it's right that he overshared jean's truths to his friends without his permission? fuck no. but we're dealing with a whole different group of people here, most of which have not been traumatised to the level the foxes had been. who are not used to dealing with people like jean. jeremy has his own issues yet to be revealed, he clearly has problems standing up to his family (as seen with his sister), though he has no issue captaining his team (as seen with lucas) and it's suspect that he also doesn't think himself to be as great of a person as everyone else does given the sad look on his face when jean tells him he could never be anyone's villain. so idk why anyone thinks they know anything about him when he's so cagey in his own pov. and nowhere in that, may i add, has he ever implied he wants to "fix" jean. he wants to help him. he wants to give him reasons to enjoy his life now that he can i.e making him take that silly ceramics class for Fun. and given jean has had his whole life centred around exy (which he doesn't even enjoy anymore) i think it's actually very smart and helpful to get him doing things that "don't matter" so that he can learn from it and learn that he can actually live outside exy. that he can make mistakes and be imperfect at something and that's Okay.

at this moment in time in canon, kevin doesn't have that kind of mindset and it's probably because he was allowed the freedom to already pursue an interest outside of exy - his love of history. like are we missing the detail that he begged tetsuji to let him take that as his major and he actually allowed it? kevin, though still has a long way to go, still has something outside of exy he can hold onto and switch off from. jean doesn't have that and jeremy just so happens to come along and give him the option and for some reason that seems to get ignored. i think it's actually one of the most important things about their relationship so far. jeremy still makes all the accommodations jean needs - setting him up with class partners, taking him for a run when he needs to get out of his head, buying a bed to sleep in the room with him. but he also pushes back and insists jean try something to break him out of his unhealthy relationship with exy.

also, hello, jean literally admits to himself it's a Lie when he tells jeremy he doesn't want him to look if it's too much for him to deal with when jean is attacked by grayson. and jeremy refuses to look away. something everyone around jean has done since he was born, probably.

"Jeremy’s response was low but unhesitating: “I will not look away.” “I do not want you to look.” It frightened him how much it sounded like a lie, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it..."

jean appreciates when jeremy is so very obviously attracted to jean and openly staring, but doesn't press and removes himself from the situation if he thinks he may come on too strong.

"Threat assessment, he told himself, and it was almost the truth. He needed to see the easy way Jeremy ceded Jean’s space to him. Jean couldn’t remember the last time someone allowed him any boundaries, and the feeling was as novel as it was addicting."

hello???? that is literally jean himself telling us jeremy just allowed him a boundary. how does that get looked over?

also he's content enough with jeremy in his space that he feels safe enough to almost drift off

"In the quiet he could hear Jeremy breathing, and it was almost as comforting as the heat of another body this close to his. It thawed the parts of him the sun hadn’t reached despite soaking up its glare all day. Jean closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift far away. [...] This was the first time his room truly felt safe and right, and he was content to hold onto it for as long as he could."

mind you right after this jeremy presses that jean should have his own space and jean insists jeremy share with him and get his own bed. and let's not forget the obvious flirting that has jeremy immediately backtracking and telling jean to let him know if he ever makes him uncomfortable.

ALSO THIS

“Stop asking,” Jean said. “You only think you want these answers.”

jean may find it annoying and unfavourable that jeremy keeps pressing but idk i infer this to be more of jean not knowing how to handle someone actually giving a fuck about what was done to him when he was so used to everyone turning a blind eye.

finally (bc this is getting long) jeremy pushes himself into jean's space when he hugs him, and jean doesn't hug him back but he doesn't push him away either and jeremy is the one who has to wait for jean to let go of his shirt so he can move away.

"Jeremy heard the dismissal in it, but he waited for Jean to let go of his shirt before leaving the room."

i have made a post about this before but jean craves attention and affection, he wants to be loved and to be frank he fucking deserves it more than anyone else does.

i'll finish the post with one last line from jeremy's pov...

"...it wasn't his place to interfere with Jean's trauma or his healing."

jeremy isn't perfect, he's not meant to be.

[strawberryforks]

Can you please write something for Tim Bradford where the reader is his rookie? Kind of like a grumpy /sunshine fic?? I just started watching the rookie and I'm literally in love with him😩

reckless smiles

warnings: probably swearing, mentions of DV & guns, other police stuff, nepotism (oops)

a/n: got you anon! hope this works! 🙈🙈 as always, asks are SO open! i’m working on a part two to the other TR fic i posted (per request) and if anyone likes this one there’s another small fic in this little mini series already written that i could post! it’s the call with barnaby <3 anyways, ENJOY!!

Sergeant Grey stands at the front of the briefing room. You’re sitting in the front row (like all rookies do), just happy to be here, beside fellow trainees Nolan, West, and Chen. “Rookies!” booms the sergeant, “today, we’re going to switch things up. Nolan you’re with Lopez, Chen with Bishop, West with me,” your face falls, smile collapsing completely, morphing into something else as you realize who's left to pair up with. Who you’ll be riding with today.

Tim Bradford.

Nolan leans over from his chair. He rests his hand on your shoulder while standing up and moving past you. But first, “You’ll be okay,” he assures—Chen, Bradford’s usual victim, doesn’t say a thing. Instead she shoots you a squashed smile and mouths “good luck,” you know you’ll need it but… but you’ll make the best out of it. Like always.

You steel your expression, trying to wipe away the upset that slipped onto your face momentarily. Despite Tim Bradford being the biggest asshole in the LAPD he’s your superior and you were raised to respect rank… even if you don’t respect the person.

“L/n, you’re with Bradford. Try not to kill each other. You’re good cops, we need you both.”

“She’s a boot. Hardly a cop,” Tim Bradford, asshole extraordinaire, chimes in.

“This batch of rookies is a good one and you know that. L/n is a legacy, top scores in the academy and a record number of arrests for her first year on the force. That’s not easily dismissable.”

Officers began to trickle out of the room, Lopez and Bishop were the first to leave, and then your friends—their rookies, Nolan and Chen, with.

“Feeding me to the wolves, West?” Jackson grins back at you, shrugs, and the door shuts behind him. Even Grey leaves, not wanting to be a part of this. The entire briefing room is empty save from you, Tim Bradford, and Smitty. Smitty, who has his hand inside a miniature bag of popcorn and his feet crossed at the ankles and stacked on top of the desk in front of him. He smacks loudly and Tim shoots him a withering glare. “Fine, fine,” he says, palms raised, “I’ll go. Just uh… tell me how it–”

“Smitty!”

He leaves the briefing room and then you’re left alone.

“Boot,”

“Sir,” you echo.

“I know you’re used to special treatment but that’s not how I work. I’ll be driving,” sure you (with your history) love to be behind the wheel but that’s not a problem, Tim doesn’t let Lucy drive either, it isn’t bias, just how he does things. “You do what I say when I say–none of that reckless idiotic behaviour I hear about from Harper. Just because she has unorthodox methods does not mean you should be copying them. You’re a rookie. Today, my rookie.”

“I don’t expect special treatment. And yes sir.”

Tim crosses his arms across his chest and tilts his head ever so slightly. He can’t figure you out–it frustrates him that he wants to. You’re always smiling and even now, looking at him with as close to a frown as he’s ever seen on your face, there’s something in your eyes. Not happiness but challenge, maybe? Determination. A sparkle that can’t be dimmed. Not with his shouting, not with his Tim-Tests. He almost takes it as a challenge. He almost tries to break you, to interrupt that inability to back down–the one he knows will get you killed.

The next week is awful but every day you show up to work with a smile (sometimes faux–but fake it until you make it and all that) and the drive to do better, to impress him.

You can’t.

At a DV call, the assaulted woman is terrified. Tim, he would leave that detail out, instead focusing on your shortcomings (how he had threatened to give you a blue page, how you sat there and took it: “I’d understand, is all I’m saying. If you need to put that blue page in my file, go ahead. And I know my lack of regret is not making this better for myself but… I’d do it again,”) that when the victim pulled a gun and pointed it at your head, after you arrested her husband, you decided to take away Tim’s shot. She was frantic and angry, losing her absolute mind, but moreover she was scared and when she pointed the gun at you–safety off, finger pulsing over the trigger because all of her was shaking. Tim had her in his crosshairs. You saw this and moved. You moved, knowing she would follow, and putting yourself at risk while making sure she couldn’t be killed. In your eyes, she was still the victim. She did fire her weapon. Into the ceiling, after you knocked the gun away.

Two similar incidents follow. Ones where you put yourself in needless danger.

You’re reckless. Impulsive. He’s seen you speed off duty, seen you sweet-talk the would-be arresting officer, give him your number and drive away scott free. All because of your smile, because of the twinkle in your eyes. The brightness, the innocent glow. Tim has seen you out at the club, drinking your bodyweight in booze, dancing and singing karaoke, and even a Clip Tok video of you soaking wet after diving into a partially frozen lake to rescue a dog. The public went wild over that one–Aaron Thorsen was in frame too, boosting the videos popularity. Tim could recognize the sentiment. It was great how determined you were, how kind you were, and the soft spot you had for animals and people alike but he was there and had hated every second of that terrifying call.

Tim corrects you, you smile and take it, switching your coffee into your other hand, handing the one you bought him over.

Tim shouts at you, that’s fine, you smile and take it.

That’s what you do, what you’ve always done: smile and endure.

“It’s downpouring, good thing our shift is almost over.”

“I’ve always liked the rain. It’s nice,”

“What part of getting rained on is nice, Boot? It’s basically the sky crying.”

“We need rain. If it’s good for plants it can’t be bad for us.”

“I find that logic flawed.”

“You find a lot of logic flawed, sir.”

“What was that?”

You tell him nothing, that you didn’t mean it, and your shift is over. Heading back to the station to grab your things you make your way into the locker room. Lucy’s there, pulling on her jacket and taking out her umbrella. “How do you do it, Luce?” you ask.

“Do what?”

“Deal with Tim. He hates me. I try so hard and he just hates me,”

“I don’t think…”

“He does. You know he does. He hates me because of my last name, because he doesn’t think I’m a good cop. Because I smile. I don’t know what to do. No one’s ever hated me for smiling before…”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “Just hang in there. We’ve only got a few months left before we’re P2s then Grey’ll let you ride with someone else, I’m sure. Maybe with me–how about it?”

You nod, and give Lucy a small smile. She sees through it, how tired you look, how defeated. She rests her hand on your shoulder. “I’ve got to get going. Jackson’s waiting for me–I said I’d cook tonight.”

“See ya, Luce. Have a goodnight and say ‘hi’ to West for me.”

“Of course.”

Lucy slings her bag over her shoulder and leaves the locker room. The door swings open a second time and in walks Tim. He’s silent as he walks over to you. As he mirrors your movements across the small room, grabbing his own things from the cubby space.

Hehearditallhehearditallhehearditall.

You paste a smile on, almost wincing as you slip past him and– “Boo–Y/n.”

Your back faces him and all of you wants to keep it that way. My shift is over–I don’t have to endure, you think, but then you hear your father’s voice. Hear his lessons on respect, on how things should work in the department, how to interact with coworkers, superiors–even the awful ones. You turn to him, you look up, meet his icy blue eyes and repress a shiver. You forget to smile. Your slips stay pressed into a small line as you look at him, realizing that you are too close. You’re too close and you should back up but you can’t. Your breathing heavily, you realize Tim is too. He’s looking down at you with melting eyes. The frost, the coldness, seem to fade away as his hand flys to the back of your neck.

Your tongue darts out, wets your lips, and then his press to yours. Your eyes flutter shut, your body reacting to his touch while your mind hasn’t caught up. TimBradfordiskissingme. MyTOiskissingme. Those thoughts are the only ones that make it through the fog. The questions are satiated by how he’s making you feel. His lips are warm and soft, like his breath, when he pulls away for a moment, eyes boring into your own. “Is this–”

“Yes,” you say. It’s okay. It’ssookay. Betterthanokay.You nod a few times for clarification and one of his large hands lands on the small of your back, pressing you to him, the other moves beside your head as he pushes you against the wall, caging you in.

You’ve never been more okay with being trapped. By him, by his mouth.

His kisses were talking and when they stopped, he was ready to.

Staring down at you with a fast beating heart (no match for the rate your own was thumping in your chest at) he smiled back, for once. It was infectious. A grin split your face and you felt blissful, for a moment. Like you and Tim were the only two in the world, like nothing else mattered, like you were floating in a bubble, transcending your problems and surroundings.

It was a nice bubble, “I don’t hate you.”

Until he popped it. Until he reminded you of what had just happened, of what led to this and the conversation you had with Lucy–the one he overheard.

“I don’t hate you,” he said.

“I don’t believe you,” you blurt.

He raises a brow. His expression says ‘you don’t believe me? After that?’ and fair enough, because all you believe now is that you’re incredibly confused. Incredibly, very confused.

“You yell at me, you constantly talk about how I’m not ready to be a cop, you regularly threaten to give me blue pages and criticize what I do in my freetime–”

“None of that means I hate you.”

“It doesn’t make it seem like you like me! You get mad at me for smiling!”

“I don’t… okay, I get annoyed sometimes but it’s situational. When I’m reaming you out, you shouldn’t be smiling.”

“It’s that or cry! I don’t like being yelled at.”

“I don’t like when you put yourself at risk constantly. That’s why I yell, that’ why I reprimand you. You’ll make a damn good cop but no one wants you to make yourself a fucking martyr. No one wants you to put everything else–the job, a dog–above your own life! I get mad because I care,” he argues. Then lowly, “too damn much.”

“Bradford…”

“It’s Tim, to you.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to worry anyone. I just…” you trail off, Tim still watching you closely. “I can’t not try to save someone. I became a cop to do good, to help people, not to hurt them, to shoot them, to arrest innocents and victims of circumstance. There’s enough awfulness in the world that I don't want to contribute. I didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?”

“I didn’t want to be a cop but it’s what my family does–I like the job now, but the way I work it, you know?”

“I get it. I do. You just need to be more careful. You weren’t even on the clock on that call,”

You’re not exactly sure which call he’s referencing. You’ve intervened a few too many times when you shouldn’t have been on duty. It’s how you have (as said by Grey) ‘a record number of arrests for your first year on the force’ because you don’t let injustice slide just because you’re not getting paid. That, and because you’re ridiculously nosey.

“What call?”

“With the drug dealer and that stupid dog.”

“Hey,” you scold. “Barnaby is far from stupid.”

“Barnaby?”

“Yeah. He was a stray so I kept and named him. We trauma bonded–no way I was letting him go to a shelter after that.”

“No, no, that makes sense. I’m just wondering how the hell you came up with Barnaby.

You shrug; it’s a good name.

“Bradford!” shouts Grey, “you in there?”

Tim walks towards the door, shouting back and confirming his presence.

“My office! There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“Alright!” Tim turns to you, he mouths his goodbyes and slips from the room leaving you incredibly confused.

[gtwscratch]

Hiii, I'm in love with this au rn (excited to see your writing and take ur time) and I was wondering for people who may want to make our own writing of this *cough cough* are all the characters in a room together or seperate, and if they're seperate how do they communicate? Do they maybe have like free time to talk to each other? (Also, it's fine if you haven't fleshed it all out and need to take time to think about it)

Excellent question!! Thank you for asking this, I actually needed to figure out where everyone was placed, anyways! :)

So each of the larger shapes are rooms within the facility. I’m thinking that the majority of everyone and BigB would be on a higher level, and Cleo and Impulse are a few levels down for security reasons.

The building itself is primarily underground, harder to break in or out of.

I think that the cells are soundproof and made out of bulletproof glass or something strong like that, and they’re opened via keycards. However, there is a slot within the door for meals to go into (easy for thin tails to slip out of, too).

They’re that strong glass all the way around minus the back walls, so everyone can see each other. I’m sure some of them have been able to figure out some kind of sign language to talk between cells, and Martyn could easily use his powers to listen in on what the others were saying.

Impulse and Cleo’s cells are a bit different. Instead of the same glass as everyone else, it’s one-sided, so the scientists can look in, but they can’t look out.

They’re treated like lab rats, so they get no free time outside of their cells. Due to any past incidents, subjects have has to be moved around.

I hope this answers all your questions!! I needed a small break from designing 004, and this was the perfect thing to scratch my brain, thank you!

[kisses4reid]

scare | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,, (part 4)

synopsis - you’re in a relationship with some one else and have a pregnancy scare, both your own reaction and spencer’s makes you realise that you’re not happy.

part synopsis - you return to work, and a sudden revelation changes everything.

genre - bau!reader x spencer, friends to lovers, r was with someone else, douchebag bf trope, pregnancy scare, angst & fluff, comfort, reader is female with female anatomy and feminine

warnings - pregnancy is the main theme, blood, menstrual cycle, crying, inaccuracies because i have never been pregnant/ever thought i could be pregnant, uneducated reference to abortion: 'stick something up there',

w/c - 2.1k

a/n - last part. im sorry for the long wait and the subpar writing, i lost motiviation for this series and wasnt as into the story as i was before. BUT! i kept going for you guys. thank you <3 if anyone catches my hamilton reference youre my best friend

You hadn’t shown up to work for the week, taking the precious sick leave you had been hoarding and spending it all on arguing and throwing things into cardboard boxes. Not your stuff, but Lloyd's. And Spencer had spent those days pulling at his hair, tapping his fingers on his desk, and watching the automatic glass doors of the bullpen open just to find somebody else.

To everyone else’s knowledge, you simply had a bad stomach bug, but to Spencer it was much more. His stress was just a ticking time bomb waiting to detonate if one more person asks him how you were. Because he didn’t know. Not only were you physically absent from Spencer’s life, but virtually as well. No texts, calls, online likes or tags. It made him think the of the worst possibilities.

That’s where he was now, sat at his desk, finger tapping, leg bouncing, eyes darting from glass doors to blank phone, before he grabbed his phone and started to Hotchner’s office. His steps echoed in the early morning office sepace, patting his sweaty hands down his pants. But he didn’t make it very far before he heard Garcia’s familiar squeal, and your own genuine giggle.

Six days had been the longest you went without seeing Spencer, let alone your entire group, since you got the job. But you couldn’t put such a burden on these people, especially not the one who had seen you break down in his own apartment. To you, this was something you needed to figure out slowly and alone. Alone. Thank god, you were single now.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, just a flu?” Garcia asked, slipping one of her arms into yours and walking you to your desk.

“Stomach bug.” You smiled, patting her hand and sitting down at your desk. You looked at all of your trinkets and photos, happy to see that you never actually put a couple photo on your desk, and happy to see a photo of your team all together instead.

Spencer spun on his heel and widened his eyes, a breath escaping him in relief.

“Y/n.”

You looked up and stared at the man, the bags under his eyes deepened and the creases between his brows appearing like scars.

“Spence, hey.” You smiled as Garcia took his hurried steps as her queue to leave.

“How are you-“

“He’s gone. Sorry you cut you off.” Your hands started fidgeting, you looked askance. Spencer’s eyes betrayed him in his shock, thankfully his lips didn’t betray him in his happiness.

“Oh. That’s great.” Spencer nodded and had to shake the sudden urge to grab your hands and squeeze them. He could feel the possibilities in his fingertips by the second, but he couldn’t lose sight of the bigger issue here. “Are you gonna work a case with us? Are you feeling… better?” He asked with full care in his warm brown eyes.

“Yeah, I’m better. I mean, I’m not great yet but I’m better. Still thinking about things.”

He nodded, but before he could ask anything more, the rest of the team emerged from the elevators.

“Eden Lim, missing for 9 hours after her mother left the front door open to let in fresh air. Power outage in the neighbourhood took out all the air conditionings. Neighbours are either elderly couples or other families.” JJ handed out manila folders and picked up the remote to the Tv screen, showing a photo of a sweet little girl with her mother in a slightly professional set up. Aaron nodded and started, “Wheels up in thirty, JJ organise a meeting with their sheriff and investigators.”

On the plane, you were surprised to say the least. You found out you were pregnant by a sudden sickness, and now, you felt fine. Even though you didn’t get plane sick often, you expected at least a little nausea or maybe a headache. But honestly? You felt fine. Maybe you were a superwoman, one of the rare lucky mothers that don’t get sick often.

That’s what starts to distract you, the thought of the future. You didn’t know anything about pregnancy, let alone parenting. The last time you babysat was for Emily’s cat. Your hands started sweating and you bit the inside of your lip to attempt a suppression of nerves, but you obviously weren’t slick enough.

Hotch sends a glance your way, “You okay, Y/n?”

You smile softly, “Yeah, just the plane is kinda waking up my stomach.”

He nodded, seemingly accepting of that answer, and you gave yourself a mental fist bump.

You try to refocus on the case, but another factor is making this specific one harder.

Eden.

The top name on your baby name list since you were 16, the one you sort of planned to use without much second thought. The one who belongs to a missing child.

A young man who had just lost his son stole Eden, took her to his house, and treated her well. He was a father who had suffered loss, and took from someone else in the same way so that he wasn’t alone in his feelings.

Something about that felt slightly relatable. If Lloyd knew how you were feeling, maybe he would understand the weight on your shoulders.

You walked with Spencer to your desk, the aura around you both feeling like it was going back to normal, just with another layer on top. The secret kept between you two, a bigger one than any of the others. You flicked your small, dark green scarf over your shoulder, the difference in temperature from the case hitting you harder than usual.

Spencer slipped his satchel over his shoulder and sent you a smile. You felt a spin in your stomach because of the sight, and looked down to hide your face discreetly. You heard a small clear of the throat and then Spencer’s voice,

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Every time the victims name was mentioned, you sniffled, you rubbed your arm, or took a harder breath. Why is that?”

You widened your eyes, nearly laughing at the question. You had no idea Spencer was paying that much attention to you. Honestly, you thought he was going out of his way to avoid you to lower the chances of the team getting suspicious.

“Oh, it’s just uh. Eden has been on my baby name list since I was a teenager.”

Spencer’s shoulders tensed slightly, and his mouth opened as he nodded. His heart broke a little more. And he realised this was the first time you two were having a conversation since the night you stayed at his apartment. Not only was it making it real for you, it was making it real for him. Although, he had already vowed to himself that he would help you out with anything you needed, he doubted his mental capacity to take care of a baby made from the women he loves and a man he despises.

You both started walking to the elevator, always the last two in the office before Hotch, and you subconsciously stayed close to him. A pang hit your lower stomach that you pushed down.

“How are you doing, physically and mentally?” Spencer pushed the button with the down arrow, and looked down at you. His hair was slightly ruffled, his tie askew, but his eyes were how they always were when they looked at you, full. Full of care, of adoration, of worry, of knowing. Full of… something that could ruin both of you if he made the wrong decisions.

You took a breath and had to tear your gaze off of his, “Well, like I said, I broke up with Lloyd. He didn’t want to be a father, and when I told him I didn’t know what to do with the… baby, he said… he said… he told me to ‘stick something up there’ if I couldn’t afford another way.”

Spencer felt a rush of rage wash over him, his cheeks reddening and his hands fidgeting harder by the second. How could he?

“Basically, the opposite of how you reacted,” you laughed but it didn’t last long.

“Y/n… why haven’t you told me about him before? I didn’t even know you had been talking to guys until you were already dating one of them. If you told me about him I could’ve… I don’t know.”

“Open my eyes?” You smile sadly, and nod. “If I told you about him, and about how he acted… it was kind of like complaining about a sapling to an oak tree. Complaining about a page to a library. Complaining about a dickhead to…” You shook your head, “I felt embarrassed. And, I want you to think highly of me. But I guess after all of this, I can’t really help it anymore.”

Spencer stopped you in front of the elevator and took your hands, he looked at you with concern, and a bit of anger.

“Y/n I don’t hate you, or think any lesser of you just because you’re… pregnant, or because you were with a bad guy. I think that, while it’s true I think Lloyd is a terrible guy and I don’t see a lot of logic in staying with him, it was your own decision. I’ll always respect that.” He glanced down to his hand holding yours and let go of it.

Your eyes widened, panic shot across your face.

“Y/n?” The elevator doors opened.

“I need to go to the bathroom.” You turned and ran to the toilet, hearing Spencer’s steps behind yours a moment later. He called your name, asked you if you felt sick, and it made him feel guilty for making you stress in a time like this.

He hadn’t fully processed that you weren’t just his best friend, his love, but his pregnant best friend.

You pushed on the ladies bathroom door hard and darted for a toilet stall. There is no way I’m peeing my pants in front of Spencer Reid.

You closed the stall, and soon heard Spencer enter the bathroom with no hesitation to the fact it was a women’s room. “Do you need to hold your hair up?”

And even though the offer played with your heart, you quickly denied him, “No, Spencer, I’m not sick. I just needed to…”

You wiped, and suddenly you felt dizzy. Red.

Red?

“Blood…” you whispered to yourself. "Oh my... god."

“Blood!? Y/n, should you go to the hospital?” He stood closer to the door as his heart rate picked up.

You stood up, pulled up your pants and opened the door. Spencer nearly fell into you.

You screwed your eyebrows together in confusion, and all at once a million feelings hit you. Hatred, sadness, depression, heart break, hope, denial, acceptance… relief. You looked down, unable to look at Spencer as your heart quickened, and covered your mouth with your shaking hand.

“Spencer, I’m on my period.”

His big eyes searched yours, looking down and over your face and body and it was like watching him piece a puzzle together. “You’re not…”

You shook your head, and a wave of relief hit you all at once, tears hitting you like a tsunami, your arms wrapping around Spencer’s shoulders like unforgiving ropes. He stilled for a moment, before reciprocating the tight embrace, a breath of air leaving him in the contact. He squeezed his eyes shut and gripping at your work shirt causing wrinkles to appear between his fingers. His large palm warmed your back in soothing strokes before they laid tightly around your ribcage. Honestly, hugging you was a big thing he had been thinking about in your absense - they were always genuine.

You let go and smiled at Spencer widely, the first one you gave him genuinely in too long a time. Spencer placed a hand on your cheek and wiped a tear gently, smiling back at you.

“Oh, Spencer, I’m so… sorry.”

He stopped in his tracks and widened his eyes, “Why?”

“I made you worry for so long-“

“Hey, a false positive is not your fault. You had a less than 1 percent chance of getting one so it’s no wonder it didn’t cross your mind. My mind, as well.” His heart swelled as you two looked into each others eyes. Happy, relieved, suddenly aware of how close you two were to each other.

Spencer dropped his hand, and looked down with a cough. “I’m happy for you, Y/n.”

You nodded with a shy smile, and turned to look back at the toilet, “Well, I’m gonna… you know… take care of this and then… do you wanna get a drink? I need to... I need somewhere that's not my apartment to think about this.”

He blushed slightly, realising where he was, and picked up his satchel, “Yes, of course. Do you want to go to mine? We can pick up drinks on the way?”

"That would be amazing, thank you Spence." "Anything for you."

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[kteezy997]

Beyond Business-part two//t.c.

Warnings: mention of deception, possibly toxic relationship, small argument

He was so close, leaning onto the table with his hands. You turned your head, your heart racing, thinking he’d do something crazy like kiss you. There’s no way he would do that, right?

You watched him look at the laptop screen for a few seconds, but it felt much longer before he spoke. “I think it’s time for a lunch break.” He stood up straight, “Ready?”

You were brought back to your senses, “Yeah, um, what do you want me to go get today?” you asked, pushing your chair back and standing up as well.

“Actually, I thought we’d go out somewhere.”

"Oh." you said, shrugging, "Alright."

............

The lunch wasn't really anything special, he just took you to a sandwich shop where you sat in a booth and finished eating within ten minutes. But it was abnormal, considering the two of you had never gone out to lunch, or any other meal together. Typically, he would have you go pick up food from somewhere, mostly to give you a mental break from the workday, or you would order food to be delivered to his place.

After returning to his house, you decided to break the ice on a topic that he was dreading: the Golden Globes.

"So, have you been thinking about the Globes? Do you have an acceptance speech ready?"

"What are you talking about? I'm not gonna win." he slumped down in one of his comfy chairs in the living room.

"Timmy, you should have something prepared. I can help you write something."

"Yeah," he sighed, "I guess I should have something, just in case. That's your job for the rest of the day, write my speech." he smiled cheekily.

You giggled at his goofy face, "Okay, boss. You'll have to proofread so I don't leave anyone out on your thank you list. Should I mention Miss Jenner?” the last question was a bit of a joke. You didn't think Timmy would ever mention a significant other publicly, not even if he were married to someone for 10 years with children.

Timmy only rolled his eyes, “Yeah, no.” he said firmly, taking his phone out, looking at the screen.

“Are you guys…okay?” You knew this was a sensitive spot, but not sure exactly why.

“Yeah, we’re fine.” he said plainly. He did not want to talk about her.

You bit your lip, "Well, I will go get started on that speech, unless there's anything else you need me to work on?" you started to turn on your heel.

"No, nothing right now, y/n, thanks." he said to you, but kept his eyes on the phone.

You could not get your head around how nice he was being to you, not that he was ever particularly mean, except for the night before, but you were over that. But to actually thank you for just doing your job was not typical of him.

.........

Later on, evening hours were approaching, and it was nearly time for you to go home. You heard Timmy's footsteps trailing into the dining room. His phone was still in hand.

"She is wanting to text; I just don't have the energy tonight. Just keep her on the hook, make her think the relationship is secure." he said, attempting to hand the device over to you.

"Is the relationship not secure?" you asked, not sure if you should take the phone.

Tip-toeing around an answer, he shrugged, "Just say enough to make it so. You've done it for me before." he pointed out.

"I know...it just doesn't feel right. This is something you should be doing Timmy. What if she mentions something from a text that I sent, and you don't even know what she's talking about?"

"She won't. Don't worry about that, it's not that deep. Just send a few texts back and forth and it'll be done." his nonchalant attitude was a little unnerving.

You shook your head, "It just seems mean, like towards her. She is still just a girl, you know, I think she actually might like you, Timmy."

"It's not that serious, she knows that, but I need her to think that everything is fine."

"I don't want to lie for you anymore, Timmy."

"It's not lying." he insisted.

"It's not genuine. Even if you don't care about Kylie, she is still a person. She doesn't deserve to be deceived."

"I never said I didn't care."

"Well, you don't act like you do! What even is your relationship with her? You never say anything about her."

"You're my assistant, I don't have to talk about my love life with you." he gave you a dirty look.

You scoffed, "You have literally had me do your texting for you, and you want me to do it again! You are such a walking contradiction. I'm not doing it." You were extra firm in your last sentence.

"Whatever. I think it's about quitting time for you today anyway, y/n." he said, grabbing his phone back from you.

"Look, I'm sorry for yelling at you. But you have to admit that I'm right. That's not a way to treat someone. I shouldn't have done it before, but you're my boss and I guess at the time I just wanted to please you."

He nodded, taking a breath and a moment to reflect, "Yeah, well, I'm glad to have you to call me out on my bullshit." He then tapped your arm with his hand. "Okay, get out of here, kid."

You frowned, "Did you just call me 'kid'?"

"Yeah, what?" he frowned right back at you. The mood was lighter now.

"I'm only like a year and a half younger than you, old man, don't call me a kid." you joked, gathering up your things to leave. You liked the playful banter you and he shared sometimes.

"Fine, don't call me an ‘old man’ then." he chuckled. He followed you to the front door as you slung your purse over your shoulder.

“Well, goodnight, boss.” you said, facing him one last time after to opened the door.

He held the door, his arm resting above your head. “Okay, goodnight.” he smiled softly. “Drive safe.” he said simply, then leaned in to leave a peck on your cheek.

Your heart skipped a beat, you felt your cheeks flood pink immediately. The tiny spot that his lips had touched was inflamed. You didn’t know what else to do, so you stood there smiling like an idiot.

Timmy closed his eyes, shaking his head and pressing his lips together, “I’m sorry! I don’t know why I did that. I really don’t.” he was clearly embarrassed; he took about a half step backward. “Let’s just forget about that, okay?” he smiled innocently.

“Yeah, it’s okay.” you shrugged, putting your arms behind your back. “It didn’t bother me anyway.”

He grinned, “Good. See you tomorrow?”

“Yep, definitely. Don’t forget to read over that speech. You’re running out of time before the awards.”

He mock rolled his eyes, letting his head hang down in annoyance, not at you, but the awards. “Okay.” he whined.

“Bye Timmy.” you giggled, then walked out the door. You weren't sure why he was dreading the Golden Globes so badly.

January 7, 2025

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[covehearted]

I'm not sure if you've already done anything like this, and if you're not comfortable at all with the subject please ignore this request!! 😭

A loved one of mine passed away over the holidays and I was wondering if you had any headcannons for Cove abt helping mc with greif?

Ofc please don't feel pressure or force yourself!! :((

Your writing is always a pleasure to read. I wish you the best!!🫶

≻ — Cove helping you cope with grief

Tags: Discussion of loss, hurt/comfort

A/N: I'm sorry for your loss, anon. I hope I was able to write something that helped.

Cove Holden

There's nothing in the world that hurts Cove more than knowing you're in pain. He doesn't know how to handle the way your hurting makes him feel and he wishes he knew the exact right thing to say to make it all go away. But he doesn't.

When he sees you, curled up in your room with your body shaking, a breath away from falling apart – he freezes.

Loss isn’t something Cove is all too familiar with. Yes, his parents divorced and his family was separated but that was a different kind of loss entirely from the loss of a life, of a loved one. He hasn’t lost a relative like this. His maternal grandparents were still alive. He didn’t know anyone from his father’s side of the family.

He didn’t know how you felt and that tore him up inside. He wants to help so badly.

But when you look up at him, tired and teary, his own heart breaks. He doesn’t know the right thing to say because no magic words can undo your pain. But he can be there for you. And maybe that’s enough.

He opens his arms wide, a silent offer for comfort if you want physical contact. When you nod, a little sob finally breaking free from your chest he doesn’t hesitate to cross the room and into your space. He wraps himself around you, pulling you against his when he sits on your bed.

You’re safe like this. You can cling to his arm and cry as hard as you need to, if you want to scream then scream. Your emotions aren’t going to frighten him. You aren’t wrong for feeling and he’ll be with you through it, without judgment.

If you can’t express your feelings, if you’re so shocked you feel numb, that’s fine too. There’s no right way to grieve. There’s no right way to feel your emotions. He’ll hold you all the same, resting his cheek on the crown of your head and letting you know that no matter what, he’s there.

How you process your feelings isn’t anyone else’s business and Cove will gladly say that to anyone’s face if they have a problem. There isn’t a set timeline for recovery, you just need to take it day by day, moment by moment.

His arms squeeze tighter around you, wanting the warmth of his skin to ground you and remind you that you’re here, he’s here, and you’re so loved.

Someday the pain will settle. The loss you feel and the ache in your chest will be washed over, taken in, and reincorporated into your “normal” like footprints getting washed away by the tide.

It was alright that you weren't okay today. He would stay beside you until you were and every day after that.

[luckyartdrawer]

100 Follower Milestone Poll! 🎉🎉🎉

Heya lovelies!!! This blog hit 100 followers oh my goodness!!!

I really can't believe it, it's so awesome to see you all here! <333 Whether you're new or old around here it doesn't matter, I am electronically hugging and/or patting all of your heads in great thanks! ✨💖✨💖✨💖✨

To celebrate, I have some options in a poll for y'all to choose what you would like to see for this milestone! I HIGHLY suggest reading the explanations of each option below the break! It clarifies some important details. Its down there so any of y'all just scrolling by won't have to worry about a wall of text! <3

Please feel free to vote even if you aren't following me!!!

Poll Options explanations:

Drop early chapters of EYED / Dreamlike: This is a Moon-centric x reader fic I've been working on for several months now and I originally planned to start posting it when I finished it or got really close to doing so. I dropped a sneak peek of it here! I find myself currently on a standstill on it's later chapters, which is why it hasn't been finished yet, but otherwise I am reallllly happy with it's messaging and pacing. (Rn I have plotted out 15 chapters but it's looking like it could be longer with how I write oops-)

The first chapters have been pretty polished at this point, so if people are really curious about this one, I don't mind to start posting the chapters up to a certain point. If this wins, I'll post the first 3 chapters for 3 sequential days, then 4 and 5 will come out in the next week, and then the last week I'll post ch. 6 for no particular reason mhmm yup I am not planning anything nefarious-

Drawing requests: This would be my first time doing something like this, and while I know I can pop out some bangers for y'all I also don't want to dig myself into a hole and leave y'all waiting for a long time. 😅So if this wins, I'll take the first 10 requests and draw them out! If I feel capable of doing more I may open some more slots for y'all, but I need to test my speed and my capabilities here first. Expect some lovely rendering bc I love it so, but I won't be doing backgrounds (besides simple colors) for the sake of my sanity.

Drabble requests: Most of ya here probably see me as only an artist, but I do write and actually started out as a writer first for this fandom hehe. ✨ I've been doing well recently with short stories so as long as y'all want em, I can hopefully dish em out at a reasonable pace! I, again, haven't done something like this before. So if this wins, I'll take the first 10 requests, but I feel more confident that I can do this at a reasonable pace, so if things go well I'll open up 5-10 more slots for y'all!

Rendered drawing of a dca AU: Hehe, my forte /J. I've drawn some whacky crossovers, cute sillays, and horror stuff at times, but some of y'all also know I love soooo many AUs in this fandom, hehe! I definitely do not mind drawing AUs, there are MANY I haven't drawn for, but I will be avoiding drawing other's specific AUs. I love making fanart, but this is going to thank y'all for being here, so I would like to keep from using someone else's AU -- it would feel like I'm stealing them e3e.

Plus, this is from me to thank you! And so will the goobers! I'll try to be as detailed as possible with both the characters and location <3

If this wins, I'll set up another poll to last for 3 days. It'll have some general au options like Mer, then I'll list out some crossovers I have done like Submas! Sun/Moon, and I'll add my own AUs! There will also be an option to suggest an AU/crossover! (Please don't be afraid to do so, as long as enough people have an interest in the option, or even if it doesn't win I may still make it if I really like the suggestion! <333)

Rendered drawing of Biblical dca: This means the drawing will be as realistic to the original as I can get it! Gonna do my best to do material rendering and all mwehehe! Though, I may make him extra polished/shiny to not only play with reflections, but to also say how sparkly y'all make me feel hehe ✨✨✨

If this wins, I'll try to finish the drawing within a week or 2 after I make the announcement of the poll's winner! I'll also throw out a really quick poll for 1 day to let y'all pick who will be our biblical goober: Sun, Moon, or Ruin Eclipse!

Something else: This is pretty self explanatory, but if you have ideas, comment below! (You can even if you didn't pick this option!!!) And if you see an idea you like or that you wanted to comment already said below, please reply to that person's comment to keep things easy to track! You don't have to say anything if you don't want to, just drop something simple like ✨ in it and I'll know that means ya voted for it. :) (I'll be checking to make sure people didn't vote on the same comment more than once! But you can vote for multiple ideas <3)

If this wins/has enough interest, I'll choose the most popular suggestion! Depending on what suggestion wins, I may actually do BOTH that suggestion and the winning/2nd place option on the poll!!!! ( Woah 2 for one what :O )

My choice 💥💥💥: I typically don't like making choices actually, but in the case y'all are indecisive I will step up ✨✨✨ If this wins, I'll likely choose whatever sounds best to me in that moment hehehe, you'll never be 100% sure what I'll do >:)

Moon's bald and we love him for it: Oh yeah we do! <3 This is just a joke option to let people who don't want to vote to see the results. If this wins... Uh... We'll go for the 2nd place vote! And also I'll add a bald Moon doodle as a bonus goodie. (I'm so good at making incentives to get people to vote, I know I know ✨✨✨)

Thanks again for all the love guys!!! This fandom has been so good to me and I cannot thank y'all enough for making it as awesome and welcoming as it has been! <333

[itsnesss]

Hi English is not my first language so sorry if the order is confusing. You could do something like Reader and Axel are dating and she is in the same dojo as him and also participating in the tournament. And she sees that scene of sensei Wolf beating Axel while he trains and as soon as he is alone she goes to him and comforts him, and also helps him with his injuries... and something obscene after all the comfort 🤭🤭🤭

That's it, I even love your writing! 🤍🤍

𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 | axel kovacevik × fem!reader

summary | you comfort Axel after witnessing his harsh training, leading to a moment of vulnerability and passionate intimacy

warnings | smut, explicit content, masturbation, fingering, mention of violence, injury care, and emotional vulnerability

word count | 2.1 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me thanks ᡣ𐭩

You stop in the hallway near the Sekai Taikai dressing rooms, the bustle of the tournament barely reaching your ears from afar. You are about to go look for Axel, but the scene unfolding before you freezes your body in place.

From where you stand, you can see Axel in the center of the training area. His face reflects discomfort, a mix of concentration and pain. Around him, Sensei Wolf watches him with a gaze that, although calculated, never ceases to be intense. Suddenly, the sensei delivers a sharp blow to his abdomen, and Axel doubles over, breathing heavily. The sound of the blow resonates in your ears like a cruel echo, and something in your chest tightens. You can't help but see how Axel's body reacts to the blow, his shoulders hunched as he struggles to stay upright.

"Get up, Kovacevic." "This is just the beginning," growls the sensei, a low voice that makes you shudder. The sound of Wolf's footsteps echoing as he walks away from Axel makes you take a deep breath. You feel the fury growing inside you. No one should be treated that way.

When the room finally empties, the gym falls silent. You know that now is your opportunity. Without thinking, you walk towards the training area, ignoring the sweat on your neck, the anxiety growing with each step. It doesn't matter that the tournament is in full swing. It doesn't matter that you need to prepare for your next fight. Axel needs your support, and that's the only thing that matters right now.

As you approach, you find him still standing, trembling slightly, with his hands on his knees, gasping for air. The sweat covers his face, and his lips are slightly cracked from the tension. You watch him for a moment, your heart racing at the sight of his condition, before speaking softly, breaking the tense silence between you.

"Axel" you say in a whisper. He looks up, surprised to see you. His eyes, although filled with pain, still shine with a hint of affection when he sees you. Something inside you relaxes, although the pain of seeing what he has suffered remains sharp.

You approach him cautiously, gently touching his shoulder. The fragility in his posture breaks your heart. You can't let him stay like this, broken by the harshness of his training. "Come on, let me help you," you say, and he nods, although his lips seem to hesitate.

You guide him to the dressing room, where privacy allows them to be without the constant gaze of others. He closes his eyes as you begin to clean the wounds on his sides and arms, your hands trembling slightly as you touch his skin marked by the blows. Every time your fingers brush against his skin, you feel a heat growing inside you, a heat you don't know how to control. The tenderness of your gestures only increases the tension between the two of you.

The silence between you two is heavy, but it's the kind of silence that only happens when deep emotions intertwine. When you finish, you pause for a second, your eyes searching his, your breath uneven. There's something else in the air, something neither you nor he can ignore.

Suddenly, you can't wait any longer. You approach him without thinking, kissing him with desperation, as if that were the only way to release everything you've been holding back. The kiss is urgent, almost uncontrolled, and you feel how Axel responds, letting anxiety and desire mix between you. His hands slide down your back, pulling you towards him. The touch of his body envelops your mind, erasing any thought that isn't him, his closeness, his warmth.

"I've been waiting for you... too long," he whispers between kisses, his voice rough and filled with palpable need.

"I don't want you to suffer anymore," you reply, continuing to caress his face, as you feel him surrendering at the same time as you. Each touch, each sigh, brings them a painful but necessary comfort.

The pain and passion intertwine in a passionate kiss. Each moment is more intense than the last, as if they only needed this instant to release everything they had held back.

Your breathing becomes irregular when you feel Axel's anxiety growing. His hand slides under your waist, brushing your skin with his fingers, and you feel yourself melting, the heat inside you growing, spreading throughout your body. "Axel..." You whimper when his fingers begin to brush the button of your pants, each touch a heartbeat more in your veins.

"Yes..." he whispers, kissing the lobe of your ear. "I need you," he says, his lips tracing your throat. Your breathing becomes increasingly irregular, and you know you won't be able to wait much longer.

"I'm sorry..." You gasp. The tension in your bodies is palpable. Both know there is no turning back. All that exists in this moment is the desire, the need, and the need to free oneself from anxiety, from pain.

As soon as you finish speaking, you feel Axel's hand inside your pants, his fingers wrapping around your member, which throbs with anxiety. Your breathing is irregular, but you can't stop, you can't avoid the heat spreading through your body. Axel's mouth surrounds one of your nipples, his tongue gently caressing the sensitive skin, and a strong sigh escapes your throat as you feel his hand moving up and down at a rapid pace. The pressure of his fingers is intense, and you can't help but press your hips down.

"Axel..." you scream his name when the orgasm comes to you like a mantle of heat. You can barely control your movements, your body shakes as pleasure explodes within you, and you feel the pleasure cover every corner of your veins. Axel's hand keeps moving, prolonging the orgasm, until you can't take it anymore and collapse onto him.

Both of you remain like that for a moment, panting, savoring the sensation of the other body on yours. Axel gently caresses your neck while you catch your breath, and you kiss him softly, knowing that this moment is something more than just a sexual encounter. It's something more. It's the release of everything that has been held back, everything that is about to explode. It's the heat of their bodies, the pleasure of touching each other. It's Axel. Just Axel.

A moment later, you step back a bit to look at Axel, his eyes shining with a mix of pleasure and affection. Your hand gently brushes his face, caressing his cheeks.

"Are you okay?" you ask, with a hoarse voice, but full of affection.

"Yes," he says. His lips curve into a slight smile, and you kiss his forehead again before looking at him intently. "Do you want to do it?" he says, without breaking eye contact. The question is inevitable at this moment. You have felt it. You need it.

The truth is that you can't deny it any longer. What you have with Axel is something you can't fake, something that can only come from a true connection. The pleasure, the connection, everything blends in an intense moment between the two of you. You know you can't deny this opportunity.

You nod slightly, and the sparkle in Axel's eyes becomes more intense. His fingers caress your skin once more before moving up to your neck and kissing you gently.

"You must be sure. We can't stop in the middle of the road" he whispers as he kisses you, his hands wrapping around your hips. His member throbs against your thighs, and you can feel the tension in his body, the need to relieve the anxiety. You know Axel is right, but you can't stop now.

"I want to do it," you whisper before kissing his lips.

Both know what to expect from this encounter. It's an opportunity to let go, to seek release in this intense moment. And it is inevitable that the orgasm will come soon for Axel, his muscles tense with anxiety.

"It's okay" he says, in a low and raspy voice. His lips caress your cheeks before moving down to your chest. "Don't stop" he whispers in a mix of need and desire."

"No... I will" you say as you begin to slide your hand down. Each second is more intense, the pleasure and heat spreading through their bodies. Your hand wraps around his member, and you feel his hard erection in your hand, the muscles of his thighs tense with every movement. The need in his eyes is palpable, and you can't wait any longer to relieve his anxiety.

Your hand moves up and down to the rhythm of his gasps, you feel his breath quicken, and suddenly you can't wait any longer to kiss him. His mouth takes over yours, his tongue tracing your lips as your hand moves faster, the heat between your bodies growing. Axel's breathing quickens with each passing moment, and you feel that he is close to reaching his peak.

"God..." he says with a breathless voice, his body trembling with each touch. "I'm... close" he pants.

"Do you want me to continue?" you ask.

"Yes... please" he whispers. The need is palpable in his eyes, and you feel a wave of heat wash over you as you hear his words.

"Then don't stop," Axel whispers, as his hand rests on your arm. "Please, don't stop" he gasps as his breathing becomes increasingly irregular."

Your hand moves a little faster, feeling how his member throbs between your fingers. His gasps grow in intensity, and you know he is very close. Suddenly, you feel a spasm in her muscles, and her body shakes, a stifled scream escaping her lips. The sensation of the orgasm is more intense than you could imagine, a moment of pure release for both of you. You feel the tension in his muscles as he reaches orgasm, and you can't help but kiss his lips once more, savoring the pleasure of the moment. His fingers cling to your arms as he collapses onto you, exhausted but satisfied.

You both stay like that for a moment, savoring the pleasure that has just occurred. You can feel how his body gradually relaxes, and how his breathing returns to normal.

"Thank you," Axel says a moment later, his lips kissing your cheek. "Thank you for helping me. You are incredible" he says softly.

You smile, your hand caressing his chest, savoring his closeness. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, Axel" you say, your voice rough but full of truth.

And in this moment, you know it's true. There is nothing you wouldn't do for Axel, even if it's just being here, in this moment of release.

[cripplecharacters]

Do you have any advice on what i should take into consideration to not accidentally fall into ableism when writing about a character dealing with the trauma of causing someone a disability (? My main struggle is to not pass off character's personal bias (that they fall into in their psychological struggle with guilt) as some sort of narrative truth and statements about disabilitily. But also I feel like there must be other nuances I should take into consideration. The character who got disabled is very important to the story and is an active character and not just a plot device, but since the story isn't really written from their perspective, i feel that i should be extra careful in how i treat the whole situation

Hi asker,

I think something to take into consideration is: How did they cause the disability? By which I mean, if for example, they injured someone else, was it something semi-purposeful (like a fight), completely accidental that they could not have prevented (like tripping and falling while holding something that, upon breaking, caused a disabling injury), or accidental but preventable (like giving them the wrong medication)? Or something else?

All of those can be traumatic, but perhaps for different reasons. Scenario A can lead to a lot of guilt but maybe justification; "I didn't mean to do it but I was doing what I otherwise felt I needed to do." Scenario B can lead to a lot of survivor's guilt, and scenario C can lead to different types of guilt depending on if and how they take responsibility for it.

It also depends on the kind of disability. Causing someone a terminal disability is going to feel pretty different than causing someone a disability that, while disabling, allows them to still keep living their life. Causing a more severe disability will also probably feel worse than causing them a milder one, because the impact will feel more obvious to the person who caused it and the change in the newly-disabled person's life will be more drastic. Which can be a huge part of the grieving process in becoming disabled, just the fact that it is a large change in a person's life, especially if it's completely unexpected.

My main struggle is to not pass off character's personal bias (that they fall into in their psychological struggle with guilt) as some sort of narrative truth and statements about disabilitily.

Maybe for this, you could present a view on disability by other characters that contradicts the main character's view. Perhaps they share their thoughts with another character, and she says something like "Man, I don't know. That's a weird thing to say. Not everyone who [is disabled / has specific disability the newly disabled character has] is going to feel that way." Or maybe they meet someone else with that same or a similar disability. Or they end up actually talking to the character who they disabled at some point.

Anything that poses an opposing view to the way the main character views it, and is treated by the narrative as being something worth hearing out, will help.

It's completely understandable that the character will feel guilty and worried and upset and even traumatized. But I think the fact that you are concerned about the nuances involved is a good sign.

Hope this helps,

mod sparrow

[caterkinnie]

Hi Caterkinnie! Your work is really amazing, thank you so much for all your work in the fandom! I think anyone who sees your headcanons days are brightened! May I request Rook, Jamil, Ruggie and Azul or Vil (up to you) with a friend they have been deeply in love with for a long time, who's just broken up from a long-term bad relationship. I'd find it really interesting to see the angst the boys struggled with while their friend was in such a bad relationship--a relationship that would somehow never end no matter how awful or neglectful their partner was (up to your imagination how their partner was)--and how they handled not letting their deepening love/crush show (if that's how they'd handle it. I honestly have no idea as to how Rook especially would handle this situation). And of course, now that there's been an unprecedented breakup, what now? I hope that wasn't too specific. I just thought it'd be interesting because I just broke up from a long-term relationship @__@ (5 years for me... In my case, I was dating a selfish man child. According to my friends, it was heartbreaking to watch because no matter what they said/did or what he said/did it would never end, so they just had to watch the rollercoaster play out while white knuckled). I haven't seen headcanons on this type of situation yet and how the boys would respond, so I'd love to see your headcanons. Not to mention, your writing is so top knotch, and I feel like you really get the complexity of so many of these characters, that I was pumped to ask when I saw your requests are open. If it's too specific or you're not feeling it, I get it! I hope you keep rocking on with this blog and whatever else you're up to! Thank you for the hardwork!

Supporting you through a bad break up...

❥ ⌗ characters: Rook hunt, Jamil Viper, Ruggie Bucchi, Azul Ashengrotto.

❥ ⌗ Summary: After a long long time with the person who you thought was the love of your life, ended the relationship suddenly with the pretext he was no longer in love. You decided to confide your feelings with your closest friend; a friend who happened to be deeply in love with you.

❥ ⌗ tags: tw for toxic relationship, though details aren't given, there are mentions of arguments and toxic behaviour. didn't proofread enough. sorry if ooc.

❥ ⌗ a/n: sorry anon!!!!!!! I've had this drafted since you requested this... and only now i finished it!!! i couldn't bring myself to delete it as I loved the idea so much. Hope if you see this that you're doing so much better now!!!!

Rook made it very clear from the beginning he had feelings for you, but would not attempt to show them.

He also could see the signs of what seemed to be an unhappy relationship that sooner or later was going to come to an end; signs you probably didn't notice.

He's a very caring man, ever since the moment he met you he always tried to help you in any way, and this was no exception; but he also knew, as much as it hurt him, you needed time to realize that the person you loved didn't treat you in the way you deserved to be treated. It hurt him so deeply to see the way he talked to you, but Rook wasn't a hero who would yell at your boyfriend to stop. He had to be subtle — trying to calm the waters when he was around, defending you in his own way. His heart ached, sometimes with jealousy, sometimes with rage — sometimes both, but he refused to let you know about any of these emotions. He was there for you, whether you needed help or advice.

He helped you because he loved you, he constantly told you how important you were to him and there was nothing he wished more than to take you away and treat you like a queen. But alas, his love was not only unrequited, you were in love with someone else.

Oh, how glad he'd be if only one day you woke up and chose him! The selfish part of him wanted to rush, but he knew he had to be patient... Someday it'd happen, or at the very least... you'd be with someone else who makes you happy, and that's something he would like as well.

But when you come to him to tell him everything that happened...

He's going to comfort you and walk you through the feelings the breakup left… In those cases, he's not as mischievous as he typically is. His voice is soft and soothing, as he tries to get your mind off things, as well as being of support when you need it the most…

He can't bring himself to court you while doing so, although deep down, he wishes someday you'll see his efforts, even if he's not exactly expecting you to fall for him…

However, your now ex-boyfriend will avoid you like the plague, and runs away when Rook is nearby, and you wonder if he had something to do with that….

Jamil warned you about your partner a few times, he didn't want to get TOO involved to avoid making you upset, but every time the subject was brought up…. he felt a deep heaviness in his heart that he hated.

The least thing he wanted was for you to notice his feelings. But maybe he was too insistent on the idea that it was best if you broke up…

But those were genuinely good feelings. He saw how bad you were being treated and constantly found himself thinking… “I could do better, so much better…” Yet he hated himself for it. What could he do, if you never saw anything in him?

He feels all of these things, yet it's like… he only wants you to Not Be with your boyfriend. Jamil believes you'd never love him back as well.

If you came to him for advice, he'd give it to you— but his voice was always restrained… and soon enough, he just tried his best to act as if his feelings weren't there, as if he was just a friend who gave advice and was exhausted by you not following it.

But then… it finally happened, but as happy as he felt, seeing how much it affected you.. it didn't feel like victory (even if it was!)

He wouldn't constantly seek you out. But if you need to vent he's always there. He's not good with comforting words… but his honesty can be soothing and grounding. As well as he might sometimes just try to aid you in general, after all… acts of service (unfortunately) are second nature for him.

Whether it's for food… studying… anything. You don't even have to ask… But he's not expecting you to like him back. And not in a cute “he'll wait for you!” kind of way… he thinks you'd never reciprocate his feelings. And he's not sad about that! Jamil just accepted that as a reality. Whether that changes or not is up to you…

Ruggie's pretty straightforward… Not with his feelings, but with his opinion on your boyfriend.

He takes every chance he gets to say something about him and as much as he tries to play it off as a joke, his voice is bitter… He hates him so much!

Ruggie wants to believe he only hates him because you're someone he could dare to call a friend! He denies any other underlying reason for his distaste for your boyfriend that isn't that he's unfair with you... But obviously, he's a bit prideful, a tiiny bit. He couldn't help but try to impress you every time he could. He wished that you'd see how you deserved to be treated… And maaaaybe how much better he is. And he tries for so long, it's kind of obvious if you know him well. If you're observant enough you might have caught on to his feelings.

However, that all changed when you went to him looking for the comfort of a friend, after your relationship ended…

Like Jamil, Ruggie wanted to feel happy, he wanted to celebrate! Finally you weren't tied to that man-child! You could finally focus on yourself and maaaybe on him….. But when he saw how heartbroken you looked, he couldn't bring himself to act on those emotions. You were hurt, and he hated seeing you like that. Though he's pretty awkward at it… He'll try his best to comfort you, but his words feel stiff and you can tell this is not his area of expertise…

He does so much better when it comes to acts of service. He'll try his best to distract you, make you laugh… which is something he'd love to hear again. He won't dare to mention his feelings however. It'd take a long time before he even considers that he could have a chance.

Unlike everyone before, Azul'd rather stay quiet.

He already hated the idea of having feelings for you, and just wanted to forget you existed to make the tightness in his heart disappear. He wasn't one to believe in love, let alone the fact that you were already committed to a relationship…

Yet because of that same reason he wasn't able to leave.

He had a special way of aiding you out of uncomfortable situations and stupid arguments, almost appearing randomly and requesting attention from one of you. The way he dissipated the tense air by just intruding (literally) was almost comical.

Azul's not sure of what to do, as he always regrets helping you, he says you're hopeless and it's up to you to change the situation… as if he doesn't care at all unless you're going to make a deal with him, but then he ALWAYS comes back, lends a listening ear, maybe greets you with some tea and a few snacks… Oh he pays for them, don't worry. It's a gift.

Then he goes back to feeling guilty for helping you, and frustrated for liking you.

….He's a complex guy.

One of those times, you came to talk to him at his office (which the twins knew you had special priority over his other tasks. Even if he never asked.) and told him what happened, you had an argument and it escalated, leading to the breakup… In which he seemed calm as always listening to you… asking you to sit on the couch as he paid attention to your woes.

He was at a loss for words.

Yes, he did believe this was for the best… but this ACTUALLY happening made him realize he never planned what to do beforehand. He repeated the typical routine, something sweet to drink… something soothing to eat… He's a good listener, and he will easily ignore his crush on you to help you better.

His feelings were always second place for him, and Azul seems like the kind of guy who low-key wishes you don't love him back, as he wouldn't know what to do if you did... (even as flattered as he'd feel, he still struggles with trusting people.)

However… if you're too uncomfortable with tour ex… He might ask the twins to aid you if you wish to not see him again! For free of course. You shoule accept his kindness… as he typically doesn't offer such services for free.

Reblogs are appreciated!!!

[aboutcustardcreams]

I'm feeling conflicted. On one hand, I want to write, but on the other, it feels a bit unfair to keep working on my ongoing Agathario fic for obvious reasons. That doesn't mean I'll stop updating it entirely—perhaps I just need a little break from it.

In the meantime I’m not against writing something else, just for Agatha alone. But I need ideas, good ones. And motivation. And a good kick in the ass to get started.

I’m open to suggestions but fair warning, I might be a bit picky. Don’t take it personally, I simply can’t write something if I’m not feeling it.

[kaylas-words]

Wisdom from Stephen King's On Writing

So I tested out my new eReader with Stephen King's On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, and one day and 18 Google Doc pages of quotes later, I found it quite interesting and motivating. These quotes resonated with me most:

I was built with a love of the night and the unquiet coffin, that’s all. If you disapprove, I can only shrug my shoulders. It’s what I have.

Write what you love! Kings of the Wyld by Nicholas Eames immediately comes to mind. I could tell Eames had so much fun writing the book, and it made the whole reading experience that much better. (Highly recommend if you like your fantasy with some blunt, laugh-out-loud humor.)

…let me reiterate that it’s all on the table, all up for grabs. Isn’t that an intoxicating thought? I think it is. Try any goddam thing you like, no matter how boringly normal or outrageous. If it works, fine. If it doesn’t, toss it. Toss it even if you love it. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch once said, “Murder your darlings,” and he was right.

Don't restrict yourself before you've even begun. I need to remember this more often. "But the audience—" "But the plot—" Write for you. Experiment! Especially in your first draft. Even if it doesn't work out, that's wisdom you can take with you.

You can’t please all of the readers all of the time; you can’t please even some of the readers all of the time, but you really ought to try to please at least some of the readers some of the time.

Something else I like to hear. I tend to put wine glasses in my audience's hands and raise their noses, telling myself they would disapprove if I did it like this, the way I want. But there's also a whole world of others that might just enjoy the same things as me, and maybe I can focus a little more on them. (Key: still keeping some semblance of an audience in mind.)

You must tell the truth if your dialogue is to have the resonance and realism that Hart’s War, good story though it is, so sadly lacks—and that holds true all the way down to what folks say when they hit their thumb with the hammer. If you substitute “Oh sugar!” for “Oh shit!” because you’re thinking about the Legion of Decency, you are breaking the unspoken contract that exists between writer and reader— your promise to express the truth of how people act and talk through the medium of a made-up story. ... The point is to let each character speak freely, without regard to what the Legion of Decency or the Christian Ladies’ Reading Circle may approve of. To do otherwise would be cowardly as well as dishonest, and believe me, writing fiction in America as we enter the twenty-first century is no job for intellectual cowards.

King repeats the importance of honesty in writing, and how it invests readers with a layer of life and meaning. This is something I strive for.

My first-draft characters tend to curse more than they probably should—even the ones supposedly known for being more wholesome—but I should strike a four-letter-word for being out of character rather than for worrying what my parents might think when their unvulgar daughter relinquishes one of her chapters to them.

The book gave me a lot to think about, especially where my process differed with King's, but it was also just neat to hear his story. I need to find some more memoirs to read.