#My “Hurt Feelings” crowd. 🥺

[onlyswan]

summary: in which for you, jungkook would commit crimes and his mother would peel oranges.

idol!jk x reader | fluff, angst | word count: 9.5k

warnings/content: oc passes out in the shower / jk does something crazy i’m literally insane about this / baby bam cameo 🥺 / stitches >:( / blood draw / mention of speeding / jealous not but rlly jealous oc is pissed owfffff at the nurse who has a crush on jk lmao / jk and his mom loves them to death tho so obv who wins / love is beautiful let’s all cry <3

> in which masterlist!

note: *sitcom sound effect of crowd cheering* I’M BACK 🥰 hope u enjoy the product of my madness during finals season hehehe. and special thanks to my cutieful proofreader rio!! you’re one of my most favorite people i’ve ever met 🥺💕 + my beloveds who came to the rescue when i had medical questions !! i didn’t expect to receive help from soooo many and i’m so freaking grateful i could cri :")

—

“i ordered it the other day. how did it arrive so early?”

jungkook walks back inside the apartment, arms occupied by a stack of boxes that arrived in the mail yesterday.

he arrives at the living room, head tilting to the side in confusion when he realizes that the netflix show he was watching on the television is no longer playing. instead, there is the news channel.

he gasps.

“baby, you’re alive!”

your swollen eyes flicker up to him.

you’re lying on the sofa with your legs lazily dangling on the edge. there’s a toothbrush in your mouth, foam of bubbles between your lips, but your arm barely exerts the energy to make it do its job.

“you were asleep from afternoon to morning. do you know that? you’ve never done that before!” he exclaims, carelessly tossing the boxes on the floor. “i was getting scared!”

you only hum to acknowledge his existence, pushing yourself up from the sofa and unknowingly dodging the hug your boyfriend wanted to greet you with.

he ends up collapsing face first on the empty space you left, hurt and offended.

the bathroom door opens and closes.

he flips over, whining. “yah, we didn’t see each other for a day. didn’t you miss me?!”

still not a single word from you. sleeping that long must not have cured your exhaustion, jungkook surmises. you tend to be glum and cranky when you’re feeling unwell, as is usually the case when you wake up as unrested as before.

he doesn’t always know how to make you feel better, but he always tries anyway.

“our new bedsheets arrived!” he announces from the other side of the bathroom door, making himself loud so that you can hear him despite the shower running. “do you want to unbox them with me?!”

he allows the seconds to pass, but with his hands on his hips, he eventually begins to tap his foot on the floor.

“baby? may i go in?”

he turns the knob, just to be prepared incase the answer is a yes, but it doesn’t turn. a sad pout forms on his face.

huh? why is it locked?

you must genuinely don’t want to be bothered today.

“guess that’s a no.” he mutters to himself before calling out to you. “okay, i’ll wait for you!”

with a crestfallen sigh, he begins to walk back to the living room.

he doesn’t go far, however.

only several steps later, a series of loud crashes is heard from the bathroom and his heart thunders in his chest with a combination of numbing shock and fear.

“____, what was that?! did you fall?!”

he aggressively pounds at the door, extremely desperate this time around. he has no plans on leaving until he knows that you’re safe and sound.

“baby! open this! are you alright…? are you hurt? you’re scaring me. please, answer!”

he pauses, catching his breath as his mind runs a thousand miles per hour.

“____!”

he strikes the door with an open palm one more time, more so to express his frustration that is only growing worse with every tick of the clock. he only ends up hurting himself in the process.

“that’s it! i’m opening the door!”

he frantically whips his head around, racking his brain for the location of the key. there are two copies of it somewhere in the apartment, but in his panicked state, he is unable to pinpoint either of their specific spots. and he can’t fucking afford to waste any more time.

“ah, fuck!” he curses, left with no other choice but to give in to the instinct of breaking down the door with the strength and durability of his body alone.

he would most definitely break his shoulder first before the door.

only after the first try, that much is clear.

and so, with madness inconsiderate of his agony, he resorts to kicking it over and over again.

the repeated loud collisions rattles poor bam from his slumber. not long after, the dog’s barking creates a booming dissonance with his grunts and kicks at the door.

when it finally swings open, the force of his own body sends him stumbling on the bathroom floor, but he doesn’t waste time in bouncing back to his feet.

the twisting of his stomach is instantaneous.

there lies your naked, unconscious figure behind the glass— surrounded by bottles of hair and body products that must have fallen when your hands were searching for something to hold on to.

his voice cracks, breathless.

“baby, no… no, no, no.”

he kneels on the floor, and despite the strong urge to carry you out of there, he tries to calm down. it’s the first rule in every emergency case; professionals reiterate in seminars and news channel segments.

keep calm. keep calm. keep calm.

he won’t be able to forgive himself if he ends up causing more harm than good.

“____, can you hear me?!”

his instinct tells him to inspect every inch of you for any sign of injury, but then his vision becomes too blurry. he curses at the hindrance and forces himself to turn off the showerhead that was left running.

he harshly wipes his face, rushing back to you.

“please, please, please. wake up.” he begs.

he has a feeling that it’s futile. you can’t hear him and he’s wasting his breath. the thing is he doesn’t know what else to do.

“baby…”

he carefully turns your head over, almost relieved because he hasn’t seen blood so far.

almost.

at last, he gets a full view of your face, and he finds blood dripping. this has always been one of his most paralyzing fears— seeing you get hurt. now that it’s become a reality, there’s a part of him that wants to believe this is some kind of twisted dream.

“how- how did this even happen…?” he cries out, his own blood running cold.

for everything that happens after, his body acts on its own. bam is a constant presence in his peripheral, but he is barely in his right mind to acknowledge the presence aside from, “bam, move. daddy might step on you.”

he carries you out of the bathroom, kicking aside the beaten up door. he has made up his mind about bringing you to the hospital, but he can’t bring you like… this.

he lays you down on the bed, all that gentleness switched off in a split second so he can sprint to the walk-in closet. he hastily grabs whatever is on top of your neatly folded stacks of shirts and pants; and then a fresh towel on the way out. the gentleness returns as he pats your face dry, the pure white stained with dark red. he flips the towel and uses the other side to wipe the rest of your body, in a race against time but mindful of treating you like fragile glass.

once that is over, he dresses you in a pair of gray sweatpants, and with some difficulty, an orange t-shirt.

any person with functioning eyes will be able to tell that the shades don’t go together.

if you were conscious, you’d definitely berate him for making you wear this outfit.

but you’re not.

jungkook effortlessly swoops you in his arms— dripping wet hair, his and yours, leaving behind a trail of raindrops from your apartment floor to the cemented parking lot.

—

your body feels like it’s floating.

are you dreaming…?

you must be dreaming.

you hear an uncoordinated symphony of voices, but you can’t comprehend a word. in pursuit of clarity, you force yourself to open your eyes.

the voices grow a little louder. faceless figures hover you; a bright light shines over your face.

your senses must be playing cruel tricks. now it feels like you’re drowning, sinking into the unknown, and your body has succumbed into numbing defeat.

you want to sleep a little more.

you must truly be exhausted. it’s okay.

you’ve fought hard until now. you’ve done enough… has anyone tried in life as much as you did?

just as your eyes flutter shut, you regain sensation of your hand; a soft squeeze and a call of your name.

—

jungkook gently strokes your hair, sighing for the nth time since you got transferred to a private room. he’s relieved that all the scans came back clean so serious head and brain injuries have been ruled out. the doctor also asked him questions and ran some other tests before concluding that electrolyte imbalance caused you to pass out; the culmination of stress and fatigue from work, as well as your strong period, most likely being the main reasons. he didn’t even know about the latter until you stained the white sheets with blood.

it was fucking frightening being in the sidelines as they rushed to check on your vitals and to administer oxygen. even now, it’s unbearable to see you with a needle in your hand and a few stitches above your eyebrow. he already anticipated you not being pleased with having to get stitches specifically either; gasping and sitting up as soon as you heard the word come from his lips post-consciousness. consequently, the dizziness hits you. the doctor wasn’t happy about that.

“this is so annoying. i don’t want a scar.” you whine as you study your face on the camera of jungkook’s phone. “did i have to fall on my prettier side?”

“what are you saying? you’re pretty from any angle.” he interjects. “be careful. the wound might open up.”

you jut out your bottom lip, looking up at him with glassy eyes. the sight instantly tugs at his heartstrings, and he pulls you in for a hug. maybe he’s a little sad that you don’t appear concerned about the fact that you passed out, but god is he relieved to finally hear your voice again.

“ah, i should call the doctor.”

but his face remains buried in your hair.

“they told me to do so.”

“you should-”

“why?!” he abruptly reacts, drawing back. “does anything hurt?”

“chill. you said that they told you to.”

“oh, that’s right.” he sheepishly smiles. he can’t help but to overreact; he hasn’t turned off the alarms in his head. “i’ll go tell the nurse to get her.”

he starts to walk towards the door, but a tug at his shirt holds him back.

you shyly look at him with a scrunch of your nose. “i’m nervous. hug me for five more seconds.”

fuck, he would move heaven and earth to protect you from everything that can cause you harm.

“why would you be nervous? i’m right here.” he scolds you lightheartedly, not hesitating to seize the chance to hug you again. “i love you.”

“i love you more.”

you pull away after five seconds, and he’d be disappointed about you being too true to your words if you didn’t kiss him on the cheek so ardently.

his heart almost jumps out of his chest when you gasp out of nowhere as if you just realized that you left the gas tank open at home. your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.

“bam!”

oh, right. your child.

“my brother’s house!” he eases your mind.

you breathe out in relief, the heel of your palm pressing against the left side of your chest where your heart lives. “good… i was worried. he was probably more scared because he didn’t understand what was going on. i feel bad.”

you love bam so much; it makes him so happy. you’re so concerned about him even when you’re the one on the hospital bed. you make pretty good parents, huh?

“that’s right. he was worried about you, too. that’s why you need to recover quickly so he won’t be sad!”

—

the doctor kindly asked jungkook to give the two of you some time alone, so he’s been idly sitting at the lobby after buying a bottle of water. he’s pretty much used to visiting the hospital for routine checkups considering the nature of his job, but it always feels strange to be here for the other different purposes of the place.

is there any other building sadder than this?

if you heard him utter this question, he could easily predict what you’d say: but is there any other building with more love?

if he tries hard enough, he could listen to your voice and paint you in his mind.

you see love in every place that you step foot into.

his curious eyes continue to wander around. he spots people carrying flowers, baskets, and containers of food. there’s also a teenage boy in his high school uniform, carrying a teddy bear larger than him.

not that he wants you to stay longer, but if you have to, he writes down a mental note to bring one of your favorite plushies.

he eventually gets tired; considers scrolling on his phone again, but he decides against it when his gaze lands on a little boy sleeping soundly on his mother’s lap. suddenly, he is reminded of his childhood before he moved to seoul.

how simple life can be when you’re innocently sleeping on your mother’s lap, trusting that everything will be alright.

“ah, i miss my mom…” he utters absentmindedly. “i miss my mom so much. i should call her.”

his reminiscing is interrupted when a wheelchair rolls by infront of him. it is leisurely being pushed by an old man who wants to bring his wife outside for some fresh air.

in a parallel universe somewhere, jungkook can imagine them as you and him.

he sits up straight, looking back at the clock on the wall.

how long has it been? he wants to be by your side again.

—

“jungkook!” your face lights up as soon as your boyfriend steps into the room. “what took you so long?”

“i know. sorry, baby. i got a little distracted outside.”

“i’ve been waiting.” you pout. “why? were people bothering you?”

“not at all. don’t worry.”

you pat the empty space beside you. “here.”

“i think the bed is meant for only one person- damn, okay, okay-”

he swiftly gives in upon seeing the hurt on your face, occupying the space you reserved for him. “i love you. don’t be sad.”

you’re aching too much to wait for him to get settled. you wrap your arms around his waist like you’re a magnet attracted to steel, clinging to him for comfort.

if you’re being honest, you don’t know how you feel about being in this situation. overwhelmed? maybe a tiny bit relieved. in the past, it didn’t matter whether you were sick or not. you needed to work or else it was guaranteed that you wouldn’t survive. life is easier now. you have the luxury to use this as a reason to take a break. you have someone who takes care of you as naturally as he breathes.

“how was the doctor?”

“she’s nice… she just asked me about the things i remember before i passed out. then about my work, diet, sleeping schedule… stuff like that.”

you pull away a little, just enough so you can see each other’s face. you squint at him suspiciously. “did you have to get an expensive room?”

he chuckles. “how did you know? they didn’t tell you that, did they?”

“i literally have the perfect view of the fountain from here!” you point at the large window behind you. “i just passed out. i would’ve been fine downstairs.”

“don’t say it like that. it could’ve been so much worse.” he says with knitted eyebrows, palm cupping the back of your head and caressing softly.

he heaves a sigh.

“i was so scared that you injured your head. seriously, i thought i’d go insane if i lost you! i went past the speed limit driving you here!”

the distress he was under is apparent. you can’t help but to be racked with the guilt. you always do this, making him worry himself to death. you don’t usually do it purpose, and that only makes you feel shittier.

“you’re right. i’m sorry.”

“well, i…” he sighs. “it’s okay. i know you didn’t want this either. it’s not your fault.”

you press your lips into a thin line. “it kind of is.”

your lost eyes meet, and a connection is established like it’s a constellation sending a secret message. your heart flutters when he giggles, dimples and starry eyes and crinkled corners.

“stop it. it’s impossible to scold you when you’re so cute and self-aware.”

“then don’t scold me.” you sniffle sadly to kindle pity in him. “i’ve had enough of it from the doctor.”

your brain still works well enough to help you escape from trouble. that’s a good sign, right?

“my poor baby.” he coos, cradling your cheeks.

his hands are warm. you put yours over them; a wordless signal telling him you don’t want him to go away.

“let’s not get hurt again, please. we need to stay healthy and take good care of ourselves so this won’t happen again, alright?”

you nod in obedience. your eyes are fixed on him but you’re not certain if you’re registering what he’s telling you in your pitiful, shaken brain.

“the hospital already did me many favors. if we go back, i might have to build them another fountain as a gift.”

and knowing jungkook, with his golden heart and his black card, jokes become half-meant.

“what do they need that for?!”

he bursts out laughing, yet again, after you chide at him for his ridiculous and unnecessary expenses.

“nothing, i’m just grateful! i was really so scared but i’m relieved now thanks to them. i can’t remember the last time i felt that way.”

“you’re not scared of a lot of things.” you point out.

“that’s right.” he agrees. “only you scare me these days.”

you grimace. “am i scary?”

“you are, sometimes.” he laughs, squishing your cheeks together. “but i mean the things that could hurt you.”

as if on cue, your stomach grumbles and bellows like a monster stuck in an empty cave. your eyes grow twice its size in bewilderment, which then morphs into embarrassment.

“my stomach hurts.” you say quietly.

your nostrils flare as jungkook miserably fails to hold back his laughter. one of his hands leave your face, rubbing your tummy over the thin hospital gown.

“oh no, what are we going to do? where does it hurt? here?” he pouts. “should we go feed you now to make it go away?”

“what is wrong with you?” you slap his shoulder in annoyance. “i’m not a baby!”

“yah, be careful!” he yells, wincing as if he is the one in pain. “be gentle with the one with the iv!”

—

“you know one good thing that came out of this?” you gush out of nowhere.

you’re mixing up the ingredients of your bibimbap bowl with a spoon and a pair of chopsticks.

jungkook noisily drinks the final sips of his banana milk. afterwards, he makes a game out of shooting the box in the trash bin.

“what could that be?” he asks, doubtful.

he sits on the chair beside your bed. you greet him with a delighted grin, licking your thumb stained with gochujang.

“you proved your love. you committed a crime for me.”

he gasps to humor you, body freezing as if he’s currently processing the newly-learned information in his brain.

“oh? you’re right- i did! and you know what? i’d do it again!”

with a mouthful of rice, you shake your head in disagreement furiously. “you’re cute. but that’s the first and last.”

“but how are you sure that it’s the first?” he raises an eyebrow quizically.

silly enough, you envy him for being able to do so.

you hum in thought. “i guess you’ve stolen a few things for me, too.”

“few? you mean a loooot?”

“you’re the one who brings home food and random things.” you roll your eyes. “i never ask you to.”

“you told me you wanted the service bell!”

you feel yourself become flushed with sheepishness. he’s not lying. you’ve always found the object fascinating as a child, so you couldn’t help but to tell him to sneakily take one home after filming a competitive run bts episode.

did you have a silly phase where you and jungkook used it to summon each other just to laugh together about it?

perhaps.

“well, you’re rich. you could’ve bought me one instead.”

“but it was already there.” he reasons with a wide grin, gesturing infront of him. “i wanted to give it to my lover right away.”

his lover?

jungkook has successfully replaced your frown with an enamored smile.

“i made your heart flutter just now, didn’t i?”

a hospital stay has never felt this comfortable— not terrifying. you have stitches on your face and to add to that, this hospital gown feels super unflattering. somehow, your boyfriend’s loving gaze remains steady and you are melting.

“shut up,” you mutter, flustered, handing him the pair of chopsticks. “please eat with me. i can’t finish this on my own.”

—

“why would you let them put the needle in my dominant hand?”

you stomp your feet on the ground as jungkook squeezes some toothpaste onto a newly-bought toothbrush.

“i’m sorry! i was too stressed out so i just pointed! i think i got confused with- with left and right.”

you didn’t realize this while you were eating; that you were unconsciously holding the spoon with your non-dominant hand because the other felt uncomfortable. maybe because it was a simple task, scooping food and bringing it to your mouth. brushing your teeth, on the other hand… can be quite an arm workout.

“eeeee!”

he shows his complete set of teeth, urging you to do the same. you stare at him blankly.

“eeeee!” he repeats with heightened enthusiasm.

left with no other choice— you copy his awkward smile.

“there we go!” he praises you with an over-enthusiastic beam.

he carries on to brush your teeth, gingerly holding your chin to keep you steady as he does his job.

this is the first time jungkook is doing this for you. today is definitely not one of your finest moments. it feels a bit silly to be in this situation, and you feel bad for putting your boyfriend in this position in the first place. you can see that he’s trying his best—unnecessarily focused—and that he loves you, but you just hate giving him a hard time.

with a soft smile, he wipes the bubbles that overflowed past your lips.

“okay, spit.”

you spit out more of the bubbles on the sink. you assume that he’s finished, except he’s making another vowel sound for you to mimic the mouth shape of.

“ahhhh-”

“this is embarrassing!”

“baby, really? this is where you draw the line?” he playfully squeezes your cheeks together. “it’s almost over! ahhhh!”

and you let him do this thing, but not without a glare that is masking the embarrassing truth: you might be enjoying this more than you care to admit.

“see? was that so bad?”

as he tenderly pats your face dry in the aftermath, he says: “i’m sorry. bear with it a little more. let me take care of you so you’ll be healthy again.” and you feel every ounce of his sincerity pierce through the barriers surrounding your soul.

“stop it…” your voice suddenly comes out broken.

you want to put all the blame on your period for the tears that are now brimming your eyes, but jungkook is your biggest weakness of all and that is an explanation enough.

“why are you crying?” he panics. “what did i say?”

“it’s your fault.”

you break down into loud sobs, incapable of even keeping your eyes open. you never understood why we close our eyes when we cry, but right now, you know that you can’t bear to witness his reaction.

“you’re so sweet.”

the towel that was wiping the water from your mouth is now drying the tears from your stained cheeks.

“am i making you sad?”

you furiously shake your head. how could he say such a thing? he is the greatest joy of your life.

“no?”

“no!”

“okay, come here then.”

he wraps his arms around your trembling figure, caging you in the solace of his entire existence. a sense of calmness washes over your system, especially as he runs his hand across your back in gentle strokes. this isn’t his goal though, it seems. you hear none of his quiet shushes beseeching you to stop breaking his heart. he hopes you let go of everything that has been weighing on you, but he has already eased all your pains by loving you.

“ugh, i probably look horrible right now.” you force a chuckle to lighten up the mood, wiping your face with the back of your free hand. “i feel gross.”

“that’s not true.” he gazes at you fondly, brushing your hair with his fingers. “it’s actually infuriating how you look so beautiful still.”

“i know. i’m nice to look at; that’s why you tolerate my attitude.” you conclude in jest.

“yeah, sometimes.” he rides on the joke.

“what…?”

“i’m joking!” he rushes to take it back with a laugh. “of course i’m joking!”

you pout. “are you really?”

“oh, come onnnn.”

he coaxes you with a kiss on the lips— a good morning kiss long overdue. you’ve been spoiled rotten with affection; he knows you need more than one. he interrupts himself several times to kiss you.

“you know i’ll love you until our hair turns white and our skin all wrinkly.”

to be brutally honest, you’re not fond of imagining that far ahead. it’s daunting. you doubt your capability to age with grace. you’re horrified by the thought of having the majority of your life behind you. nostalgia has always been more bitter than sweet. but maybe this memory could be the sweetest of all, if jungkook truly stays by your side until then. in a cottage at the countryside like he said once, or a cabin by the ocean.

you’re both so young; so arrogant when it comes to making promises that are a shot in the dark. so fucking in love.

“me too.” you half-smile, scrunching your nose— a telltale sign of your joy. “now, get out. i really need to pee.”

his face becomes drained of blood. “but you’re st-”

“i won’t lock the door this time.” you cup his cheek, looking at his eyes reassuringly. “we don’t need property damage added to the bill.”

—

“did you not hurt yourself?”

“me?”

“you broke down the door. that’s not easy to do.”

you and jungkook make the best out of a bad deal. you’re squeezed together on the bed, browsing through television channels that seem to never end.

“it was easy because you were on the other side of it.”

that is what he claims confidently, but you are not fully convinced.

“wow, why do they have more channels than we do at home?”

“you didn’t answer my question.” you pout. “did you hurt yourself?”

“i didn’t hurt myself. i’m totally okay. i promise.”

he maintains eye-contact as he speaks. given the assurance, your tight chest unrestricts. jungkook is not a good liar. it’s a trait that causes him inconvenience every now and then, but it helps you to sleep soundly at night.

“should we just watch funny animal videos on youtube?”

“i guess that’s fine.”

it doesn’t show but you feel excitement run in your veins aside from the iv fluids that feel peculiarly cold.

from under your cheek, his chest vibrates with a giggle. “okay, hold on.”

as he pulls up the application, you tangle your legs together beneath the thin blanket. you hear the rapid tap tap tap of the remote control navigating the keypad while he types on the search bar, but your attention is someplace else. you’ve found the crook of his neck to sneak into, lazily kissing every inch of his exposed skin. your lips eventually trail up to his jaw. he smells so nice. you’re addicted.

“baby, someone can enter any minute.”

“i’m not doing anything.” you mumble.

you smile against his lips when he gives you a kiss as sweet as honey anyway.

“i’m curious about another thing.”

“what’s that?”

“did you cry?”

he comes to a still. the answer to that question requires a little time and thought.

“almost…”

“why almost?”

“no time. i had to bring you here, of course.” he replies.

you huff a laugh, exhaling a twinge of melancholia. “don’t cry.”

“i won’t. i’m happy now because you’re awake and fighting with me.”

“ow-”

your cry of pain is silenced when he squeezes you in an embrace that makes it nearly impossible to breathe.

“red panda!”

a squeal assaults both of your hearing as soon as your eyes land on the wide screen infront of the bed.

“i want one so fucking bad.”

the enunciated curse makes your boyfriend crack up in amusement. “that much?!”

—

jungkook opens his eyes to a nurse lightly nudging him awake.

“i’m sorry, i had to wake you up. i need to check vitals and draw blood.”

“shit, i’m sorry.” he panics.

his brain is foggy from the nap, but he still carefully sits up on the bed, wary of the iv line connected to your hand.

“i… was tired and i fell asleep.”

“it’s no problem; don’t worry.”

she smiles at him, but he doesn’t see it.

“you look adorable sleeping.”

“ah, really?” he awkwardly responds, absentminded. “it’s embarrassing.”

he stands on your side, about to disturb your peaceful rest much as it makes his heart ache with guilt, but you’re already stirring due to the absence of his warmth.

your heavy eyelids blink at the nurse in curiosity. “oh… do you need my blood?”

“yes, but i’ll take your blood pressure and temperature first.”

“okay,” you mumble, offering your arm. “it might be higher now because i’m scared.”

she chuckles at your joke. jungkook tries to share an endeared look with her and non-verbally communicate adorable, right?

“i promise i’ll be quick. although we definitely want it to be higher than earlier’s.”

you wince as the cuff around your upper arm goes as tight as it could, and you sigh at the same time that it begins to deflate.

“good, good, good,” she chants with a mumble. “it’s back in the normal range again…”

she brings out a digital thermometer from her pocket.

“you know where this goes.”

she hands it over to you, and you awkwardly place it in your armpit, holding it in place. it’s quiet as you wait for the device to make the beeping sound, except for her pen creating friction with your chart as she takes down notes.

“how’s your stitches? do you feel any discomfort?”

“it’s fine. thank you.”

not long after, you hear the beep. you return the thermometer to her, but not before taking a peak at the numbers displayed on the tiny screen. 36.8°C. you think you’ll live.

“i’ll draw your blood now.”

the nurse’s voice is sweet and reassuring, but it doesn’t quite ease the nervousness evident on your expression. your pupils shake as you watch her disinfect the area, and then comes out the long needle.

another one, jungkook laments inside.

“____, i’m right here.”

you crane your head, whimpering out his name. “jungkook,”

“it will be just a pinch. i’m inserting the needle now, alright?”

you take a sharp inhale.

if only he could switch positions with you, he would do it in a heartbeat. unfortunately, all he can do is caress your hair and whisper that it will be over soon.

“it hurts.” your damp eyelashes flutter, face twisting in discomfort. “i don’t like it.”

really, just a pinch? obviously a lie.

“hey, baby. look at the tv.”

the autoplay was left turned on after you fell asleep together. inside the screen is a puppy rolling around a snow-covered lawn. the wagging of its tail, the wide smile, and the pupils as big as boba balls: they all scream the happiness of an innocent.

“it’s so cute… i miss bam already. can we go to a dog park again?”

“of course!”

that promise sparks your smile. you turn to your side, and jungkook also catches a glimpse of the cotton taped to where you were poked.

“all done. you can go back to resting.”

“thank you. will you need to take blood again?” you inquire at the nurse.

“hm, probably. it depends on the doctor based on the results we get from this one.”

“can’t you just do it while i’m asleep? or is that not allowed?”

“baby…” jungkook snorts, hiding his face behind the palm of his hands.

the nurse laughs at your desperate suggestion. “that is honestly not a rare request, but the thing is… you might wake up in the middle of it and injure yourself. we can’t do that.”

“that won’t be a problem!” you passionately argue your case. “i’m a deep sleeper. seriously!”

“ah, thank you so much for your hard work!”jungkook intervenes, bowing to the nurse out of respect and gratitude. “i’m sure you’re busy. i will handle this!”

“oh yes, yes- thank you. please don’t forget the medicine for after dinner.”

“i won’t!”

“if you need anything, you know where to find me again.”

“yes,” he nods, chuckling. “thank you.”

“then i should leave…? but you’ll see me again later! bye!”

the door shuts, and his attention lands on your unimpressed form: a blank stare and arms folded infront of your chest.

uh-oh.

“did she seriously wink while saying that?”

“what?” he freezes, genuinely clueless. “i don’t know. i didn’t see anything. i was looking at you.”

“i’m right here- i’m the patient. why would you need anything from her? huh? why is she so excited to see you again?” you ramble angrily.

“right?!”

he climbs on the bed, reclaiming his spot next to you.

“that was weird.”

“what if she made it hurt on purpose? that…” you frown, glancing at your arm. “that didn’t really feel like a pinch to me.”

“ey, calm down. she wouldn’t.” he makes a doubtful face, laughing off the accusation. “…i don’t think so?”

you blink, exhaling in disbelief. “are you taking her side now?”

“of course not! baby, i’m just saying… a professional won’t do that.”

“why not? she’s still human. humans do stupid things when they like someone. she obviously likes you.”

“and so what?”

he grins with a spark of mischief, leaving an inch of a distance between your lips.

“i’m obviously yours.”

but you turn your cheek and your eyes fall on your lap, a pout highlighting your downcast mood.

“it’s so annoying.”

the regret sinks in after. he should’ve stuck to the golden rule: agree with everything that you say. there’s no point in having an argument no one will win. does it matter who’s right and wrong if each other’s sadness is contagious in addition to their own? your gut has almost always been right, and he’s old enough to be conscious of not allowing a stranger to put a dent on your relationship.

“are you serious? are you uncomfortable?” he tilts his head to try and get a better look at your face. “should i request for a different nurse?”

it’s quiet for a beat and he feels inclined to fill the silence with whatever enters his mind.

“i love you.”

almost immediately, your features soften and he knows your heart is also melting. the two of you bite the inside of your cheeks to hide a smile.

“no, there’s no need for that.”

but he still can’t help but to be worried. your peace of mind is his top priority. he doesn’t want you to be more stressed out, especially by things that he has the power to solve.

“are you sure?”

“she pissed me off. i need to piss her off too.”

of course, his ever stubborn and competitive lover. he sits up properly, amused and curious.

“and how will you do that?”

“i don’t know,” you nonchalantly shrug. “i’ll come up with something.”

—

“come up with what?”

to your surprise, a voice you haven’t heard in weeks echoes from the door.

“mom…?”

you’re stunned after only hearing yourself react to jungkook’s mother’s unexpected entrance. your head whips to his direction; your eyes wordlessly interrogating him.

“i need to go to work so i called her to watch over you.” he explains.

“why would you do that?” you argue with him as quietly as possible, lips barely moving as you try to hide your face from your mother-in-law. again, not one of your finest moments. “you didn’t have to. i can take care of myself.”

“but you don’t have to because you have us.”

jungkook marks the conversation finished with a kiss pressed to your temple, leaving you dumbfounded. he jumps off the bed and for a split second, you make eye-contact with his mother before he towered over her for a quick hug.

her kind smile is embroidered in your memory; a memory that wraps your heart in a type of warmth only a mother can provide.

“mom! i’m sorry. i really, really, really need to leave now. but! i’ll try to come back early so you can go home early too.”

“aigoo, stop stressing yourself out.”

jungkook receives a slap on the back, somehow more loving can scolding.

“i can stay the night so do what you need to do. you don’t have to worry.”

“it’s not only because i’m worried!”

she sassily puts a hand over her waist. it takes everything in you not to laugh out loud.

“then what else?”

“mom! what else?” he cheekily smiles. “of course i’ll miss ____ too much.”

did your boyfriend just…? to his mother? your jaw becomes slack from the shame.

“i missed ____ too!” she contests. “go to work and give us our alone time.”

you shyly smile when she transfers her attention from her son to you.

“hello, my baby. are you hungry?”

—

“does my son feed you well?”

“he does! but it’s funny- other mothers ask the opposite. are you feeding my son well? do you make sure he’s comfortable?”

you think out loud, transfixed on how she peels oranges with ease. your hands would always be stained by the juices, (and eyes red and teary from accidental splashes) (it’s too embarrassing to even think about) but hers are still magically clean.

“is that so?”

you graciously accept the slice she feeds you. she laughs when your face lights up like a christmas tree one more time. it’s way sweeter than you anticipated. you can’t get over how delicious it is.

“mhmm!”

perhaps you relied too much on dramas when it came to your expectations of what a relationship with your in-laws would look like. you imagined yourself running around like a dog trying to prove yourself worthy of their son, yet for some reason, it looks like they adore you for simply existing. it makes you feel extremely grateful, but you don’t understand.

“mom, i have a question… i know it’s probably too late to ask this now, but…”

“what could that be?”

“are you really not against me and jungkook living together?” you swallow your fear of the possibility of an unpleasant truth. “are you not… worried… that i’m receiving too much from him?”

because you would understand the apprehension. as a parent, one’s main concern would be their child. to outside eyes, it’s easy to come to the conclusion that jungkook is being taken advantage of and he’d be better off dating someone with the same status. sometimes you wish you were that someone too.

she utters your name sadly.

“he receives happiness and love from you. those are the most valuable things you could give to a person.”

she caresses your hair like she wants to erase the anxiety poisoning your mind.

“my dear, how come you’re worried about that until now? haven’t we told you? you’re part of the family. forget about my sister! i don’t welcome her negativity in our house!”

“living together is different. it’s a big deal. it normally happens in a relationship after…” the following words feel foreign in your mouth; they come out quieter than the rest of your sentence. “getting married.”

“then tell me. why did you agree to live with him?”

because you’re selfish. because you want more time that you can have him all to yourself. because you want to be accessible— the first person he runs to when he’s seeking comfort and stability. because you want goodnight and good morning kisses. because you were afraid of the risks but you’ve grown addicted to the thrill of love.

“he said… no matter how hard i push him away, he will stay within my reach.”

you hear your own shaky breathing. that moment— it’s still burned into your memory. you’re still holding on to it. it’s a promise he is yet to break and you pray that he never, ever does.

“i don’t want to push him away. i want to be within his reach too.”

you’re two people loving each other with everything within your means. after the endless pains and the deafening noise, you like to think that’s what makes this relationship worth fighting for.

“does my opinion still matter knowing that? will you let me stop you?”

“no, i won’t. i’d make you change your mind.”

if you had a machine connected to you, she would see how your heart rate has gone off the charts. but you’re known to say whatever’s on your mind and that, much to your dismay, isn’t switched off despite sitting infront of the woman who birthed and raised the love of your life.

you sniffle, pursing your lips nervously. “but i feel like there might be a right answer to that one.”

what you didn’t expect was her to laugh until her belly hurts; placing a hand over her mouth in an effort to calm herself down and keep grace.

“mom! stop, i’m so embarrassed!”

“no, ____, don’t get me wrong!”

she is teary-eyed as she gathers herself together.

“the more time i spend with you, the more i realize why jungkook loves you so much. i’ve seen him show incredible commitment twice. do you know that? first, when he went to seoul to become a singer. second, when he told us he got an apartment because he wants to be with you… of course, as his mother, i’ll admit that he’s young when he made those decisions, but he always proves to me that he’s smart and responsible.”

the urge to cry returns and strengthens as she speaks. you feel your eyelashes become damp with unshed tears. you don’t know how to act. you fiddle with your fingers. you stare at the strings and peels of the oranges you can still taste.

“i believe we both know jungkook’s personality well. he wouldn’t have let me stop him either. i’m happy to know that you’ll fight for him too.”

“thank you…”

“tsk, tsk, tsk- what is there to cry about? jungkook will get angry at me if he discovers that i made you cry.”

she wipes away your tears; however, the unmistakable scent of oranges that has clung to her hands and the affection in her tone bring forth a waterfall.

“seeing this makes me sadder.” she laments, referring to the stitches on your face.

“me too,” you babble in the midst of quiet sobs. “it makes me sad. it’s so ugly.”

—

you can’t remember the last time you felt this alone. perhaps it’s the effect of staying in an unfamiliar building of complete strangers. without your mobile phone, may you add. you managed to persuade jungkook’s mother to leave an hour ago because you didn’t want her to sleep on the uncomfortable couch.

the lights are turned off except for the lamp beside your bed, and with the television muted, you could hear a hairpin drop.

you’re alone and you can do whatever you want.

you dragged the visitor’s chair infront of the window to admire the garden like it’s a painting in motion. you watched people converse, stroll, and drink coffee. you watched them run for shelter when the clouds became too heavy and the sky began to fall. oh, so that’s why you couldn’t see the stars.

at this moment, there’s nothing left to amuse yourself with but the trembling of the leaves and the raindrops forming temporary rings when they fall in the water fountain.

your senses crave for more. you reach over and crack open the window, just enough to allow the sound of the rain and the scent of it permeating the earth to enter your room.

“this is kind of peaceful.” you whisper, amazed by the new lightness carried by your heart.

you close your eyes and you breathe in the petrichor deeply. you want nature in your lungs as a reminder that you’re alive. you welcome the cold wind kissing your face. you can feel your hair touching your neck. you always do, but for once, you’re choosing to acknowledge it. your thumb slowly brushes across the palm of your hand, perceiving the texture of your skin, the softness, and the lines. and your feet, they’re in the clouds, the fluffy slippers jungkook’s mother bought outside because she knows they’re your favorite to wear.

you’ve loved and despised this body for a million different reasons. your mind and heart have accepted defeat countless times, but your body wakes up to every brand new day without fail. your body implores you to live. did it finally give up on you today?

“baby!”

you look behind to search for the source of the sound.

you get your answer from the kiss planted on your lips.

you only saw his face for a split second, but even if you had your eyes closed, you’d know it has to be jungkook kissing you.

you can smell him. you’ve memorized the way the shape of his lips fits with yours.

oh, the sounds of his kisses too. you like to call them the butterfly call because they make butterflies appear in your stomach.

you could trace the scar on his cheek with your finger if you want to.

god, what a privilege it is to experience life in this vessel.

a knock on the door forces you to part too early. the same nurse from earlier enters and you internally scream all the curse words in your dictionary. jungkook acknowledges her with a bow and a quick ‘hello’ before squatting down infront of you.

“i committed another crime for you today.”

“huh?”

your wide, confused eyes take a glimpse at the nurse who is doing something with the controls of your iv line.

hahaha… she knows he’s not serious, right?

“what did you do?”

his smile is so big that his eyes have turned into little crescent moons. you’d make a guess but there is an infinite amount of things jungkook could possibly be this excited about.

…apparently, one of them would be strawberry cake.

you gape at the transparent box he was hiding behind his back all along.

“did you steal somebody’s birthday cake?!”

“it’s a producer’s birthday and he received lots of cakes, so he told me i can take one home.”

“how is it stealing if he allowed you to take it?”

he tosses his backpack on the couch as he sets down the box on the table. he rummages through the bag his mother left behind, successfully bringing out a spoon. meanwhile, you get your blood pressure taken again.

as he opens the box, he sends a smirk your way.

“no. i hid the strawberry cake because there’s so many who wanted to eat it.”

“are you crazy?!”

the nurse clicks her tongue. “don’t talk and stay still, please.”

“oh,” your hand flies to your mouth on instinct. “i’m sorry.”

“i’m sorry.” jungkook also apologizes.

you and your boyfriend secretly share a look, exchanging a smile that is stifled laughter inside. your lips remain zipped as the nurse restarts the process of taking your blood pressure. on the other hand, jungkook eats a spoonful of cake, teasingly wiggling his eyebrows at you. you roll your eyes and he tries harder to laugh without a sound.

seconds later, he grumbles about the room being too warm. he wipes the beads of sweat on his forehead using the back of his hand, and he does the worst thing he could possibly do at this moment. he reaches for his back, pulling his sweater over his head. naturally, his inner shirt rides up and allows wandering eyes a peak at his glorious toned abdomen.

passed out in the shower. busted your eyebrow open. front-row seat for a woman flirting and ogling at your boyfriend.

how fucking great.

“hello? i think it’s done.” you snap.

“a-ah, yes.”

you hear her swallow as she removes the cuff from your arm. she may be wearing a mask but she’s hot and red all the way to her ears. you’ve only read about it in books. you didn’t even believe this could happen in real life until now.

“i will check your temperature too.”

“go on.”

you repeat the same process from hours earlier, drumming your fingers on your thigh as you wait for the beep.

“yah, why is the window open? you’ll catch a cold.”

jungkook, yet again, steals the attention of every person in the room when he rises to his feet. his shadow casts over you as he closes the window.

“i wanted to smell the rain.”

“is the room getting too stuffy for you?”

you shrug. “i just wanted to smell the rain.”

you feel the nurse’s stare. you offer her a smile and her nameplate briefly gets caught by your vision. kang ji-woo.

“ji-woo; that’s a pretty name.” you pay her a sincere compliment. “it’s healing, don’t you think?”

“yes? uh-uhm, y-yes…” she replies, unsure and confused by the sudden small talk. “actually, it’s been linked to a reduction in stress and anxiety levels.”

“thank you! babe, did you hear that?”

“uhuh, think about my stress and anxiety levels.” he leans against the window with his arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at you.

so now he’s flexing his arm muscles. cool, cool, cool. you know he’s not doing it on purpose and his entire existence is just naturally hot and it’s infuriating.

“i’ve been worried sick about you all day.”

his statement makes you frown for a new reason. at the same moment, the thermometer beeps.

“could you please tell him that i’m fine?”

“37.3, uhhh- that’s slightly above normal. how do you feel? does your head hurt? are you cold?”

“i feel fine though?”

“okay. please take a lot of rest and stay warm…” her gaze lingers at jungkook who is blocking the window. “keep the window closed. hopefully it won’t be higher when i check again later.”

seriously?! you could cry. you want to go home where it’s comfortable. where it’s only you and jungkook and bam.

but you bet somebody would be happy if you had to stay longer.

“i’ll look after ____.” your boyfriend sighs, pulling out a jacket from his backpack.

“you shouldn’t have kissed me. what if you get sick?”

your blatantness causes the nurse to pause in updating your chart. she awkwardly clears her throat. “yeah… that… that isn’t currently advisable.”

“i’m sorry. i’ll control myself.”

you earn a glare from jungkook, then he fakes a smile which you gladly return.

“before you go, may i request for a new blanket? sorry, i spilled something earlier.”

“sure thing! i’ll come back with that right away.”

—

“she seemed happy to leave.” jungkook remarks. “i can’t tell if you were actually being nice or being passive aggressive.”

you smile innocently, taking a bite off the strawberry you stole from the top of the cake. “i’m a fucking angel.”

damn it, why is he suddenly turned on?

were you serious about the no kiss rule?

“would you rather i be the type to pull their hair?”

he shakes his head with a laugh. “but you did slap someone once.”

“you want to see me that furious again?”

“never in my wildest dreams.”

he kisses the top of your head, producing an exaggerated ‘mmmwah!’ sound that makes you giggle happily.

“here, have some more cake.”

he offers you a spoonful of cake.

no, it’s bigger.

as a matter of fact, the piece could probably pass off as a cupcake.

you gawk at it as if you’re figuring out the logistics of putting it in your mouth. his heart does a flip when you tilt your head and do your best to take in the whole thing. however, in the middle of it, you decide that you can’t, and you end up biting it off a little more than halfway.

oh my god, he loves you. he loves you. you’re so fucking cute.

your cheeks are full as you struggle to chew. you cover your mouth with your hand but they don’t touch. you’re so elegant in your ways and sometimes he wonders how you’re still attracted to him after he acts stupid.

also, plain white nails? that’s new. you always want colors.

“your nails look pretty.”

he is so focused on you that he fails to take notice of another presence occupying the room.

“your mom did them for me.”

“i figured. she wants to do mother-daughter things with you.”

the short break of silence speaks volumes. you look at him, blinking with eyes hinting at a type of joy you’re lost on how to express.

“did you choose white?”

“no. we were watching a drama and it was the couple’s wedding.”

oh, that makes total sense.

“let me guess,” he trails off with a half-embarrassed, half-entertained smile. “she asked when we will get married?”

“why would she ask me that? how would i know?” you scoff.

his heart starts at a thousand miles per hour. fuck, are you hinting at him? are you messing with his feelings again? with you, he always needs to remind himself to be rational.

“i need more time to prove to you that i’m husband material.”

“what? stop it. i don’t care. i don’t need a ring.”

your unpredictableness pushes him to the edge of his seat.

“don’t pressure yourself. you already treat me way better than most husbands do their wives.”

the pride painted on your face is unmistakable. he feels his heart swelling in his chest. has he been doing a better job than he originally thought? after what happened today, he was terrified that he hasn’t been paying enough attention to you.

“i’m so happy with what we have.”

you offer him a delicate smile before eating the rest of the cake that was left on the spoon. he swears there’s a glowing halo above your head.

could your temperature have magically dropped in the past five minutes? would you kill him if he kissed you right now?

“is there anything else i could assist you with?”

and then he is rudely snapped out of his hopeless adoration and daydreaming.

“that’s all! thank you for your hard work!” you chirp.

he turns to the nurse with a lovesick grin.

“please come to our wedding.”

the unforeseen wedding invitation earns him a slap on the chest. he clutches the affected area, wincing in pain.

he hears you mutter. “don’t invite strangers to our wedding.”

the irritated glare he predicted to face isn’t there. rather, you’re wearing the flustered smile he only sees when he knows that he did something to make you fall for him all over again.

before ji-woo left, she tried to subtly reject the invitation by jokingly saying that she’d die to go, but most probably, she’d have to work that day. you know… being an overworked hospital employee and all. you caught her glancing at you with bitterness failed to be guised as indifference. you get it. you’d hate it if another person was in your place. frankly speaking, you could be miles pettier.

your boyfriend wipes the corner of your lips, thoughtless as he licks off the cake frosting from his thumb.

damn it, you wish she was also here for that.

“you haven’t stopped smiling.”

“you love me and you never let me forget that.”

you give an answer despite the lack of a question mark.

you just made his world stop spinning on its axis and you’re not even aware.

jungkook knows the heavenly feeling of knowing that he is loved, but he has never deeply considered the joy and relief when the person he loves believes that he loves them.

“i’m so lucky. i love you.”

you push yourself up to plant a kiss on his forehead. it’s a rarity he treasures and keeps.

“i love you too.”

he cries infront of you.

almost.

he excuses himself to the bathroom and cries in there a little.

you’re so easy to love— that’s why it makes him want to do difficult things for you. like commit more crimes?

[paddockletters]

secret's out | lewis hamilton smau

pairing: lewis hamilton x reader summary: lewis accidentally reveals his secret relationship with you in an instagram story, sparking fan frenzy. request: yes/ thank you so muchhhh! author’s note:hey anon, i really loved and enjoyed writing your idea! thanks for you request and hope you like it and and sorry it took me too long❤

lewishamilton

lewis' imessage

y/username

liked by lewishamilton, f1 and 2,467,095 others

yourusername: i guess our secret has been reveled bt none other than my husband...

comments...

georgerussell63: you guys definitely made that podium moment legendary. Wishing you both all the best! 💪🏼❤️

danielriccirado: You guys, first you hid your relationship and then your wedding and you didn't even invite us…. I'm hurt

user1: the fact that george is his teammate and he didn't even know that lewis was married 😭😭

user2: ok, we already knew that lewis was very private but this, THIS is another level

charles_leclerc: took you long enough, Lewis! Wishing you guys all the happiness! 🥳

user3: can we just appreciate the casual hard launch AND a kiss on the podium?? absolute power couple energy 💯

user4: he way Lewis looked at you during the podium 😍 He’s been in love the whole time!!

user5: he fact that Lewis called you his wife on his story and we all lost it 🤣🤣 Congrats on your not-so-secret love anymore!

y/username

liked by lewishamilton, f1 and 3,456,955 others

yourusername: this secret and announcement took us less time this last time

comments:

lewishamilton: Can’t wait to meet our little one. Over the moon with you, love

user6: BABY HAMILTON?! Oh my God, I’m crying. This is the cutest news ever!! 😭🍼

georgerussell63: Congratulations!! Can’t wait to meet the future world champ! 🍼🏆

landonorris: BABY HAMILTON??? Alright, I’m officially shook. Congrats, guys! The paddock just got a whole lot more fun! 😂❤️

user7: Lewis is gonna be a dad??? IM NOT OKAY!!! CONGRATS!! 🥺❤️

danielricciardo: A little racer on the way? YES! Can I be the fun uncle? 😎🍼

user8: A podium celebration baby??? 👀 Looks like we know how y’all celebrated that win! 🤭

user9: he timeline is connecting… podium celebration = baby Hamilton?? You sneaky lovebirds! 😂💛

charles_leclerc: Wow, huge congrats!! The grid’s about to get a little bigger 😄

user10: OMG this baby is about to be more stylish than all of us. Already living their best life before birth! 👶🏽✨

Lewis' podium

The energy in the paddock was electric as Lewis’s car crossed the finish line, securing him a spot on the podium for the first time in what felt like ages. I could barely contain my excitement as I watched from the sidelines, surrounded by a sea of cheering fans. The moment felt surreal, and my heart raced as Lewis climbed out of his car, a triumphant grin plastered across his face.

As he approached me, still wearing his helmet, I couldn't help but notice the way the crowd erupted in applause and shouts. The deafening cheers seemed to fade into the background as he got closer. “Honey, I’ve done it!!” he shouted, his voice slightly muffled but filled with uncontainable joy.

The adrenaline coursing through my veins made me feel invincible. I laughed, my heart swelling with pride as I reached up to remove his helmet. The instant his face came into view, I felt the warmth of his excitement radiate between us. The crowd’s energy shifted, anticipation crackling in the air as they sensed something special was about to happen.

Lewis leaned down, his eyes locked onto mine, and in that electric moment, he kissed me deeply, right there in front of everyone. The world around us disappeared; all I could feel was the warmth of his lips and the deafening roar of the crowd as they cheered for us.

From that day forward, we became the couple everyone adored. Fans began sharing videos and photos of the kiss, turning it into an iconic moment.

As the weeks passed, our relationship was the talk of the town. But it wasn't long before the news of our little family surprise came to light.

It was late, the dimmed lights in our living room casting soft shadows on the walls as I paced back and forth. The small plastic stick in my hand felt heavy, like it held the weight of the world. My heart pounded as I stared at the two pink lines that confirmed it—I was pregnant.

I had imagined this moment so many times, rehearsing how I would tell him, but now that it was real, my mind was a blur of emotions. Excitement, fear, happiness—everything at once.

Lewis had just gotten home from the gym, his usual easy smile lighting up his face as he stepped inside. He dropped his gym bag by the door, not yet noticing the turmoil in my eyes.

"Hey, love. Everything alright?" He asked, walking over to kiss me on the forehead, his hands automatically settling on my waist. But as he looked down at me, his brow furrowed in concern. He knew something was up.

I took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of his hands on me, grounding me. "Lewis, I… I need to tell you something."

His eyes softened instantly, the worry easing away. He pulled me closer, concern still flickering in his gaze but now mixed with curiosity.

"You’re scaring me a bit, babe. What’s going on?"

I bit my lip, the words almost stuck in my throat. My heart raced as I reached for his hand, slipping the positive pregnancy test into his palm. He looked down at it, confusion crossing his face for a brief second before realization hit him like a wave.

His eyes widened, flicking from the test to me and back to the test again. "Wait… are you serious?"

I nodded, tears springing to my eyes as a nervous laugh escaped me. "Yes, Lewis. We’re going to have a baby."

For a moment, it was like time stood still. He stared at me, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. Then, without warning, he scooped me up into his arms, spinning me around as a wide, joyful laugh escaped him.

"Are you kidding me?!" He was grinning from ear to ear, his excitement so contagious I couldn’t help but giggle, too. "We’re having a baby?!"

"Yeah… we’re having a baby." I nodded, my heart swelling as I saw how happy he was.

Lewis set me down gently, but his arms stayed wrapped around me, his forehead resting against mine.

"I can’t believe this," he whispered, his voice full of awe. "You’re going to be the most amazing mom, you know that?"

"And you’re going to be the best dad. Our little one’s going to be so lucky." I smiled, feeling the butterflies in my stomach.

He pulled back slightly, looking into my eyes, his expression soft and full of love.

"This is the best news I could’ve ever imagined. I love you so much."

"I love you too," I whispered back, my voice catching with emotion.

Lewis placed a hand on my stomach, still grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. "Our little secret," he said, his voice hushed, as if speaking too loud would make it any less real.

As the initial shock and excitement settled in, Lewis and I spent the rest of the evening curled up on the couch, talking about everything that lay ahead. The glow in his eyes hadn’t dimmed one bit; if anything, it had grown brighter with every moment.

"I still can’t believe it," he whispered, running his fingers softly over my stomach. "We’re actually having a baby."

I laughed, leaning my head against his shoulder. "It’s real, Lewis. You’re going to be a dad."

"You know, now that I think about it, when do you reckon we… you know, made this little one?" A playful smirk spread across his face.

I rolled my eyes at his cheeky tone. "Really? That’s what you’re thinking about now?"

"Well," he chuckled, nudging me slightly. "It’s not every day you find out you're going to be a dad. I’m just curious." He paused, tilting his head as if considering the options. "I mean, we’ve been busy lately…"

I snorted, shaking my head. "Busy is an understatement. We travel all the time."

Suddenly, realization dawned on him. His eyes widened, and I saw the gears turning in his head. "Wait… what about Monaco? You remember? After that podium…"

I froze for a second, my mind flashing back to that night. The celebration had been wild—Lewis had just gotten his first podium in a while, and we were on cloud nine. The champagne, the excitement, the adrenaline… and later that night, when we finally got back to our home…

I fele my cheeks flush. "Oh my God, Lewis."

He grinned like a Cheshire cat, clearly putting it all together. "That’s when it happened, didn’t it? The night of the podium celebration! No wonder the timing makes sense."

I covered my face with my hands, laughing as the memory came flooding back. "I can’t believe this! You’re right. That’s when it happened."

Lewis burst out laughing, clearly delighted by the connection. "No wonder I felt so invincible that weekend. Turns out, we had a little extra reason to celebrate!"

I playfully swatted his arm, though I couldn’t stop laughing either. "We’ll never live this down, you know. People are going to figure it out, and the teasing is going to be relentless."

He shrugged, still grinning like a fool. "Let them talk. They can tease us all they want. As long as I’ve got you and this little one, I don’t care."

I smiled, leaning into him, feeling the warmth of his words. "You’re such a sap sometimes, you know that?"

He chuckled, kissing the top of my head. "Only for you, love."

As we sat there, wrapped in each other and in the realization of what was to come, I couldn’t help but think about how crazy our journey had been so far. And now, with a baby on the way, it was about to get even crazier. But with Lewis by my side, I knew we could handle anything—even the endless teasing from our friends and fans.

"Just wait until the guys hear about this," he said with a wink, already anticipating the chaos to come.

I rolled my eyes again but smiled. "Oh, I’m sure they’ll never let us forget it."

[boolger]

A lapdog at a farm - chapter 1

AO3 link. next chapter -> Call of duty. Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. wc: 4,147

Maybe support me on kofi?🥺👉👈

Farmer!John Price x Hybrid!Reader, hybrid! Kyle Gaz Garrick x hybrid! Johnny Soap MacTavish x hybrid! Simon Ghost, John Price x Nikolai.

Summary: When Price was young and left his childhood home, a farm in the middle of nowhere in England, he didn’t enter the military. Instead he moved to London, got a degree and a good career, earning good money. He got you, a human dog hybrid as a pet, after feeling lonely - and you lived your best life for years, spoiled and pampered, Price’s lapdog who got praised at every party. Loved and fucked every night. That was until Price decided to return to his roots and go back to farming - dragging you along to the middle of nowhere, away from all the wonders of the big city. Expecting you to accept this sudden change in lifestyle and pretend to be a farm dog. Bad luck however, because you fucking hated it, and became more and more unruly. In hopes of getting you to calm down and to keep his live-stock and farm safe, Price then got three working dog hybrids - and all at once, your life was even worse than before.

tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy

author's note: Hi sinners <33 Just a heads up; the reader is gonna be a spoiled brat. If you want a smart and sweet reader who isn’t mean at times, well. Bad news. This ain’t it.🥰The reader is she / her and has a pussy and is chubby. I tried my best to keep the descriptions somewhat vague otherwise. Reader is a cocker spaniel hybrid. I will tell the others along the way. In this universe, hybrids have ears, tail, claws beneath nails and canine fangs. There will be heats and ruts but there is no omegaverse. They will have personality traits of their dog breed and so on. Now. I know there aren’t wild wolves in the UK… but in this fic there is, ok? mwah.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The countryside was peaceful compared to the city; the absence of the bustling streets and constant traffic, created a quietness that was indescribable.

Out here, at the new farm, the noises only came from animals that lived in the stables and barn or the occasional rumble as a tractor turned on. The wind caressed the never ending fields of wheat and the long rows of fruit trees, under which the goats and sheep walked most days.

The stress here wasn’t the same kind as in the city. Sure , there were stressful moments and sometimes Price looked like he needed to sleep for more than just the few hours he got everyday.

But he didn’t have to worry about the morning traffic, waiting in a queue for an overpriced, questionable tea or coffee. There was no need for him to wear a suit, no noisy, overfilled train cars in the underground. No crowded dog or hybrid parks, no meetings or rules to follow - except those John Price decided for himself.

He was happy, so much was clear to you. It had been three months since the move - Johnhad gone back to his roots, buying back the farm that his parents had used to own a little while ago, using some of his endless wealth on renovating the place. There was no step on the stairs that was loose, like it used to when he was a kid - sure they still creaked, but you weren’t afraid they would disappear from beneath you.

It was modernized, but most of the old charm left. Price fit right in; the furniture he had inherited and never believed he would use was suddenly in the living room. His knowledge of the business world was abandoned in the city, for the knowledge of farming that he still had left from his youth. John got a couple of farm hands and workers, who helped him with the big place.

It was like he reclaimed his own self that had been buried beneath the suits, ties and paperwork. Now he didn’t smoke his cigars from stress, but from pleasure, clearly much content.

It was like the farm had truly made John Price happy once more; his smiles more genuine, his true self stepping forth. Returning to his childhood home and taking over the farm had been the best decision Price had made. There was no question about it.

… and you hated every bloody day at the farm.

The early morning hours in bed with him, being disturbed by the farm waking up, the rooster crowing and John leaving the bed, giving you a pat in between your ears, taking all the heat with him. The constant bugs, the muddy stables and the big animals, the helpers who always teased you for not fitting in, the lack of friends you had out here. The foxes’ screams in the night, the wolves howling, and the cows occasionally mooing sounded like creatures stepping out of nightmares.

You were not made for farm life. Literally. Simply not made for it.

Some would argue that you, as a hybrid pet, didn’t have a say in it and sure , legally you didn’t. But you were a lapdog, an elegant pet. Not a farm dog. Created to be cared for and cuddled, you were a purebred cocker spaniel hybrid; you weren’t made to run around on a farm, following John on his duties And doing work. 

Sure, you had the instincts to hunt a few things here and there, but it was mostly balls and the occasional bird or squirrel. You weren’t a guard hybrid, not really a working dog.

You had had enough trauma throughout your life - you deserved not to be forced into this! You had grown up being trained to be a lapdog, not a working-dog like you felt like John expected you to act like now.

You wanted John to be happy, you really did - you loved your Master! When he bought you a few years ago, when you were still aggressive and unruly (… more than now at least), you had thought he would tire of you like everybody else had. But with patience, rules, training, praise and punishment and a whole lot of sex later, you were a perfect hybrid pet for the city! People always praised how well you looked, laughing when Price said you were really a little troublemaker. You would follow him throughout the fancy apartment, on your daily walks, sometimes for meetings.

But why the fuck did it have to be a farm? He worked somwwhat the same time that he did before, genuinely seeming to enjoy himself. Forgetting about poor you!

Out here, there were no hybrid daycare that you would go to when he had long days, there were none of your playmates nearby, everything stank of animals and there were no places nearby for you to get your hair and fur styled and pampered! No nail technicians, no fancy cafes, no shops for John to buy you things in! No special made coffee or chef-made meals every other evening, no freshly baked croissants.

You felt like you had tried . You really had. 

But after the first week, you had your first breakdown - and as the weeks passed, they didn’t stop. At first, John was sympathetic, like the perfect owner he was.

Cooing at you, kissing your forehead, as he gently scratched your ears. Kissing away any tears, saying it was okay - that you were just overwhelmed, that it would be okay. That you would come to like it out here.

Big fucking joke.

He had tried every trick in the book, in an attempt to please you and made you less upset, but as days turned into weeks and tantrums began to appear, you knew his patience began to disappear.

He followed professional advice and then the advice of the neighbors down the street, Rodolfo and Alejandro (who had caught you running away at one point), tried some of the workers’ advice. He had given you your own room, and it was mostly designed like your own, perfect to the pale green paint on the wall, all your toys and dog beds, your CDs - everything. He had tried hauling you along every day, trying to give you a routine to follow - but after two weeks, he gave up, not having the energy to deal with a tantrum that got worse and worse each day. He went on walks with you, fucked you silly, tried his best — and you didn’t want it.

No, you wanted to go back to your old life. Not this country life that you hadn’t signed up for, with horses that neighed loudly whenever you passed them; they were definitely going to trample you at the first chance, you knew that. You could hear foxes scream in the night, warning you of the dangers. The goats and sheep were so fucking loud and no you didn’t want to go pick fresh apples off the trees - had he seen the size of the spiders crawling on them?

When you in one of your biggest tantrums took off and bolted from the farm in distress, Rodolfo and Alejandro had almost hit you when you emerged from the corn fields onto the road. 

You had cried the entire drive home, no matter what the two men had tried saying, especially as Rodolfo called Price in advance — your master was livid . The worst thing was, that it was not that kind of anger where he yelled at you before punishing you - no, this one was almost silent, a sharp grip on your collar as he dragged you along after thanking his neighbours.

He had belted you then, ignoring your crying and screaming, only stopping when you broke, sobbing and going quiet. He had explained it to you then, what could have happened, what dangers you could have ended in - and as you sobbingly apologized and tried to explain, that you wanted to go back to the city, John had sighed .

Said that he had pampered you too much since he got you, which had made you greedy and attention seeking. Which only made you cry more, as you hid your face in his neck, fingers digging into his shirt, ass cheeks burning.

“Spoiled rotten, little birdie,” he mused, though you could hear the softness in him, your tail wagging a little, hoping to get him to be less mad.

“‘M sorry,” you had whined in distress, upset with yourself as well, ears tipping down, “wanna be good but I don’t like it.”

Your rather dull escape attempt resulted in several things. An AirTag on your collar, so that he always knew where you were. A remarkable lack of treats, sex and then… the crate .

You fucking hated the dog crate. 

Sure, it hadn’t been nice of you to bite one of his pillows into a simple pulp of fabric, feathers everywhere. Or create chaos in the kitchen… or get drunk on his fancy whiskey (that one had ended worse for you, hangover was a bitch and there wasn’t much sympathy from John). And yes, you might have ripped most of the flowers surrounding the house up, until one of the workers had caught you. Maybe pissing yourself in the middle of the living room while staring him in the eyes and ignoring his warnings had been a little…excessive. 

But the dog crate? You hated that thing with a burning passion. 

Hated it when he locked you up, ignoring your whimpers and whines, your promises to behave, ignoring your little howls as he left. 

Mean. The farm had made him mean. Perhaps you had become a bit unruly too, but it was like he didn’t take your clear suffering seriously.

Mean and happy - unruly and suffering. What a pair you were. One of the workers, KAte Laswell, who was a big helper and often stayed over for dinner, suggested a fucking shock collar. You had growled, only stopped when John sent you a sharp look. 

You had even heard him talking over the phone with somebody, saying that he didn’t want to rehome you, but he didn’t know what to do.

That had made you melt a little and you had cried as you had crawled into his bed a couple of hours later, begging him to not abandon you. Fears of never getting to see John again or being loved again by him made you cling onto him as he kissed away your tears, gently fucking you.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

It was a random morning a couple of days later, that you found him still in the kitchen, reading the newspaper, humming to himself while smoking a cigar.

He looked nice like this. Despite how he sometimes muttered about being too old, he wasn’t really that old. Late thirties, and perhaps it was the peace on his face or the sun rays that kissed him, which made him look younger. But still. There was a decade between you, but days like this, you were reminded that it didn’t matter.

“Are you going to stare all day or are you going to join me, Darling?” He asked teasingly, pulling you from your thoughts. You let out a little huff and kissed him good morning, receiving a pat on the ass before you sat down on your own seat. It had been a while since the two of you had eaten together - often he was up at the crack of dawn, so his calm behavior and gentle humming was unusual to say the least.

“Why are you not working?” You asked carefully, as you ate some of the bread, trying to ignore how it wasn’t a fancy sourdough one - though you were pretty sure he had picked it up from a local bakery in the village which was a little drive away.

“Because,” he put the paper down, then tapping some ash off the cigar into his ashtray, before looking over at you, a pleased smile on his face, “you and I are going on a trip.”

“A trip?” You didn’t even bother to be embarrassed about how your voice got higher with excitement or how your tail thumped against the backrest of the chair as you wagged it, “where are we going? When? Can we go now?”

Price had laughed, a happy sound that you knew not many got to hear; it made your heart beat a little faster, made you feel butterflies in your stomach. 

“Well, we got to do a few things first to get ready, and you ,” he used the cigar to point at you, your tail wagging a little faster, “need to not freak out when I tell you where we are going.”

Despite the warning, tears streamed down your cheeks when he told you. John didn’t get mad as a part of you had expected; he knew your abandonment issues first hand, knew how you had been left behind before, from one bad owner to another. 

“You’re going to sell me and leave me with a mean owner and I’m gonna die of hunger and thirst - and - and —“

“Not gonna leave you, princess,” John crooned, covering your face in kisses as you hiccuped and sniffled, clinging to his clothes, “you know that. My favorite puppy. Pretty girl.”

Despite your tears and small sobs, your tail wagged at his words, “silly puppy,” he mused with a smile, gently scratching your lower back, “‘m not gonna sell you. Ale and Rodolfo are looking for a hybrid, I figured we could go look at the auction as well.”

“What if - what if - what if you’ll like them more?” You sniffled dramatically, sure that your life was only going to become worse than it already was. One thing was this bloody farm and the crate, another thing was having to share Price. You didn’t like the idea one bit. If that happened, you were going to show him how a proper tantrum was thrown - the crate would probably be the least of your worries.

As if to prove his love, John bent you over the table, fucking you in between the clattering dishes and cutlery, tea and coffee almost spilling over. Despite how many times your owner fucked you, it made you lose control of your mind every single time. His cock reached so deep inside you that it bordered on pain, your mouth open as you panted and moaned at each thrust; your soft stomach being pressed against the edge of the table, one hand holding onto the back of your collar, the other on your tail. The table rattled, John groaned and moaned, your fingers desperately trying to hold onto anything. 

“My princess,” he snarled darkly into your ear, “you’ll always be mine-“ a moan, a grunt, “- no matter what happens, yeah?”

“Yes ye-ah- yes, sir, I’m yours - ah ah - I’m yours!” you managed in between pants and wails of pleasure, fear of abandonment forgotten in the ocean of euphoric satisfaction. 

You came harder than you had for a while; the reminder of your worth, of how you deserved his worship, making you cream around his throbbing length, legs in spasms afterwards. He pushed deeper, filling you up with a loud roar like sound, his hands moving to grab onto the fat of your ass and hips as he came. Pain and pleasure made your toes curl and a content sigh left you, your tail wagging against Price as he chuckled.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The auction hall was filled to the brim with humans and hybrids alike. Every owned hybrid followed their respective owners, all wearing mandatory leashes so no pets would be confused with the ones that were being sold. You wore your own pink one with pride, gem stones sparkling. A matching leash connected to the D-ring on it, that also bore your tags. You were convinced yours were the most beautiful in this entire place.

“They’re bonded,” Laswell pointed out, pointing to the papers that hung nearby, showing off general information about them, “gotta get all three.”

You dared to look at the little board with the informations about the three hybrids they were looking at.

“Ah, we don't have space for three, mi amor.”

“eso es una pena,” Rodolfo answered, while you looked over at John - who kept looking at the three hybrids. You dared to peek over at them.

All three of them were enormous .

Two of them wore muzzles, meaning they were biters. At least at the auction. You shouldn’t judge then, not really, but you did... Even though you had worn a muzzle five years ago, when Price had chosen you. You hadn’t tried biting people out of malice; you had been scared and angry at the world. Angry for being abandoned once more, over the fact that you were most likely being passed on to another abusive master. You leaned a little closer to Price, taking in his scent.

Even from the start, despite all the problems and your attitude problems, he had been sweet. Strict at times — probably not enough — but kind.

The biggest one looked like a Great Pyrenees breed, most likely. The fur on his ears and tail looked shorter, badly cut. Probably due to matting or if he refused to get it cut. His hair, a dark blonde almost brown, was in a buzz cut. He had scars, all over - unable to hide because of the lack of clothes most hybrids were given, only underwear. There was a lot in his face, though you suspected a bunch were hidden by the muzzle. He stared into nothing, his ears curled back, though they moved now and again, listening to different sounds.

“Hard to get sold,” Laswell commented and you looked over at her in synchronicity with John, “they’re ex-military.”

Like he had been called to them, a man who wore one of the seller badges appeared.

“They’re obedient once they fall into place,” he happily explained, going full seller-mode, “they’re just not too fond of the auctions - too many people.”

“Makes sense,” Price mused, clearly interested - much to your annoyance. The fact that he asked follow up questions made you frown, fingers tightening in his shirt. He was here to look. To help Alejandro and Rodolfo, who both had continued their walk. You dared to look over at the hybrids again. All three were staring at you and John. 

“How come they were discharged?”

“One of them got a hearing loss -“ he nodded towards them, “the one with the mohawk. And they’re a bonded pack.”

“So only retiring him was out of the question,” John concluded once more looking over at them.

You felt your tail go in between your legs. He couldn’t be seriously considering those three . you couldn’t help but let out a small whine. Price gave your leash a little tug.

“They’re working dogs,” the seller continued, his eyes flickering to you, making you huff, “so they’ll need something to do, not just be pets.”

“Oh I know. I have a farm. Need some work dogs - this one isn’t guarding much.”

They all laughed, your tail going even further between your legs with embarrassment.

“You can’t be serious,” you whined in a whisper to John, not caring that you sounded needy - spoiled would Laswell had said and you ignored her as she rolled her eyes.

“Hush, Princess.” John didn’t even look at you.

“You have animals there?” The seller asked, “one of them is a herding dog - the border collie.”

“I do - several. That’s why there's a need for guarding dogs as well, bloody wolves have been terrorizing us.”

You knew he was telling the truth; he had muttered about dead sheeps and goats several times - even a calf had lost its life to the wolves in the area, despite he and Laswell having shot two already. Even foxes had gotten into the coop, despite the fences.

“They’re good at that too, with their training,” the seller offered, clearly interested in selling them or at least getting John to bid on them. “The one with the mohawk, Soap , will have hearing aids with him, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

You looked over at this “Soap”, scrunching your nose. They were still staring, the biggest one bending down to listen to the third one, a beautiful black man, whisper in his ear. No doubt judging you.

“It says here they don’t do well with others,” you muttered, in a desperate attempt to sway John, pointing to the board with their papers. It did indeed say so, to which you wanted to argue that YOU should be his main focus in this whole thing - how would he even consider adding them to your household if these dogs could get a hold of you?

“It’s in the sense that they’re not really housetrained to be social family pets,” the seller swooped in, pushing your argument away, annoying you even more, “they’ve had missions all their lives. They need to have something to do.”

“I’m sure you’ll get along with them, sweetheart,” Price answered, giving you a small scratch beneath your chin as he finally looked over at you, a glint in his eyes, “some company will do you good.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. Hardly . Price’s smile told you that he thought this was a great idea however. You dared to look at the men again. Still staring, fucking bastards.

The black man seemed like a mix of some breeds, German shepherd and… you looked shortly at the board. Belgian malinois. Fancy. He wasn’t as tall as the big one, but broad and with scars as well. There was a more slender look to him, but his six pack proved he was strong. His curly hair wasn’t too long, probably cut not too long ago. He was looking at you curiously, making you raise your upper lip a little, as if to warn him.

The one with the hearing loss looked like some sort of border collie - covered in scars as well, some of his skin looking like it had been too close to fire. He was broad like the two others, his upper arms the size of your head. He even sent you a cheeky grin, even daring to wink at you. You just looked away, tipping your chin up a little.

“You can look closer if you want, sir?”

You were pulled back into the conversation at once and before you could argue, John had already passed on your leash to Laswell and walked towards the men with the seller. You whined, distressed that he was really, actually considering this.

“You’ll be fine,” Laswell commented calmly, with empathy in her voice for once, though she didn’t look at you, merely at John and the others.

“He is gonna lose interest in me,” you whined, perhaps a little dramatically, bottom lip wobbling a little as you could feel tears welling up in your eyes, “then he’ll leave me in the crate all day and only care about them an—“

“Calm down,” Laswell said, “you’ll work yourself into a fuss.”

“He can’t do this to me,” you argued in a sullen voice, already imagining John forgetting all about you, focusing on these three hybrids for the rest of his life, leaving you cold and lonely inside the dog crate - maybe even rehoming you, “he promised he wouldn’t get rid of me.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Laswell answered just as calmly as before, “John loves you too much, you’re just being spoiled. Hanging out with some working dogs will do you good.”

“They probably have fleas,” you said, your prejudices seeping into your words, knowing you’re being mean, judgmental against your own kind, “they’ll kill me and eat my dead body.”

Laswell laughed. “No they won’t. Worst thing they’ll do, is probably knock you up.”

A high pitched, scandalized sound left you, despite knowing you had an implant. Laswell laughed again, giving your leash a little yank and then scratching you behind your long ears.

“Settle, Princess. That won’t happen without John’s permission.”

You almost cried at the sight of John shaking the seller’s hand.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

They all met up again for the actual auction part and you sat at John’s feet, sniffling a little. Crying hadn’t helped, in fact John had just petted and kissed you, calling you sensitive. Alejandro had gotten a hybrid earlier that they didn’t need to bid on - she was for sale for a certain price. Something about being too intense without enough space to roam, having attacked others before.

Fucking great. Beasts all around you.

John won the bidding on the three working dog hybrids he had been interested in - because of course he did. He spent way too much money on them too, according to you.

One more - or well, three more fucking things to hate about this “farming life” that had been forced upon you.

Maybe John had gone mad.

next chapter ->

[shaiyasstuff]

So I received this ask from anon:

I have recently had a very uncomfortable experience...I am a uni student and have to travel via train sometimes. I was in my seat, wearing headphones, and I could see in the reflection of a window that there were 3 guys looking at me and one of them was all spread out touching himself. Later, that man came to sit next to me and tried to talk to me or get me to look at him. I was just ignoring him, and staring into my phone and pretending not to hear him since I had headphones over my ears, but I could hear them talking about me. They kept daring each other to touch my hair and stuff like that.

Later when we had to get up to get off the train, they walked up to me and kept "brushing" theirs hands "accidentally" against me.

Thankfully nothing happened because they lost me in the crowd once I got out of the train but I was super scared they would follow me

I am so so so sorry you had to experience that. My heart was breaking as I read your ask🥺 I know exactly how that feels, to be completely helpless in those situations. I hope you stay safe always and be sure to always travel with a companion next time🥹

Here is the request for the LADS boys reacting to the events/finding out what happened to you.

You tell them what happened—the train, the way you were stared at, touched, followed. Your voice shakes by the end of it, even if you’re trying to keep it steady.

You didn’t want to make it a big deal. You just needed someone to know:

Zayne

He doesn’t speak at first.

But you see it—the shift. The stillness. Like something inside him tightens, coils too tightly to breathe. His face remains calm, but his eyes say everything. Fury, quiet and buried, held back by habit. By choice.

“They touched you?”

His voice is soft. Too soft. Like he’s trying not to believe it.

You nod.

He inhales slowly, jaw flexing as he exhales through his nose. Then his hand scrubs over his face, once, grounding himself. “Did you report it?”

You shake your head. “No. I was scared. I just… I just wanted to leave.”

His gaze flickers toward the floor, then back to you. “You did what you had to do. I’m not angry at you.”

He hesitates. Then quietly adds, “I hate that I wasn’t there. That you had to face that alone.”

You glance away, and he steps in closer. Not fast. Not overwhelming. Just enough to rest his hand gently on your arm, the warmth of his skin an anchor.

“Next time,” he murmurs, “tell me. Call me. Text me. Anything.”

His voice lowers, thick with the words he struggles to say aloud. “You matter to me more than you think. Don’t go through something like that alone again.”

Later that night, he doesn’t leave your side. He lets you sleep curled against him, one arm around your waist, the other brushing soft strokes through your hair. And every time you shift in your sleep, he murmurs something under his breath.

“You’re safe now.”

“I’m here.”

“They’ll never get near you again.”

The next morning, he drives you to campus.

Kisses your forehead before you get out of the car.

Then heads to the hospital.

It’s a quiet day, until three men are wheeled into the ER. Minor injuries. Nothing urgent. But Zayne hears them laughing. Whispering. Mentioning a girl.

The words catch his ear.

Train. Girl. Scared.

He stills. Completely.

He doesn’t ask questions.

He reads the chart, notes the names.

And when the others step out, Zayne lingers behind. Alone.

What happens next isn’t in the textbooks. It isn’t written into the Hippocratic oath. But he’s a surgeon—he knows exactly where it hurts. Where to press. Where to leave no trace.

Later, when a nurse asks why all three patients discharged themselves early and limped out without a word, Zayne simply nods and goes back to work.

He never mentions it to you.

He just holds your hand a little tighter the next time you walk through the city.

Sylus

There’s a pause.

Not hesitation—calculation.

A flicker in Sylus’s crimson eyes as he scans every word, every tremble in your voice, cataloging and analyzing it with terrifying precision.

You can almost hear the gears turning. Quiet. Lethal.

“Did you get a good look at them?” he asks. The question is sharp, deceptively calm.

You shake your head, voice small. “No. Just… their voices. One of them was touching himself. Then he sat beside me. Tried to talk to me. They were laughing. Daring each other to touch my hair.”

Sylus doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

But his jaw sets, ever so slightly. A muscle ticks in his cheek.

“Scum like that,” he says, voice low, “always think they’re untouchable. Like the world won’t notice when they disappear.”

He doesn’t pace. Doesn’t shout. He doesn’t need to. His fury manifests in stillness—in the way his fingers lace together too tightly, in the frigid control of his tone.

“You’re not taking the train again. Ever.”

“That’s not—Sylus, it’s not realistic—”

“I wasn’t asking.”

His voice slices through your protest like a knife. “I’ll walk with you. Drive you. Put a goddamn tracker on your coat if I have to. But you’re not going near that station alone again. Next time, they won’t even get close enough to breathe near you.”

Silence. Then something shifts in his eyes as they flicker down to your clenched fists.

His tone softens—but only slightly. “I know you were scared. And I hate that they made you feel powerless.”

He reaches out, knuckles grazing your hand. Careful. Controlled.

“But you’re not small. And no one gets to make you feel that way. Not under my watch.”

You nod, and he pulls away.

“Luke. Kieran,” he calls out, without raising his voice. His eyes stay on you. “Get her home. Stay with her.”

Mephisto swoops in and lands on the back of his chair, watching in silence as Sylus stands.

He doesn’t bother turning. “You were tailing her. Track them down.”

His voice is low. Icy.

And Mephisto launches into the air with a mechanical screech that echoes like the end of a countdown.

Within minutes, they bring them to him.

Three men. Faces bloodied, defiant—until they meet his eyes.

There is no grand speech. No threat.

Only Sylus, standing over them like death incarnate, sleeves rolled up, gaze as sharp as a blade.

He leans in, smile cruel and quiet. “Let’s see how untouchable you feel now.”

By the time he’s done, they can’t so much as whisper your name.

And Sylus?

He wipes the blood from his hands with surgical precision. Straightens his coat. And walks out without looking back.

You never hear their voices again.

Rafayel

He goes very still.

The kind of stillness that unsettles the air, that draws the light out of the room without a sound. His expression—usually teasing, theatrical, bold—shifts.

Not into anger. Not yet. It becomes unreadable.

Cold in a way that doesn’t suit his fire.

“They touched you?”

The words fall low, sharp. Stripped of all his usual lilt. Dead serious. Dangerous.

You nod.

His hands curl at his sides, nails biting into his palms. The crackle of heat that usually dances around him is absent. It’s quiet. Controlled. But the restraint is louder than any fury.

“Give me their names,” he says. “Or their faces. I don’t need both.”

You shake your head. Quiet. “I don’t want revenge… I just wanted to feel safe again. That’s all. Just… stay.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Not disappointment—never that. But something else. Like the desire to burn the world colliding with the aching need to be what you asked for.

He exhales through his nose. Shoulders relax just enough for him to step in.

Then his arms are around you, pulling you in, holding you so tightly you feel real again. His warmth wraps around you, not scorching—just steady, grounding. Like embers at your back.

“Then that’s what I’ll be,” he murmurs into your hair. “Your safe place.”

A beat.

“But if they so much as breathe your way again,” he adds, voice quieter, crueler, “I won’t be as merciful.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, lingers there. “You did nothing wrong, love. You hear me? I’m proud of you. And I’m so, so glad you’re here.”

Your voice cracks when you finally whisper, “I was scared.”

He tucks you closer to his chest, hand cradling the back of your head.

“I know, cutie. I know.” His voice softens like dusk, like waves kissing ash. “It’s over now. You’re with me.”

You fall asleep in his arms, safe in the heat of him.

And later—when the moon is high and your breathing is steady—he slips away. Silent. Focused.

CCTV footage. Street cameras. Reflections in windows. It doesn’t take long. He’s always been good at finding the shadows people try to hide in.

By dawn, three men are reported missing.

One is found knee-deep in a freezing river, babbling about glowing eyes and a voice that promised worse.

The others? Well.

Let’s just say they won’t be going near open water again.

And Rafayel?

He returns before you wake. Washes the blood off his hands.

And makes you tea.

Xavier

He blinks. Once. Twice. Then goes still—completely still.

The words hit him like a punch to the chest. You can see it in his eyes—the disbelief, the horror. Like something in him can’t reconcile the image of you—you—with the violation you just described.

“They were… watching you?” he repeats, slowly. “And they touched you?”

You nod.

Xavier’s breath hitches, his hand tightening ever so slightly at his side. He looks shaken—not by fear, but by the weight of helplessness. His voice comes quiet, almost broken.

“I—I don’t understand… how anyone could think that’s okay. How they could look at you and—”

He stops himself. His jaw clenches. It’s subtle, but telling. Xavier rarely shows this much emotion all at once. You see the storm gathering behind his calm.

Then, with careful control, he steps closer. His hand reaches for yours, warm and trembling faintly. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. That you were scared. That they made you feel small.”

He swallows. “You should never have had to feel that way. Not for a second.”

His eyes lift to yours, and they’re unwavering now. That quiet strength he carries, the kind most people miss—it sharpens into something else. Resolve.

“I wish I had been there,” he says softly. “Because I would’ve stopped them. I would’ve made sure they never looked at you again.”

Then, quieter—like a vow spoken into the space between heartbeats—

“You won’t ever be alone again. Not if I can help it.”

He holds you that night, as long as you’ll let him. A steady presence. A silent promise.

But when you’re asleep—peaceful at last—Xavier slips away. Quietly. Deliberately.

He tracks them down. It doesn’t take much.

He already had access to security feeds, transport records, street cameras.

He watches the footage once, then again, jaw tightening.

Then he finds them.

And Xavier doesn’t scream. He doesn’t threaten. He doesn’t need to.

All he says, in that low, even voice of his, is:

“You made her afraid. That was your first mistake. I won’t give you time to make a second.”

They don’t know what hit them.

And the next time you take that train, no one dares come close.

No one even looks at you the wrong way.

Not with Xavier walking beside you—quiet, composed, protective as ever.

But now, there’s something different in the way people step aside when he passes.

Something cold.

Something earned.

[corensweat]

🌪️ whirlwind.

scott miller x reader Synopsis: the bar has always been a safe haven after a long week of storm-chasing, but when tyler owens decides you’re his lucky charm for the night, you find that scott’s control has its limits. Word Count: 6.4k (pls don't look at me) Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI!!!, mentions of near-death experiences, tornadoes (obviously), brief insinuations to cheating, tyler is a pot-stirrer, public sex, dry humping, fingering (f!receiving), degradation, nipple play (f!receiving), orgasm delay, biting?, scott miller has a whore mouth, minor choking, use of pet names (baby, sweetheart), lots of dirty talk, no use of y/n A/N: my first time posting fic & writing for scott so pls go easy on me 🥺 sometimes you just have to let a smug little asshole take over ur entire life, am i right? if you enjoyed, pls feel free to reblog or give it a like and as always, my inbox is open if you want to chat!!! 🤍

It’s been a grueling week, one tornado after another hammering Oklahoma into a state of disarray.

You’re still shaken from the last one, the anxiety of being alone in a motel with your thoughts almost unbearable. You’ve tried to avoid being alone since then, afraid that something worse is always on the horizon, and the thought of being isolated in a room while the rest of the team is out doesn’t sit well.

The bar, though, is a familiar sanctuary. A small comfort amidst the chaos. Even though you’re drained and the idea of socializing feels monumental, tradition is tradition. Javi’s sad puppy eyes and the inevitable guilt trip on the drive back to HQ tomorrow is enough to push you out of bed and into the shower.

And, as much as you don’t want to go, it feels wrong when even Scott makes an effort to go.

By the time you step into the dimly lit bar, clinking glasses and the hum of chatter soothe your worries quickly away. Whirlwind may have seen more than its fair share of fights and other throes of debauchery, but it was a frequent, favorite stop.

And it’s already packed. Between the locals and the other storm-chasers crowding the space, you can’t find Storm Par anywhere. A roar of laughter strikes from the pool tables, and you quickly pocket your phone, realizing you’ll have no luck calling or texting when it won’t even be heard over the noise.

Oh, well. You’ll find them soon enough. Making your way to the bar to greet Jack, the burly bartender who’s been running the place for years and has grown more familiar to you the more you frequent, you hear — rather than see — one of the storm-chasers you were hoping to avoid tonight.

Tyler. God damn. Owens.

You weren’t struck by his Southern charm — your days of easy flattery were past you — but he was hard to ignore. Then again, you should’ve known better by now. Tyler always seemed to be at his best when he had a crowd buzzing around him.

“I thought tonight couldn’t get any better, and then you walked in,” he drawls, finding a space alongside you as he sets his empty beer bottle down, his voice smooth. “Can I buy you a drink, darlin’?”

You consider turning him down, not sure if you’re up for his ego tonight, but you also know Tyler. He wasn't swayed easily, especially if he saw a challenge. Besides, a free drink was well, free, and as grating as he could get, you supposed one couldn't hurt. So you nod. “Sure, why not.”

Jack, who’d wordlessly gotten your drink as Tyler approached, sets a bottle of your favorite down in front of you, his brow raising to get your attention. You hesitate before taking it and catch his gaze shift slightly past you.

Before you get a chance to follow, Tyler steals your focus with a grin, the ever-present pain in your ass. You can’t fight your instincts to be polite. “So tell me. What’s a girl like you doin’ in a place like this?”

You meet his gaze, all swirling hues and open attraction. Maybe if you were that kind of girl, his smooth, clichéd lines would work on you. But you weren’t that girl. You preferred sensible. Practical. Safe. It was why you’d joined Storm Par in the first place, rather than one of the many other crews. This tornado wrangler just wasn’t for you.

Unfortunately for Tyler, he always seemed to miss that memo.

“Same as everyone else, I guess.” You laugh half-heartedly. Maybe if the conversation is light enough, you can slip away without it turning into a spectacle. “Just looking to unwind.”

If Tyler notices your lack of enthusiasm, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he makes a show of settling into his spot next to you, grin stretching wide. The beer in his hands is fresh and cold, same as yours, though unlike yourself he’s already taken a few drinks while you start to pick at the label. Javi would've poked fun by now, but your friend is nowhere near. Typical.

Tyler takes another drink, resting his arm on the bar, your eyes drifting to his tanned bicep. His grin stretches when he catches you looking, and you try not to scowl at falling for his display.

He continues with a well-used, “Well, you sure do brighten up the place.”

Thank god. Playing along, you don’t waste a second as your gaze wanders eagerly around the bar. From your new position you spot a cluster of tables on the other side of the room, Storm Par filling out the seats.

Scott sits alone at one of them, as he always did, but his posture is rigid, and even from a distance you can tell his focus is far from the game of darts Javi tries to include him in. Unsurprising. But rather than being distracted by his phone, worrying about the next job the team would have to take, his eyes are locked in on you.

The intensity makes you shiver. A few bottles sit empty next to him, and you only know they’re his by the unmistakable Guinness label adorning the side. A half-empty glass rests in his hand like he’d meant to take a sip before catching sight of Tyler.

Since joining Storm Par, the number of things you knew about Scott could be counted on your fingers. And in that time, you’d never seen him unwind. Not truly, anyway. As frustrating as it could be, you'd come to respect Scott's unwavering demeanor.

Amidst the chaos, no matter how intense it got, Scott was the stoic anchor of the team. There was a reason for his lectures and regulations. He was as dependable as the code he lived by, but most of the team often dismissed it as rigid and unnecessary. You knew it took strength and reliability to remain true to your values.

Much like you were forgoing now, your polite smile tight on your lips.

Beyond Javi, the rest of the team is scattered around Whirlwind, some dancing with reckless abandon on the makeshift dance floor while others clink shots over a job well done with the other storm-chasing crews. Scott is still firmly planted on the barstool, setting his glass down with a white-knuckled grip.

Tyler, of course, pays no attention. He leans in, casually inching closer to you, wrapping up some story of an exaggerated Wrangler exploit. Close enough to brush against you. When you glance down at the contact, Tyler notices where you’ve grown distracted, that easygoing grin slipping as he takes in your view.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Tyler says with a sigh, head shaking in disbelief. “Just admit it — I’m a hell of a lot more fun than Storm Cloud over there.”

You disagree, but keep it to yourself. Tyler and his crew were reckless, and, sure, while there was some level of risk that came with what you all did, there was a clear difference between you and them. 

It was part of what had drawn you to Scott in the first place. He was meticulous and no-nonsense, quick to call out mistakes whether you were out in the field or back in the office. But even Scott wasn't immune to a lecture or two — something he'd gone to great lengths to keep under lock and key.

And you only knew by accident.

Another sleepless night had driven you out of your room in search of coffee, leading you to a diner where you’d stumbled across him and Riggs in a heated discussion. Your Mama had taught you manners about eavesdropping, but you were frozen in place, listening to Riggs furiously drill into Scott over another fuck up (not his fault) and whether he was serious or not about the work they were doing. Before you could slip away unnoticed, not wanting to be lectured too, Scott’s eyes met yours, giving you a small, subtle shake of his head.

You’d run straight back to your room after, hoping that maybe it'd been a weird nightmare and you’d wake up to business as usual. But after another hour of tossing and turning, Scott’s familiar knock sounded at your door, and when you’d gathered the courage to meet him face to face, he’d looked just as conflicted as you felt. After what you’d heard, the way Scott took responsibility for every mistake and didn't throw anyone under the bus, keeping it between you two was the least you could do.

Something changed after that night. When a particularly nasty tornado touched ground a few weeks later and nearly swept you up in it, nobody questioned Scott’s decision to reassign you to Scarecrow. Nobody questioned why your partner had quit shortly after, either.

Scott still hadn’t asked why you’d been awake that night, just the same as you didn’t ask about Riggs.

You glance over at Scott again now, the memory fresh in your mind. His knuckles are just as white as when you’d found him in the diner, expression still shadowed, like he’s torn between intervening and letting it play out. But even with a crowd between you and the two men, the tension is thick, crackling in the air.

Tyler leans in closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper as glances over at Scott. “He’s got that brooding thing down to an art, doesn’t he? Don’t you ever crave a little spontaneity?”

You shift away from Tyler, the weight of Scott’s gaze growing heavy. From the corner of your eye you can just barely make out the hard set to his jaw, no longer working the cinnamon gum he obsessively kept on him. You manage a tight smile, distracted, as Javi’s voice rises briefly above the noise — your attention divided between the brewing storm on the other end of the bar and the eye of the one you were currently stuck in.

“I… I think we all have our reasons for sticking around.” You say, just as Javi finally notices you, his smile dimming as his gaze slides to Tyler.

Shit.

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” Tyler’s drawl is playful, almost teasing, and if he sees that you’re not even looking at him anymore, he doesn’t seem to care. “I’m just saying. If you ever want to get away from Clipboard over there...”

This time you do look with a flash of agitation. “If I wanted that, I’d be part of your team, Tyler. Not his.”

“Now, hold on, just hear me out for a second.” Tyler takes another pull from his drink, but when he sets it back down, he’s too close yet again. Fingers brush unwarranted against you, his touch lingering in a way that immediately makes your skin crawl. “How about we make a deal? Let me show you a good time tonight, and I promise you won’t even remember his name by the end of it.”

The suggestion hangs heavy in the air. You're only just barely aware of the way your features shift as background noise fades and you’re left with a high-pitched ringing in your ears, each emotion rolling through you longer to process than the last. By the time disgust sets in, flinching away from his wandering hands, you see past the red just enough to catch his grin widening in amusement.

And you realize, with terrifying clarity, that he’s been toying with you the whole night, just to start something with your team. You try not to tremble, swallowing your rage, and remind yourself that you'll be kicked out if dump your drink on him.

A stool scrapes loudly from the other side of the room. Whatever semblance of peace snaps.

“Uh oh.” Tyler notices Scott’s approach, and has the audacity to flash you a smile. “Looks like we’ve got company. He sure knows how to kill a mood, doesn’t he?”

You don't have a chance to respond, Scott stopping beside you, barely restrained anger coming off him in waves. You instinctively step closer to him, your drink forgotten and unwanted on the bar. His eyes flash with anger as he regards Tyler, that muscle working overtime in his jaw — and you know he's seen everything, from Tyler whispering into your ear to the look of repulse that you'd tried to hide.

“We need to talk.” Scott’s gaze shifts to you. You recognize the silent message he sends, the urgency in his voice as he fights to control his composure for your sake. “Now.”

“Ouch, Scotty. Not even a hello? And here I thought manners came with that fancy degree.” Tyler whistles low, appraising Scott like he’s not seconds away from getting his nose broken. “I was just getting acquainted with your friend over here. Giving her the whole Wrangler pitch. You know how it goes.” His smirk growing, he takes your silence as a cue to continue. “Come to think of it, wasn’t that how Gabby left? Told me she was over all the huffin' and puffin', especially after—”

“Enough.” Scott's interjection is loud and clear, your heart stuttering at the icy tone. When he slides an arm around your waist, the weight unfamiliar, you can’t tell if it’s to keep you from lunging at Tyler, or himself. You glance between Tyler's satisfied grin and the glare Scott sends him, confused. Who was Gabby? “Shut the fuck up for once, Owens. Seriously. Do us all a fucking favor.”

You still swim with questions as Scott pulls you close, no longer waiting for Tyler’s approval or response — not that he needed it in the first place. Lights cast long shadows as he navigates you between tables, the ringing in your ears lessening the further away from Tyler you get. Scott ushers you out the nearest exit, his palm warm against the small of your back.

The back door slams shut with a final click as you spill out into the alley together. It’s as dimly lit as the inside is, a singular dying bulb flickering just a few steps away. The sounds of the bar are muffled here now that your hearing has returned to normal, leaving only the distant hum of traffic and your ragged breathing.

The chilled air immediately hits you as Scott pulls away, and you watch, lost, as he paces angrily while you try to sort your thoughts out.

“What the hell was that? I thought you said you weren’t coming tonight.” Scott’s voice is sharp, cutting through the night like a knife. He turns to face you with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken, his scowl reflecting the look he gets when he's about to unleash on someone. “You said you needed space, time to clear your head… So why are you here? With him?”

“I know. Plans change,” you reply, caught off-guard, hoping to sound casual even as you hook your finger nervously under the strap of your dress. You’ve never seen Scott this worked up before, and it’s unsettling.

“Plans change?” Scott scoffs, his voice rising with every word. “That’s your excuse? You say one thing, and then do the complete opposite? What was your plan, then? To drink with Tyler and maybe let him drive you home? Was that the idea?”

You’re taken aback by the sharpness of his words. “It was just a drink, Scott. I needed to get out and clear my head.”

“Just a drink?” Scott’s eyes narrow, and he takes a step closer, his frustration barely contained. “Do you really think I’m that naive? Tyler doesn’t just do ‘just a drink.’ He’s always looking for something more. And you—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “He makes a mess of everything he touches. You know what he’s like. Hell, you’re smart enough to see through his bullshit. So why are you letting him get close to you?”

“Scott, it’s not like that,” you protest, your voice wavering slightly under his scrutiny. “I needed to get out. It had nothing to do with him.”

“And you couldn’t find another way to clear your head? Without him? Without the guy who’s known for causing chaos?” His voice is thick with emotion, the carefully controlled mask he usually wears slipping away to reveal the raw frustration and fear beneath. “You think I don’t see what’s happening here? I’ve been through this before, and I’m not going to stand by and watch you make the same mistakes.”

“What are you implying?” You ask, confused and angry.

“I’m saying I think you’re using Tyler as a distraction,” Scott says, his voice sharp, “A way to escape from everything you’ve been dealing with.”

Frustration prickles at his words, and even though you try not to, it’s hard to keep the edge from your voice. “Escape? That’s not— I’m not running away from anything.”

“We’ve had a rough week. I know it’s been hard on you,” Scott says, his tone softening slightly, though he still looks on edge. His jaw ticks again, and your gaze immediately darts to the pack of gum you know he keeps in his right back pocket. “But if you’re letting someone like Tyler pull you away from what really matters, it’ll only make things worse. I’ve seen too many people get hurt by him.”

Your anger flares at his scolding, hating that you found yourself in one storm, only to be led willingly into the next. “And what, Scott? You think you know me so well that you can just decide what’s best for me?”

“No, I’m just—” Scott shakes his head, taking a step toward you, then rethinking it. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Safe?” You try to suppress a laugh, but it comes out bitter. “Safe doesn’t really exist in our line of work, and you know that.”

Scott’s eyes flash with a mix of frustration and something else you can’t quite place. He takes a deep breath, struggling to steady himself. “You think I don’t know that? When things go wrong, I need to know that I can count on the people around me to handle their shit.”

You raise an eyebrow, uncertain where this is going. “And what exactly does that have to do with Tyler or me?”

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asks, his tone almost pleading. “When you’re involved, everything gets complicated. I can’t think straight when you’re involved. I can’t focus. Hell, I can’t even sleep at night.”

Scott runs a hand through his hair, his fingers gripping tightly as if trying to ground himself. “That tornado— When the equipment malfunctioned because Dale failed to follow the calibration protocols I specifically fucking outlined— I was frozen, just paralyzed with fear. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I knew we couldn’t make it to you in time.”

You still, remembering how quickly Scott had cornered Dale when you got back. You’d thought it was because of the readings and the instructions he’d ignored that had nearly cost you both your lives.

Scott’s breath hitches as he continues. “It would’ve been my fault. My responsibility. My orders. I was convinced I’d lost you. And I thought if I could just keep you safe, try to control the chaos, that it might make things better. But seeing you with Tyler tonight... It’s like I’m back in that moment, feeling helpless, and I—” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “Look, I’m not going through that again. I can’t.”

His voice cracks, and you see the depth of his internal struggle. “I’m just… trying to protect you,” he admits quietly, “but I don’t know if you even see it that way.”

His words weigh heavy, the shock of it ripping right through you. Scott Miller didn't go out of his way to be kind.

You're pulled back through the last few months: the coffee, just the way you liked it, that Scott always had waiting for you after a chase; his lack of scorn when you fell asleep on him in the van the next morning, when exhaustion wins and his silence becomes safety; the lingering, unasked question on his lips every time you were tasked to go out onto the field again and you agreed, over and over, despite the very real fear of the very thing you chased.

For a moment, everything else fades away — Tyler, the bar, the noise.

“Scott.” Your voice breaks through the quiet in a whisper, drawing close to him. Your hands glide gently along the black fabric of his shirt, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms. “I’m here,” you say, your voice steady but soft. “I’m with you.”

For a moment, that vulnerability continues to swim in his eyes. And then he steps closer, his fingers wrapping around your wrists. You think, for a split second of panic, that he means to push you away and close himself off the way he usually does; instead, his thumbs rub tenderly at your palms, the action so gentle and unlike him that it makes your breath stall.

Instinctively your gaze meets his, forgetting (as you often did) just how big he actually was. Tall, broad, and deliciously toned; when you thought of Scott, you thought of him behind a desk, not running laps around his neighborhood and clocking in hours at the gym. Your uniforms did an amazing job of hiding his physique, but it’s impossible to ignore now. His black undershirt clings to him like a second skin and reveals the hard, taut muscles of his body, further evidence of the control he wielded so effortlessly.

His eyes search yours, the intoxicating scent of his cologne enveloping you. You’ve never seen him so open before, and as his hands smooth down your arms to the curve of your waist, there’s a sense of urgency in his touch that he doesn’t vocalize.

Fear. Longing. Desire. His jaw sets again as his gaze drops to your mouth, and you think, for one terrifying moment, that he won’t do it. Would he regain his composure, push you away, then act like nothing had happened the next morning? His brows furrow, as if reading your thoughts. Maybe you’d be reassigned just to avoid the awkwardness of it all. Scott could send you packing with just a phone call.

Your heart pounds, frozen in place, each second lasting an eternity. His fingers flex on your waist, the electrifying touch causing your lips to part and your lashes to flutter. The sight makes his throat bob.

“God damn it,” he groans, his voice guttural.

It’s the only warning you get before his mouth descends onto yours. Though his lips are smooth, there’s nothing gentle about the way Scott kisses you. His mouth moves hungrily against yours, devouring and demanding and all-consuming, like you’re the very air he needs to breathe. You sigh, aching for more, that dull fire inside you growing hotter at the groan that escapes him. As he fists a hand in your hair, he wraps a strong arm around your middle to pull you closer, deepening the kiss.

“Scott…” Bunching his shirt in your hands, you’re helpless when he nips at your bottom lip, pulling desperate, needy sounds from you. As he trails hot open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, finding every spot with ease, his fingers wrap gently around your throat, your pulse racing against his thumb.

“God, I’ve wanted you like this for months,” Scott murmurs against your skin, his voice a low growl that makes your thighs clench. A soft moan escapes as you tilt your head to give him better access, his noise of approval rumbling deep in his throat. “I’ve dreamt of this.”

He presses you into the wall behind you as he ravages your neck, all teeth and tongue and the kind of marks that you’ll have to find excuses for in the morning. A shiver sends you arching up into him, fingers slipping into his hair as he palms your breast, lowering his mouth to suck a greedy mark there. You whine at the friction you’re missing, hips circling the air, desperately hooking your fingers into his belt loops to drag him closer.

“Shhh,” Scott pauses to hitch your leg up, slotting his knee between your thighs. Dark blue eyes drink in the sight of you as he squeezes your ass, a cocky smile spreading on his pink and swollen lips. “I know, sweetheart. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” You mewl when his knee brushes against your heat, enough to have you rolling helplessly against him but not enough to satisfy your desires. “So pretty, so desperate.”

“Yes,” You grip him harder for some semblance of a tether, that condescending, degrading voice only adding fuel to the fire. Did he know what you fantasized about late at night? The shower running to muffle your moans while you touched yourself to his deep voice, lecturing you over a simple mistake? Open desire swirls in your eyes, pleading now, every want laid bare for him. “Please, I want it.”

Scott’s low noise of approval sounds in his throat, pressing closer to give you what you need. You’d be half-ashamed at the way you eagerly grind against him if his own arousal wasn’t hard against your hip, straining, large and throbbing with every roll of your hips. The material of your panties do nothing to stop the delicious ache of his worn jeans against your clit, too many pieces of fabric between you, trying to quiet pretty sounds as you bite your lip.

“Look at you,” Scott growls, your dress inching higher as he seizes your hips, helping you find a rhythm. Hooking the lace of your panties under his fingers, he tugs the material up tight enough together to elicit a hiss, a dimple playing at the corner of his mouth as he smirks, “Is this all for me, baby?”

Barely managing a nod, you meet his eyes through thick lashes and whimper at the expression on his face. That intense gaze drinks in every inch of you like you’re a piece of art and the last thing he wants to remember, his usually stormy eyes hazy with desire.

“God damn... You just can’t get enough, can you, baby? When you touch yourself at night, do you think about me? Rubbing that needy little pussy on your pillow ‘cause you just can’t help it?” You press harder into him in response, his answering laugh dark against your ear. “But it’s never enough, is it? You always crave more, something thicker, something stronger.”

You whine against the loss of contact as he drops his knee, the sting of your panties snapping against your skin quickly forgotten when he trails his digits along the swell of your mouth. You open up greedily, the salty taste of his skin on your tongue intoxicating as you wrap your lips around him. 

“I bet you look so pretty,” he continues, his voice ragged, “Spread out like a top dollar whore with your cunt in the air, gagging on your fingers and wishing it were me. Wondering how many you need to suck on to fill you up just right. How many do you think, baby? Two? More?”

Scott pulls his fingers out with a pop, nuzzling against you as you try to remember to breathe. “Would you even be able to use that brain of yours, baby? Or would you be so fucking desperate to fill your hole that you’d use however many fit?”

He hikes up your dress while he pushes his hand in your panties, fingers slipping through your soaked folds. Fuck. He slowly circles your clit, stealing the breath from your lungs as you arch up into him. “Oh, I know, sweetheart. It doesn’t feel like this, does it?”

Not even close. Worst of all, you weren’t even sure if Scott knew just how true it was. Other men may have excited you, but nothing compared to this — not you, not the others you took to your bed, not even the fantasy Scott you envisioned. You buck helplessly against him, eager for more, whimpering out some sort of half-reply as you grip his wrist in a pathetic effort to keep him there.

Scott just grins. “What’s wrong, baby? Am I going too slow for you?” When he softens his touch, your nails dig into his skin, leaving little crescent moon marks. Lips desperately search for his, your eyes half-lidded and hazy. “I knew you’d be greedy,” he hums, gripping you roughly by the chin, his thumb swiping over your parted lips. “Letting me play with your pussy like this, where anyone could walk out and see how much of a slut you’re being.”

You bite back a moan as you remember where you are, glancing frantically at the door like it might open any second. Your pulse skyrockets when he resumes teasing, circling your clit then dipping down to press at your entrance. Fingers close around the fabric of his shirt, meaning to push him away and only pulling him closer with another desperate whine. “Scott, please…”

“Fuck.” There’s a dark look that flashes across his face, voice rough and ragged, and you watch, with nothing to shield his gaze, as his control snaps.

Sliding his hand over your mouth, it’s the only warning you get before he sinks a thick digit into your weeping cunt. The growl that escapes him when you automatically clench around it only makes you wetter, paralyzed with lust as he works you into pliancy. You pant, chest heaving, as he finds a steady rhythm that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head, every moan muffled against the palm of his hand as you arch into his touch.

You cry out when he adds a second finger, rocking your hips desperately as he angles his hand just right to rub against your clit. “Harder— Please, more—” The words are strangled, spilling out of you mindlessly now, unable to think beyond the way Scott stretches you out. You grab a fistful of his hair as he groans against your neck, dragging teeth and tongue along your skin, freeing your breasts from your dress before covering your mouth again.

“So god damned sexy,” he growls, quick to lap at your hardened nipples, the flat of his tongue spilling another pretty sound from your throat. He curls his digits deeper inside you, the wet schlick of your heat loud in your ears as he sets a brutal pace, switching his attention to your other neglected nipple.

Breath hot against your skin, Scott relishes how you become putty in his hands, holding onto him for support as he strokes that burning fire in you.

“Perfect fucking tits. Perfect fucking pussy. Jesus, sweetheart,” he nips at your skin, soothing the bite with his tongue. “Is this what you like? Being used like my own personal fucktoy? What would the others think if they saw you right now, fucking yourself stupid on me like a bitch in heat?”

He slips his fingers out long enough for you to beg, his smile dark against your skin while you whimper in desperation — and then he’s pushing back into you, stretching your hole with every rough thrust of his fingers. “Hear that, sweetheart? Even your body knows it’s meant to be mine.”

Scott kisses you hungrily as he drops his free hand to your breast, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you scream. His fingers slick harder into you, his cock thick and grinding into your hip while you try to breathe against his storm, your own control slipping as you fist his dark curls in your hands, looking for leverage.

“That’s it,” he growls, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. “This is my fucking pussy, isn’t it, baby? You wanna cum for me? Let the whole bar know you’re my toy to play with?”

“Please, please, please—” You can’t think beyond the brutal pace he’s set, not even sure that your voice sounds human as you babble, eyes big and watering. “Wanna cum for you, please, I need it—”

“You need it?” You gasp as the pain on your nipple subsides only for him to pinch the other, something dark and destructive swirling heavy in his blue eyes. You shiver at the expression, the carnal desire written so clearly over his face, every word out of his mouth deep, commanding, leaving no room for debate. “I’ll tell you when you get to cum. This is mine.” Pressing the heel of his palm hard against your clit, he watches with glee as you clamp down on your bottom lip to keep from screaming, obeying his command even as your body fights.

Your knees nearly buckle at the growl in his voice. Every thrust of his fingers brings you closer to the edge, the heat overwhelming. How many nights had you spent with your fingers in your cunt, picturing scenario after scenario of him taking you in the van, in the bathroom, on his desk after hours? 

“Say it,” Scott insists. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You meet his gaze, the intensity of it nearly sending you over the edge. “I’m yours,” you say, caught between a moan and something stronger, your words choking off.

“Again.” His expression tightens, picking up speed. “Louder.”

“I’m yours!” Your body trembles with the effort to stay upright, writhing against him. The words feel like a vow, your grip on Scott tight as you sob them into him. “My pussy is yours, my body is yours— Just a pathetic, dirty, worthless hole for you to fuck— Fuck, Scott, please—”

Scott growls in response, fisting his hand in your hair as finds the spongey spot inside of you. His digits work you hard, the veins in his arms on display as you bite back a scream, waiting, begging, needing. “Cum,” he grunts, the sound of his fingers driving into you loud and damning, “That’s it, sweetheart. Cum for me.”

You fall over the edge hard and fast, crying out as all the tension from the night finally snaps. It feels like an eternity as he continues fucking you through it, every filthy promise spelled out clearly with his lips at your ear.

By the time you come crashing back down, you’re shaking and empty, blinking back stars as Scott steps back. “Oh my god,” you gasp, fighting to catch your breath, mind still a mess as you try to piece together everything that happened. “That was…”

You watch, mesmerized, as Scott sucks his fingers into his mouth, a groan of approval sounding deep in his throat. And when he squeezes at his bulge straining against his zipper, your core clenches tight at the thought of his weight on top of yours, fucking you into submission again and again until he gets his fill.

“Just the beginning,” Scott promises, stepping toward you to tilt your chin up, his free hand coming down to tighten around your soaked panties and pull. They rip easily in his strong grasp, his grin triumphant as he stuffs them into his back pocket. “You won’t be needing these anymore.”

“Why?” Your body tenses with anticipation, noting the defined dimple in his cheek, the kind of grin he only wore when he was about to be incredibly, infuriatingly smug.

“Because,” he hums, full of condescension, “I didn’t hear a thank you.”

Before you can fix your mistake, Scott silences you with a kiss, his mouth patronizingly gentle as a wicked laugh sounds in the back of his throat. “Don’t worry,” he says, dropping another chaste kiss to your mouth, your nose, the space between your creased brows. “It won’t happen again. I’ll teach you, sweetheart.”

Goosebumps rise on your flesh as Scott adjusts your dress to cover your exposed body, the act so gentle and unbecoming that you freeze enough to let him. The moment only lasts a minute, your eyes meeting as he squeezes the curve of your ass when he’s done, all that vulnerability you had seen locked away again, like he’s guarding himself as reality comes back to life.

A muscle feathers in his jaw as his gaze shifts from you to the back door you’d spilled from. You’ve known Scott long enough by now to know he won’t be the one to say what’s hanging in the air. It would be easier, safer, to walk back in like nothing had happened and return to the motel alone, hitching a ride with anyone other than Scott the next morning.

But if you turn away now, you’ll never see that side of him again: the side that stayed up with you when he could be sleeping, the kind that comforted you without words, the kind that lit your world on fire with every bruising mark he’d left on you. The chance of knowing the man behind the mask.

You don’t miss the way his muscles tense under your touch as you reach for him or the flash of relief that flickers through him. “You think I’m teachable?” You ask, turning big eyes up at him, begging him to see the way you lay yourself bare for him — hoping, praying, that he doesn’t turn you down even still.

“I’m not an easy teacher.” He says, low, still guarded. Still giving you one last out.

You shake your head, a laugh tumbling out. His throat bobs at the sound. “I don’t want easy.” The truth of that hangs heavy in the air, zipping between the two of you as recognition passes through his eyes. “Now are you driving, or am I?”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth before he presses his tongue into his cheek and takes a step back. “My van, my rules,” he says, his voice softer now but still firm, and you hear the familiar rumble of the Storm Par van coming to life. His keys jingle in his hand as he adds, “You should know that by now.”

You bite your lip, suppressing a smile, and follow him out of the alleyway.

You did know. And as you settle into the passenger seat, the scent of the van enveloping you — a mix of old leather and Scott’s cologne — anticipation crackles in the air. The night stretches ahead, full of unspoken possibilities.

You couldn’t wait to test how far those rules went... and just how much you both were willing to bend them.

[joaeriz]

you should write uconn!azzi surprising wnba!paige after one of her games!

📎 you always find me

🏷 pairing: azzi fudd x paige bueckers (uconn!azzi / wnba!paige)

📝 summary: after weeks apart, azzi surprises paige after one of her games — and reminds her what home really feels like.

⚠️ warnings: heavy fluff, minor angst (loneliness mentions), kissing, sleep cuddles, domestic softness, food mentions, extreme sapphiness, general yearning vibes (THE MOST FLUFFIEST FLUFF EVER)

📎 word count: ~1.4K

🧸 author’s note: hi anon! i love u for this req. this one made me so emotional to write because i love the thought of azzi being the kind of person who would fly across the country just to make sure paige feels loved 🥺😭 this is just full of hugs, soft kisses, and them being each other’s safe place. pls let me know if you liked it!!! my inbox is always open for screaming about them 💌💌

The late March air outside the Dallas arena was heavy and warm, the city humming under a velvet sky. Inside, the stadium buzzed with fading energy, fans lingering by the court to get one last glimpse of the night's stars.

Paige Bueckers barely registered any of it.

The game was a blur behind her — the points, the assists, even the standing ovation she got after a no-look pass that made the highlight reel. She smiled, she waved, she answered reporters’ questions like she was supposed to. It was automatic now — a mask she slipped on and off depending on who was watching.

But inside, she was lonely.

Bone-deep lonely.

The kind that made her chest feel hollow no matter how loud the crowd screamed her name.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love her life — the WNBA had always been the dream. She loved the grind, the speed, the stage of it all. She loved her team, her coaches, the fans. She even loved Dallas, most days.

But none of it was enough when she went home at night to a cold, empty apartment.

Home.

That word barely meant anything without Azzi.

God, she missed her.

She missed her laugh, the one that bubbled up from her chest and made Paige feel weightless. She missed the smell of her shampoo. She missed the way Azzi would curl into her side, stealing all the covers, mumbling nonsense in her sleep.

She missed having someone to come home to.

And tonight, after another long game, another exhausting performance, she felt the ache sharper than ever.

Paige trudged off the court, towel slung around her neck, ignoring the lingering flashes of cameras. She just wanted to shower, crawl into bed, and maybe FaceTime Azzi until she passed out.

She wasn’t ready for what was waiting just around the corner.

Paige slowed instinctively as she rounded the hallway into the players' tunnel. Something — she didn’t know what — made her glance up.

And froze.

There, leaning against the wall in her beat-up sneakers and her UConn hoodie, clutching a bouquet of half-crushed sunflowers, was Azzi Fudd.

Paige’s brain short-circuited.

It didn’t feel real. It couldn’t be real.

Azzi.

Her Azzi.

Her best friend, her favorite person, the girl who still showed up in every one of Paige's dreams no matter how far apart they were.

Azzi’s eyes found hers across the distance — wide, shining, nervous — and for a second, neither of them moved.

Paige’s heart slammed against her ribs, wild and desperate.

And then she ran.

The gym bag hit the ground with a heavy thud as she sprinted across the hallway, crashing into Azzi with so much force that the flowers went flying.

Azzi let out a soft "oof," but she caught her easily, wrapping her arms around Paige like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment.

Paige buried her face in the curve of Azzi’s neck, breathing her in — warm skin, vanilla shampoo, the faintest trace of airplane air. It was so Azzi it hurt.

"I thought I was dreaming," Paige whispered, voice breaking.

Azzi laughed, shaky and close to tears. "I’m really here."

Paige pulled back enough to see her face — flushed cheeks, shining eyes, that perfect crooked smile.

She cupped Azzi’s cheeks in her hands, thumbing away a tear she didn’t realize she was crying. "You didn’t tell me."

Azzi shrugged, ducking her head, suddenly shy. "I wanted to surprise you. We got a break after the tournament, so... I booked a flight. Almost missed my connection. The Uber driver almost killed me on the freeway. But—" She smiled, tilting her head. "Worth it."

Paige laughed wetly, the sound half-sob, half-joy. She shook her head, overwhelmed, and leaned in.

Their kiss was slow and tender, a thousand I-missed-yous poured into a single touch. Azzi melted into her like she always did, like they were two pieces of the same whole finally slotting back together.

Around them, the stadium noise faded into a distant hum. It was just them. It had always been just them.

They barely made it back to Paige’s car, hands tangled together like lifelines.

The drive to her apartment was a series of stolen glances and half-finished sentences. Paige kept reaching over to brush her fingers against Azzi’s thigh, like she couldn’t bear not touching her.

Azzi was still in her travel clothes — oversized hoodie, leggings, hair messily knotted — and Paige thought she looked like the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

"You’re really here," Paige whispered again at a red light.

Azzi smiled at her, sleepy and radiant. "I’m really here."

Paige wanted to cry all over again.

Inside the apartment, Paige dropped everything at the door.

Azzi wandered through the small space, taking it all in — the framed photos of Paige’s first WNBA season, the pair of sneakers abandoned by the couch, the lone sunflower stuck into a water glass on the kitchen counter.

Paige stood in the doorway, watching her nervously.

"It’s not much," she said, rubbing the back of her neck.

Azzi turned around, her smile soft. "It’s perfect. It’s yours."

Paige crossed the room in three steps and kissed her again, fierce and grateful and aching all at once.

They stumbled to the couch, laughing breathlessly. Azzi straddled Paige’s lap, her hands bracketing her face, her forehead pressed to Paige’s.

"I missed you so much it physically hurt," Paige whispered.

Azzi nodded, eyes glassy. "Me too."

They stayed there for a long time, tangled together, whispering nonsense and trading kisses so soft they barely felt like touches.

Paige traced lazy patterns on Azzi’s back, feeling the way her breathing slowed, the way she relaxed fully for the first time in months.

At some point, they drifted into the bedroom, barely managing to peel off their hoodies and jeans before collapsing onto the bed, wrapped around each other like ivy.

Paige fell asleep with her nose buried in Azzi’s hair, Azzi’s fingers tangled with hers under the covers.

She woke up to sunlight streaming through the windows, birds chattering somewhere outside.

And Azzi.

Still there.

Still real.

Paige watched her sleep for a long time, memorizing every little detail — the way her nose scrunched slightly, the faint smudges of eyeliner still clinging to her lashes, the slow, even rise and fall of her chest.

Azzi shifted, mumbling something incoherent, and tucked herself closer to Paige’s side, throwing a leg over her hip.

Paige smiled so wide her face hurt.

Eventually, Azzi blinked awake, bleary-eyed and adorable.

"Mornin’," she mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

Paige kissed her forehead. "Best morning ever."

Azzi giggled and buried her face in Paige’s neck. "You’re clingy."

"You showed up across the country," Paige said. "You’re stuck with clingy."

Azzi just smiled, pressing a sleepy kiss to her collarbone.

They stayed like that for a while, cocooned in each other, until Paige’s stomach growled loudly enough to make Azzi snort with laughter.

"Food?" Azzi offered, grinning.

Paige groaned. "I don’t wanna move."

"I’ll cook," Azzi teased. "You just sit there and look pretty."

Paige perked up instantly. "Marry me?"

Azzi laughed, shoving her playfully before dragging herself out of bed.

Paige watched her pad into the kitchen, stealing one of her oversized shirts to wear, her hair a sleepy halo around her head.

And for the first time in months — maybe longer — Paige felt whole.

Not because of the wins or the trophies or the fans.

Because of this.

Because Azzi had found her, across miles and airports and chaos, and she wasn’t letting go.

Paige grabbed her phone and snapped a quick, blurry picture of Azzi at the stove, flipping pancakes with her tongue sticking out in concentration.

My favorite view, she captioned it, sending it to Azzi with a heart emoji.

Azzi looked up, caught her, and winked.

Paige laughed out loud, heart so full she thought it might burst.

She didn’t know where the season would take her. She didn’t know what challenges were waiting. But right now — messy apartment, burnt pancakes, sunflowers wilting in a glass on the counter — this was home.

This was everything.

And she wasn’t letting it go.

Not now.

Not ever.

[rowarn]

hi rowan!! can i jus say i LOVE the way you write soft simon<33

what are your thoughts on soft konig?

thank u so much my love 🥺🥺

size difference ofc, foreplay, könig being good in bed <333333 afab!reader, no prns

SOFT!KÖNIG ..... i love soft men. i love protective men. if there's one thing about me it's that protective men just tickle my pickle like nothing else

and könig is sooooo protective. it comes natural to him. he spends a big part of his time away from home and killing people.

but the second he's home with his sweet, precious baby he basically melts!!!

he's the type of man who always has to be touching you. wiping a crumb of food off your cheek, having a stable hand on the small of your back as he guides you through a thick crowd, your small hand tucked firmly in his when he sits beside you at a cafe, his hand gripping your thigh when he's driving or when you're nestled next to him on the couch. hes always touching you.

the type of man who doesn't let you lift a single finger bc he can do whatever it is you need. all you need to do is sit there nice and comfy and be sweet for him, that's all he wants!

he's always complimenting you he's never shy about it. the second you get up he's calling you pretty. telling u how nice your skin looks. tells u that ur hair looks cute that day. he's always complimenting you, his soft little heart just melts at the way your eyes light up when he does it so why wouldn't he???? he loves to make u happy after all

this caring, devoted nature bleeds into bed as well of course !!!

hes......so big......

he's always concerned he'll hurt you. he can easily kill men with his bare hands, he knows his own strength. the last thing he wants to do is lose control. so his touches and caresses are always methodical and thought out.

sex with könig is never rushed or rough. he's a gentle giant with u without a doubt. he won't leave marks or hit u in any form — not even to spank ur ass. wont choke you (but may wrap a hand around your throat and rest it there if y beg sweet enough)

he works you open slowly and carefully. he's so thorough that there's no way you don't cum from his foreplay alone ): he stretches you open with his thick fingers, slurps noisily on your clit to get you even wetter, it's all too much. he's used to feeling you twitch and squirm when he gets you ready, it barely phases him anymore!!! it's just part of the process now (:

"was that a good one, my sweet?" he'll ask ask he rids himself of his clothes, lidded eyes watching you recover from the intense orgasm he so effortlessly gave you <3

he usually does positions he can see you in but he also likes the prone bone position too. any position where u can lay there and just take it — letting him do all the work so u never have to lift a finger <3 so sweet of him !!!

when he finally gets his cock inside you, he always stops halfway and makes u cum like that before giving u the rest ): he doesn't want to give u too much at once and risk hurting you bc he's BIG and he knows it (not in a cocky way he's just overly aware of his own size)

afterwards, once again, u will never lift a finger. hell clean up the mess and snuggle all u want wherever u want. even if he has to carry u to a different room bc u wanna lay somewhere else.

those r some of my thoughts on soft könig <33333333

[brittscafe]

Pairing: Shuhei Hisagi x fem! reader

Summary: Shuhei comforts his girlfriend when she has a panic attack, secret relationship.

Request: Heyy, can a request some hurt/comfort with Hisagi Shuhei where girlfriend (reader) is crying and breaking down -> having a panic attack in front of all of the captains and lieutenants and they can't calm her down and then Shuhei arrives and helps her. But everyone is surprised because their relationship was a secret and they haven't told anyone yet. Uhhg im sorry if this is too specific or something but the things you write are just sooo good and im in love with this boii and cant get it out of my head🥺🥺

A/n: Heyyyy!! awww this is cute, ofccc <3 I really loved writing thissss, I love me some Shuhei.

Content: Panic attack, comfort, Shuhei being a soft boy and helping you through a panic attack.

You're surrounded by all the captains and lieutenants, panting heavily and your knees touching the cold ground. Momo's hand is on your shoulder, a sad expression across her face as she gazes up at Toshiro.

Nobody can figure out how to help you, but they are trying to. They are starting to become helpless at this point.

Your hand is clutching at your chest, fingernails digging into your uniform. Eyes focused on the floor below you, eardrums pounding heavily.

Hot tears stream down your cheeks, staining them and your throat strains, aching. Your chest is so tight and pounding, it feels so heavy and there's nothing you can do about it.

Shuhei's strolling along the hallway, turning the corner and about to make it into the meeting room. He runs a hand through his hair as he opens the door, the scene unfolding before him.

His eyes widen as the door creaks open. Suddenly, all eyes are on Shuhei, practically begging for help.

You're a mess, but you're Shuhei's mess. A frown tugs on his face as he walks over to you, captains and lieutenants clearing the way for him.

He kneels down beside you, hearing your sniffles breaks his heart. He ever so tenderly cups your cheek, tears falling onto his knuckles as he lifts your head up to meet his eyes.

"Hi, baby," his voice is a whisper, melting into your mind like butter.

"Hi," your voice is wobbly, stomach churning, but this time a little less tighter than before.

Oh, how he aches for you. Shuhei hates hearing the way your voice breaks, how your face just melts, and how the tears continue to fall from your eyes.

"You're gonna be ok, y/n. I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but I promise, you will be ok," his words are gentle and soft.

They speak to you so much clearer than anyone else's. You gaze into his eyes full of love and they smile at you.

"Just breathe, baby. That's all I need you to do for me. Just breathe. I got you," he reassures you, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs.

Your heavy breathing starts to slow down, almost back to normal.

You can feel the knots in your stomach coming undone as Shuhei holds your face in his hands tenderly.

All eyes are staring at the two of you, whispers and murmurs come from the crowd. Nobody expected the two of you to be together, your relationship has been a secret for months.

You slowly reach out to Shuhei, wrapping your arms around his lower back and burying yourself into his body and chest. Shuhei lets out a muffled chuckle, smiling to himself.

"Have I told you how pretty you look when you cry?" he teases you, earning a tiny giggle from you.

That's what he loves to hear, that little giggle of yours. It makes his whole day.

"No," you grumble out, no more tears coming out from your eyes. He gently rubs your back, soothing you.

"Well, you are very pretty when you cry, y/n. I hate to see you cry, my gorgeous girl. No more crying, ok?" he asks you as you peek out from his chest.

You glance up at him and nod your head, a tiny grin on your face as you look at him.

"No more tears," you bob your head. Shuhei smiles warmly and wraps you up in his arms. The captains and lieutenants whisper behind your back still, although for them, you didn't care about the whispers anymore.

The attack is over and Shuhei helped you through every step of it.

[iwaasfairy]

Iwa-nii but make him stalk me and be so obsessed with me, but I’m a oblivious head in the clouds kinda little sister and he’s my silent broody big brother noooo he would never hurt anyone iwa-nii isn’t like that~ I don’t believe u cause he’s the sweetest kindest and bestest big brothur~ in the whole wide world he’s just a grumpy dog sometimes- shhh don’t tell but I have to let him sleep in my bed every night bc he has nightmares isn’t he just the cutesttt ☺️🥺

tw incest, coercion, fingering, semi-public

"I don't know..." he smiles guiltily, "isn't he a little overbearing about you?"

You don't get it. "Niichan?" You've never really thought about it. Of course Hajime is around a lot, but he's your brother. He's the only sibling you have, and you've always been close. Isn't it only normal? "I don't know," you honestly say, pouting as he leans back onto your bed and the shift pulls you a little closer to him. "I think he's just... protective. That isn't bad, is it?"

His pretty smile slips a little, before he shrugs. "Do you even get to have any alone time like that? Or hang out with guys?"

"I hang out with you." You shift towards him when his hand lands on top of your thigh, and the heat of it makes your entire face a little hot. It's that giddy sort of feeling that has you looking down, and biting your lip when his hand comes under your chin to lift it. Your door slams open, and you jump.

Hajime's never dressed inappropriately, not even in his own room, but freshly showered from practice and sweatpants hung low on his hips is something. He's got a nasty glare under dark lashes as he stands in the doorway, and looks even bigger and more muscular than usual. It must be your imagination, but your throat dries a little when he catches your eyes and his anger radiates off of him.

You didn't do anything wrong, did you? You couldn't have. Niichan's not so kind or so patient when he walks up and grabs you by the arm, pulling you away from your classmate. "We need to talk. Now." He basically flings you towards the door before walking up to the other brunet on the bed. "I want you gone when I get back. Don't try me." And then your hand is in his and you're struggling behind him with a whimper.

"Ouch, niichan, that hurts." You're pushed up against the wall of the bathroom as he shuts the door behind him, and then crowds into your space so close that you can feel the way his heart beats hard against you. "What? You're mad?"

"Wh- I-" he starts, before taking a second to breathe, having the air dust over your nose. He can't be mad at you. You don't want him to be. Your arms wind around his waist as you stare up at him with searching eyes, and not for nothing, that seems to calm him enough for him to cup your face and pull you close to him. "No boys. I told you, no boys."

"I know, but- he's my friend."

"He's a guy. You don't know what guys are thinking when you touch and play like that-"

"And you do?" you quickly say back, expecting ... well, something other than the deadpan look Hajime nii gives. He seems to mull it over, before leaning in so your noses are touching and your back is flat to the wall.

"Think about it real hard." His hand slides along your jaw to your neck, before he wraps his fingers into your hair and blinks. "What do I do when we're sleeping together? You think I don't see," the curve of his lips is distracting, getting closer and closer and- "you're pretty. I tell you that, don't I?" Well, he does, but- but-

Before you can answer, he turns you around so your stomach and chest is pushed to the wall, and his body melts to your back as his lips brush the shell of your ear. "When we cuddle, you didn't notice?" His waist is pushing against you now, and it feels familiar, the closeness, the heat, the tingle in your lower belly like you're needing something. His crotch brushing against your ass like it does some mornings, or when you two cuddle in the couch, when he gets home to hold you from behind.

He rolls his hips into you, and his lips press to the sensitive skin behind your ear. "Liar. You knew that niichan wants to have sex."

"I- I didn't-"

"You did know." His other hand trails up and down your belly for long enough to have your pussy clenching around nothing, and you shake your head as his fingers slide under your waistband. "Say 'niichan'."

It isn't much of a demand. The soft breath almost comes naturally. "Niichan. I- your c- your- thing is pushing against me." It is, and he doesn't seem to have any shame as he rocks it against your butt and hums into your skin.

"Say 'niichan wants to fuck me'." You immediately squeak and shake your head even with his fist of your hair, as he kisses, grinds, as his hand trails down into your undies to hear a obvious squelch. "Say it, or I'll go beat your little boyfriend to shit instead. Come on."

"Niichan wants to fuck me..." Your eyes are teary as his fingers slide between your lips and his rough palm rubs against your clit. You can't even think, let alone keep up with what he's saying. You love Hajime nii. You love him so much. What the hell can you do? "Niichan... wants to fuck me."

"Uhuh. Niichan wants to put his cock into that little sister pussy. Like it's supposed to be." Your pussy clenches around his two fingers as he slips them in and a soft breath of surprise, or a light moan maybe, comes out of him. His hard cock is making your entire body feel like fire and water, leaning into his touch. It feels so good, and his chest is pressing against you, beating hard— and your body rocks along. "Now say 'you want niichan to fuck you too'."

[jd-loves-fiction]

Hey there! I might have an oddly specific request, but like. I am craving a trope but I am too lazy to write anything myself. Feel free to not accept this :"D

Could you write maybe like a *micro* oneshot about Boothill finding his past lover (from before his planet got nuked), but here's the thing, the lover did an ftm transition, so Boothill may have not realised at first.

And secondly, there is a child. Boothill's, but he had no idea.

The circumstances under what they reconnect is up to you. Wether it's fluff or angst, also.

Thank you in advance, cool writer person!<3

🌑felt that first part😭 ALSO this idea is so good rAAAH I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT IIITT (idk if this sucks but i hope i did this wonderful idea justice my dear, i poured all my love into this ❤️)

ALSO ALSO listened to 'Would you fall in love with me again' on loop writing this cuz the vibes are immaculate :)

Warnings: Spoilers for Boothill's backstory, mention of reader pre-transition as 'her' once but by male descriptors everwhere else, I have no experience writing ftm reader's so forgive my ignorance and let me know if I did good if you can 🥺

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 / 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠

The saloon is lively, crowded, not Boothill’s usual scene but fate or whatever sorry god is in charge of his path brought him here. His mission is complete and he’s exhausted – so out drinking he goes, even though he can barely feel the drink’s effects anymore. He supposes it must be the principle of the thing, a sort of tradition that helps him not lose his mind along the way.

Boothill scans the room by instinct, seeing dancing couples fill the entire room up to the corners – some slowly, some so fast it’s as if the universe is about to implode. A flash of a memory stings at the back of his brain, but he ignores it.

“Uhm! Mister!” Chirps a high pitched voice from below, clearly directed at himself. Looking down he spots a chubby-faced little girl, at which he raises a brow. Why a girl her age would ever think to approach him of all people in the saloon, he cannot imagine.

“Can you help me up, please? I wanna ask for some water,” she asks, polite but determined.

“Oh, well of course little lady!” He responds, gently holding her up and placing her onto the stool, once the cloud of nostalgia is gone from before his eyes. She just looks so familiar… The particular shade of brown of her eyes–

“Thank you mister!” The girl says brightly, sitting all cute and proper as Boothill waves the barkeep over, “It’s no trouble. Whatcha doin’ here, anyway? Y’ain’t alone, right?”

“Oh no mister, I’m here with my papa!” She replies cheerfully, pointing to the center of the room where the most people gather. Between swaying bodies he finds who she points at – twirling a giggling old lady is who Boothill suspects is the girl’s ‘papa’.

The cyborg cowboy no longer has a heart, nor a chest really, but it feels as if it stops in that moment. You don't spot him yet, lost as you are in your own little world, twirling around as sweat builds at your hairline.

But to Boothill everyone else fades as the pieces click into place – a grassfield beneath a starry sky, the love of his life before him, his flesh and bone hands around her blushing face… your face… no matter how you’ve changed, it’s you, he’d recognize you anywhere.

He must be seeing ghosts, surely. The girl’s father must just look like you, that’s it, it has to be, you’re dead… you have to be.

But Boothill knows in his soul that it is. You’re right there, dancing without a care in the world, changed and yet the same.

“Mister?” The little girl to him again, grasping at one of his sleeves and he turns. Her eyes, that particular shade of brown… it’s his, from when he was still flesh and blood. His head hurts. He feels drunk and crazy, maybe he should stop drinking after missions.

“There you are! You should’ve told me you wanted to rest,” You lightheartedly tell the girl, panting as you wipe sweat from your brow. From this close he’s sure it’s you, but Boothill still feels a little crazy for his thoughts. “Made a friend–?!”

The moment your eyes meet his, Boothill is finally sure it’s you. And he can tell you remember him too. Both of you seem stuck in time, gazing at each other like you’ve seen a ghost, which maybe you have, all things considered. The both of you should be dead.

Your mouth opens to speak but no words come out and you’re aching for a glass of water of your own. He’s here, alive and…

“You’ve… changed.” Boothill says lamely – so many things he wants to say, things he should’ve said long ago, things he would’ve said if he knew you were alive all this time.

“S-So have you!” Your voice cracks as you gawk at him, “You’re all… metal?”

Boothill chuckles, nerves eased by the familiarity that settles over the two of you – seems you haven't changed where it counts. “Yeah… it’s a long story.”

“Well, all I have is time.” He can tell you’re still upset with him, perhaps you will be for a while– heck! He’s upset with himself! He should’ve gone back for you, checked, double checked, triple checked!

“Just tell me one thing first;” The cyborg asks, watching as the girl sprints off towards who he assumes is a friend of hers, “Is she…” he points at himself.

“... Yeah. Her name’s Julia.” You tell him, sitting where she was, shoulders still tense as you watch him closely. He’s still as handsome as always, more rugged perhaps, more tired and grim, but the sight of his face still makes your heart stutter with affection. 

Boothill sighs heavily at the information, like the air’s been punched from his lungs, slumping over the bar and covering his eyes. You, alone as your planet burned while he went off to punish the ones who did it, was a heartbreaking enough picture to paint, but with a child? His child?

If they hadn't taken his tear ducts, he’d be filling the saloon up to the ceiling with his tears.

“Hey now, you can cry about it later, ok?” You say awkwardly, knowing you might start crying too if he does. 

He does as you ask, finally raising his head to look at you properly. You’re as beautiful as he remembers, of course you are. You could never stop looking so unfairly stunning to him, never.

Squirming in place as his cybernetic lock onto you, you feel the need to fill the empty space between you – as much as you wish to act like nothing had changed, a lot had, “How did you… recognize me?”

He finds it to be an odd question, of course he’d recognize you, yours is the only face he seems when he closes his eyes, haunting the few dreams he does have like a siren’s song beckoning him to linger within the memories of a better life before he became what he is now, “Y’haven’t changed that much.”

You blink at him, suddenly self-conscious, “... haven't I?”

Oh no, you look upset. He should’ve just said what he was thinking instead of whatever that was, “I– I didn't mean it like– I mean, you look great! Fudge I–”

You’re laughing, open and bright and lovely. Laughing at him no doubt, but laughing, “W-what– why do you– Fudge?”

“Ah, well, that’s part of that long story I told ya’bout.” He replies bashfully, because yeah, it would be strange to hear that coming out of his mouth to you.

Catching your breath and wiping the tears from your eyes, you smile fondly at the cowboy, “Sounds to me like we have some catching up to do.”

The farm boy in him wishes still that nothing had changed, that he could wake up from his dream and lay in the field beneath the stars again, hold you against his warm chest like always and have no IPC blood caked under his metaphorical nails, only dirt and sand from a hard day’s work. But the galaxy ranger he is now likes it better this way – change is inevitable and all things considered, this is one of the more fortunate outcomes of your story. 

You’ve both changed, but not where really it counts.

“That we do, sweetheart.”

[bloodweep]

HIHI! DO YOU WRITE FLUFF? YOURE LIKE ONE OF MY FAVORITE WRITERS ON TUMBLR SO I WANTED TO ASK🤭 IF YOU DO, I WAS JUST THINKING ABT BROZONE (OR JUST JD) WITH A READER WHO ALSO MAKES MUSIC? YOU CAN HAVE THE HCS TURN OUT HOWEVER YOU WANT I JUST HAD THAT GENERAL IDEA🙏🏽🙏🏽

OKFG PLEASE IM NOT THAT GOOD

And yes I do 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 it makes me so happy and giggly like the bitch I am jfjfhfhfhfh

YOU KNOW MY HEART IS GONNA GO TO JD FIRST I WANT HIM IN EVERY WAY I CAN

━━━━━━━ ✦❘༻༺❘✦ ━━━━━━━

JOHN DORY:

‗ ❍ I love him so much but I just know he would be a bit of an asshole at first, far better than before, don’t get me wrong! But he will still ask what you’re going and provide “tips” to make it better, but will be quickly silenced if you glared at him

‗ ❍ he is literally the definition of “oh I hate that man, I hate that man! But oh cara mia how I love him”

‗ ❍ after a while he would be silent and just listen to you, he would highly enjoy your music btw

‗ ❍ would get stuck in his head constantly where he is humming it wherever he is, bobbing his head to the beat

‗ ❍ would so just hold you close, arm around your shoulders watching you write away, nuzzling into your hair

‗ ❍ would beg to have a duet with you, no lie, will literally beg on all fours to have one

‗ ❍ UGH ITS STUPID BUT HE WOULD SO GRAB TOU AROUNF THE HIPS AND PULL YOU ALONG THE ROOM TO DANCE

‗ ❍ he would hold you so tight and kiss along your head while he sways with you and sings

━━━━━━━ ✦❘༻༺❘✦ ━━━━━━━

Bruce:

‗ ❍ he would be so fun to write songs with, so attentive, leaned back and just listening

‗ ❍ wouldn’t say anything until you were finished and asked for tips

‗ ❍ “play it again” he would say just so he can hear your voice again and listen to the melody

‗ ❍ he would do this a few times before you caught on and playfully punched his knee

‗ ❍ he would just laugh and shake his head “nothing needs to be changed it’s wonderful ”

‗ ❍ he would so sing the songs you make while surfing too

‗ ❍ he’s your number one biggest fan, will fight anyone to get that position

‗ ❍ he will be the loudest person in the audience and dancing in the crowd

‗ ❍ sings it for his kids any song you create

━━━━━━━ ✦❘༻༺❘✦ ━━━━━━━

Clay:

‗ ❍ he’s such a little nerd, would be vibing to anything so hard

‗ ❍ he will fight whoever even if it’s his own brothers to be the number one fan

‗ ❍ he would so teach you how to dance to whatever you’re writing

‗ ❍ his hands holding your hips to help you move better

‗ ❍ begs to hear you sing all the time because he likes it so so much

‗ ❍ makes up all your choreography for you, and isn’t upset if you desire to change it

‗ ❍ he would so so beg to dance with you on stage at least once (he’s a lair all the time he wants to dance with you forever)

━━━━━━━ ✦❘༻༺❘✦ ━━━━━━━

Floyd:

‗ ❍ He would be so happy to see you write and create music

‗ ❍ he would relax back and listen with such a peaceful smile on his face

‗ ❍ he would so love to do duets with you too

‗ ❍ they would be so soft and gentle; you’re very mindful of what happened to him and don’t want to push him to hurt himself - even if he says he’s fine and can handle whatever

‗ ❍ holds your hands while you practice with him, showing you his full attention and encouraging you whenever you stumble or feel like you can’t get something right

‗ ❍ UGH his smile will be so fucking soft and gentle as he looks at you

‗ ❍ when he watches you from the crowd he is just smiling and dancing slightly the whole time

‗ ❍ UGH tells you how proud he is of you all the time, and you deserve all the fans and happiness

‗ ❍ if he ever preforms with his brothers he definitely invites you in and puts you right next to him - holding your hand tightly the whole time

━━━━━━━ ✦❘༻༺❘✦ ━━━━━━━

‗ ❍ GOSH that stupid look he gives when he really loves someone??? That look the whole time

‗ ❍ fully understands if you don’t feel comfortable singing with him or in front of him just yet

‗ ❍ or even if you just want to do it on stage only

‗ ❍ if you feel self conscious about a song he will preform it with you and his brothers so you feel better

‗ ❍ never ever tells you to change it because there’s no such thing as “perfect” and a song is what is felt from within - things no such thing to be perfect

‗ ❍ every time you do sing in front of him he will drop everything he’s doing and listening to you

‗ ❍ he’s so giddy to hear you sing but doesn’t go over the top to stress you out

━━━━━━━ ✦❘༻༺❘✦ ━━━━━━━

Im sorry it’s so short I struggle with sfw for some reason because fluff makes me so giddy and excited and I feel gushy

[daydreaming-nerd]

Young Love and Old Money (Cassian x Female! Reader) Part 8

Young Love and Old Money Masterlist

AN: Hey guys I have a feeling no one really liked part 7 so I cut out a couple scenes for this. This chapter might feel like we’re jumping around a lot but I wanted to get you guys to the good stuff that you want in the next couple parts. I do want to take this time to tell you that things are going to get more angsty before they get more fluffy. At least the next two will have ANGST… but please hang in here with me and let me cook I promise you’ll love it in the end. I hope you all stick around. Sending you all love 🥺🖤

Summary: She was the most beautiful woman in Prythian, sister to the High Lord of Night, and now she is the soon-to-be wife of Eris Vanserra. Despite her many titles and her aura of unattainability, Cassian can't help but fall deeply in love with the princess of the Night Court. But will it be enough to stop her impending wedding to a man who is sure to destroy her from the inside out?

Warnings: Sexism, flashback to under the mountain, ANGST

Word Count: 5,609

The smell of sulfur and sweat filled my senses. During the day it was always burning hot and at night the temperature dropped significantly. The hour that it took for my body to adjust to the change in climate everyday was always grueling. When my brother and I first arrived he was able to keep me hidden, offering me his coat or an arm to slink under,  but the second Amarantha set eyes on him he was ripped away from me. I hadn’t been allowed to speak to him since.  

For the most part I had kept my head down, desperately trying to blend into the crowd of fae. It was  all I could do to survive, yet the whispers still followed me. 

“The Jewel”

“Rhysand’s sister” 

I knew they were all plotting against me, weighing whether or not my brother would have leave to reprimand anyone who dared hurt me. It was only a matter of time until someone decided to test the waters. 

I stood among the crowd of fae looking up at the dias before us. The King Of Hybern had come to see how his little experiment had been going and Amarantha had made a point of making a show out of it. She had the most noble subjects lined up first, Kallias, Helion and myself included among the ranks. The rest fell into place behind us.

I looked up to the dias where the High Queen sat, my brother standing dutifully by her side. To my knowledge he had not yet given in to her wishes, but by the bags under his eyes and the paleness of his skin I wondered how much more of her torture he could take. 

“As you can see my king, they have bent the knee without much fuss,” Amarantha gestured to those of us kneeling before her. The rocks under my knees cutting my skin. “We have all the High Lord’s but one present with us.” 

“Very good,” the king smiled, making his way down the line to survey every High Lord that Amarantha had lured into her domain. 

I kept my head down, staring only at the ground before me. The sound of his heavy boots crunching against the gravel was my only  indication that he was getting closer to where I was kneeling. The toe of his leather boots came into view before me and then stopped. My heart started to race and my palms became clammy behind my back. A cold hand lifted my chin and my eyes were met with a pair of black soulless ones.

“What about this one?” the king asked, never once taking his eyes off me. By the look on his face I could tell that he ate up every ounce of fear I projected, practically thrived off it.

“That is y/n, sister of Rhysand, High Lord of Night.” Amarantha purred, clearly proud of herself for getting me here. 

“I’d like to have her,” he said, pulling me up roughly by my arm. “It’s time I take a wife so that I might have an heir to this mighty kingdom I’ve built.” 

Fear courses through my veins as I feel tears start to prick my eyes. The king spoke so casually, like he was picking out a new tapestry. If I had eaten any food the last two days I would’ve hurled onto the stone floor below me. This would be my fate, and there was no one coming to save me. 

“She is yours then,” Amarantha said, sipping her wine. “She’s of no use to me. Make an example of her for all I care. Some of her companions have been especially restless these past few evenings.” she uttered, referring to how Helion punched a lesser fae for trying to touch me last night. 

“With pleasure,”the king growled, tossing me onto the ground. 

The stone and rock sliced open my palms, the pain quick and biting. I had barely any time to think before I felt the king kneeling behind me, his hands beginning to lift my dress. 

“NO NO NO!” my screams echoed off the walls falling upon deaf ears. 

I tried to crawl away but I was hauled back by a pair of hands, one wrapping around my neck forcing me up. 

“WAIT!” 

My brother's voice boomed through the room, ricocheting off the walls like glorious night earning gasps from the lesser fae behind us. Thankfully the disruption was enough to stop Hybern in his tracks. 

“If you don’t give my sister to him and you promise me her safety I will go to bed with you willingly,” Rhys pleaded and my heart dropped. 

My eyes flitted up to find my brother, the High Lord of the Night Court, and the most honorable man I ever knew, kneeling. His hands grasped one of Amarantha’s as she looked down at him with a light in her eyes. 

‘No, no, no, no’ was all I could think.

“Without any fuss?”she asked him. 

“Yes,” he agreed. 

“Rhys no!” I called but Hybern’s grip on my throat tightened. 

“For as long as I wish?” she clarified. 

“Yes.” 

“Consider it done,” she purred. 

My eyes flew open, my breath racing so fast I couldn’t keep up with it. A sheen of sweat coated my skin and it took me a moment to recognize where I was. 

Home. 

Cassian’s breaths rose and fell behind me, his arms around me an impenetrable wall to anyone who might try to take me from him. But it was all too much, and I needed to feel the fresh air. The fresh air I didn’t get to feel for 50 years. 

So I wiggled out of his grasp with great difficulty and padded down the hallway to the balcony where he and I normally would take off. 

The second the freezing night air hit my bare skin I felt like I could finally breathe again. My  nightgown did nothing to keep me warm but I was more than happy to feel the breeze. I looked down upon the sparking lights of Velaris and took it all in. There was a time I thought I would never see my home again, yet here I was. But at what cost? 

Images of Rhysand’s health deteriorating under the mountain flashed through my mind. What he had done with Amarantha, so completely unspeakable. The only time I ever saw him perk up was when the Cursebreaker showed up. The one who had saved us all, the one I would later find to be my brother’s mate. I had never met the woman, but I longed to thank her for what she did. 

These past few weeks I had been able to escape the nightmares of my time under the mountain. I supposed Cassian chased those monsters away. But as I stood here now I realized that it didn’t matter how far I ran, I could never be free of that stench of sulfur, and I could never outrun my guilt. 

“You’re going to catch a cold,” Cassian murmured from the doorway. I didn’t turn back to meet his stare, unwilling to show him the tears in my eyes. 

“It’s not that bad,” I laugh subtly wiping away a tear.

His arms wrap around me and I can’t help but lean into his warm chest, as his wings cocoon around me to block out the wind. He’s so warm, how is he always so warm? 

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, words rumbling through his chest. 

“I just had a nightmare that’s all,” I sigh, resting my hands to where his arms are clasped over my chest. “I thought that I was done having dreams about what happened under the mountain but I guess not. The things I saw? What Rhys did for me?” I pause, taking a deep breath. “Sometimes I think I’ll never really escape that place.”

Cassian turns me slowly in his arms and though I know he wants me to look at him, I can’t stop myself from wrapping my arms around him and burying my face in his bare chest. He holds me even tighter as his wings wrap around me, keeping in the warmth. 

“Never again y/n,” he coos, running a hand over my hair. “For as long as I live you will never have  to go back there again.”

I can’t help as a tear trickles down my eye at his words. My face burying further into his warm chest, the one place I truly never want to leave. Not when I longed for it for so long. I breathed Cassian in deeply, trying to remind myself I was here, I was home. Rhys was at the townhouse, we were both safe. 

“What can I do? How can I help?” Cassian asked me, pressing a kiss to my forehead. 

“Just hold me,” I say with a shaky breath letting my hands wander up and down the bare skin of his back.

I felt his chest rumble through my cheek as he let out a small laugh, “I remember when I would’ve done anything to hear you say those words.” he says wings coming in tighter around me. 

“You can hold me whenever you want general,” I smile, continuing to rub circles on his lower back.

“Almost whenever I want,” he corrects me quietly.

Reality came back to me in an instant. I knew what he meant. The complexities of marriages, and armies and alliances keeping us from being transparent.

But we would get there soon… Together we would get there.  

The next few days my dream follows me. 

Every night I dream of my brother on his knees before Amarantha, every night I wake in a cold sweat, every night Cassian soothes me until I fall asleep again. 

As I stare at myself in the mirror the bags under my eyes are a reminder that last night the nightmare had found me again. The ladies maids behind me pull my corset tighter, taking away my ability to breathe.

The only saving grace about today is that Eris isn’t here. Apparently he was out on a hunt with his brothers on a hunt and had been gone for three days. I knew it was really a bachelor party, no doubt spent in a seedy brothel, but I didn’t care to correct the autumn court women. How could I when they had the garment so tight I could hardly speak.

Today had been all about fitting me for my wedding dress, one I had yet to see. It was a long process of measuring my arms, legs, and bust. Picking out shades of white that would look best with my  complexion, (the debate between ivory and white lasted an hour and was utterly ridiculous). With Eris gone Cassain had spent the day lounging on a sofa, letting his guard down, that is until the corsets came out.

“Prince Eris says he wants her a size smaller for the wedding, keep pulling!” Ordered the older of the two, her gray hair falling from its updo. Gods they had already taken me in a full size.

My hands braced on either side of the mirror as the women yanked with all their strength one last time. It took everything in me not to scream out in pain once more as the fabric constricted around me again. I swore on my life I heard a rib crack.

“That should do it, measure her,” the older one snapped again. I wasn’t sure who this woman was but I didn’t dare argue with her. 

A tape measure was slipped around my waist for the millionth time as they checked to see if the dress would fit. I watched in the mirror as the young one held up the measurement, my eyes flitting to Cassian’s worried gaze in the back of the room.  

“Perfect, the dress will fit nicely after the alterations on the arms are done,” the older woman reported, putting her tools away. “You are free to go.”

“Can you help me get this off?” I ask trying to reach around trying to find the ribbons but the damned thing is tied so tight I can’t even reach. 

“Absolutely not!” the woman cried like I had asked her to murder her first child. “You will need to leave that on till at least the end of the day to train your waist.” 

I don’t argue, too scared to hear the woman squawk at me again like she just did. Thankfully the younger one, who I assume is her apprentice, helps me put on my old dress. The rusty colored fabric is looser in the middle now but all I can think about is going home. The sooner I’m home the sooner I can take this damned thing off. 

“Ready?” Cassian asks, standing from his spot on the couch. 

“More than you know,” I laugh waddling over to him. 

He leads me out of the palace and neither of us say a word or even dare to brush hands as we walk down the too quiet hallways. Even when this place is empty it feels like it has eyes everywhere. I swear if I looked up right now there would be a dozen people staring down at me. Normally the second that I step outside I feel like I can breathe, but today that’s not the case. I’m thankful that Cassian feels my urgency to get home shooting us both into the sky as soon as possible. 

I knew it was dumb but I never got tired of this part of our day. There was a certain sense of joy in getting to spend these peaceful moments with Cassian. Just him and I, the world soaring by around us with the knowledge that I would be home soon and life could resume as normal. 

The second we touch down on the House of Wind balcony I’m rushing to Cassian’s room, well I supposed it was our room now, considering I hadn’t slept in my own in over a week. I hear Cass close the door behind me as I fumble for the ties on my dress desperately wanting to take a full, deep breath. 

“Here let me help you,”  he pleaded, moving my hands out of his way. 

“Thanks,” I breathed as I felt my dress fall to the ground, the impending freedom starting to make my heart race. Cassian’s hands fumbled with the knot at the base of the corset. 

“They tied it so tight I can’t break the knot apart,” he said, starting to panic a bit as my breathing quickened. 

“Cut it off me Cassian, I can’t breathe,” I rasp trying to pull the top of the corset off my skin a bit to allow my chest to rise and fall normally but it’s useless.  

“Shit baby hold on,” he assures me. I hear him draw a dagger from its sheath on his thigh, carefully dragging the tip down the back. 

With every single snap of the ribbons I feel my lungs expanding again and the second the torturous garment is on the floor I nearly double over, taking my first full breath. 

“Oh my gods,” Cassian curses, his fingertips running down my spine gently, like he might hurt me.

“What? What is it?” I ask looking into the floor length mirror in the corner of the room. In it I can see Cassian looking over my back with furrowed brows. 

“They bruised you,” he said, eyes meeting mine in the mirror.

I turn around so I can see myself in the mirror from afar and sure enough a bruise lines my vertebrae where the corset was. No wonder I felt like I heard bones cracking.

“It’s fine, you’ve experienced worse,” I sigh, picking up a discarded robe on the floor and slipping it over my shoulders. 

“I’d rather fight a battle than wear a corset,” Cassian snickered and honestly I didn’t blame him. 

“At least I’ll never have to wear it again,” I say, tossing the corset aside, taking my anger out on it.

“Does that mean you’ve figured out how you’re gonna handle this?” he asks me tentatively, like he was terrified to either ask or hear my answer.  

I turn to meet his eyes, and for a moment I think about taking the easy way out, telling him something that might give him hope. But we had spent so long lying about our feelings for one another, wasting so much time. I wouldn’t lie about this. 

“I thought I did, but the last two times I brought up calling off the wedding he-”

“If he touches you again I don’t think I-” he trails off, looking to the side as if he’s trying to compose himself. “Last time it felt like my blood was on fire.” 

His admittance nearly brought me to my knees. The anger in his eyes veiled with sadness had me reaching up to cup his face, just needing to feel him. 

“I know Cass and I’m so sorry. I know this is hard for you and gods I’m a fucking monster-” 

“Fuck y/n,” he shakes his head taking my hands in his. “Don’t you dare apologize. You are trying to save your people and help your court. I’m being a selfish prick.” he says, casting his head down in embarrassment.

My blood boils at the thought that he felt selfish in any sort of way. Even more so that I was the reason.

“No, don't say that,” I order him, squeezing his hands to bring his gaze to mine. “You are the most selfless male I’ve ever known. I love you Cass, and I promise I’m going to figure this out. Because I honestly don’t think I can live without you now. You are everything to me, and so much more. I know I can do this,” I assure him, but really I feel like I’m assuring myself more.  

His gaze softens, and a twinge of light flickers in his eyes, one that looks like hope, “I know you can too, My smart, ambitious, caring and beautiful woman,” he praises, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I am beyond honored to call you my princess.” 

“And I’m thankful to call you my general,” I smile, craning my head to read his face. “But mostly I’m just thankful to call you mine.” 

“I’ll be yours until my heart stops beating, and maybe even after that if there’s a place we go when our time in this world is through,” he coos, brushing a hair from my face. 

“Wherever that place is,” I sigh, pressing my head to his chest and pulling him closer to me. “I’ll follow you there too.” 

The days that followed were generally boring. Cassian would fly up to the Illyrian Mountains with Azriel to further prepare the troops for the impending war.  Apparently Windhaven had become the main stronghold for all the camps, and of course having hundreds of Illyrians in the same camp was more than rowdy. Cass and Az were constantly breaking up fights and coming home worse for wear. One night Cassian had come home caked in mud and blood, which he assured me wasn’t his own.

That night I demanded that he let me get him cleaned up and after hearing a million phrases along the lines of…

“You’re a princess, you shouldn’t be having to clean me up.” 

And 

“I don’t want to get you dirty.” 

I finally convinced the stubborn general to let me take care of him. I took my time rubbing out the knots in his shoulders, his muscles so hard I could barely feel my hands afterwards. The sounds that fell from his lips were enough motivation to keep going though. He even let me wash his wings, something I knew Illyrians didn’t normally tolerate. 

I remembered a day when I was just 10 years old and Rhys was 12. I had instinctively reached out to touch Rhys’ wing and he just about had my head. After that I was terrified to go anywhere near them. I could tell he felt bad about the encounter. One day when I was crying over something our father had yelled at me about he hugged me, and used his wings to cocoon me in.  It was enough to bring a smile to my face and ever since then it had become a silly thing he had done whenever I was upset. Gods we hadn’t had a moment like that in years.  

Nevertheless, my heart soared when Cassian asked me to wash his wings. I took my time to be extra careful. Grazing over sensitive areas when necessary. But appreciating every breathtaking inch of them.  I didn’t miss the way one of his large wings curled over my frame that night while we lay in bed, almost as if it was its own sentient being thanking me. 

“So last family dinner huh?” Azriel said as Cassian and I walked into the living room of the townhouse. 

The words rolling off the Shadowsinger's tongue was enough to make my stomach hurt again.  Rhysand had asked for us all to come together one last time for dinner as a family before I married Eris and moved to the Autumn Court. 

Cassian hadn’t asked for updates surrounding the nuptials that would be taking place in two days time, which I was thankful for, considering I had none to give. I knew that tonight he would ask for answers, I could tell by the quiet demeanor he had all day. But I would cross that bridge when I came to it. 

“Yeah I guess so,” I replied to Az as the three of us made our way to the long dining room table.

I took my usual place at the end of the table next to Azriel, Cassian sat across from me, Mor next to him and then Amren.  Rhys, who always sat at the head of the table, arrived late adjusting the lapels of his jacket.

“Forgive me for being late,” he apologized, taking his seat. “I was just reading the latest reports and well-” he trailed off, not wanting to bring it up. 

“What is it?” Amren demanded, leaving no room for him to avoid the question. 

“Hybern’s forces are growing and there are rumors that the spring court will stand with him,” Rhys admits and my stomach plummets. 

My eyes lift to Cassian’s and find him already looking at me. Worry passes between us. If the spring court has chosen to side with Hybern then we are truly outnumbered, especially if Tarquin refuses to fight. His foot brushes against mine under the table, the only comfort he’s able to offer me at the moment. 

“Why would Tamlin do that?” I ask, breaking the silence. 

“His father was one of Hybern’s biggest allies in the first war. My guess is that he’s trying to follow in his fathers footsteps,” Rhys turns to me. 

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Mor scoffed, sipping her wine. 

The topic of conversation was dropped and dinner continued as usual. The boys swapped fond memories and fought over who was the true winner of last year's snowball fight. All the while I couldn’t shake what my brother had said, if the rumors are true and Tamlin joins Hybern what does that mean for the rest of us? For Cassian, who would no doubt be on the front lines. 

I lift my eyes to see him and just like always I nearly have my breath taken away. He had one arm thrown over the back of his chair, the other holding a glass of wine while he laughed at something my brother had said. Cassian was so handsome when he was like this, at ease, laughing with his family. I had yet to see him in battle, but I knew that seeing him that way would be just as knee wobbling. If he was gone then what? 

I looked at my family around me, the home my brother had built and fought so hard to protect. The warmth that lived here, it was something that couldn’t be put into words. It could all be gone in seconds, and then everything my brother sacrificed under the mountain? It would’ve been for nothing.

“Well I have to get back and finish some paperwork,” Rhys said, tossing his napkin on the table. 

“I have some mission reports to wrap up,” Azriel said, also throwing in the metaphorical towel.

We all stood, our chairs sliding across the wooden floor with a squeak, my eyes found Cassian and I could sense that he wanted to speak to me. 

“And you dear sister need to get some beauty sleep for the big day,” Rhysand said, placing a kiss to the top of my head. 

I embraced him warmly, taking in every part of him. I knew it wouldn’t be the last time I saw him, or the last time I saw any of them. But with the wedding and war, everything seemed so much more precious now. 

We all moseyed over to the front door where I said goodbye to Mor and Amren, as they wouldn’t be attending the wedding. I gave the townhouse one last look, taking in the warm fae lights, the plush carpets and the love that the place offered. I hoped it would be a bright light for me to remember when I would no longer be able to visit. The door closed and I swear a part of me was locked behind it. 

“I’ll see you two at home,” Azriel said, he didn’t even give us a chance to say goodbye before shooting off into the sky. 

“Walk with me?” I asked Cassian, cocking an eyebrow at him. 

“Look at that you’re taking me for walks now, what a responsible dog owner,” Cassian smirks referring to the dog comment made nearly a month ago. 

“You’re never going to let me live that down are you?” I laugh bumping into his arm as he holds open the front gate for me.

“Never baby, never,” he laughs

 Velrais was beautiful no matter what time of day or what season it was. But summer nights in Velaris had to be my favorite. While growing up I hardly ever got to leave the house, if I did it was when Rhys would sneak me out on night time flights. Often going into the city for sweets or ice cream. 

Tonight was perfect. The temperature was just warm enough to merit the lilac satin I was wearing, while the breeze coming off the Sidra kept us both cool. It seemed that the whole town thought it was a perfect night. Many people opted to take their dinner and drinks on outdoor patios, a small band had brought their instruments out for children and couples to dance to, and there was a general scene of merriment everywhere. This was home. 

  As we got closer to the river and further from the music the breeze picked up and Cassian’s wing shot out to create a shield for me. My mouth was halfway open poised to say something when a small cry came out from behind me. Cassian whipped around to assess the danger even faster than I could, but as we both turned around all we found was a little girl, about 5 years old, running toward me, doll in hand. 

“Princess! Princess!” she squealed in excitement as she came to a halt at my feet, tugging on my dress. 

“Celia!” shouted a woman running towards us. By the matching black hair and blue eyes I could tell it was her mother. “Get back here this instant!”

“Don’t worry she’s alright,” I smiled towards the mother trying to offer her some reassurance. 

The woman quickly halted in her tracks upon seeing my face and bent at the waist, “Your highness please forgive me,” she said quickly. 

“Please, please, no bowing,” I laughed, placing my hand on her shoulder. 

“You’ll have to forgive this one, she’s much faster than me,” the woman laughed nervously. 

I looked down to see the little girl looking up at me with stars in her blue eyes, I bent over to pick her up using all my strength to do so.

 “Sounds like she’s going to be a little warrior then,” I laugh. “You should meet my friend Cassian, he’s the general.” I say to Celia hiking her up on my hip to see Cass. 

He tucked his wings in tight and wiggled his fingers at the little girl, trying to seem less intimidating. She hesitantly waved back unsure of him and then turned her gaze to me. 

“You’re pretty,” she smiled, one of her tiny hands grazing my nose for emphasis.

“Why thank you. I think you’re very pretty as well Celia,” I smile at her cherub cheeks. “Tell me about your dolly,” I say looking at the porcelain doll in her arms.  

“Her name's Poppy, she’s a princess too,” Celia stated proudly holding the doll up so I could see her more clearly. 

“Well it’s lovely to meet you princess Poppy,” I nodded, shaking the doll's dainty hand. 

“Come on Celia it’s time for bed darling,” her mother laughed.

I placed the girl down on the ground and watched her run to grab onto her mothers legs. 

“Thank you princess,” she nodded to me. “General,” she nodded to Cassian. 

“Of course,” I said, waving goodbye.

As I watched the two walk away hand in hand I couldn’t help but notice the warmth there and the love. At that moment I found myself missing my own mother.  I looked out over the river, the calm black water drifting by as the stars sparkled over Ramiel. The distant sounds of children laughing, adults singing, music playing. 

I couldn’t leave this place to chance. This beautiful home that Rhys had built, the shops and restaurants. The people who lived here peacefully and without worry. 

I wouldn’t let people like Celia and her mother suffer from my selfishness. 

I turned to find Cassian already staring at me expectantly, as is if he was on edge waiting for me to say something. There was a wariness to his stare that told me he knew what came next.  

“Cass we need to talk,” I sigh.

I see his metaphorical hackles raise as he speaks, “No y/n, absolutely not. I won’t lose you.” he declared the heat of the argument already rising. 

“There isn’t a way out Cassian. I won’t put my people at risk like that. Think of the little girls like Celia. I can’t just sit by and watch her go to the slaughter because I didn’t want to marry someone.” I argue, gesturing to the city behind him. “And what about you? Huh? You heard what Rhys said. If Tamlin is involved and we still don’t have Tarquin’s support, then where does that leave you? On the frontlines. If something were to happen to you and I had to live with the thought that I could’ve done something to stop it but didn’t, I couldn’t live with myself.”

Cassian’s fists clenched at his sides, “I would rather live with you for however long I have left then be without you y/n.” he pleaded. 

His words hit like a blow as I felt tears pricking my eyes. This was the end. This beautiful, wonderful thing I had found that made me feel so alive, so loved. It was ending, and it was dying like a star. Burning bright and exploding, taking everything in its path. 

“And what about them?” I gestured to the city in the distance as a cheer sounded from one of the taverns. “If I don’t marry Eris that means I’m okay with their blood on my hands Cassian. What does that make me? A monster.” 

His jaw ticked,  “So I’m just supposed to sit here and watch you marry him? Watch him put his hands all over you? Watch you have his fucking children!” he roared, eyes only softening when I flinched away from him. 

“I’m sorry Cass, but I don’t know what to do anymore. All I know is that I want to save my people, and this is the only way I know how. The safest.” I say calmly. 

Cassian steps back and looks over the water, like he can’t even face me and I don’t blame him. He takes a deep breath, seemingly collecting his thoughts and then he speaks for the last time.

“He is going to kill you from the inside out y/n. You’re going to become just like that dog in his kennels,” he grits, unable to meet my gaze. “And I won’t stick around to watch.” 

He walks past me, wings nearly knocking me over. 

“Cassian please,” I cry trying to reach out for him, but he’s airborne and flying gods know where before my fingers can graze his leathers. 

I stand there watching him disappear into the night sky. Once he’s out of sight I swear I hear a roar so loud it rattles Ramiel. I’m left there on the edge of the river with no one but myself to wipe my tears. And I suppose I deserve that, I should’ve never kissed Cassian that night after the ball, should’ve never gone to bed with him. Should’ve never fallen in love with him. 

Turns out it didn’t matter what I did, I was a monster either way. 

And I sat and thought about that for a long time.

Part 9

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[zapreportsblog]

Could I request a. Poly volturi/ f reader where Marcus finds out she’s is their mate. She met them on one of the tourist guide and he found her told aro and caius that she is their mate. They talk to her and she’s shy . She sorta want to be with them but her only experience of a relationship was really abusive in the past which made her insecure and feeling unworthy of love . She runs away from them. Eventually the found out why she ran and her confession leaves them 🥺

My love I will need the name of who hurt you.

Cree volturi kings : we just want to talk with him …

Wow this is sad asf, I like this

↱ your ours ↰

➘ summary : what started out as a simple tour turnt into something more

The grand halls of the Volturi castle echoed with the hushed voices of tourists, their footsteps reverberating against the ancient stone floors. Among them was (y/n), a young woman who had always been fascinated by history and the mysteries of the castle. She had embarked on this tour with a keen sense of excitement, eager to explore the secrets that lay within the castle's walls.

As the tour guide spoke animatedly about the history of the paintings on the wall, (y/n) found herself hanging on to every word. She craned her neck to catch glimpses of the intricate tapestries that adorned the walls and the opulent décor that spoke of centuries of power and influence. The stories of the powerful kings and wars that rained over their world centuries ago had captured her imagination, filling her mind with visions of intrigue and romance and death.

Amid the crowd, a figure caught her attention – a man who exuded an air of timeless elegance and authority. His dark hair cascaded down his back, and his crimson eyes seemed to hold secrets that spanned centuries. It was Marcus, one of the three Volturi kings, passing by with a measured grace that demanded respect.

(y/n)'s heart raced inexplicably as their eyes met for a brief moment. It was as if an invisible thread connected them, a bond that defied explanation. She felt a pull towards him, an inexplicable curiosity that left her breathless. And in that fleeting instant, she could swear she saw a glimmer of intrigue in Marcus's eyes – a recognition that mirrored her own.

Interrupting the tour guide's narration, Marcus raised his hand, his voice carrying through the hall with a quiet authority. "Hold, please."

The tour guide faltered, clearly taken aback by the interruption. Marcus's gaze remained fixed on (y/n), his lips curving into a slight smile that held an air of mystery.

"Forgive me, but there is something quite intriguing about this young woman here." Marcus's voice was smooth, his words enigmatic as he addressed the bewildered tour guide. "I would like to extend an invitation to her – if she would be interested – to explore a different part of the castle with me."

The hushed murmurs of the tourists filled the air as (y/n) felt a mix of shock and bewilderment. She had not anticipated this turn of events, and yet, an inexplicable sense of destiny tingled in her veins.

The tour guide stammered for a moment before nodding, a mixture of awe and apprehension in their eyes. "Of course, sir. If the young lady is willing, I can continue the tour with the others."

Marcus stepped closer to (y/n), his gaze unwavering. "What say you, my dear? Would you be interested in exploring a different facet of this castles history?"

Her heart pounded as a swirl of emotions coursed through her. The enchanting allure of Marcus, the mystery that seemed to shroud him – it was a chance she couldn't pass up. Gathering her courage, she nodded, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest. "I would be honored."

With a graceful nod, Marcus turned away from the tour group and gestured for (y/n) to follow. She did so, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and trepidation. As they walked, the grand halls seemed to come alive with an energy that was both electrifying and surreal.

They reached a massive wooden door adorned with intricate carvings, and Marcus opened it with a flourish. "Welcome to our library."

The sight that greeted (y/n) took her breath away. Shelves upon shelves of ancient tomes and manuscripts stretched into the distance, illuminated by the soft glow of candles. It was a sanctuary of knowledge, a repository of secrets that spanned centuries.

Marcus watched her reaction with a faint smile. "I thought this might pique your interest."

As (y/n) stepped further into the library, her heart swelled with a sense of wonder. She felt a connection – not just to the history contained within these walls, but to the enigmatic king - not that she knew who or what he was, who had opened this door for her.

As (y/n) continued to explore the library, each step seemed to take her deeper into a realm of enchantment and mystery. The scent of aged parchment mingled with the warm glow of candlelight, creating an atmosphere that felt almost otherworldly.

Unbeknownst to her, word had been swiftly passed down the ranks by Marcus, who had sensed the unique connection she shared with him. Intrigued by her presence, Aro and Caius had decided to pay them an unexpected visit. Their arrival was as silent as shadows, and (y/n) only became aware of their presence when she heard the faintest rustling of fabric.

She turned, her eyes widening as she saw the imposing figures of Aro and Caius standing before her. Aro's eyes glittered with curiosity, and Caius's expression held a blend of scrutiny and aloofness.

Marcus stepped forward with a graceful nod, introducing (y/n) to the other two kings. "May I present Aro and Caius, two friends of mine.”

(y/n) dipped into a respectful curtsy, her heart racing as she met the gaze of these legendary figures. "Pleased to meet you.”

Aro's smile was almost hypnotic, his crimson eyes dancing with a mix of amusement and intrigue. "Greetings, my dear. I can’t help but see you’ve been glancing at a book about the history of vampires, tell me, do you believe in vampires?"

The question hung in the air, laden with both a challenge and a promise. (y/n)'s mind raced, grappling with the incredible situation she found herself in. Her logical nature clashed with the fantastical notion of vampires, yet standing before the embodiment of that very myth, she couldn't help but wonder.

"I believe in the unexplainable," she began, her voice steady and thoughtful. "There are countless mysteries in the world, phenomena that defy scientific explanation. So, while my rational mind might question the existence of vampires, my curiosity tells me that there are realms beyond our understanding."

Aro's grin widened, his interest clearly piqued. "Ah, a mind open to possibilities. That is a delightful trait."

Caius's silence spoke volumes, his eyes never leaving (y/n) as he observed her with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

Marcus stepped closer, his presence reassuring as he addressed Aro and Caius. "Our guest is a thinker, one who embraces the complexity of reality. Her perspective is as refreshing as a cool breeze on a warm night."

The conversation flowed on, weaving through the tapestry of history, myth, and human nature. (y/n) found herself engaged in an intellectual dance with the kings of legend, her thoughts and insights laid bare before them. With every exchange, the lines between the fantastical and the tangible blurred further, leaving her with a sense that reality was far more nuanced than she had ever imagined.

As the night rolled on, the library became a haven for shared ideas, an unexpected meeting of minds that transcended the supernatural. In the presence of Aro, Caius, and Marcus, (y/n) discovered that even the most extraordinary tales could be grounded in the richness of human thought. And in that moment, her beliefs were stretched beyond their limits, opening her heart to the infinite possibilities that lay beyond the realm of the ordinary.

‘So this is our mate hmm,’ thought aro and caius.

The conversation flowed like a river of ideas, weaving together the threads of history, myth, and the human experience. As the night deepened, Aro, Caius, and Marcus shared stories of their long lives, tales that seemed both fantastical and strangely plausible in the context of their surroundings.

(y/n)'s mind raced as she navigated this surreal interaction. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of curiosity, apprehension, and a growing sense of connection. She marveled at the way Aro's eyes sparkled with the excitement of discovery and the way Caius's stern expression softened whenever a topic stirred his interest.

Finally, as the clock ticked towards the early hours of morning, Aro leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixated on (y/n). "My dear, your insights have been nothing short of remarkable. Your presence has brought a fresh perspective to our discussions."

Caius, usually reserved, nodded in agreement, his voice carrying a rare hint of admiration. "Indeed. Your willingness to engage with our history and your open-mindedness are qualities we find intriguing."

Marcus's gentle smile added to the atmosphere, his eyes softening as they met (y/n)'s. "We have an offer, if you would consider it. We would be honored if you chose to stay here for a time, to learn more about our castle, its history, and the stories that have shaped our world."

The weight of their words settled upon (y/n) like a spell, and for a moment, her heart seemed to pause. To stay within the very heart of the Volturi castle, to immerse herself in the history she had always yearned to uncover – it was a dream she had never dared to entertain.

Flustered, she struggled to find her words. "I... I'm incredibly humbled by your offer. This is all so unexpected, and yet... it's an opportunity that I can't help but feel drawn to."

Aro's smile widened, his eyes shining with a mix of satisfaction and delight. "We would be delighted to have you, my dear."

Caius's nod was a rare sign of approval, his gaze lingering on (y/n) for a moment longer before he turned his attention to Marcus.

Marcus stepped forward, his presence both reassuring and inviting. "Consider this your sanctuary, a place where knowledge and curiosity intertwine. You'll have access to our library and the stories it holds."

Overwhelmed by a mixture of excitement and apprehension, (y/n) offered a genuine smile. "Thank you, all of you, for this incredible opportunity. I'll gladly accept."

Aro's chuckle was a melody of amusement, his fingers tenting beneath his chin as he regarded her. "Excellent. We shall arrange everything for your stay, my dear. Welcome to our castle."

As the kings made their exit, leaving (y/n) alone in the library, she could hardly believe the turn her life had taken. The castle, with its centuries of history and the enigmatic Volturi kings, was now her new reality.

Weeks turned into months, and (y/n)'s life within the Volturi castle was a whirlwind of discovery and intrigue. The stories she had yearned to uncover became her reality, and the library became her haven. Yet, as time passed, she began to notice subtle oddities – fleeting movements, eyes that glinted in the moonlight, and moments of uncanny insight.

Her curiosity piqued, (y/n) embarked on her own investigation, her explorations leading her to the kings themselves. One evening, she found herself in a dimly lit corridor, face-to-face with Aro, who had seemingly appeared out of thin air.

"(y/n)," Aro's voice was smooth, his eyes studying her with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

She took a deep breath, her heart pounding. "Aro, there's something I've been meaning to ask you. Something... unusual."

Aro's smile held a hint of mystery. "And what might that be, my dear?"

"I've noticed... peculiar things," she began carefully, her gaze unwavering. "Things that don't quite fit within the realm of normalcy. I've seen movements that defy human capabilities and glimpses of knowledge that seem impossible to possess."

Aro's expression remained enigmatic, but his smile grew. "Observant, as always. (y/n), you are correct. There are aspects of our nature that are beyond the ordinary."

Her heart raced as realization dawned. "You mean... you're vampires."

Caius appeared beside Aro, his presence as imposing as ever. "Sharp instincts."

Marcus joined them, his gentle smile a reassuring contrast to Caius's intensity. "We are creatures of the night, (y/n). Our longevity, our abilities – they set us apart from humanity."

(y/n)'s mind whirled, a storm of emotions crashing over her. She had suspected as much, yet hearing it confirmed by the very beings she had come to know felt surreal.

"I... I don't know what to say," she admitted, her voice a mixture of awe and uncertainty.

Aro's hand extended towards her, his gesture both inviting and comforting. "We understand that this revelation is a lot to take in."

Caius's gaze softened, his voice holding a rare tenderness. "We are bound by our nature, and yet, we have come to value your presence in our world."

Tears welled in (y/n)'s eyes as she faced the kings she had grown to respect and admire. "It's a lot to process, but I trust you."

Marcus stepped forward, his touch gentle as he brushed a tear from her cheek. "And that's all we could hope for."

Aro's eyes locked onto (y/n)'s, his gaze filled with an intensity that made her heart race. "There is one more truth, my dear."

(y/n) listened, her senses on high alert as Aro's words hung in the air.

"We have kept another secret from you, one that we can no longer conceal," Aro confessed, his voice laced with a mixture of reverence and longing.

Caius's gaze held a hint of vulnerability. "You are our mate, (y/n). Bound to us by a connection that transcends time."

Emotions swirled within (y/n) – disbelief, astonishment, and a growing sense of warmth. She met the eyes of each king, her voice a mixture of acceptance and emotion. "I may not have expected any of this, but I trust in the bonds that have formed between us."

In that moment, the weight of their revelations settled upon her heart. The kings, with all their mystery and power, had bared their souls before her, revealing the complexities of their existence. And as she stood among them, (y/n) realized that her journey had led her to an unprecedented crossroads – a choice between embracing the extraordinary and retreating into the safety of the familiar.

Shyness wrapped itself around (y/n) like a protective shield as she absorbed the weight of the revelation – that she was their mate. The intensity of the kings' feelings was both exhilarating and overwhelming, and the newfound connection she shared with them tugged at her heart in ways she struggled to comprehend.

Her past relationship had left her with deep scars, wounds that had yet to fully heal. The memories of abuse and manipulation had instilled in her a sense of insecurity and unworthiness, making the idea of accepting the affection of the Volturi kings a daunting prospect.

As she stood before Aro, Caius, and Marcus, her gaze shifted between them, her voice barely a whisper as she expressed her thoughts. "I... I appreciate your honesty and your feelings, but I can't help feeling... uncertain. My past... it's left me feeling... afraid to trust again."

Aro's eyes held compassion, a gentleness that seemed to penetrate her insecurities. "We understand, my dear. The wounds of the past are not easily forgotten."

Caius's voice held a rare tenderness, his words carrying a weight of sincerity. "Your pain is valid, (y/n). But we wish to show you that love can be kind and nurturing."

Marcus stepped closer, his presence a source of comfort. "We are not like those who have hurt you before. Our connection is built on understanding and mutual respect."

Tears welled in (y/n)'s eyes, a mixture of vulnerability and longing washing over her. She looked up at them, her voice tremulous yet determined. "I want to believe you. I want to let myself feel this connection. But I need time... time to heal and learn to trust again."

Aro's gaze never wavered, his smile patient and reassuring. "Time, my dear, is a gift we are willing to give."

Caius's expression softened, a rare glimpse of vulnerability crossing his features. "You deserve to be cherished, (y/n), not because you're our mate, but because you're you."

Marcus's hand reached out to gently brush against her cheek, his touch tender and comforting. "We will be here, by your side, as you navigate this journey."

The vulnerability she felt was mirrored in their words and expressions, a testament to the depth of their feelings. As she looked at these powerful, immortal beings, she saw beyond their regal façades to the genuine care they held for her. It was a chance to heal, to rewrite the narrative of her own life, and to embrace love in a way she had never thought possible.

Tears spilled down (y/n)'s cheeks as she nodded, a fragile smile forming. "Thank you... for understanding, for being patient."

Aro's smile was warm, his voice carrying a promise. "We're here whenever you're ready, (y/n)."

In that moment, amidst the echoes of their shared emotions, (y/n) felt a glimmer of hope. It was the first step on a path of healing and growth, a journey toward embracing the love she had once thought was out of reach.

As the days turned into weeks, (y/n) found herself immersed in the embrace of the Volturi kings' affections. Their gestures of care, the way they listened to her, and the tenderness they offered often left her breathless. It was a love unlike anything she had ever experienced, and although she yearned for it, the intensity of their feelings sometimes left her feeling overwhelmed.

One evening, the weight of their love became too much to bear, and (y/n) felt a wave of panic grip her heart. She longed for the familiarity of solitude, a moment to catch her breath and sort through her emotions. Without warning, she fled from the castle, her footsteps carrying her away from the very beings who had come to mean so much to her.

The wind whipped around her as she found herself standing on the cliffs overlooking the sea, her thoughts tumultuous as waves crashing against the rocks below. Doubt clawed at her heart, and the echoes of her past wounds resurfaced, reminding her of her own unworthiness.

Days turned into weeks as the kings searched for her, their concern evident in their tireless efforts. And finally, one evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, they found her perched on the same cliffs where she had sought solace.

Aro's voice was gentle, his eyes filled with understanding as he spoke. "We've been worried about you, (y/n)."

Caius's expression was a mixture of relief and concern, his gaze never leaving her. "You left so suddenly. We need to know if you're alright."

Marcus stepped forward, his presence calming as he regarded her with a soft smile. "Please, (y/n), tell us what's been troubling you."

Tears welled in (y/n)'s eyes, her voice fragile as she tried to put her feelings into words. "I... I'm not used to this kind of love. It's overwhelming, and I feel like I'm drowning in it."

Aro's voice held a mix of understanding and reassurance. "Our emotions can be intense, but we never intended for you to feel suffocated. (y/n), we care deeply for you, and our love is meant to support and uplift you."

Caius's expression softened, his voice carrying a note of tenderness. "We would never want you to feel trapped, my dear. Your well-being is paramount to us."

Tears streamed down (y/n)'s cheeks as she confessed her deepest fears. "My past... it's left me feeling undeserving of love, like I don't know how to accept it. I ran because I was scared... scared that I would end up hurt again."

Silence hung heavy in the air as the kings absorbed her words, their expressions a mixture of empathy and realization. Finally, Aro stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch her arm.

"Your pain is valid, (y/n). We never meant to trigger those feelings," Aro's voice was gentle, his eyes holding a mixture of sorrow and regret.

Caius's voice held a promise. "We want to understand, to learn what love means to you and to show you that it can be different."

Marcus's smile was warm, his voice carrying a sense of hope. "We're willing to take this journey with you, to redefine what love can be."

As the kings surrounded her, (y/n) felt a glimmer of hope. In their words and actions, she saw a willingness to learn, to grow, and to meet her where she was. The road ahead might be filled with challenges, but as they stood there on the cliffs, (y/n) realized that she was not alone. Together, they would navigate the complexities of love, rewriting the narrative of her past and embracing a future filled with possibilities.

[another-lost-mc]

hey so im not the anon who requested the guys going to see barbie but i had legit just watched the movie today and it will mess you up emotionally like i am not kidding i almost started crying at the end some of the guys would be in LITERAL tears and then (maybe) laugh at the last moment quip they pulled at the end

A/N: I really want to see that movie, I’ve heard so many good things. 🥺 I will say, it was whiplash going to the movies with the Oppenheimer crowd and Barbie crowd mingling together. I would’ve preferred to see Barbie, but it wasn't my turn to pick the film. lol

When Movies Make Them Cry

THE DEMON BROTHERS & THE DATEABLES

0.5k words | SFW | gn!Reader

Content: Luke is mentioned in a platonic sense only, the other relationships can be read as platonic or romantic. Mostly emotional hurt/comfort.

Lucifer will cry watching movies but he hides it well. The giveaway will be his wet lashes and the slightly red, puffy skin around his eyes. Most of the tear tracks are wiped away before the lights come back on. He’s more likely to cry in private with you but not in a public crowd.

Mammon screams at horror movies, belly laughs at comedies, and sobs at tear-jerker moments—especially anything involving romance or tragedy. He often pictures you and him together as the romantic leads in the film, and that can be good or bad depending on the film.

Levi gets a little choked up but doesn’t usually cry. If he does cry, it’s in the privacy of his room when he thinks about the movie later on.

Satan and Asmo will both cry at touching romance or gut-wrenching tragedy. Satan comes prepared with tissues and Asmo dabs his face as delicately as he can so he can attempt to salvage his eye makeup (it doesn’t always work).

Beel might get choked up, but emotional movies linger in his thoughts for a while. He reflects on what he can learn from it to avoid more heartbreak in his life (he thinks they’ve all suffered enough).

Belphie might cry, but he cuddles into your shoulder so he can wipe the evidence on your shirt. He chuckles and pokes fun at his brothers for being so whiny but it doesn’t sound very convincing when his own voice sounds a little thick. (He won’t make fun of Beel if he cries.)

Diavolo’s the type that will cry at happy or sad endings. He doesn’t feel ashamed by it either, and he compliments movies that can draw out that type of reaction in him. He’s one of the first to offer you a comforting hug if you look like you need one. He also offers you tissues (he seems to have an endless supply).

Barbatos rarely cries at movies but similar to Beel, the emotional weight can linger with him for a while after. He has several packs of tissues to pass to the others should they need some (aka Diavolo’s endless supply of tissues).

Simeon is more likely to cry at happy endings than sad endings. He’s experienced so much heartache that it’s like a familiar friend rather than a shocking event. It’s the overwhelming love or joy characters share that touch him the most because he desperately wants to feel that for himself.

Luke cries but tries not to. He naturally gravitates to you or Simeon for comfort but tries not to be obvious about it—he doesn’t want the others to think he’s a baby.

Solomon is a mix of solemn contemplation after sad endings and joyful tears after happy endings. It’s difficult to find things that can touch those deep emotions in him after so much of his long life has passed by in a blur.

m.list | Related reading:

When They Go to the Movies [fluff] When Lucifer Watches Hachiko [emotional hurt/comfort] When Mammon Watches a Tragic Romance [angst]

[mangionebabymama]

every time we get high school lu content, I always think about dating him back then🥺 like you know it's just a magical age for crushes, when everything he does or says is this huge deal and it's all so cute and exciting!! like imagine attending games with your friends because you know he's gonna be there with his group and trying to play it cool but then one of your friends is like "omg he's looking at you!!" and you try not to freak out awww🥹🥹 and thinking about the rumors that he was already a great kisser back then and he's a few years older so you'd be sooo nervous because you didn't kiss much so you're super anxious about it but he takes the lead and you feel 🦋 in your stomach the whole time and it's the best kiss of your life🥹🥹🥹 WHAT THE FUCK WAS I DOING BACK THEN WHY WASN'T I LOOKING FOR THIS MAN LIKE MY LIFE DEPENDED ON IT??😭😭

-🕳

I think I tend to daydream little scenarios about that, wishfully and wistfully, because I never had any crushes growing up in high school, nor did I ever date anyone or have the experience of being “in love” at that age. And it’s like, based on how teenage love is romanticized in movies, he probably would’ve been your most perfect dream guy to be your first kiss, your first boyfriend, and all of that.

This also has me thinking: imagine if he surprised you by showing up to one of your sporting events or games. Your teammates would immediately start teasing you, saying, ‘Ooooh, Luigi’s here!’ And there he’d be, sitting in the stands, watching the teams warm up, then catching your eye with a soft smile. You’d definitely want to play your absolute best, make an impressive move or score a point, just so the crowd could cheer and he’d be there to witness it all. And maybe because of his support, it helped boost morale and your playing abilities that day. Or imagine if you fell while on defense and thought you might’ve hurt yourself, so the ref calls a timeout, and your coach and the athletic trainer would rush immediately to the field or playing court. He’d be up on his tippy toes, trying to see if you were okay, worry written all over his face (and you’d be fine, you just took a little tumble). And if you went to one of his robotics competitions? As much as he’d be so grateful and happy to have your support, he’d be absolutely nauseous with nerves, not just because he doesn’t want to lose, but because he doesn’t want to unimpress you either.

Oh, I’ll forever yearn for the idea of him being my high school crush 💔 though I doubt he would’ve given my tomboy ass a chance

[lavlynyan]

Weightless Paradise

Pairings: Caleb x reader

Tags: angst, hurt no comfort sorry yall, basically just how Caleb probably felt during his story branch, English is not my first language so grammatical errors WILL be present, I haven’t written a fic in a very long time so I’m very rusty pls bear with me

Words: 1072 words

Note: Gonna be honest with yall. This doesn't feel like a fic, but at the same time it does feel like it. According to @qinluna, this is a blurb so I'll take her words for it 🤡 Thank you for proofreading this for me 🥺❤️ Also, would be cool if you read this to Caleb's BGM. Just sayin' 😌

It was hard to see you leave after being apart for so long. But knowing you were unhappy being with him brings more pain to him than anything could ever have.

The last few days have been the happiest he felt. Meeting you again after almost a year since the incident that changed everything, he couldn’t describe the feeling he felt the moment he saw you in the crowd when the fleet landed in Skyhaven.

Even during the interrogation, he held himself back from pulling you close to him. To comfort you, to tell you how much he misses you, how glad he was that you were safe.

And when you cried in his arms after he assured you that he was, in fact, alive, his heart broke seeing how hurt you were. He wishes that he could take that pain away from you and promise himself that he would never leave you alone again.

During your time at his place, it felt like he went back in time. Back to when everything was so simple. No Farspace fleet, no Aether core talks, and no complicated feelings.

It’s just you and him.

He tried to pretend that nothing had changed. That he’s still the same Caleb that you knew. The same Caleb who would tie your shoes, wipe away your tears, and the same person who would accompany you when you got scared during thunderstorms.

But both of you knew that everything was far from being the same.

He had once promised to you that there would be no secrets between you two. That you can always trust him with everything you have.

Then why did he avoid answering you when you asked him what happened after the explosion?

He couldn’t find the answer to that.

All his focus now is to keep you safe. To make sure no one can get to you and hurt you. Not under his watch.

Even if he had to be the bad guy, he would do anything to protect you. The most important person in the world to him.

So he tries to make sure you never leave.

He began to decorate his once-cold home, to make you feel more comfortable.

He even gave you his room.

Though he would prefer it if he could sleep next to you, like you both did when you were younger.

He still remembers the nights when you couldn’t sleep because it was raining heavily. Thunders were roaring outside and you carefully peeked into his room with your little teddy bear in your arms.

You hesitate to wake him up that night, knowing that he has to wake up early for school tomorrow.

But to your surprise, he was awake, reading the encyclopedia he got from Gran for his birthday.

He turns to you and with a knowing smile, he pats the empty space next to his bed, ushering you to come to him.

And you, without any hesitation, ran up to him and climbed up on his bed before settling yourself under his blanket as he hummed a lullaby to lull you to sleep.

He wished he could go back to that time again.

The explosion really changed everything for you both.

During his time at the hospital for his recovery, the only person he could think of at the time was you.

He wondered if you got hurt. He wanted to make sure you were okay. He wanted to comfort you when you found out about what happened to Gran.

But with all the things that happened that led up to where he is now, it felt like it was for the better that he didn’t reach out to you first.

Knowing what he knows now, he’d rather keep you locked up somewhere far away.

Far away from everyone’s reach. Where he knows you’d be safe. Where no one can hurt you anymore and use you for their selfish reasons.

Even if it meant sacrificing himself.

So when you told him how you didn’t need his protection, something in him snapped.

How could you not see that he’s doing this for you? For your own good? Can’t you see how everyone around you is just there to use you?

But when he saw the fear and anger in your eyes, he pulled himself back.

Seeing how much you didn’t want to be kept as a prisoner made him realise that as much as he wanted to keep you safe, he didn’t want you to completely hate him for doing what needed to be done.

Some people say to love is to let go. But can he really let you go knowing the dangers that await you out there?

It’s not like he doubted your ability as a hunter. He has seen you in action before and there is no doubt that you were more than capable of protecting yourself.

So why does it hurt so bad when you said you didn’t need him to be safe?

Is it because he was so used to being the one who you could lean on? Or is it because he was scared that you’d abandon him now that you could take care of yourself?

Despite all the complicated feelings, he knew he had to let you go. He’d rather see you happy than being miserable under his “protection”.

As much as it pained him to admit it, he couldn’t pretend that everything was the same as the past. As if the explosion never happened. As if you didn’t just mourn his “death”.

So on the day he had to leave for his next trip to the deepspace tunnel, he wanted to pull you into a tight hug. Knowing that this might be the last time you’ll see each other.

And when you gave him a sad look when he said you’d be happy to see him go this time, his heart felt like it was being pricked by countless sharp needles. He wanted to tell you that he’ll miss you, and he wanted to apologise for the way he’s been acting.

But the words never came out of his mouth. He hesitated.

He couldn’t bring himself to look back as he walked towards the starship because he knew the moment he looked back, he wouldn’t be able to leave.

And now, staring at the hologram of the deepspace tunnel, he couldn’t help but think if he could’ve handled things differently.