#hurts in my fragile tiny heart

[meadowfics]

maternal instinct

hwang jun-ho x f!reader

synopsis: you and your fiancé become adoptive parents, but not by choice

SPOILERS FOR SQUID GAME SEASON THREE BELOW -> DON'T CLICK 'KEEP READING' IF YOU DO NOT WANT SPOILERS!

the rain taps softly against the window of your small seoul apartment, a quiet rhythm that feels at odds with the storm in your heart.

you’ve just returned from a doctor’s appointment, your mind weighed down by routine checkups and the lingering shadow of your fiancé’s obsession.

for three years, you’ve stood by jun-ho...first as a colleague, then as a partner, and now as his fiancée...as he hunted for the truth about the mysterious island and its deadly games.

he also wanted to look for his brother.

jun-ho told you about it all.

he trusted you the most.

the squid games, as you’ve both come to call it, has consumed him since he first uncovered whispers of its existence as a detective.

now, with the island destroyed...blown to pieces in a fiery explosion just week ago...your lives are supposed to find peace.

you know better.

nothing about this case ever settles.

you fumble with your keys, the dampness of your blue cardigan clinging to your skin as you push open the apartment door. your boots squeak against the hardwood floor, and you’re about to call out for jun-ho when your breath catches in your throat.

there, right in the walkway, is something impossible.

a baby.

in a white baby carrier.

its a baby.

a tiny girl, no older than three months, lies nestled in a bundle on the floor.

she’s wrapped in a green jacket...number 222 emblazoned on the left side, the white digits marred by streaks of red.

blood, you realize with a jolt, your heart lurching.

the baby herself seems unharmed, her delicate features serene.

beneath the jacket, she wears a soft, colorful onesie, blues and greens swirling with delicate florals, and a knitted head cover keeps her tiny head warm.

the babies dark eyes, wide and curious, lock onto yours, and something inside you shifts...a fierce, primal protectiveness surges through you, sudden and overwhelming.

this child, this fragile little girl, is alone, and every instinct in your body screams to shield her from whatever brought her here.

“oh my goodness,” you whisper, your bag slipping from your shoulder to the floor with a soft thud.

your hands tremble as you kneel beside her, your heart pounding.

she’s so small, so vulnerable, and the sight of those bloodstains on the jacket makes your chest tighten with dread.

has she been fed?

is she hurt?

why is she here, in your apartment?

your mind races, but all you can think about is keeping her safe, wrapping her in warmth and love she might never have known.

you want to scoop her up, to hold her close, but you hesitate, afraid of startling her.

before you can decide, the door creaks open behind you.

jun-ho steps inside, his clothes seem dry for someone who came from the light drizzling rain.

he didn't say anything as he looked at you. you looked confused, so this confused him before his eyes land on the baby.

jun-ho's face pales, his dark eyes widening in shock.

“what… what is this?”

“i don’t know,” you say, your voice trembling as you look up at him, your hands still hovering over the baby.

“i just found her here.” your voice cracks, and you realize your protectiveness is already there, a maternal instinct you didn’t know you had flaring to life.

you want to shield this child from whatever horrors left her here, knowing that she must've came from that island.

jun-ho steps closer, his movements slow, cautious, as if the baby might vanish.

the babies gaze shifts to him, calm and unwavering, and the room feels impossibly still.

it was then that you noticed the small card laid against where her small belly would be.

jun-ho noticed it right away and reaches for it, his fingers brushing the fabric carefully, as if he’s afraid to disturb her.

he holds the card up, his brow furrowing as he reads it.

you lean closer, your shoulder brushing his, and read the words scrawled in neat, black ink:

player 222: winner.

“winner?” you read aloud, your voice barely above a whisper.

you look back at the baby, her tiny face serene despite the weight of those words.

“this… this baby won the game?” the idea is absurd, impossible, yet the evidence is right in front of you.

this was confirmation that gi-hun was dead.

your heart clenches, and that protective instinct for the baby surges again, fiercer now.

this child, barely three months old, has survived something unimaginable.

you won’t let her face another moment of pain.

jun-ho’s jaw tightens, and you see a flicker of grief in his eyes, maybe recognition.

you’ve been part of his investigation since the beginning, back when he was just a colleague you admired from afar, before your feelings deepened.

you know the toll this case has taken...the sleepless nights, the dead-end leads, the obsession with finding his brother, in-ho.

now, this baby, wrapped in a jacket marked 222, lies in your apartment like a gift for enduring so much.

maybe she is here to bring you and your fiancé peace.

jun-ho turns the card over, revealing a gold debit card tucked into a sleeve on the back.

your breath catches. you’ve seen cards like this in the files jun-ho pored over during late-night stakeouts. this is a card tied to the squid game winnings.

it is blood money.

you can’t wait any longer.

you carefully lift the baby into your arms, her small weight settling against your chest.

she’s warm, fragile, and as you cradle her, that maternal protectiveness floods you again, so intense it almost hurts.

“it’s okay, little girl,” you murmur, rocking her gently, “you’re safe now.” you peel the blood-stained jacket off her, careful not to jostle her, and your stomach churns at the sight of the red stains.

you won’t let her be tainted by whatever violence this jacket carries.

you drape your clean blue cardigan over her, tucking it around her tiny frame, and hold her closer, your heart swearing to protect her from the world that left her here.

jun-ho watches you, his eyes softening for a moment before he speaks.

“i need to check something,” he says quietly, “i’ll be right back.”

you nod, too overwhelmed to ask where he’s going.

the door clicks shut, and you’re alone with the baby.

you carry her to the couch, settling down with her in your lap.

she looks up at you, her dark eyes searching, and you feel a pang in your chest so deep it brings tears to your eyes. you’ve always wanted a family with jun-ho, but not like this....not with a child tied to the horrors you and jun-ho have chased for years.

yet, as you brush a finger across her cheek, you know you’d do anything for her.

she’s yours now, in a way you can’t explain, and you’ll fight to give her the life she deserves.

“who left you here, sweet girl?” you whisper, though you suspect the answer.

in-ho.

jun-ho’s brother.

you remember the pain in jun-ho’s voice when he spoke of in-ho’s disappearance, his desperation to find him.

you were there when jun-ho infiltrated the island just a week ago, when you both saw his brother holding a baby in those final, chaotic moments before he vanished.

this must be that baby.

the thought makes your heart ache, but it also strengthens your resolve.

if in-ho left her here, he trusts you and jun-ho to care for her.

you won’t let the baby down.

you check her over, your hands gentle but thorough, looking for signs of neglect or injury.

the girl's onesie is clean, her skin soft and unblemished.

someone cared for her, at least enough to dress her warmly and keep her safe. however, the blood on that jacket haunts you.

whose was it?

her parents’?

another player’s?

you push the thought away, focusing on her steady breathing, the way her tiny fingers curl against your chest.

“you’re so strong,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion, “you made it through so much, didn’t you?”

your heart aches. a baby should never have to go through that much before it can even crawl.

the door opens, and jun-ho steps inside, his expression grim but resolute. he holds up the gold debit card, his voice low.

“forty-five point six billion won.”

your breath catches, and you look down at the baby in your arms. a tear slips down your cheek, but you don’t wipe it away.

“forty-five…” you trail off, the number too staggering to grasp. this tiny girl, this survivor, carries a fortune stained with blood.

more than that, she’s yours. the protectiveness surges again, fierce and unyielding.

you’ll guard her, not just her money, but her heart, her future.

jun-ho sits beside you on the couch, his shoulder brushing yours.

he reaches out, his hand gentle as he cradles the baby’s head, his fingers brushing her soft peach fuzz which was her growing hair.

“she needs a name,” you say softly, your voice thick with emotion.

you’re her protector now, her mother in all but name, and you want her to have something pure, something untouched by the horrors of her past.

jun-ho nods, his eyes fixed on her.

“did the card say anything about her name?” you ask, though you know the answer.

“just the number,” he replies quietly, “player 222.”

you look down at her, your heart swelling with love and determination.

“hye-ji,” you murmur, the name slipping out like a promise.

it’s simple, free of meaning, a clean slate for a child whose first days were steeped in horror.

“hwang hye-ji,” you say again, tears filling your eyes as you look at jun-ho, seeking his approval.

he meets your gaze, and for a moment, you see the weight of everything he’s carried.

the loss of his brother, the years of chasing shadows, the guilt of surviving.

he nods, a small, tender smile breaking through.

“hye-ji,” he repeats with his voice soft, “it’s perfect.”

you lean into him, hye-ji nestled between you, and the apartment feels warm despite the rain outside.

you know the road ahead will be hard. there are questions you can’t ever answer...about her biological parents, about in-ho, about the blood on that jacket.

as you hold hye-ji, feeling her steady warmth against you, you make a silent vow.

your adoptive daughter's first days may have been hell, but you’ll make sure her life is filled with love.

you’ll protect her, no matter what.

“we’ll keep you safe, hye-ji,” you whisper, your lips brushing her forehead.

jun-ho’s hand finds yours, his fingers intertwining, and you know he’s making the same promise.

you’re a family now, bound by love and a shared vow to give this child the life she deserves.

masterlist

author's note: this part in the show made me happy despite my broken heart

[mephisto-reporting]

Hearbreak Anniversary with Rafayel

Summary: It was your anniversary with Rafayel. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC? Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Rafayel Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Content Warning: Fear of abandonment, self worth issues, angst, hurt and slight comfort, Rafayel grovelling, Rafayel POV

Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus version | Caleb Version

The soft glow of the sunset filtered through the gauzy curtains of Rafayel’s studio, painting the space in warm hues of gold and orange. The place smelled faintly of him—a mix of turpentine, salt, and the faint trace of his cologne. You had spent hours here today, your hands busy arranging the decorations you’d so carefully prepared for this special occasion. Sea shells, shimmering like iridescent pearls, lined the edges of the room, their opalescent beauty a nod to the ocean he once called home. Candles flickered softly on every surface, their flames dancing to an unseen rhythm. You’d even managed to find strands of silken seaweed and glass ornaments, hoping to evoke the beauty of his heritage, the beauty of him.

Every corner of his art studio had been dusted, tidied, and then transformed with touches of magic, warmth, and care. You even placed the tiny trinkets and mementos you had kept from your shared moments—little souvenirs from your adventures together, knickknacks that held meaning between the two of you. You wanted him to feel at home, to feel the same sense of belonging that you had with him. You even wore your best clothes, the ones he had once complimented.

Today was your first anniversary. The thought alone sent your heart fluttering, and you’d poured all that love into this space, into this moment.

A few months ago he had told you this was just another day for him. A god’s sense of time was different, fleeting, perhaps even insignificant. But to you, it meant everything. It was a celebration of love that had somehow defied the odds—of a mortal heart tangled with one belonging to something far greater. So you ignored the whispering doubts that crept into the back of your mind, choosing instead to focus on trust. Rafayel had chosen you, not her. No matter how many stories tied them together, no matter the whispered inevitability of their connection, he had assured you. It was you he loved now.

But as the hours passed, that fragile trust began to tremble.

You sat in the chair by the window, smoothing down the dress you’d picked especially for today. Time crawled. The soft golden light of day gave way to a dark, yawning sky, and still, Rafayel didn’t come home. The anniversary dinner, meticulously prepared and carefully plated, sat untouched on the table. Each tick of the clock became a cruel reminder of his absence.

Worry gnawed at you. What if something had happened to him? Perhaps the art sale ran late, or he was caught up with his patrons. But he always came back home, right?

Your heart twisted as you reached for your phone, dialing a number you didn’t want to use but needed to.

“Thomas?” you asked hesitantly, your voice trembling.

“Oh, hey,” Rafayel’s manager greeted casually. “Everything okay?”

“Is Rafayel still at the sale?” You tried to keep the panic from seeping into your tone, but the silence on the other end was damning.

“Uh… no, he left hours ago. Said he was going to grab dinner. Lina was with him.”

Your grip tightened on the phone, your knuckles turning white.

Lina.

The name struck like a knife.

“Thanks, Thomas,” you whispered, hanging up before he could ask anything more.

You sat there, staring at the flickering candles, their light casting long shadows across the studio walls. He was with Lina. On your anniversary. You had trusted him, convinced yourself that you were enough despite the insecurities that had clawed at your heart since the day you met him.

But now, they came roaring to life.

You had known, of course, who Lina was. She was the one linked to the sea god, his past, his history—his heart. You tried not to let it affect you, tried to bury the insecurities that rose whenever she came up in conversation. Rafayel always assured you there was nothing between them. But then why was he with her, of all people, on your anniversary?

Tears blurred your vision as your chest tightened painfully. Lina.

She was everything you were not. Strong, beautiful, a part of Rafayel’s past, his first love. How could you compete with that? How could you compete with someone who had shared so much more with him, someone whose bond with him was carved in the very fabric of his existence? She was a part of him, woven into the his story, while you were… just someone who had stumbled into his life, someone insignificant in comparison.

Lina... The woman who was forever tied to his past. The sea god's bride. The one he’d loved for so long, the one who had always been there, time after time. You had told yourself, time and time again, that it was nothing. That Rafayel was different with you. He had assured you that there was nothing between them anymore.

But if it’s nothing, why is he with her now? On our day.

Your fingers trembled as you held the phone to your ear, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to ask any more questions. The answers were irrelevant now. His absence, her presence, they were all you needed to know.

Tears pooled at the edges of your vision before spilling over, streaking your face like tiny rivers tracing paths through dusted cheeks. It wasn’t fair. Nothing felt fair. He had promised you. He had promised. But promises were like ocean tides, weren’t they? Sweeping away whatever they could, leaving only bits of broken shells behind.

Lina was everything you could never be. She was strong, beautiful, powerful—everything that Rafayel deserved. She had the sea god’s heart, had always had it, and here you were, just a fleeting ripple on the surface, barely a mark to him. She was woven into the fabric of his past, his future. What are you to him? What have you ever been?

The memories of your relationship, the quiet moments of closeness, the laughter shared under the soft, flickering light of his candles, all those moments seemed so... fragile now. Fragile and fleeting. You were nobody. Just a distraction, a place holder. Nothing more.

You stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor like the scratch of claws on stone. The studio, his studio, filled with remnants of him, was suffocating. His scent lingered in the air, the faint trace of his cologne mixing with the oils and paints scattered everywhere. His taste still clung to your lips from the last time you’d kissed him, the memories of his touch branded into your skin. It was all too much. Too much. The studio, so full of him, was now a suffocating reminder of what you had lost. You didn’t want to stay. You couldn’t.

You tried to hold the tears back, but it was useless. Every doubt, every fear you’d bottled up over the months came crashing down, drowning you in their suffocating weight.

This wasn’t love. This was a cruel game, one you couldn’t win.

You couldn’t breathe. You had to get out.

Your legs moved before your mind could catch up, carrying you toward the door. The wind hit your face the moment you stepped outside, cool and biting, but it wasn’t enough to quell the storm raging inside you.

You ran.

The streets blurred into one indistinct smear of light and shadow as you ran aimlessly, your feet pounding against the pavement, carrying you farther and farther from that studio. From him.

Eventually, the pavement gave way to sand, and the sharp tang of the ocean filled the air. The moon hung high above, casting a silver glow over the beach. Your chest heaved, your lungs burning as you collapsed onto the sand, letting the waves crash against the shore in a soothing rhythm that mocked your turmoil. You kept running, further and further away from whitesand bay, along the beach.

You stumbled, falling to your knees in the sand, clutching your arms around yourself. Your chest heaved as the tears fell freely, the sound of the ocean mixing with your sobs. Lina. You could picture them together, her hand in his, the same way they had been for so many years before you. The seagulls cried above you, indifferent to your pain. And in that moment, you realized that the world didn’t stop for you. It never had. You stared out at the endless sea, the dark horizon stretching in front of you.

How could I have been so blind?

The waves crashed against the shore, each one louder than the last. You are nothing to him. The thought echoed in your mind over and over, relentless, until you could barely breathe under the weight of it.

And just when you thought the world couldn’t get any colder, the tears started again. They fell freely now, salt mixing with the salt of the sea.

You had wanted to be enough. But maybe that was a joke after all. But even as your body trembled with the weight of the heartbreak, you knew one thing: You could never go back. Not to him, not to that studio, not to any of it. You were just a wave, crashing onto the shore, and he was the sea god.

The night wrapped itself around you like a suffocating blanket. The cold air bit into your skin, but it wasn’t enough to numb the ache clawing at your chest. Each crashing wave seemed to echo the bitter truth you couldn’t escape: you were never going to be enough for him. You curled tighter into yourself, trembling as the tears continued to flow. The sand clung to your dress, to your damp hands, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The world had narrowed to the storm raging inside you—a tempest of betrayal, doubt, and misery.

The sharp chill of the ocean breeze whipped your hair against your tear-streaked face, but it was nothing compared to the icy grip of despair coiling around your heart. Every promise he’d made, every word of reassurance, felt like shards of glass now, cutting into the fragile hope you’d built. The waves surged closer, the cold spray dotting your skin. Your sobs mixed with the crashing tide, swallowed up by the vast, indifferent sea.

You hugged yourself tightly, your body shaking as the cold seeped deeper into your bones. Yet, you stayed there, rooted to the spot, as if the ocean could somehow wash away the ache inside you. But no wave could reach that far, no tide could touch the place where your heart ached. You wanted to scream, to shout at the world for the injustice of it all, but the air in your lungs wouldn’t let you. You were too small for this world, too insignificant for him. You would never be the sea. You were just a small wave, lost in the expanse of the tide.

Rafayel’s POV

The door to the studio swung open, and Rafayel stepped inside, laughter trailing after him. “You should’ve seen the look on that shopkeeper’s face when I said we’d take both cakes,” he said, his voice warm and light. He turned to Lina, who chuckled softly as she followed him, holding one of the carefully boxed pastries. “He probably thought we were insane.”

Rafayel kicked the door shut behind him, balancing his own box of confections, his grin still in place. “I can’t wait to see my cutie’s face when she tries these. She’s going to love them.”

But the moment his gaze swept across the room, his laughter faltered and then stopped entirely.

The studio was transformed. Soft candlelight flickered, casting golden hues across the walls. Seashells glimmered like scattered pearls, carefully arranged along the edges of the space. Strands of delicate seaweed draped like garlands, their green silkiness catching the light. Trinkets, small but unmistakably meaningful, dotted the surfaces—each one an ode to moments he had shared with you. The table was set with plates of untouched food, lovingly prepared, and the air held a faint, tantalizing aroma that now felt unbearably heavy.

He froze, the pastry box slipping slightly in his grip. His throat tightened as his eyes roved over every detail, taking in the love and care you had poured into the space. The decorations, the mementos, the effort—it was overwhelming.

“Rafayel?” Lina’s voice broke through the silence. She stepped forward, her brows knitting in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” His voice cracked, and he set the box down on the nearest surface with trembling hands. “I fucked up,” he whispered, barely audible. His fingers grazed one of the seashells, its surface smooth and cool. He trailed his hand over a string of seaweed, the soft texture almost mocking him. “I fucked up bad.”

Lina’s concern deepened. “What are you talking about?”

Rafayel turned toward her, his expression stricken. “The anniversary. Our anniversary. It slipped my mind.” His voice was a low, shaky whisper as he glanced back at the table, the untouched plates, the flickering candles. “She did all of this… for me. For us.”

He called out your name, his voice echoing through the space. “Are you here? Cutie?” His steps quickened as he moved through the studio, searching. The bathroom. The bedroom. The small corner where you sometimes curled up to read. “Are you asleep?” he called, though he knew better. Each empty room was another blow to his gut.

Panic clawed at him as he returned to the main room, his gaze darting to the table again, the small trinkets, the soft glow of candles still burning. The room felt haunted, filled with the ghost of your hope and effort.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly. He grabbed his phone and immediately dialed Thomas.

“Thomas, did she—did she say anything to you? Did she mention where she might go?” Rafayel’s voice was taut with desperation.

Thomas hesitated. “She called me earlier. She asked if you were still at the sale. That’s all she said.”

The weight of Thomas’s words slammed into Rafayel like a wave. You’d called, searching for him, only to learn the truth he had tried to ignore. It had slipped his mind completely. He didn’t know you were setting all of this up. For him. For the both of you.

“Thanks,” Rafayel muttered, ending the call and immediately dialing your number. He paced the studio, his heart racing as the line rang once… twice… three times—

And then he heard it. The faint buzz of your phone, abandoned on the sofa near the window.

“Shit!” Rafayel cursed, grabbing the device and staring at the darkened screen as if it could offer him answers. “Shit, shit, shit!”

He collapsed onto the chair you had once sat in, his head in his hands. Where were you? His gaze drifted to the table again, the untouched dinner, the carefully arranged decorations.

How could he have been so blind? So careless? You had given him everything, and he… he had been too wrapped up in himself, too foolish to see what truly mattered.

Lina hesitated before taking a few careful steps toward Rafayel, watching his every move with growing concern. She’d never seen him like this before. His usual confident, almost cocky demeanor had vanished, leaving only raw distress in its place. He sat slumped in the chair, his phone clutched tightly in his hands, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath.

"Rafayel..." she began softly, her voice gentle but concerned. "What’s going on? What happened?"

Her hand brushed against his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, but the instant her fingers made contact with his skin, he flinched as though struck. His body jerked back, his eyes flashing with something wild—something dangerous.  His eyes, usually a mischievous swirl of pink and blue, flared into a startling, unearthly bright blue before he clenched them shut, his jaw tightening.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as he pulled away, his fists curling. “Lina, I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He forced himself to inhale deeply, reigning in his emotions as the scales receded and his eyes returned to their usual hue. “I’m fine,” he lied, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “I just... I need to find her.”

Lina’s hand hovered uncertainly before falling back to her side. “Rafayel,” she began gently, “her phone’s here. Her purse. Even her car keys. Where could she have gone?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped, the sharpness in his voice born of self-directed frustration. “And that’s what’s driving me insane.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as if the pain could ground him. “She’s out there somewhere, without her coat, without her phone... and it’s freezing tonight.”

Lina straightened, crossing her arms. “Then let me help—”

“No.” His interruption was immediate, his tone brooking no argument. He turned to her, his expression pained but resolute. “This is my fault. I need to fix this myself.”

“But—”

“Please, Lina,” he cut in, softer this time. “If she’s out there, you’ll hear from me. Just… if you see her, let me know. But I have to do this alone.”

After a long, hesitant pause, Lina relented, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine. But don’t do anything reckless. I’ll keep my eyes open and let you know if I find anything.”

Rafayel nodded, murmuring his thanks before grabbing his coat and storming out into the night.

The cold air bit at his face as he ran through the streets, his breath forming short puffs in the frigid night. He clutched his phone tightly, the screen glowing as he swiped to a recent photo of you, showing it to every passerby he stopped.

“Have you seen her?” he asked a bewildered man on the corner. “This woman? Please—it’s urgent.”

The man shook his head, muttering an apology before hurrying off. Rafayel grit his teeth, suppressing the wave of panic threatening to consume him. Where are you?

The thought repeated like a drumbeat as he made his way to the beach. The icy wind off the water made him shiver, but he pressed forward, searching desperately. He called your neighbor, pacing along the shoreline as he waited for an answer.

The voice on the other end was soft, a little worried. “No... the lights are off. The door’s locked. I haven’t seen her since this afternoon.”

His heart skipped a beat, the silence that followed pressing like a weight on his chest. Where were you? Where could you have gone? You were working so hard fore him, for the both of you since the afternoon and he wasn’t even there to experience it with you together. He could imagine it, the smile on your face as you placed those shells, the excitement in your movements as you cooked his favorite food. His eyes darted to the horizon, a dark line of water stretching out before him, and his legs moved faster, pushing him toward the shore, toward the place where you sometimes went to escape.

The beach was empty when he arrived, the wind biting at his skin, the waves crashing softly against the sand. He scanned the shoreline, dread filling him as he searched. There was no sign of you, but his heart refused to let go of the hope that you might be here.

He walked for what felt like hours, the weight of the cold creeping into his bones as the night deepened. The autumn air turned chillier, the first hints of winter brushing against his skin. You hadn’t taken your coat. You hadn’t taken anything. What was he thinking? You’d never leave without saying something. So why was he—

His breath hitched as his gaze landed on something ahead. A small lump on the sand.

His heart stopped, the world narrowing down to that single, fragile form crumpled against the cold ground.

“No!” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. He ran towards you, his legs moving faster than they ever had before, fear propelling him forward. His feet barely touching the ground as he pushed forward, his every step frantic. He reached you within seconds, his pulse hammering in his ears. He knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he gently touched your shoulder.

“Cutie?” he called, his voice cracking. His knees hit the sand as he reached you, and his heart twisted painfully at the sight. You were curled in on yourself, your arms hugging your knees, your face hidden. Tear tracks glistened on your cheeks, even in the dim moonlight, and your body trembled from the cold.

“Shit,” Rafayel hissed, his voice barely a whisper as panic surged again. You were cold, so cold. Damp from the wet sand, your skin pale as if the very life had been drained from you. He pulled off his jacket, draping it around you as gently as he could, his hands still shaking.

Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I see how badly she needed me?

He slid his arms around you, his heart aching as he pulled you into his lap, cradling you as though you might break into a thousand pieces. He brushed the strands of hair from your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he whispered your name over and over, praying that you would wake up. That you would hear him. “Fuck,” he breathed, feeling a wave of guilt crash over him. “What did I do? What the hell did I do…”

But he couldn’t. Not now. Now, all he could do was hold you, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he rocked gently, trying to warm you, trying to make everything okay.

“I’m here, okay? I’m here. I’m so sorry, cutie.” he whispered, his voice breaking. His mind raced, but nothing could erase the hollow ache in his chest. The thought of losing you, of failing you—he couldn’t bear it. He wouldn’t. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words tumbling from him like a confession he had never intended to make. “I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I messed this up, I—I’m here now.”

He clutched you tighter, trembling with the weight of his regret. The wind cut through the beach, but he barely noticed, too consumed by the sight of you—so still, so fragile, in his arms. His mind raced, scrambling for something, anything, to fix this

Your eyes fluttered open weakly, barely meeting his. You were too exhausted to respond, your body utterly spent.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice unsteady as he gently tucked his coat tighter around you. “I’ve got you. I’m so sorry.” His thumb brushed the tear-streaked curve of your cheek, his chest aching at the evidence of your heartbreak. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s too cold...not like this. Not alone,” Rafayel murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His hands trembled as he tried to warm you, his arms sheltering you from the relentless chill of the wind. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve—” He broke off, his throat tightening painfully. Words felt so useless now, but he couldn’t stop them. He needed you to know. “I’m the biggest idiot in the world. I forgot something so important, something that should’ve been at the center of my mind.” His arms slipped beneath you, lifting you effortlessly despite your protests—if there were any.

Your lips moved faintly, but the sound was lost in the cold wind. He leaned closer, his ear near your mouth. “What is it? I’m here. Please... say something.”

“I thought... maybe you'd care,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. The words struck him harder than any physical blow ever could. He felt the sting in his chest, his breath hitching as guilt twisted the knife deeper.

“I do care!” he exclaimed, his voice desperate. “More than anything. I was just... I was so caught up in everything else, and I—I didn’t realize how much you needed me. How much you’ve always been there for me. I messed up, cutie. I know I did.”

You shivered against him, and he shifted to shield you better from the biting wind. “Let me take you home,” he pleaded, his voice softer now. “We’ll fix this. I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right, I swear.”

For a long moment, you didn’t respond, and his heart hammered in his chest. Finally, you gave the faintest of nods, your head resting against his chest. You shivered in his arms, your eyes fluttering shut again, too drained to muster a response. Panic surged in Rafayel as he felt how cold your skin was against his. He shifted, standing with you carefully cradled in his arms, his coat wrapped tightly around you.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice urgent but soft. “I need you to hold on, okay? Just a little longer. Let’s get you somewhere warm.” He pressed his cheek to your temple for a moment, as though the simple touch might reassure you—and himself—that you were still here with him.

Rafayel didn’t waste a second. He scooped you up gently, careful not to jostle you. The warmth of his jacket wrapped around your frame and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat seemed to soothe some of the tension in your body. He murmured quiet reassurances as he carried you, his voice a constant presence in the cold, empty night. His normally cocky demeanor had shattered into shards of raw vulnerability, replaced by a frantic urgency to get you home—his home. Your breathing was shallow, your limbs slack in his hold, and every uneven step he took felt like walking a tightrope with everything he valued most precariously balanced in his grasp. He adjusted his hold, cradling you tighter against his chest. “Look, I know I’m an idiot sometimes. Fine, most of the time,” he admitted, his words a jumble of nervous energy and shaky humor. “But this isn’t the time to prove me wrong, alright? Just hang on a little longer. I’m taking you home.”

By the time you reached the studio, the candlelight had dimmed, but the room still held the warmth of the love you had poured into it. Rafayel carried you inside. By the time he reached the threshold of his room, his shirt clung to him, drenched from sweat and your tears. He nudged the door open with his shoulder, careful not to jostle you, and hurried inside.

The room was cold and dimly lit, the heater long dormant. He set you down on the bed, fumbling with the blankets to cocoon you in their warmth. Your body trembled, and his chest constricted as he watched you stir faintly before slipping deeper into unconsciousness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible at first, as if the walls themselves might condemn him. Then louder, more desperate, his voice cracking. “I’m so damn sorry. I was stupid—so, so stupid. I should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve kept you safe. Should’ve—” He stopped himself, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to stifle the sob building in his throat. His eyes flickered between his usual hues and that unearthly blue every now and then.

His hands hovered over your face, fingers trembling as he brushed damp strands of hair from your skin. “You’re too good for me, you know that? Too good for someone who screws up as much as I do. But I promise—” His voice broke, the words spilling out in a frenzied rush. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Il love you, cutie. I love you so much.” And then, because even in his rawest moments he couldn’t help himself, he added with a weak, self-deprecating chuckle, “I am lucky I’m this charming, or I don’t think you’d ever put up with me.”

He turned on the heater, pacing back and forth as he muttered under his breath, berating himself in every way he could think of, his brattiness peeking through as he cursed the broken world that had led to this moment. He glanced at you repeatedly, as if reassuring himself you hadn’t vanished, that you hadn’t slipped through his fingers.

When you stirred, your eyelids fluttering open, he froze mid-step. His usual confident smirk was gone, replaced by wide, guilt-stricken eyes. “You’re awake,” he blurted, his voice filled with relief but tinged with apprehension. “I know I screwed up,” he admitted quietly, his lips brushing against your temple. “But—seriously, who let you do this to yourself, huh? Oh wait, that’s me. Fantastic job, Rafayel. Bravo.” He huffed out a shaky laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sitting at your bedside. The words spilled out before he could stop them, over and over again. “I’m so, so sorry. This—this isn’t how it was supposed to go. You’re supposed to be mad at me, not like this. Not…” His voice cracked, and he scrubbed a hand down his face, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Then, almost instinctively, the mask of bravado slipped back into place. “But, hey, look at you, stealing my bed like it’s your right. I mean, sure, I offered, but still.” His smirk faltered, his voice softening. “You better not make a habit of this, you know? Making me worry this much.”

You shifted, your eyelids fluttering completely open, and the sight of your weary gaze meeting his nearly unraveled him.

“Raf?” Your voice was weak, barely audible, but it was enough to snap him upright.

“Hey, you’re awake!” He forced a grin, though it couldn’t hide the guilt pooling in his eyes. “Good, because I was just about to start serenading you with an apology song. Don’t ask for a refund… the lyrics are terrible.”

You tried to sit up, but he was on you in an instant, gently pressing you back down. “Whoa, whoa, no sudden moves, alright? Just... stay put for once. Let me handle it for a change.”

"Handle what?" you asked, your voice edged with exhaustion and confusion.

His grin wavered, giving way to something more honest, more afraid. “Everything. All of it. I... I screwed up, okay? I’m the idiot who let you get like this, who didn’t see—who didn’t stop—” His words tangled, and he exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry, and I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. Or, you know, until you tell me to shut up. Whichever comes first.”

Your lashes fluttered weakly again, and a barely audible sound escaped your lips. “...Rafayel...?”

His heart soared and broke all at once at the sound of your voice. “I’m here,” he said quickly, leaning closer so you could hear him clearly. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Tears welled in his eyes as you looked up at him, your gaze heavy with exhaustion and something he couldn’t quite name—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. It cut him deeper than any blade ever could.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice a choked whisper. “I know that doesn’t fix this, but I swear, I’ll spend every moment making it up to you if you let me.”

For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the hum of the heater and the soft whistle of the wind outside. Finally, you whispered, your voice trembling, “I waited...”

“I know,” he whispered, his tears falling freely now. “You shouldn’t have had to. You deserve better than that, better than me—but I’m begging you, please give me another chance. Don’t give up on me yet.”

Finally, your voice, though weak, broke the quiet. “You forgot... something that meant so much to me.”

Rafayel’s throat tightened, but he nodded, accepting your words. “I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes to make it up to you. I’ll show you how much you mean to me. I love you,” he whispered against your skin, the words soft but raw with sincerity. “More than anything. More than I can even say. I don’t deserve you, but… please, let me try. Let me make it up to you.”

“Don’t leave me,” he repeated, his voice a breathless whisper, “Not like this.” His voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, you could see the mask slip—just for a second. Rafayel was scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of failing you. It was the one thing he had never let you see, the one thing he kept locked away in the deep recesses of his heart, but now, it was clear as day.

As you looked at him, something shifted between the two of you—an understanding, perhaps. You could see his desperation, the way he clung to the edges of his composure, trying to hide the vulnerability he never allowed anyone to witness.

I thought... I thought this was everything I could give. Everything I could be..." your own voice cracking.

He shook his head again, his grip never loosening. “You’re so much more than all of this. I’ve been blind, cutie. And now I can see it—see you.” He gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to erase every doubt that had taken root there. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for making you feel invisible.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, the tears still staining your face, but the weight of his words was a strange kind of relief. He was here. He saw you now. The storm of emotions inside you hadn’t dissipated, but his presence, the raw sincerity in his voice, made you feel something close to safety.

Rafayel kissed your forehead softly, the gentle pressure of his lips a tender promise. “I’m here, cutie. And I’ll do everything I can to make this right. You won’t feel invisible again.”

You nodded slowly, the tears still flowing, but there was a flicker of hope, however faint. "Just... don't forget again," you whispered.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice firm, but his eyes were full of vulnerability. "I won’t. Never again."

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes closing as if you were too weary to respond. But when Rafayel reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, a faint squeeze answered him. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was enough—a thread of hope that he clung to with everything he had. For now, you didn’t pull away, and that was a start.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus version | Caleb Version

[ashthesalamipiece]

"Explosions of the Heart"

This one is rlly long😭

☆☆☆

The hospital reeked of antiseptic and tension. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead as Bakugo Katsuki paced the floor like a caged animal. His hands—usually steady in battle—trembled slightly. Outside the delivery room, his world was unraveling.

"Mr. Bakugo," the nurse called gently. "She’s in distress. We’re doing everything we can."

He didn’t answer. His crimson eyes were locked on the swinging double doors that had swallowed you hours ago.

You—his wife, his partner, the only person who could call him a dumbass and still get a smile out of him—were behind those doors. And you were fighting a battle even he couldn't charge into fists-first.

Twelve Hours Earlier

Your water had broken in the dead of night. You’d barely gotten a full sentence out before Bakugo was already tossing clothes into a bag and barking at the cab company over the phone. By the time you reached the hospital, contractions were tearing through you like lightning, each one worse than the last.

Something wasn’t right.

The baby was breach. Your blood pressure spiked. You were losing too much blood. They rushed you into an emergency delivery, voices sharp and fast. Bakugo hadn’t been allowed in.

Present

Time blurred. Katsuki hated feeling useless more than anything. He should be in there. He should be beside you, holding your hand, telling you it was going to be okay even if his chest felt like it was going to explode.

A sudden scream tore through the hall. Your scream.

His knees buckled. He hadn’t even heard himself move before he was slamming into the door, fists glowing faintly, ready to break it down—

"Sir!" a nurse barked, shoving him back. "You can't go in there!"

"That’s my damn wife!" he snarled. "Let me—"

The screaming stopped.

Too abruptly.

Bakugo froze. The world stopped moving.

Seconds felt like eternities until finally, the doors opened and a doctor stepped out, blood on her scrubs and exhaustion in her eyes.

"She’s alive," she said softly. "And so is your son. But it was close. Too close."

His legs gave out and he collapsed into the nearest chair. His hands covered his face as air finally returned to his lungs. Alive. You were both alive.

"You can see her now."

He stood shakily, pushing into the room. You looked like hell—pale, exhausted, barely able to lift your eyelids—but when you saw him, a weak smile curved your lips.

"You look like shit," you whispered.

A choked laugh escaped him. He grabbed your hand and pressed it to his lips. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, dumbass.”

Then he saw the tiny bundle in your arms. Wide red eyes—his eyes—blinked up at him.

"Hey, little guy," he said, voice thick. "You’re already causing trouble, huh?"

You laughed faintly, and Bakugo leaned in, touching his forehead to yours.

"Next time," he murmured, "we're adopting."

---

Two Weeks Later

You were finally home.

The scent of sterilized hospital air had been replaced by the warmth of your shared apartment, still littered with unopened baby gifts and half-assembled furniture. It felt surreal, like you had died and somehow gotten a second chance.

Katsuki hadn’t left your side since the hospital.

He’d been quieter than usual—not cold, but... different. Protective. Watchful. The explosions were fewer, the yelling almost nonexistent. And at night, when he thought you were asleep, you caught him just staring—at you, at the baby, at the scar the IV left on your hand.

Like he couldn’t believe either of you were still here.

You shifted slightly on the couch, wincing. Your body still ached like hell. The stitches, the swelling, the pressure—no one talked about how brutal recovery would be. You felt raw. Fragile.

"Katsuki," you called weakly.

He appeared instantly from the kitchen, a bottle in one hand and your pain meds in the other. "Need something?"

"Come sit with me."

He hesitated. "You’re still hurting. I don’t wanna crowd you."

You reached out, fingers curling in the air.

He sighed, set everything down, and slid onto the couch beside you. Carefully. Gently. You leaned your head on his shoulder, your newborn cradled against your chest, tiny breaths warm against your skin.

"He looks like you," you murmured.

"Poor brat," he said, but his voice was soft.

Your fingers laced with his.

"You’ve been quiet."

He didn’t answer for a long time. Then:

"You almost died." His voice cracked. “And I couldn’t do shit about it.”

You turned to look at him, eyes brimming. "But I didn’t. We didn’t. Katsuki, you didn’t leave me. Not for a second. That means everything."

He clenched his jaw. “I’ve fought villains who tried to kill me. I’ve been stabbed, exploded, buried under rubble. I can deal with that. But you, bleeding out and screaming and I couldn’t even touch you—” He broke off. “I’ve never been that fucking scared in my life.”

Tears slipped down your cheek, and you pressed your lips to his temple. “You’re here. I’m here. Our son’s here. That’s all that matters.”

He looked down at the sleeping baby, chest rising and falling in sync with yours. “He’s tiny.”

You smirked. “So were you. Until puberty hit like a damn truck.”

A reluctant chuckle rumbled from him. “If he has even half your stubbornness, we’re screwed.”

“Half yours, you mean,” you teased.

The room went quiet again. You nestled closer, letting yourself breathe in his warmth, his scent. Safe.

“I thought I was ready to be a dad,” he said suddenly. “I trained for it. Got the nursery set up, read every damn book. But the second they handed him to me, I realized I didn’t know shit.”

You smiled sleepily. “You’re already doing perfect.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause I haven’t blown up a diaper yet.”

You both laughed—quiet, tired, and a little broken, but real.

He looked at you, really looked, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You blinked. Bakugo never whispered.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, voice catching.

And for the first time in weeks, you both finally exhaled.

---

Three Months Later

“You sure you’re okay without me for a few hours?” you asked again, already halfway out the door.

Bakugo rolled his eyes, baby monitor clipped to his sweatpants, your son strapped into a carrier on his chest like a slightly confused koala.

“D’you think I can’t handle him or something?” he grumbled.

“I think he shat through three outfits before noon yesterday, and you nearly declared war on baby wipes.”

Katsuki scowled. “One time.”

“One time per diaper.”

You kissed his cheek before he could argue, smirking. “You’ll be fine, Dad of the Year.”

The door clicked shut behind you.

And just like that… it was quiet.

Bakugo glanced down at the wide-eyed little boy strapped to his chest. “Alright, kid. Just me and you.”

The baby blinked, then made a soft gurgling noise.

“You better not be loading your diaper already.”

**

The first twenty minutes went smooth. Katsuki heated a bottle with military precision, burped the baby like a pro, and even played peekaboo without blowing anything up.

Then the baby started crying.

Loud.

Katsuki checked the diaper. Clean. Tried feeding him. Refused. Burping? Nothing. Pacifier? Launched like a missile.

“Are you broken?” he hissed, bouncing him awkwardly.

The baby wailed louder.

Bakugo, future Number One Hero, demolisher of villains, destroyer of fear itself… was being absolutely obliterated by a 12-pound infant.

“Alright!” he shouted over the crying. “You win, gremlin!”

He tried the ultimate move: laying on the couch with the baby on his chest, just like you did.

It worked. Instant silence.

“…Seriously?”

Tiny fingers gripped the collar of his shirt, and the baby let out a satisfied sigh, snuggling deeper against him.

“Tch. You just wanted to lay on me, huh?” Katsuki mumbled. “Clingy little nerd.”

He didn’t move. Not even when his phone buzzed. You’d texted: Everything okay?

He snapped a photo of his son sleeping peacefully on his chest and sent it back.

We’re good. Don’t rush.

He stared at the photo for a long time, warmth blooming in his chest. The kid looked so much like you when he was relaxed. And Katsuki realized something he hadn’t said out loud yet.

He loved this.

Being a dad.

The mess, the noise, the confusion—it was all chaos he could handle if it meant protecting you and this little bean.

“You’re not that bad, y’know,” he muttered. “Might even grow up to be cooler than me.”

The baby snorted in his sleep.

“Yeah, alright, don’t push it.”

**

When you walked in an hour later, you found them both fast asleep—Katsuki snoring, the baby drooling on his chest, one tiny fist tangled in his dad’s ash-blond hair.

You smiled and quietly snapped a photo.

The caption would read: My boys. Chaos level: manageable.

For now.

---

Ten Months Later

Your son had started babbling a while ago, but it was mostly incoherent nonsense—"ba-ba," "da-da," the occasional squeal that sounded like a baby pterodactyl mid-meltdown.

Katsuki had been watching him like a hawk, waiting for the first real word. It had practically become a competition between you two—who would he say first? "Mama" or "Dada"?

Katsuki refused to lose.

“You know I carried him for nine months, right?” you said, folding laundry one afternoon.

“Yeah, and I carried your ass through every post-labor breakdown, so I’d say we’re even,” he grunted, ruffling your son’s spiky blond hair as he sat chewing on a toy grenade (definitely plastic).

Your son looked up at him with wide, mischievous eyes and suddenly let out a loud, clear—

“Boom.”

Silence.

You blinked. “Did he just—?”

Katsuki’s eyes widened. “No. No way. Say it again, brat.”

The baby giggled. “Boom!”

“Oh my god.”

Katsuki stood there frozen for a moment, and then his mouth curled into the smuggest grin you’d ever seen.

“That’s my boy.”

You threw a sock at his face. “Katsuki, his first word was ‘boom.’”

“I’m proud as hell.”

“He’s not a grenade!”

“He’s mine, so yes, he is.”

Your son squealed again. “Boom!”

Now he was bouncing.

“Stop encouraging him!” you said, even though you were trying not to laugh.

Bakugo squatted beside him and bumped their foreheads together gently. “Boom, huh? You’re gonna be a damn legend.”

You shook your head in disbelief, watching your two pyro-twins grin at each other like chaos incarnate.

Katsuki looked up at you, full of fire and affection. “Guess we know what kind of quirk he’s leanin’ toward.”

You groaned. “We are so not baby-proofed for explosions.”

Katsuki smirked. “Guess I better teach him control before he blows up the crib.”

Your baby babbled happily between them again. “Boom!”

Yeah. You were definitely raising a little dynamite.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

---

Age: 2 Years, 3 Months

Your son’s first day of daycare was supposed to be normal.

You’d packed his snacks, extra clothes, diapers, wipes, and left strict instructions that he was “sweet, a little stubborn, and very attached to his Bakugou-brand plushie.”

You also wrote in bold: “If he gets upset, avoid loud noises. They tend to... backfire.”

The teacher smiled politely. “We’ve handled all kinds of quirks. Don’t worry.”

You didn’t.

Until the phone call.

Three hours later.

Bakugo answered it on speaker.

“Hello, this is—uh—Miss Hikari from Little Hero Steps Daycare. We have a small situation.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “Is he hurt?”

“No! No, he’s fine. Perfectly fine. A little excited, actually…”

Your stomach dropped.

“…but the plastic slide may have, um... detonated.”

Katsuki let out a low snort. “He blew up the slide?”

“It was only the top half,” she added quickly. “And technically, it was more of a pop than a boom.”

You could feel Katsuki’s pride from across the kitchen.

“Are the other kids okay?” you asked, horrified.

“Yes! No injuries. He wasn’t upset, just… showing off. He said ‘Boom!’ and then—”

“That’s my son,” Bakugo said, folding his arms with a smug little smirk.

You elbowed him. “That is not a good thing.”

“Didn’t say it was bad either.”

**

When you arrived at the daycare, your son was sitting on a beanbag with three teachers around him—like he was some kind of dangerous celebrity.

His hair was wild, his cheeks were smudged with soot, and he looked way too pleased with himself.

“Mommy! Daddy!” he yelled, running over and nearly tripping on his own feet.

“Hey, you little menace,” Katsuki muttered, picking him up.

“Boom!” he chirped proudly, like it was his name.

One of the teachers came over, cautiously.

“We think his quirk is starting to develop. It’s... early, but very similar to yours, Mr. Bakugo.”

Katsuki beamed. “Damn right it is.”

You groaned. “Please tell me we’re not banned.”

The teacher laughed nervously. “No—though we’re investing in more fireproof playground equipment starting immediately.”

**

That night, after your son was passed out in his crib, soot still faintly dusting his forehead, you collapsed on the couch.

“He’s gonna be a handful,” you murmured, resting your head on Katsuki’s chest.

“Yeah,” he muttered, stroking your hair. “He’s gonna be a hell of a hero too.”

You smiled, eyes drifting closed as you listened to your husband’s heartbeat under your cheek—steady, strong, and forever explosive.

Just like the little boy down the hall.

---

You were pregnant. Again.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen quite so soon—not when your firstborn was still blowing up laundry baskets for fun and calling it “training.”

But the second those two pink lines appeared, your stomach flipped. Part nerves. Part excitement. And a lot of “oh god, how is Bakugo going to react?”

**

You told him on a quiet evening. Your son was asleep (finally) and the living room still smelled faintly of scorched Play-Doh.

You sat beside him, heart racing.

“I’m pregnant.”

Bakugo blinked. He looked at you. Then at your stomach. Then back at you.

“…Are you sure?”

You nodded, biting your lip.

He leaned forward slowly, resting a hand on your thigh like he thought the couch might explode.

“Holy shit.”

You laughed. “That’s… not the response I expected.”

He stared at your stomach for a long time before finally saying, softly, “You okay with this?”

“I’m scared. But yeah. I want this.”

He nodded, jaw tightening. “You nearly died last time.”

“I know.”

“You think I can do this again?” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “What if I lose you this time?”

You reached for his hand. “Then you hold me tighter and fight harder.”

Bakugo clenched his fists, then gently rested one palm on your belly.

“…You better be a chill baby,” he muttered. “I can’t handle two demolition experts at once.”

**

Your son found out a week later when he walked into the kitchen, pointed to your tiny bump, and said:

“BOOM 2?”

You choked on your orange juice. Katsuki burst out laughing.

From that point on, the baby was Boom 2 to him.

**

As the months passed, your second pregnancy felt... different. Easier in some ways, harder in others. Your son was older now, talking more, asking endless questions.

“Did I live in your belly too?”

“You did, baby.”

“Was I loud?”

“You screamed the whole time.”

He nodded proudly. “Boom!”

Katsuki didn’t stop worrying. Not for a second. Every time you winced, he was at your side. Every time you had a check-up, he came. He argued with nurses over your chart. Practically threatened the OB into promising you a safer delivery plan.

“I lost my shit once,” he told the doctor. “I’m not doing that again.”

**

One quiet night, a few weeks before your due date, he crawled into bed behind you and wrapped his arms around your belly, pulling you gently against his chest.

“Still scared,” he whispered against your skin.

“I know,” you whispered back.

“But I want this. I want all of this. You, him”—he nodded toward your sleeping toddler down the hall—“and this tiny bomb too.”

Your heart melted.

“I want them to know they’re loved,” he added, voice thick. “No matter how loud, or messy, or crazy it gets.”

“They’ll know,” you promised, turning to kiss him softly. “Because they have you.”

Katsuki didn’t answer. He just held you tighter, his hand on your belly.

And somewhere inside, Boom 2 kicked like they were already ready to make an entrance.

Just like their brother.

Just like their dad.

---

It started with a kick.

Not just any kick—one that rocked your whole body at 3:12 a.m.

You groaned, gripping the edge of the bed.

Katsuki shot up like a soldier under fire.

“Contraction?” he barked.

“Yep,” you hissed, breathing through it.

He was already moving—bag in hand, grabbing your shoes, shouting toward the baby monitor: “Stay asleep, Boom #1!”

**

This time around, the doctors were ready. And so was Katsuki.

Still, even as they guided you into the labor room, he was white-knuckling the edge of your bed, eyes locked on you like if he blinked, you’d vanish.

You reached for him.

“I’m okay,” you said between waves of pain. “I’m okay.”

“I’m not letting go of you this time,” he muttered, voice low, jaw clenched.

And he didn’t.

Not when your screams broke through the walls.

Not when the monitors started beeping faster.

Not when the doctor said, “We need to move quickly—cord’s wrapped.”

He held your hand through it all. Pressed his forehead to yours. Whispered every curse word in the book, followed by: “You’ve got this. You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.”

And when the final cry rang out—

A high, sharp wail that cut through the air like lightning—

Bakugo exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for nine months straight.

“She’s perfect,” the nurse whispered.

“She?” you breathed, dazed.

Katsuki blinked. “A girl?”

They placed her on your chest—tiny, red, angry as hell. She immediately latched onto your hospital gown like she was ready to fight the world.

You laughed through tears. “She’s already like you.”

Katsuki stared at her.

Just stared.

His eyes—those wild, stormy eyes—were wide and full of wonder.

“You’re kidding me,” he whispered. “I’ve got a daughter.”

You reached for his hand. “You’ve got us.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then to your daughter’s.

“I swear on my damn life,” he whispered, “no one’s ever gonna mess with you.”

She let out a fierce little squeak.

And he smiled, completely undone.

**

An hour later, you were resting, and he was sitting by the bed with your baby girl tucked into the crook of his arm.

“Name?” you asked, eyes heavy but heart full.

He looked down at her, then at you.

“What about Kaori?” he said. “Strong. Bright. Means fragrance or light.”

You smiled. “Kaori Bakugo. It’s perfect.”

And for the first time that night, the hospital room felt still. Safe.

Because no matter how explosive your little family was becoming—

It was built on something unshakable.

Love. Fire. And a whole lot of Boom.

---

Two days after Kaori’s birth, you came home—sore, exhausted, but glowing. Kaori was tiny, sleepy, and wrapped like a burrito in her fuzzy explosion-patterned blanket that Katsuki insisted she wear home.

Your front door creaked open slowly.

Bakugo carried Kaori in with terrifying precision, like she was made of nitroglycerin.

Inside, your two-year-old son was standing barefoot in the hallway—holding a plastic grenade in one hand and a drawing in the other.

“Mommy!” he shouted, running at you.

You caught him one-armed, lifting him up, groaning slightly. “Easy, baby.”

Katsuki stood back, rocking gently with Kaori in his arms. “Hey, Boom #1,” he said softly. “Wanna meet your sister?”

Your son blinked, looking at the tiny pink bundle.

“That’s her?”

“Yup.”

“She looks squishy.”

“She is,” you said, chuckling. “Gentle, okay?”

He padded over on tiptoes, peering up at her like she was some sort of sacred relic.

“…She doesn’t go boom?”

“Let’s hope not,” Katsuki muttered.

“She’s your baby sister,” you explained. “Her name is Kaori.”

He tilted his head. “Can I keep her?”

Katsuki smirked. “She’s not a pet.”

“But I love her already,” your son said proudly. Then leaned close and whispered (as if it were a spell): “Boom.”

Kaori stirred slightly… and farted.

A loud one.

Your son lost it.

“SHE DOES BOOM TOO!” he screamed.

Katsuki nearly dropped her from laughing so hard. “Oh god. She’s already like you.”

**

You all settled in the living room. Kaori slept peacefully on Katsuki’s chest while your son built a pillow fort and declared it the "Boom Base."

“She can live in the base with me,” he announced.

“She’s not old enough for base life yet,” you said.

“I’ll protect her,” he added matter-of-factly. “From monsters. And spiders. And broccoli.”

You looked over at Katsuki, who was watching the two of them with a look you’d only ever seen twice before: once on your wedding day, and once when your son took his first steps.

“Didn’t think I could love more than I already did,” he murmured. “But damn.”

You scooted closer and leaned into him, Kaori safe between you.

“Looks like we’re officially a team of four.”

“Correction,” Katsuki said. “We’re a squad.”

A very loud, occasionally explosive, wildly chaotic squad.

And honestly? You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

[cursedcola]

Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia (Here) | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: I'm part of the 'everyone underestimates Kalim Al Asim , the layers of his character and upbringing' club. Sweet does not equal being a dum dum my dudes.

Habits You Steal:

Theatrics (Inherited): Kalim talks with more than his mouth. There's body language. Watch out when this guy gets excited because he might knock over a lamp amidst a rant. Hands are flying with each embellishment. He's pacing. Jumping. Energy is seemingly endless with this one. When Kalim laughs, he does so with his entire body without reservation. Head flying back, grin wide, shoulder shaking, etc. Not that he can't replace what gets broken but - y'know. Be careful else you might get bitch slapped on accident. Which normally wouldn't hurt too much but Kalim's decked out in gold. The last thing you want is a ring imprint on your left cheek because Kalim got too excited after a card game. On that note - someone get Jamil some aspirin because that excitement is infectious. You can be the most stone-hearted edge-lord on the face of Twisted Wonderland, but eventually his infectious sunshine attitude takes hold.

"A-Ah! It's okay! We can replace the lamp, so don't worry. Are you hurt? No, no. It's really aright. I'm fine, see? You missed me - can I see your hands for a second? OIII! Can someone please bring a med-kit! Thank you!" <- Jamil's already grabbing the broom before you can say sorry. This is the last time he lets you sit anywhere near fragile objects during a game of charades - or any game. Kalim was bad enough...but at least with him fretting over the tiny cut on your palm, Jamil could clean the mess in peace. At least until you offer to pay for the lamp. Kalim's got enough tact to lie about the price, and everyone's thankful. No one wants to see the Ramshackle Prefect have a heart attack for shattering a real crystal lamp. 'cause then Kalim will cry too and it'll just be dominos from there.

Personal Space (Inherited): Kalim tears away any sense of dignity, self-preservation, and privacy that might exist. In a good way, of course. It's not that Kalim is an open person. Quite the contrary. He needs to keep a calculated distance between himself and others due to his position as an Asim. Regardless of his happy exterior, never forget that Kalim is far from an airhead. Kindness doesn't equate connection - as much as Kalim would love for everyone to be his friend. Yet for those who are in that trusted circle? He treats them like an extension of the self. His lack of shame bleeds into your own perception.

Training and Resistance (Inherited and Developed): Kalim hates that you need to do this. He rarely 'hates' anything, but he despises that you need to worry about being poisoned. What’s worse is that you refuse to have a tester, or a guard, or anything of the sort. It all started with discussing the future with Jamil, who logically brought up the complications that come with Kalim taking a partner. You couldn’t be shadowed, were in a difficult position with the headmaster, and it would only become difficult once the duo moves back to the scalding sands. Even more once you join them (as NRC is merely teaming with prideful youths, while the Scalding Sands is a free for all).

Point summary? You need to build resistance to drugs and learn what to do in a hostage situation. The former is handled by Professor Crewel, and the process was explained in excruciating detail. Jamil, who’s undergone training, was unphased but Kalim desperately wanted you to back out. Yet it would mean needing a guard - which would be hard to arrange - and so…yeah. Many weekends in the nurse’s office. You also have to complete the hostage drills all Asims and their spouses are put through. How to escape bondage, how to last an interrogation, how to navigate without magic (which you could, duh, so basically without a map when stranded), negotiate, etc.

"Are you absolutely certain that this is what you want to do? I can still hire a body guard - there are many options available back home! You can spend our next vacation at the main villa and meet with them. We can - oh. y-you're sure?... alright. If this is what you want then I'll be there through every step. Just remember to ask if you need anything. I'll come running, no matter what."

Charisma (Inherited): Everyone underestimates just how dangerous Kalim is. Seriously. Nothing is more risky in a school like Night Raven College than dropping your guard. It can cost you your life - or at the very least leave you indebted to someone you do not want having dirt over your head (*cough*ACertianCephalopod*cough*)The gossip grapevine is a menace. Everyone has their pride. Everyone has their secrets. Everyone holds each other at arm’s length, even if you’re cordial or friendly. Everyone except Kalim, who has this innate ability to pry the most dirty secrets out of you simply through his nonchalant attitude. Nothing drops another’s guard quicker than a sense of security and superiority. People often mistake his genuine heart for nativity. They fail to recognize that it’s a choice, and deep down he is aware that the Al Asim name places him high above the people he sees as friends.

"Hm? Isn't that the alchemic lab on potionomics meant for second years? You're so smart! I didn't get to do that lab until just a few months ago! - it's not yours? Then why are you working on it?" <- game. set. match. You think he doesn't know what your handwriting looks like? He saw you lingering outside Crewel's classroom earlier and wanted to know why. Saw an opening. Took it. Is happy you’re helping out one of your other friends, but just had to make sure no one was bullying you into doing their work.

Since he truly believes that despite this gap, friendships can transcend - his ability to get information is uncanny. A power he can wield intentionally if need be, in getting you to name drop any person or problem posed. It’s a great quality to have! This way he can help and support you :) Why is this an inherited trait, you might be asking? Because as the next head of Al Asim, Kalim’s been studying how to do business since he was young. He’s going to teach you. Pray tell what is born once the Ramshackle Beast Tamer learns the ways of Scarabia’s master of charisma and resident sunshine child?…Night Raven’s downfall. Power couple. Dead serious right now.

Jewelry (Developed): Worth your weight in gold takes a new meaning. This isn’t in reference to being spoiled, mind you. This is about status and the meaning behind the jewels Kalim is imparting. The cultural significance. Considering that you’re not from twisted wonderland, you technically are a blank slate to all countries. Who better to learn from than someone who’s spent his childhood studying to become an expert in international trade? Kalim has enough tact to bite his tongue about the deep meaning behind the gifts. You may not understand just yet, but his excitement can’t be contained. Each bangle and piece from the family treasury has a small story. While he has no problem using his wealth to help people who need it, there’s a joy that comes from decorating his treasure’ in treasure. Y’know?

"Do you like it? This necklace was my mother's at our age. My father gifted it to her during a business trip to the Queendom of Roses. Ah - you can have it! Really! She has many others, and when I told her about you this was what she chose to have sent over. It's already yours! You can wear it to the next banquet, please?" <- Being the next head of House Asim, Kalim can't be with just anyone. Yet he seemed so happy in his letters, and Jamil vouched on your behalf - so this is your time to shine. Also, sending the necklace back would be like slighting his family's good will. You quite literally need to accept it.

Music (Inherited): Can you play an instrument? Sing? It starts out as wanting to be near him more - so you join the pop music club. Kalim, Cater, and Lilia are very convincing. So they push you to pick up something. Anything. It doesn't matter what, so long as you have fun with them. Even in the earliest stages where the notes come grated and your friends (Grim) make fun - Kalim is supportive without fault. His encouragement leads to proficiency and an appreciation for music. He'd love if you sing with him. Even if it's just a lullaby - no, especially so.

Habits He Steals:

Naming inanimate objects (Inherited): Your effort at making Kalim more money-conscious. The decite of sentimental attachment, if you will. It’s honestly a risky move to make considering the sheer amount of things that he owns, so naming everything is off the table. Yet it’s the silly things. Like seeing a face in the paintwork on one of his tapestries, and then deciding to dub it Artie. Oh no, Kalim we don’t need to get new artwork for the bathroom! What about Artie? It’s already pretty enough so lets just leave him there. No - no, that ring’s super pretty but the matching set from our anniversary is enough. We wouldn’t want Garnet and Pearl to think we were replacing them, right?

"I think Vinnie would work best on display, don't you? Purple and yellow are sure to catch people's attention from far away! Or maybe should we hang up Paolo? There are so many tapestries in Scarabia’s vault, I feel guilty only putting one up on display at our festival stall. Do you think they’d let us hang more?”<- It works. Kalim defiantly thinks twice. He's a bit like a kid refusing to give up their action figures after watching Toy Story, ya feel me?

Cooking (Inherited): Kalim is learning how to cook for himself as one step to being more self-sufficient. He only eats food that Jamil prepares, but with Viper’s seal of approval you’ve earned a pass. Essentially anything you both make with pre-approved ingredients is fair game. You pick a recipe every week, give Jamil the grocery list, and he makes sure to have the stuff in the dorm. Jamil is only okay with this so long as you supervise. Teaching Kalim is on your shoulders - and in all honesty? It’s an amazing bonding experience. Jamil can rest easy for a few hours and Kalim isn’t being thrown straight into the deep end. Obviously it’s only a small reprieve, and temporary since back at the Scalding Sands there are regulations in place. Kalim loves wearing matching aprons, humming little tunes while reading recipe books, watching cooking videos, learning about all the nutritional benefits in food, and really gets an appreciation after seeing how much work goes into his favorite dishes. There’s also that spark of joy when you sit down to eat, and it’s somehow one-hundred times better than eating with his family back home. Not that Kailm doesn’t love his siblings, but family really takes a new meaning when you see it coming together right before your eyes.

"Mph th-ish is sho gud! - how do you like it? Should we invite our friends to try some? It tastes almost like Jamil's! I bet if we keep at it, then we can cook up a banquet all on our own. That'll surely put everyone in a good mood!"

Skinship (Developed): Kalim is the type to initiate touch. Not receive it. If you look at his interactions with the others, he’s always the one throwing himself at them or being a vibrant glow-stick. Very few people give that back - and in truth? Like, honest to Seven truth? Kalim’s got no problem with it. Many people have bad intentions. Not everyone wants to be his friend, and that’s fine. They come to him looking to get in his good graces. It’s unnecessary…he’ll happily help without them twisting his feelings. All they need to do is ask. Do you know how easy it is for someone to prick him with a drugged needle? He’s not comfortable with physical contact that he does not initiate, unless it’s from someone he trusts. Like Jamil, Silver, Cater, his siblings, etc. Even they have a limit (which he’s confident will never be crossed, since again, Kalim is almost always the initiator). This list is subject to change…what, you think a family of 30+ kids can exist without animosity? He dreads the day he has to think of one of his little siblings becoming untrustworthy.

Anyways. Trust is a choice for Kalim. His happiness and extroverted optimism is all a choice. Sometimes on an unconscious level (*cough* his awareness of the divide between himself and Jamil, yet pushing the knowledge down until it inevitably hurt them both *cough*). So imagine reaching the point where he trusts you. It could be something small, like the first time you hug him from behind or lace your fingers together. Intimate. Not like Cater’s half sling over the shoulder, not like his little siblings hanging on his legs, or Jamil pushing him ahead while they walk. When he’s not initiating, and Kalim might hesitate for a moment. Hard to picture, I know, but by letting it be he’s choosing to trust you wholeheartedly. All in the span of like 5 seconds, and he might not even realize it until later on. Those of us who shine the brightest, usually have walls that are hard to see. Just some food for thought.

"Really? Really, really?? Really, really really??? Really - Ah! Sorry, I just can't believe it! There's so much I still don't know about them...but they're paying attention to me, huh? That's it! I need to work harder to be a worthy boyfriend! Starting right now, I'll become a better man!" <- Kalim. Sweetie. No. You're already the brightest boy. Your dormmates only brought the prefect's changes up to make you happy! I mean - mission successful? The goal was to motivate him and they technically succeeded. Just not for studying. He's 100% fired up with enough energy to run laps around the dorm now. He doesn't know what to do first, should he get Cater to help make you a playlist? Or have some flowers sent over? Would you prefer red roses or a mix of violets with chrysanthemums. Wait. Grim's 'technically' a cat, right? He should make sure not to send anything harmful to kitties. Maybe some tuna for him with chocolates for you? But this gift should be something you can keep. Ohhhh he is vibrating from excitement. He needs to show how much he loves you. Your attention and care truly means the world to him.

Habits You Steal:

Bug Spray (Developed): Jamil can and will throw you under the bus when faced with insects. Big hit to his pride, not his best moments, but he is NOT dealing with the absolute infestation at Ramshackle. You are spraying that place with heavy duty RAID if you want him over longer than ten seconds. If he so much as catches a GLIMPSE of a roach - nah. Just nah. He will shove that dustpan in your hands and send you to war. Don’t call him until it’s dead, the carcass has been disposed of, and you’ve wiped down. Grim’s a cat. Teach his ass to hunt. He needs to pay rent. You think he’s letting the flame-ball follow to the Scalding Sands after NRC? Jamil wants him on hinting duty for scarabs or else it’s time to prep hobo box.

“Burn it….Did you not hear me? I said. Burn. It. Better yet? Burn this whole damn building!” <-First night he decides to let Kalim handle Scarabia and humor you with a sleepover - and a giant spider decided to invade the shower. We’re talking big spider, maybe pregnant. Please keep in mind that during the VDC prep, Vil had Ramshackle deep cleaned. So the worst Jamil saw was a few ants. Now, the science club does meet in the Ramshackle garden often since you’ve cleaned it up, and Trey may grow plants that make the place insect central. Jamil was unaware of this. The gut wrenching scream that echoed through every room in the house. You’d think one of the ghosts pulled a cruel prank - but no. You didn’t even get a moment to investigate. The bathroom door flew open, Jamil running out still wet and drenching his pajamas. The death glare and spew of curses was the most genuine you’d ever seen him. Well, it could have been appreciated if not directed at you. Fix it or he will never set foot in this place ever again.

Spice Tolerance (Inherited): Not much to say here. He likes his food spicy. Sure, Jamil isn’t great with his words so his main love-language is bringing over tubbaware filled with food, and he does cater to your preferences more often than not. Except you undoubtedly will be eating what himself and Kalim eat most days. Which is packed with flavor. Grim isn’t complaining, food’s food. You? It’s funny to take a chomp out of ghost pepper like it’s a roma tomato, only for Ace to try and then start wheezing. Work them tastebuds, ya scrawny magic man. Heh.

"Can't handle the heat? Curry's a versatile dish. I could make something mild next time...you still want it? Why? Just because it's my favorite, doesn't mean you have to like it. Still not going to give it back? Alright. Lets see you clean that plate then." <- Flattered that you want to experience his favorite foods prepared to his tastes. For the record - Jamil likes it spicy spicy. Hotter than fiery vindaloo. Its an acquired taste and he really can alter the recipe if its too much. Won't unless you ask, because it's funny and oddly romantic seeing you sweat just trying to make him happy (Will hit the breaks in if you are getting sick from it. Does not play around).

Braids (Inherited): Paired with Jamil’s developed trait. Braids or hair beads - take your pick. Maybe both? Or a headscarf. His little sister - Najima, do you remember her? She’s the first Viper you get to spend time with during a trip to the Scalding Sands and gifts you either some hair beads or a headscarf as her unspoken blessing. Nothing fancy, and Jamil forced the coin in her hand for it, but she did take you through the markets while he was busy tending to other needs. It’s honestly really sweet, and Jamil will braid the beads or scarf in one of your side pieces of hair every morning (or wrap the scarf around your head. Not fancy like Kalim’s but still a knot he ‘insists’ will look better if he does it since you’re inexperienced. He could teach you. He won’t.)

Silence (Inherited): Shit just does not phase you anymore. Ever heard of the inability to keep calm until there's someone more panicked nearby? Jamil embodies this, being surrounded by emotive people all the time, and his perpetual state of indifference physically does not allow you to feel unsettled. If Jamil isn't bothered, then neither are you. It's that simple. Resting bitch face is contagious. Jamil's ability to handle Kalim comes in handy for raising Grim. You can now ignore his baby face and daily begging for premium tuna. Little kitty needs to expand his arsenal of tricks, because your will is stone.

"Bad day? Grab a cup. The dorm's usually quiet for the next hour. I'll be there in a moment." <- Queen never cry. If anything actually does phase either one of you, it normally ends the same way. Plopped on the floor of his bedroom, sipping hot tea and staring at the wall in comfortable silence while stewing in mutual suffering. Eventually you give him one of those starry sky projectors, and y'all ill stare at that instead. If it's a problem that has a tangible solution then it gets solved. Easy. This is for the 'yeah, life sucks' moments where all you can do is let it be before getting back up again. At least you have each other.

Habits He Steals:

Braids (Developed): Jamil can easily do his own hair. A flick of the wrist and it magically braids itself. Ebony locks carry memories of pain, growth - and change. Small change. Yet change nonetheless, which seemed impossible years ago. There’s something very intimate that comes with fixing another person’s hair. You’re not proficient enough to handle his cornrows (or are you? To his standard? As fast as magic?) but Jamil’s fine with changing his hair style to a simple triple braid, or a braid-band using the framing pieces that can crown around his head. So long as you do it for him every morning.

Fix-It-Felix (Developed): You know that one type of dad? The one who visits your home and looks for imperfections. He comes over, puts fresh produce in the fridge, mends the nail holes in the wall and fixes that one loose board on the steps that you made a habit to avoid. Barely says two words during his visit but seemingly solves half the problems you were procrastinating? This is Jamil. 100% Jamil when he comes to Ramshackle. He needs to make himself useful. And to scold someone. Grim more often than not, but you’re not safe. He really goes ‘bitch you live like this?’ at least once a week. Then proceeds to take preventative measures like a textbook tsundere.

“I put tangerines in the fridge since winter is coming. You need to be getting enough vitamin c and - where’s Grim? Don’t let him eat them all and make sure he knows not to light the fireplace tonight. There’s some cleaner on the bricks that needs to sit for a few hours…you know what? I’ll go with you to get him. Grab your heavy coat, it looks ready to rain.”

Dancing (Developed): Jamil participates in solo-dance during his downtime. It’s not like he had a partner to do duos with. Jamil also was not interesting in cozying up to a stranger just to learn a dance he would rarely have a moment to indulge in. Kalim’s the one who mentioned this in passing to you. His intentions were pure, of course. Just as they always are. He signed you both up for a ballroom dance class as a present for officially becoming a couple! Jamil finally had a partner and time to try, so why wait?! The vice in question wanted to deny since (1) who has time for that, (2) it was off campus, would take three hours out of every weekend for a month and (3) The chance of embarrassing himself was higher than he would like. Yet Kalim is smarter than most think, and purposefully handed the gift to you. Not Jamil. Along with the excited embellishment that Jamil could now do this ‘long desired’ class that really wasn’t high on his radar.

"If it makes you happy...then I don't mind. Just try to avoid stepping on my toes. Otherwise I'll demand compensation. What do I want? Wouldn't you like to know, prefect." <- Five seconds in and he yields. You weren't going to let him out of it - no matter what excuse Jamil came up with. He'll put up with it and get back at Kalim later. The chance to spend time with you for that long is rare, and Jamil isn't the type to squander opportunities. No matter his personal feelings on the 'gift' in question.

Except Jamil finds the entire experience pleasant and hates that it’s all thanks to Kalim. Dancing with you is entirely different than dancing alone. It’s clumsy, new, and honestly tiring since he needs to lead. Especially in anything fast pace like a quickstep or to swing. It’s also three hours out of the week that Jamil isn’t maintaining his composure. Just you, him, and the instructor since Kalim splurged on private lessons. It’s liberating and Jamil wants to keep with it far beyond after the class ends. Even if it’s just slow-dancing in the common room to one of those vintage records stowed at Ramshackle. Seven, let him have this.

‘We’ instead of ‘Me’ (Inherited AND Developed): Automatically assumes that any invites are for you too. Jamil is used to thinking this way. Except the ‘we’ applied to Kalim, with Jamil as a plus one. Jamil did not want to be part of that ‘we’. Hence why he would only refer to Kalim when laying plans out. ‘Kalim has dance lessons at six, then dinner at seven, then study until 10 and then bed. Tomorrow, Kalim’s going to a banquet head by the treasure’s family and then returning to campus.’ The unspoken truth being that Jamil’s schedule matched. He followed, but was never on board with being Kalim’s ‘we’. He has always been a ��me’ and made an active effort to preserve all his ‘me’ moments. For someone so self-aware…Jamil isn’t sure when he began to view you as his ‘we’. Only that when you auto-included him in everything…it was less strenuous than with Kalim. Far less. Easy to adapt. In the past, Jamil believed a partnership to be another chain. Perhaps being a ‘we’ was never supposed to hurt.

“Thanks for the invitation, but we’re staying in tonight…. No, not Kalim. The Prefect. What? I’m not speaking for them. If my word’s not good enough, just go ask the prefect yourself.” <- Other people might look at him and think he’s treating you like Kalim. Oh, how wrong they are.

Texting (Inherited): Jamil’s not used to someone keeping tabs on him. You’re going to see him within the hour, why does he need to call before going to wake up Kalim? Why do you need a text that he’s back in his dorm before you’re able to sleep? Why do you show up in Scarabia at one in the morning, throwing rocks at his window, if he forgets? (Jamil never forgets. He just had to reign in some rowdy first years and couldn’t catch a break. It was on his mind. Really.) It’s not the worst demand. A five minute call while he’s prepping breakfast and a few messages to know he’s going to rest are a small price to pay. Turns out a little rundown of his day before bed makes sleeping a ‘little’ bit easier. Huh.

“I don’t see it.” <- A lie spoken with the most monotone tone possible. Jamil rolls his eyes over the rim of his mug, taking a sip before turning the page in his book. Najima scoffs before returning to her magazine. She can say he’s softened up all she wants. He won’t admit to it. Doesn’t mean she’s wrong in the slightest. Jamil’s well aware that hopes and wants denied to him from birth have begun to stir within him. No matter how small the changes may be, Jamil isn’t foolish enough to give those emotions his attention. Not if he wants to keep them. Good things always escape his grasp…his wounds are too fresh to get comfortable just yet.

[mactavishsgfandwife]

Dad!Simon Helps Your Daughter When She Falls Over :((

inspired by this ADORABLE instagram reel 💞💞💞

Your 3 year-old lets out a little gasp as she slips over on the ice and after a moment of shock, she starts to cry out. No words, just a stream of tears and wails of pain, frozen on her hands and knees, bare palms against freezing, snowy ground.

"Daddy!" she cries out, by which time her father is already knelt down at her side, "Dada!"

"Hey, baby," his usually gruff voice sounds soft and low as he gently strokes his daughter’s hair away from her tear-stained cheek, trying not to show how much it affects him to see her with big, sad eyes and so clearly in pain.

“Tell Daddy where you’re hurt.”

"M- m- my knees!" your little girl sobs, leaning into her father’s chest as he picks her up and cradles her in his arms, just as he did when she was younger.

Her bottom lip trembles, and she whimpers softly into Simon’s shirt, sniffling and covering him in tears. Her little hands are sore from the fall, and your husband takes both of them in one of his much bigger, stronger, rougher hands, his thumb gently caressing her knuckles.

"Let me see…" he gently rolls her trouser legs up to see her knees, which aren’t bloody but just a little sore and grazed from her fall. Taking care not to hurt her fragile skin, he leans closer and gently kisses her chubby toddler legs better. It looks funny, this big, scary man being so gentle and loving with a little girl in her pink raincoat, but he doesn’t care. Anything for his daughter.

"Need plaster, daddy!"

"You don’t need one, love, you’re not blee-" he looks down only to be met with her big, teary eyes and sad little pout, her tiny heart so sad not to be getting a plaster.

"Alright, y’get a plaster," he chuckles softly, giving her a tender kiss on the forehead, "you’re such a brave girl."

thanks for reading :P

[nhmkhnh]

⋮ ⌗ ┆beneath the rain, they bloomed.

𓏵 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: caitlyn & vi x fem!reader 𓏵 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄: they were once helpless pups in the rain—now they’re full-grown hybrids in heat, and you’re the only thing they crave, worship, and refuse to share. 𓏵 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: hey babes, i'm back with the continuation of my hybrid!caitvi au, much longer scenarios (and i also have a chat bot on janitor ai, the link is in my navigation, andd maybe this post will be a small help about creating scenario and stuff.) 𓏵 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): lowercase, partly explicit content (minors & men dni) ⤷ 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: german shepherd-hybrid!vi ;; black panther-hybrid!caitlyn ;; public jealousy ;; hurt/comfort smut ;; soft overstim ;; worshipping ;; dom!caitvi ;; obsessed caitvi vibey (?) ;; praise kink. ⤷ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 6.3k

previous part / navigation.

prologue.

it always rained in the city when things were about to change.

not just the soft kind of drizzle that kissed windows and made lovers huddle closer, no. tonight was the other kind—the kind that turned streets into ink and poured from the sky like grief. you hadn’t meant to walk this long in it, but buses were slow and taxis were ghosts after midnight. your shoes squelched every few steps, each footfall sending another ripple across the puddled sidewalk. the umbrella you brought had already given up the fight, bones snapped, fabric flapping in the wind like a wounded wing.

but none of that compared to the sound you heard next.

a cry.

faint. wet. fragile.

you stopped in your tracks. rain hammered the pavement, ran in rivulets down your jacket, soaked your hair. you tilted your head, listening.

there it was again. a sharp whimper, broken off halfway. not human, not quite. animal?

you turned toward the alley between two shuttered shops. cracked neon buzzed weakly above the doorway of a closed laundromat, casting the narrow alley in flickering purples and reds. the sound came again, softer this time. desperate.

you almost didn’t see them.

a collapsed cardboard box was tucked between an old dumpster and a stack of broken wooden crates. rain had turned it to mush, but somehow, it still held together—barely. you knelt beside it, heart already tightening.

and there they were.

two tiny, soaked creatures curled against each other. one had ears far too big for its head, trembling as it blinked at you with pale pink eyes that looked both alert and fading. the other was smaller but sleeker, dark fur clinging to a thin frame, one paw stretched protectively over the other’s back. their bodies rose and fell with the shuddered rhythm of survival.

they looked like pups—but not quite.

not normal, at least.

the one with the big ears let out a weak growl, a sound so pitiful it might’ve made you cry if you weren’t already drenched to the bone.

“hey,” you whispered, voice cracking, hands out in front of you. “it’s okay. i’m not gonna hurt you.”

the darker one bared tiny teeth. you didn’t flinch.

“i’m just gonna… take you somewhere warm, alright?” you murmured. “you can bite me later if you want.”

you peeled off your jacket and gently lifted them, wrapping them both in the fabric. they didn’t resist. maybe they knew they didn’t have many choices left.

they were light—far too light—and they didn’t stop trembling even when pressed against your chest. you didn’t care about the weight of the rain or the chill crawling into your bones anymore. you just held them tighter, kept walking.

your apartment wasn’t big. it was barely more than a studio with a heater that wheezed like it had bronchitis and a ceiling that leaked in one corner. but it was dry, it was warm, and it was safe.

you dried them off with the softest towel you had and laid them beside a space heater, then poured a saucer of milk—not knowing if they’d even drink it. the small one did first, tentative and twitchy. the bigger one followed, flopping over halfway through and burping loud enough to make you laugh.

you named them that night.

the pink-eyed one who huffed like she owned the place, with oversized paws and a stubborn growl? vi.

the sleek, quiet one who moved like a shadow and blinked with something far too intelligent in her gaze? caitlyn.

you had no idea what you were getting into.

weeks passed.

they grew fast. faster than any normal pups should’ve. vi’s ears finally matched her head. caitlyn started climbing onto shelves that were way too high for a creature her size. they learned how to open the fridge. they liked blankets. vi chewed through four of them. caitlyn stared at the ceiling like she was doing calculus.

they were weird. but you loved them.

you didn’t question the way their eyes sometimes seemed too human. or the way they made expressions that looked… knowing. you didn’t think too hard about how vi tried to mimic the way you opened doors with her paws. or how caitlyn watched you brush your hair, like she was memorizing every movement.

you didn’t question anything—until the day they weren’t pups anymore.

it started with the sound of something falling.

you rushed out of the bathroom, still drying your hair, only to stop dead in your tracks at the threshold of your bedroom.

the bed was a mess. so were the sheets.

and standing in the middle of the chaos were two girls.

naked. human-shaped. but not human.

vi had wild strawberry-pink hair that tumbled down in uneven waves, her ears still unmistakably pointed, fur-lined. a long, sleek tail swayed behind her as she bent forward on bare feet, panting like she’d just run a mile. her eyes were golden, animal-like.

caitlyn stood taller, wrapped in one of your hoodies—when had she learned to do that? her black hair spilled down her shoulders, eyes glowing midnight blue in the low light. her claws peeked out from one hand where she clutched the edge of the sleeve.

you said nothing.

they said nothing.

for a long, trembling second, all three of you just stared.

then vi grinned. sharp teeth. head tilt. same cocky little huff from when she was a pup.

“hey,” she said, voice raspy but smug. “told you we weren’t normal.”

you passed out.

when you woke up, it was to the sound of caitlyn’s voice.

“…she’s fine. her pulse is steady.”

“she’s gonna freak out,” vi muttered. “told you this was a bad idea.”

“i told you it was bound to happen eventually.”

“i liked being carried,” vi said flatly. “no stress, no pants.”

you opened your eyes.

they were sitting at your side—still hybrid, still unreal.

and they looked… worried.

caitlyn leaned in, brushing damp strands of hair from your face with clawed fingers. “you're okay,” she said softly. “we didn’t mean to scare you. we just… changed.”

vi snorted. “that’s one way to put it.”

you sat up slowly, eyes darting between the two of them.

“changed?” you whispered. “what are you?”

caitlyn hesitated.

vi leaned in, propping her chin on the bed. “yours,” she said, eyes gleaming. “if you want.”

it started with something so small.

so stupid.

you were sitting on the floor of the living room, cross-legged, hair tied up in a messy bun, sleeves rolled to your elbows, laughing.

caitlyn was beside you, elegant as always even when kneeling, showing you how to fix the broken old camera you found at a flea market. her claws were careful, precise. you’d been watching her hands—marveling at the way her long fingers moved with quiet confidence.

"you’re good at this," you said, eyes sparkling. "were you, like, a tech genius panther or something?"

caitlyn smiled—soft, rare. “something like that.”

you laughed again. “can i be your assistant?”

and that was when vi, perched on the edge of the couch with a ripped protein bar in hand, made a sound that could only be described as a growl.

you didn’t hear it, too busy giggling.

but caitlyn did. she stiffened. her tail flicked once behind her, slowly, like a warning.

vi stood up, the snack forgotten. her tail lashed behind her, heavy boots thudding on the hardwood floor.

“you always look at her like that?” vi asked, voice low, sharp.

you blinked, caught mid-laugh.

caitlyn looked up, cool and unreadable. “like what?”

“like she’s yours.”

“i don’t need to look like anything. i just am.” caitlyn’s voice sharpened. “you’re the one who sulks every time she hugs me first.”

“i don’t sulk,” vi snapped.

“yes, you do. you make that ridiculous sound with your throat and act like someone kicked your tail.”

“oh, i’m so sorry i don’t sound like a damn opera singer when i’m jealous—”

“jealous?” caitlyn’s eyes glinted. “i earned her affection. you just chase it like a puppy.”

vi’s ears pinned back. “say that again.”

“girls—” you started, heart lurching.

but it was too late.

vi took a step forward, shoulders hunched, hands curling into fists at her sides. “she brushed your cheek and you fucking purred. don’t think i didn’t hear it.”

caitlyn stood slowly. “and you whined all night when she kissed my forehead. are you really trying to argue dignity with me right now?”

“i’m trying to argue you back off—”

“enough!” your voice cracked like a whip, high and trembling.

both women froze.

you stood up so fast you nearly stumbled, eyes wide, chest tight. the tension in the room was like a stormfront, crackling, oppressive. vi’s claws were out. caitlyn’s pupils were slit.

you took a shaky step back.

“y-you’re fighting over me? like—really?”

vi’s expression faltered. caitlyn blinked.

“you’re both—beautiful, and cool and… claws and tails and i’m literally just trying to learn how to fix a camera—what the fuck just happened!?”

you looked genuinely panicked, your voice shaking, body stiff.

and then vi was moving forward, hands out, panic overtaking her pride. “wait—wait, cupcake, don’t freak out, i wasn’t gonna—like—we wouldn’t actually—shit, shit—”

caitlyn’s claws retracted instantly. “she’s frightened.”

“no, no,” you mumbled, flapping your hands. “i’m fine. this is fine. just—just maybe don’t growl at each other over me? you’re both hot. i get it. but i am so easily startled, okay? like, horribly. i once cried because a toaster popped unexpectedly. so please.”

vi blinked. “a toaster?”

you nodded, still wide-eyed.

caitlyn sighed. “…you do have a rather delicate nervous system.”

“thank you for noticing!”

silence.

and then—vi snorted.

caitlyn raised a brow. you stared between them.

and then all three of you burst out laughing.

vi stepped forward first, wrapping her arms around you from behind, pressing her face into the crook of your neck. “sorry for growling. i just hate how she talks to you.”

caitlyn, not to be outdone, slid in on your other side, draping her arms around both of you, chin resting on your shoulder. “and i hate how she looks at you like she wants to eat you alive.”

you whimpered.

“that’s not helping, cait.”

“she likes it,” caitlyn purred.

you smacked her thigh, cheeks burning.

and vi just grinned into your hair. “she really does.”

the storm outside was gentle this time—more of a lullaby than a warning. rain tapped rhythmically against your bedroom window, a calming beat that should’ve rocked you to sleep hours ago.

but you were wide awake.

sandwiched between two warm, very still bodies. and they were watching you.

vi was curled at your back, one arm thrown lazily over your waist, tail flicking every now and then against the sheets. her breath was hot against your neck, and you could feel her resisting the urge to bury her face in your skin.

caitlyn was in front of you, arm tucked under your pillow, her leg draped possessively over yours, sharp blue eyes watching your every blink. her fingers traced idle, featherlight lines along your hip like she was drawing a map only she understood.

you shifted.

both of them growled.

quietly. but still.

your eyes snapped wide open.

“i can’t move,” you whispered, panicked but not… entirely upset.

“you don’t need to move,” vi murmured against your nape. “you’re right where you belong.”

caitlyn hummed in agreement, her nose brushing your forehead. “she’s warm. don’t ruin it.”

“i’m overheating.”

“you’ll survive,” caitlyn said sweetly.

“barely,” you muttered, heart doing gymnastics.

vi’s hand slid just a little lower across your stomach. her nose brushed your shoulder. “you smell good when you’re flustered.”

“oh my god—”

“don’t take the lord’s name in vain, sweetheart,” caitlyn murmured, dipping down to kiss your collarbone. “you’re tempting fate enough.”

you stopped breathing.

that kiss burned through the thin fabric of your shirt like it was nothing.

vi’s grip on your waist tightened, and her voice went dangerously low. “that’s not fair, cait.”

caitlyn smiled. “you started it.”

“don’t care,” vi growled. “if you’re gonna touch her like that…”

she didn’t finish.

she didn’t have to.

because the next thing you knew, caitlyn’s lips were grazing your throat while vi’s palm slipped under the hem of your shirt, the heel of her hand pressing firmly against your stomach like she needed to feel you breathe.

you squirmed, a soft sound escaping before you could stop it.

and everything stopped.

both hybrids froze.

vi’s breathing turned ragged. caitlyn’s tail twitched once.

“say it,” vi murmured.

“say what?” you whispered.

caitlyn brushed your hair back with a reverence that made your skin tingle. “say you want this.”

your pulse thundered.

you turned your face, just barely, brushing your lips against caitlyn’s jaw as your hand reached behind to grab vi’s wrist. you didn’t push her away.

you pulled her closer.

“i want this,” you breathed. “i want you. both of you.”

and they fell on you like you were the only thing keeping them alive.

vi kissed the back of your neck, nipping lightly, growling low in her throat. caitlyn cupped your cheek and kissed you properly—deep, slow, possessive. like she’d waited months to taste you and wasn’t going to waste a second.

their hands moved together. soft. then firmer.

claws never hurt you. tails wrapped around your legs. teeth nipped at thighs. and mouths whispered sweet, sinful things as the rain kept falling outside, covering your cries.

you didn’t sleep at all that night.

and neither did they.

because now that they’d had you—really had you—they weren’t about to let you go.

you woke up to war.

or at least, the hybrid version of it.

the scent of coffee was thick in the air, but the growling—that wasn’t normal. neither was the sound of a plate shattering.

you stumbled out of bed wearing vi’s way-too-big shirt, padding barefoot into the kitchen with your hair an absolute crime scene. and then you stopped, blinking slowly.

caitlyn stood near the stove, graceful and completely composed, wrapped in your black silk robe like it was made for her. her lips were painted with that smug little smirk she wore whenever she was feeling competitive. her tail swayed behind her lazily, but her claws were out.

vi was shirtless in nothing but plaid boxers, leaning back against the counter with her arms crossed and a vein in her jaw visibly throbbing.

“i said,” vi repeated, “i was going to cook her breakfast.”

“you were going to give her food poisoning,” caitlyn said coolly, flipping a pancake with the calm of a seasoned sniper. “she deserves actual nutrients. not mystery mush with hot sauce.”

“it’s eggs and beans,” vi snapped. “it’s got protein. it’s literally fine.”

caitlyn didn’t even look at her. “she nearly died the last time you tried to ‘fry something.’ you boiled oil, vi.”

“i boiled it with confidence.”

you rubbed your eyes. “what in the hybrid hell is going on—”

vi’s head whipped around. “cupcake!”

caitlyn’s ears perked. “darling. you’re awake.”

and like two wolves spotting the same piece of prey, they rushed you.

vi was faster. she got to you first, scooping you up with zero warning and pressing a kiss to your forehead that nearly knocked your soul loose. “you hungry, baby? i made—uh, okay, i tried to make pancakes.”

caitlyn slipped in behind you, hands sliding up your waist like they belonged there. “she means she burned the batter, shattered the spatula, and nearly set the toaster on fire.”

vi growled. “snitch.”

you blinked between them, still dazed from the heat of their bodies and the lingering ache between your thighs. “can i just… have cereal?”

silence.

caitlyn’s eye twitched. vi’s ears drooped.

“don’t you want my protein pancakes?” vi mumbled, crushed.

caitlyn pouted. actually pouted. “i was going to make a lavender honey latte for you…”

you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “you both literally destroyed the kitchen.”

as if on cue, something behind them sparked. a wire? a ghost? you didn’t want to know.

you sighed. “okay. one of you makes breakfast. the other one makes coffee. no fighting. no claws.”

they both looked at each other.

then at you.

then at each other again.

“…rock paper scissors?” vi offered.

caitlyn rolled her eyes. “fine.”

three seconds later, vi grinned in victory. “yeah. scrambled eggs, here we go—”

“you used rock again, didn’t you?” caitlyn asked, resigned.

vi shrugged. “rock is strong.”

you sat at the counter, still half-asleep, watching vi fumble with eggs and caitlyn prep a perfect cup of coffee with steamed milk and a cinnamon stick.

and despite the chaos, the tension, the hybrid-level pettiness… your heart felt so full.

because they were fighting over you.

your hunger. your comfort. your smile.

and somehow, that was the most intoxicating thing of all.

it started with a sneeze.

just one.

you didn’t even notice it. just sniffled, rubbed your nose, kept scrolling on your phone like normal. but vi froze. like full-on stopped mid-step, tail straightening.

“was that a sneeze?”

you blinked. “…yeah?”

she squinted. “again.”

you stared at her. “vi, i can’t sneeze on command—”

“again.”

then caitlyn poked her head out from the bedroom, eyebrows already furrowed in medical concern. “did she sneeze?”

“she sneezed,” vi confirmed darkly.

“shit.”

you raised both hands. “i am fine, oh my god.”

they didn’t believe you.

five hours later, you were in bed.

against your will.

caitlyn had taken your temperature three separate times—once manually, once with a digital thermometer, and once with a forehead scanner she swore was more accurate.

“101.2,” she muttered, pacing near the window with a tablet in hand. “slight fever. could be viral. need fluids. possibly tea. i’ll prep ginger lemon—”

vi was perched at your bedside, staring at you like you were glass. her ears were down. her tail was curled around her ankle. she hadn’t moved in ten minutes.

“breathe again,” she said quietly.

you cracked one eye open. “vi—”

“again.”

you sighed and inhaled loudly, theatrically.

vi nodded. “still alive. that’s good.”

“vi, it’s just a cold.”

she glared. “says you. your nose is red. your hands are cold. you made a noise like a dying squirrel twenty minutes ago.”

“that was a cough.”

caitlyn returned with tea and three different herbal syrups. “we’re monitoring your vitals every hour. i’ve written it down.”

“you what—”

“rest,” caitlyn interrupted, pressing a cool kiss to your forehead. “doctor’s orders.”

“you’re not a doctor!”

“she wears glasses,” vi said. “that counts.”

you groaned and rolled over, pulling the blanket over your face.

ten seconds later, two warm bodies slid in beside you—caitlyn behind, vi in front. sandwiched again. pinned.

“guys. i’m not dying.”

“you coughed in your sleep earlier,” vi murmured, curling her arm around your waist. “it broke my soul.”

“i nearly cried,” caitlyn added softly. “but i didn’t want to get emotional. you know. in case it shocked your immune system.”

you poked your face out of the blanket like a disgruntled burrito. “are you both insane?”

they kissed your cheeks at the same time.

“absolutely,” caitlyn whispered.

“for you?” vi grinned. “yeah.”

by the time you drifted off, warm and exhausted, caitlyn had her chin tucked above your head, purring lightly. vi was mumbling something about making soup tomorrow, even if she had to fight the stove again.

and despite the sore throat and fever dreams, you had never felt more safe.

it was one compliment.

one harmless, off-hand, "hey, that color looks great on you."

the cashier smiled, scanning your snack items. you smiled back because—you know—politeness. maybe you laughed a little. maybe you touched your hair.

maybe that was a mistake.

because vi had heard it.

and vi saw everything.

from the moment that cashier's eyes lingered too long on the curve of your neck, vi was locked in. her ears perked. her nostrils flared. her jaw clicked. a deep growl started building in her throat like thunder crawling over gravel.

she took one step forward.

and caitlyn stopped her.

with a single touch to vi’s forearm and a soft, “let me.”

vi bared her teeth. “he looked at her like he wanted to breed her.”

the couple behind you in line choked on their gum.

“let. me,” caitlyn repeated, calm as a loaded gun.

you tried to pay quickly.

“you’re beautiful,” the cashier said again, fumbling with the change. “sorry. that was—uh—forward.”

“it’s okay,” you said, smiling weakly. “i—uh—appreciate it.”

which was when caitlyn stepped forward.

and leaned across the counter.

her smile was razor-sharp. eyes glinting. her voice? soft. deadly. like poisoned silk.

“she’s spoken for,” she said smoothly, claws tapping the countertop. “but thank you for the compliment. it’s nice to know some humans still value their tongues—before losing them.”

the cashier visibly paled.

you froze. “cait—”

and then vi was there, slamming down the candy bar you'd forgotten to grab.

“she already has someone who tells her she’s beautiful daily,” vi growled. “and it ain’t a cashier with a bowl cut and a barcode scanner.”

“vi—”

“let’s go,” caitlyn cooed, taking your hand as if nothing happened. “before she commits a felony.”

outside, you dragged both of them toward the car.

“what the hell was that!?”

vi shoved her hands in her hoodie. “that was restraint.”

caitlyn adjusted her coat, tail flicking as she looked off toward the street. “i let him live. that’s growth.”

“he complimented my sweater. that’s not a crime!”

vi glared. “he wanted your sweater off.”

you groaned. “i can’t take you two anywhere.”

but neither let go of your hands.

you sighed, giving in. “you know i’m not interested in anyone else, right?”

“we know,” caitlyn said gently, tugging your hand to kiss your knuckles.

“doesn’t mean we like people testing the limits,” vi muttered. “you’re ours. not theirs.”

you opened your mouth to argue—

but then vi kissed your jaw.

and caitlyn kissed your temple.

and just like that, your brain short-circuited.

“…fine,” you whispered, cheeks burning. “next time someone flirts with me, i’ll just bark.”

vi’s eyes lit up. “do it. i’ll wag my tail.”

caitlyn purred. “or growl. let’s match.”

you dragged your hands down your face.

what had you gotten yourself into?

(…love. you got yourself into love. violent, overly dramatic, hybrid love.)

it had been a long day.

your muscles ached, your brain was fried, and the only thing you wanted was ten solid minutes alone in hot water without someone either growling over your attention or stealing your snacks.

so, you bribed them.

“i’ll take a bath. alone. for twenty minutes. if no one comes in—” you said sternly, pointing at vi, “—there will be cuddles.”

“and popcorn,” vi added hopefully.

“and a movie,” caitlyn said.

you sighed. “…sure. but alone, vi.”

vi grinned with a wink. “fine. i’ll guard the door.”

“i don’t need a—oh never mind—”

and into the bath you went.

twenty-five minutes later—because you allowed yourself a little more soak time—you emerged from the steam, towel wrapped around your body, hair dripping down your back, and blissfully relaxed.

until you stepped into the bedroom.

and stopped.

because there—curled up together in a tangled mess of limbs and fur and rumpled fabric—were vi and caitlyn.

sleeping.

on your clothes.

your freshly folded stack of laundry was no longer folded. your favorite hoodie? wrapped around vi’s shoulders like a security blanket. your pajama pants? clutched by caitlyn, pulled to her chest as she purred in her sleep. a pair of your socks dangled from vi’s ankle. your underwear was tucked beneath caitlyn’s cheek like it was a freaking pillow.

you stood there, dripping, baffled.

“…what the fuck,” you whispered.

vi twitched in her sleep, tail flicking lazily across the floor. “mmph. ‘s yours. smells good…”

caitlyn mumbled something unintelligible and buried her nose deeper into the hoodie sleeve.

you blinked. once. twice.

your heart was a puddle.

you knelt beside them carefully, brushing vi’s hair back from her flushed cheek. she nuzzled your hand like a puppy.

“i said no invading the bath,” you murmured. “not a word about clothing pile nesting.”

caitlyn cracked one eye open. “wasn’t the bath. we followed the scent.”

“what are you, bloodhounds?”

vi yawned. “she’s mine, i’m allowed to sniff her stuff.”

caitlyn huffed, voice sleepy and soft. “ours.”

they both tugged you down into the pile.

you yelped. “guys—i’m wet—”

“we don’t care,” vi mumbled, pulling the towel loose to wrap her arms around your waist.

“you’re warm,” caitlyn added, dragging her leg over yours. “stay.”

so you stayed.

wrapped in your own clothes, in the middle of your room, cuddled between a purring panther and a grumbling guard dog who refused to let go.

and for once… you didn’t even want to fight it.

you didn’t mean to cry.

you’d made it through the whole day pretending you were fine. the fake smiles, the half-laughs, the tightness in your chest you swore you’d deal with later. and then “later” came. and it was quiet.

and in that silence—alone in your room with only your thoughts—you broke.

you didn’t sob. you just leaked. tears fell like they were too used to it. you curled into yourself on the edge of the bed, fingers clenching the blanket like it was the only thing holding you together.

you thought you were being quiet.

but they heard you.

of course they did.

vi was the first in.

no knock. no sound. just a warm body sliding behind you, big arms wrapping around your stomach like she could physically shield you from whatever it was eating you alive.

she didn’t say anything.

she just held you.

then came caitlyn—silent steps, graceful as ever. she slipped in front of you, kneeling between your legs, thumb already brushing at the tears you hadn’t wiped away yet.

“what happened?” she asked gently, voice low, velvet-soft. “what hurt you?”

you shook your head. “i’m just… tired.”

vi kissed your neck, a quiet, grounding thing. “you’re not just anything.”

caitlyn leaned in, her lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “we’re here. you’re safe. you don’t have to hold it alone anymore.”

something broke in you.

and you kissed her. hard.

salt still on your lips. breath shaking. like a confession. like a scream.

caitlyn moaned softly and kissed you back, deeper this time. vi’s hand slid up under your shirt, resting just beneath your ribs. she didn’t move—just held.

“can we…?” caitlyn asked, her forehead pressed to yours. “touch you like you deserve?”

you nodded.

and the world turned liquid.

vi was behind you, mouth hot on your shoulder, her breath ragged, starving. caitlyn was in front, undressing you with reverence, like every layer was a wound she was unwrapping to heal.

“you cry like no one’s ever held you properly,” caitlyn whispered, thumb stroking your hipbone.

vi bit back a growl. “then let’s teach her what it feels like.”

hands everywhere. mouths trailing heat. your back arched, your whimpering breath caught between caitlyn’s lips as vi’s hands spread your thighs. everything they did was slow, intentional. meant to be felt, not rushed.

you were worshipped.

you were undone.

caitlyn’s tongue on your chest, vi’s fingers sinking into you like they belonged there, both of them whispering your name like a vow. you sobbed again—but it wasn’t from pain this time.

it was from being wanted.

from being touched like you were precious. like they’d fight death itself to keep you safe.

and when you came, they held you through it. let you shatter in their arms. let you cry and gasp and cling like they'd never let you fall again.

because they wouldn’t.

not ever.

afterward, caitlyn cleaned you with warm cloths and shaky hands. vi curled around your side, kissing your temple every few seconds like a timer. you were tucked between them, bare and breathless, skin still glowing from where they’d worshipped it.

"you’re never alone," caitlyn murmured into your hair.

vi’s voice, low and sleepy: “you’re ours, cupcake. let us take the weight next time.”

and for the first time in a long time—

you believed them.

you didn’t notice anything at first.

sure, caitlyn had been… quiet. like, real quiet. not the usual cool, calculating caitlyn silence. this was the kind of silence that came with clenched jaws and pupils blown wide like twin moons. she watched you like she was trying to memorize your temperature.

and vi?

she was jittery.

kept pacing. kept growling at nothing. wouldn’t sit on the couch, just hovered behind you like she was working security at a club called touch her and die.

you were oblivious.

so you did what anyone would do when their two very warm, very attractive hybrid girlfriends started acting weird and strange and unreasonably tense.

you got closer.

“are you two okay?” you asked sweetly, peeking into the kitchen where caitlyn had been standing perfectly still for the past ten minutes, staring at the fridge without opening it.

her head whipped toward you.

you blinked. “…hungry?”

“no,” caitlyn said quickly. too quickly. “you just—um—smell different.”

you sniffed yourself. “is that a bad thing—?”

“no,” she said again, eyes sharpening. “it’s… intoxicating.”

you giggled. “aw. thanks—”

she stepped back. physically. like you were dangerous.

which was hilarious. you were literally in pajamas with a little duck on the front.

meanwhile, vi had buried herself in the laundry pile.

not doing laundry. in the pile.

you found her gripping one of your hoodies like it had offended her ancestors, nose pressed so deep into the fabric she was practically vibrating.

“vi?” you called gently.

she groaned.

“are you okay?”

another groan. louder.

“…are you hurt?”

“yes,” she snarled, voice muffled. “in my fucking soul.”

you frowned and knelt beside her. “what’s wrong?”

vi finally looked at you.

and her eyes were glowing.

“i’m trying so hard not to mount you right now, cupcake,” she said through gritted teeth.

you short-circuited.

“i’m sorry???”

caitlyn swooped in like a shadow.

“she’s in heat,” she said, glaring at vi. “and so am i.”

you stared between them, baffled. “heat? like… animal instinct heat?”

vi groaned. “you say it like it’s not ruining my life right now.”

caitlyn pressed a hand over her mouth, breathing slow. “it’s temporary. we’ll stabilize.”

you, brain still buffering: “so… this is like a… no-sexy-time moment?”

vi growled.

caitlyn hissed.

ah.

“or… maybe it’s very sexy-time and i should shut up?”

vi was already standing. caitlyn was already locking the door.

your back hit the wall. hard.

“you’ve been crawling all over us all day,” caitlyn said, tone dangerously soft.

“you’ve worn our clothes. touched our hands. slept with your face in my chest,” vi added, eyes wild.

“…i didn’t know—”

caitlyn’s lips brushed your cheek. “you do now.”

vi’s breath hit your ear. “and you’re not getting out of this room until we’ve burned it out.”

you lost track of time somewhere between caitlyn’s third orgasm and vi’s fifth growl of "she can take more."

the air was thick—warm and sweet with sweat, skin, and something heady you couldn't name. the sheets were ruined. the blankets were long gone. the mattress dipped from bodies constantly shifting, pressing, pinning you down so gently it broke your heart.

it had been hours.

maybe days.

you were half-naked and wrecked, sprawled out like a feast between two starved predators who didn’t want to hurt you—just love you until you forgot your own name.

your thighs trembled from vi’s mouth, still slick and twitching from the last time she whispered “just one more, baby, give it to me, you’re doing so good.”

and caitlyn?

she was kissing down your spine like she was apologizing for how long she’d kept you full.

"you should've said stop," caitlyn murmured against your back, voice wrecked with restraint. “but you looked so pretty when you cried.”

you whimpered, barely able to speak, hips twitching weakly as vi lazily ran her fingers along your inner thigh.

“too much?” vi asked, teasing.

your breath hitched.

she grinned, tongue licking over her teeth. “didn’t think so.”

the first night, they were careful.

almost reverent.

caitlyn had spread you open slowly, fingers precise, patient, mapping your reactions like they were coordinates on a battlefield. she touched you like every moan was sacred, like every twitch was her reward. she didn’t stop until you were arching up, crying out her name like a mantra.

vi had waited.

staring. panting. pupils wide.

and then she’d taken you.

not roughly—no. but deeply. fully. like she needed to feel every heartbeat through your cunt. she moved with maddening control, whispering broken praise as you sobbed into her neck.

“you’re perfect,” she growled, hips grinding against yours. “so fucking perfect for us.”

you didn’t last long. they didn’t let you.

they pulled it out of you again and again.

you cried. they kissed the tears away.

by the next morning, you were floating.

you’d wake only to soft fingers between your legs, a mouth on your chest, warm bodies holding you down with love. there was no rush. just endless waves of touch—soothing and dizzying.

vi licked lazily at your swollen folds, arms looped under your thighs. “you’re still dripping, cupcake.”

“because you won’t stop touching me,” you gasped.

“exactly,” caitlyn whispered, kissing the inside of your wrist. “we’re not done.”

when they slid inside you—together, fingers first, then something more—you couldn’t speak. just sobbed their names and grabbed for anything you could hold: caitlyn’s shoulder, vi’s arm, the sheets, the headboard. your legs shook. your voice cracked.

they kissed every inch of you through the tears.

“please,” you whined one night, body twitching, soaked and flushed. “i can’t—can’t—”

vi kissed your temple, breath hot. “yes, you can. you’re taking it so well.”

“she’s breathtaking like this,” caitlyn said from behind, brushing hair off your sweaty back. “so pliant. so obedient.”

you cried again.

and they started over.

you didn't leave the bed for two whole days.

they kept you warm, wet, worshipped.

caitlyn whispered sweet nothings between kisses, coaxing more sounds out of you until you melted. vi nuzzled your throat like a dog in love, rutting slowly against your thigh until her breath stuttered and she choked out your name.

they didn’t stop until your voice was raw, your body was glowing, and you had nothing left to give but soft whimpers and the word "mine."

which they echoed.

over and over again.

the world was quiet again.

no more ragged breathing. no more growls. no more teeth dragging along skin in desperate instinct.

just warmth.

just them.

you were nestled in the middle—limp, bare, and utterly spent. vi was curled at your back, arms thrown around you like she never wanted to let go again. caitlyn lay in front of you, fingers tracing lazy circles on your arm, her nose occasionally brushing against yours as her eyes fluttered open and closed.

the sheets clung to your skin like a second layer. your body ached in ways that were tender, glowing. and for the first time in a long time, you felt… whole.

no tension. no performance. just you.

and them.

they hadn’t moved in hours.

not because they were tired (though they were), but because every time you so much as shifted, vi let out a soft, pleading noise in her sleep, and caitlyn instinctively tightened her hold like you were already slipping away.

you weren’t.

you never wanted to.

your voice came out a whisper. a shaky, soft thing. vulnerable in a way that terrified you more than teeth and claws ever could.

“…i love you.”

silence.

you felt vi’s breath hitch behind you. caitlyn froze—her thumb pausing mid-circle on your skin.

you didn’t move. couldn’t.

you weren’t sure if you’d just made a mistake.

then—

vi sat up suddenly, leaning over you, her bangs falling across her face. her eyes were wide, glowing softly in the dim light. “say it again.”

you blinked. “vi—”

“please,” she whispered, barely breathing. “just… say it one more time.”

your heart cracked open. “i love you.”

vi made a sound—something choked and beautiful—and pulled you up into her lap like you weighed nothing, arms wrapping around you so tightly you almost cried.

caitlyn sat up slower, reaching for your hand with shaking fingers. she kissed your palm once. twice. three times. “i didn’t know if we were allowed to hope for that.”

you looked at her, lips trembling. “why?”

“because you could’ve walked away the moment we changed. the moment we started growling and snarling and touching you like we’d die if we didn’t.” her voice broke. “but you stayed.”

“i stayed,” you said softly. “because i wanted to.”

vi buried her face in your neck. “say it again.”

you laughed through your tears. “i love you.”

caitlyn leaned in, forehead pressed to yours. “then let us love you forever.”

the bed was still a mess. your bodies were still sore. there was a faint bite mark on your shoulder and caitlyn had a scratch across her collarbone from where you’d clung too hard.

but none of that mattered.

you were safe.

you were wanted.

and you were theirs.

now and always.

[lazysoulwriter]

only you. - pedro pascal.

requested! thank you for sending, lots of love!

---

You knew this part of Pedro's job. You really did.

Late nights on set. Red carpets. Press tours where he had to smile and laugh with people he barely knew outside of the screen. You never thought you’d be the jealous type — not with Pedro. He was warm, and loyal, and yours in every way that mattered.

But lately... lately it was harder to ignore.

You sat curled up on the couch, the TV playing some mindless sitcom you weren’t even watching. Your phone buzzed constantly on the cushion next to you — notifications, articles, tweets. PEDRO PASCAL SPOTTED GETTING CLOSE TO CO-STAR! A NEW ROMANCE BLOSSOMING ON SET? WHERE'S HIS GIRLFRIEND IN ALL THIS?

You hated how easily the words cut through you.

There were even photos — staged or not, it didn't matter. His arm slung loosely around her shoulders, both of them laughing like they shared some secret world you weren't a part of. It was for the cameras, for the movie, for publicity, you reminded yourself. They needed to sell the chemistry. You knew that.

And yet... you couldn’t shake the feeling. That tiny, ugly voice whispering in the back of your mind: What if he realizes he could have someone easier? Someone just as charming, just as magnetic, who understands this life better than you ever could?

By the time Pedro got home, your heart was a tight knot in your chest.

The door clicked open, and you quickly wiped at your eyes, pretending to be engrossed in the TV. Pedro’s voice floated down the hall, soft and tired.

"Baby? I'm home."

You answered with a weak, "Hey."

He appeared in the doorway, still wearing the casual outfit he'd thrown on after interviews — jeans, a soft, worn t-shirt that clung to him unfairly well. His hair was messy, his eyes a little puffy with exhaustion.

And yet, the moment he saw your face, he frowned. "What's wrong?"

You shook your head quickly. "Nothing. Just tired."

Pedro didn’t buy it for a second. He crossed the room, crouching in front of you so you couldn’t avoid his gaze. His hand found yours — warm, calloused, grounding.

"Talk to me, cariño."

You tried to keep it together. You really did. But it tumbled out of you anyway, raw and broken:

"I just... I know it's stupid. I know you’re just doing your job but—" Your voice cracked. "Everyone is saying things, Pedro. About you and her. About us. And I know you love me, but hearing it over and over... seeing it... it just messes with my head. It feels like maybe... maybe you deserve someone better."

Pedro’s face shifted, from confusion to heartbreak to something almost like anger — but not at you. Never at you. He squeezed your hand tightly.

"Baby. No. No. Don’t even—" He shook his head, looking almost panicked. "You’re the only person I want. The only one."

You sniffled, feeling stupid and small. "It’s just so loud, Pedro. It’s everywhere."

He took your face in his hands, gently, like you were something fragile he couldn’t afford to break.

"Then let me be louder."

You blinked at him. "What?"

Pedro stood, tugging you up with him into a tight embrace. His heart pounded against your ear where you pressed into his chest.

"I should've seen it coming," he murmured into your hair. "Should’ve realized how this would feel for you. I’m so sorry, amor. I didn’t think— I didn’t think it would hurt you."

You clutched the back of his shirt, feeling the tension bleed out of you the longer he held you.

"I don’t care about the movie, about the press," Pedro said fiercely. He leaned back just enough to look you in the eyes. "I care about you. I want everyone to know that. Everyone."

You didn’t even have time to ask what he meant before he was pulling out his phone. With one arm still around you, he opened Instagram, switched to his camera, and took a quick selfie — the two of you together, your puffy eyes and his tender smile.

He didn’t even hesitate before posting it with a caption that read:

"Coming home to my favorite person. Every day, every time. Always. ❤️"

Your mouth dropped open. "Pedro— you didn’t have to—"

"I wanted to," he cut you off, setting the phone aside to kiss your forehead. "No more rumors. No more doubts. You're it for me, baby. Always have been."

You buried your face in his chest again, overwhelmed by the way he didn’t just comfort you — he chose you. Loudly. Proudly. Without hesitation.

Later, as you curled up together under the blankets, Pedro whispered against your temple:

"I don’t care what the world says. I only care about you knowing, deep down, that you’re my home. Always."

And somehow, finally, the noise faded away — leaving only the steady, unwavering beat of his love.

-----

[fear-less]

harry + first time for both of them + set during dh 1 when ron leaves (in this scenario hermione goes with him) + they have kinda experimented before but this is their actual first time

tysm ❤️❤️

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 Your fingers in my hair

pairing: harry potter x f!reader

➥ In which, you and harry are left alone, stressed but glad to still have each other.

warnings: smut, first time, dom!harry, pretend the tent is big and not tiny…lol, y/n used once, pet name (baby), unprotected sex

1.3k words

divider creds: i-mmaculatus & dollywons

The night was unnervingly still, the kind of silence that amplified every crackle of the campfire and the faint whisper of the wind threading through the trees. Harry sat alone outside the tent, his eyes fixed on the flickering flames. He tried to push away thoughts of Ron’s sudden departure and Hermione’s decision to follow him.

He wasn’t sure what to feel. Betrayed? Hurt? Maybe relieved? The tangle of emotions knotted in his chest, making it impossible to settle on any one.

The soft sound of a zipper being pulled back snapped him from his thoughts. He turned to see you stepping out of the tent, your hair tousled from sleep, eyes still heavy with exhaustion. You wrapped your arms around yourself against the night’s chill, pulling your coat tighter as you stepped into the cool air.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked gently, your voice a comforting murmur in the silence.

Harry shook his head. “Too much on my mind.”

You nodded, then sat down beside him. Your shoulder brushed his lightly as you settled into the space between him and the fire. For a while, you sat in quiet companionship, the flames casting shifting shadows around you. Finally, it was you who broke the stillness.

“Ron and Hermione... they’ll come back, you know.” The words came out softly, but there was an underlying doubt that couldn’t be hidden.

Harry didn’t respond right away, his eyes locked on the fire as it danced between you. "I don't know," he said finally, his voice low. "And even if they do… things won’t be the same."

Your hand hesitated for a moment before it reached out to rest on his. There was warmth in your touch, steady and unwavering. Harry didn’t pull away, but he didn’t know how to respond either. The truth was, for so long, he’d been wrapped up in the fight against Voldemort, in the weight of their mission, that he hadn’t allowed himself to think about what he wanted. Not about this. Not about you.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely carrying through the cold air. "I—"

Before he could finish, you leaned in. The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, but there was an intensity to it, an unspoken understanding that Harry’s heart stuttered at the touch of your lips. It wasn’t the first time you’d kissed, but it felt like it was—different, more real, more... inevitable. When you pulled away, your eyes searched his, asking for something he wasn’t sure how to put into words.

But Harry nodded, the unspoken weight between you two finally breaking through. Everything had been building toward this moment—the stolen glances, the unacknowledged longing, the shared silence in the face of everything falling apart.

Your movements were slow, tentative at first, as if unsure whether the fragile spell between you could withstand more. But the hesitation quickly gave way to something deeper, more certain. Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, your touch sending a warmth spreading through his chest, and Harry’s breath caught. His hands found their way to your waist, trembling slightly as he pulled you closer, feeling the urgency of a connection that couldn’t be ignored any longer.

"Are you sure?" he murmured, his voice rough with a mixture of uncertainty and longing.

You smiled softly, your eyes glistening with tenderness, with something stronger. "I’m sure."

Harry, his heart racing and now with your certainty, didn’t waste a moment. Without hesitation, he closed the distance between you, his lips finding yours once more. This time, there was no uncertainty—only a quiet urgency.

You guys had never gone too far, only ever making out and subtle grinding on each other. Harry was determined to change that. So to no surprise, with trembling hands, Harry pulled off your jacket. Minutes later, both yours and his shirts were discarded in the dim glow of the campfire, forgotten on the ground.

He took a moment to look at you, you weren't wearing a bra so your full chest was on display. You were beautiful—breathtaking. Your body, your eyes, your smile. All of you. His heart raced again, though this time it was for a different reason. You, too, had been watching him, your eyes tracing the lines of his chest and the muscles beneath his skin. The intensity of your gaze was enough to make him forget everything except the way you made him feel.

Before he knew it, he was guiding you gently down to the couch, lowering you with a tenderness that contrasted the urgency of his actions. He hovered above you, eyes locking with yours, both of you breathing heavily. 

“Please,” you said breathlessly. 

Harry wastes no time in taking off your pants, now leaving you in just your underwear. 

“Fuck baby, you’re soaked, all for me, yeah?” 

You nodded, too hazy in the head to form any words. Harry Now catching onto your neediness, he wastes no time in taking off his boxers and your panties. The only pieces of clothing that were separating you from one another were now  gone. 

He looks down at you, his gaze intense, a silent question hanging in the air as his eyes search yours for any sign of hesitation. The warmth between you both thickens, and you lock eyes, your heart racing. With a breath that feels too heavy to release, you nod, your body tingling with anticipation and desire, impatience igniting the air around you.

So with no warning, his cock was pressed against your slit and slowly went deep inside you. You cried out in pain and pleasure as he was still against you.

"Shhh, I’m right here," he whispered, his voice low and soothing. "I won’t move until you’re ready, got it?" He leaned down, his lips gently kissing away the small tears that had escaped down your cheeks, his touch tender, grounding you in the moment.

You were a mess beneath him, struggling to take him fully but to Harry, he felt like he was on top of the world–like nothing else could compare. Harry dreamed about him wanting to desperately fill you up and he reckons he's damn near doing that.You grasp onto his back, your fingers digging into his skin, nails pressing deeply into his flesh, a mix of urgency and need coursing through you. He couldn’t help but move forward slightly into you from the sensation, a sharp intake of breath escaping him as the intensity of your touch sent a rush of heat through his body. The connection between you deepened, both of you caught in the rawness of the moment. You let out a soft moan, instinctively tightening around him, the sensation causing him to groan deeply, his lips brushing against your neck as he succumbed to the overwhelming wave of pleasure.

“Harry, you can move now,” you breathed out.You didn’t have to ask him twice; his hips surged forward with a sudden urgency, a raw intensity in his movement that even took him by surprise, the heat between you both building with every passing second.  His hands gripped your waist hard, unknowingly leaving marks that would darken into bruises by morning. You barely noticed in the moment—distracted by the way his breath quickened against your neck, the urgency of his touch, as if every second mattered. 

“Fuck you feel so good around me, youre sucking me in so deep.” He said through a whimper. His words made you clench hard around him, making him let out another moan.

His fingers drew closer down and found their way to your clit. Your moans filled his ears like music, each sound more desperate than the last. It was as though he was the only one who could make you feel this way, pulling you deeper into something neither of you had fully prepared for.  Begging for a release that you were desperately in need of.

"Harry, I-I’m so close..." The words escaped you in a breathless gasp, your face instinctively finding its way to his shoulder as you cried out, trembling with the anticipation of release.

“Does my baby want to come for me? Have you been a good girl? Should I allow you to?” His voice dropped even lower, dripping with a mix of authority and indulgence, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Please… I need it. I can’t take it anymore,” you cried out, your voice trembling with the urgency of your need. Every inch of you burned, desperate for release.

“Shit, cum on my cock, baby.” Harry spoke, his voice full of intensity, but softer now, as if the moment demanded it. His fingers now circling faster around your clit, you could feel yourself on the edge, so close to that sweet release, every nerve in your body on fire with anticipation. WWith one final, powerful snap of his hips, you lost all control, your body trembling as you came undone around his cock. 

When he felt you coming undone, he nearly lost it, your moans, the way you clenched onto him. 

“Holy shit, baby,” he cursed, his thrusts now becoming sloppy, he was nearing his release while you whined, still high off your release. 

“Fuck, take it, take my cum, fuck!” He shot load after load of his hot cum deep into you. Groaning and whimpering like a mad man as he reached his much needed climax. 

As if he couldn't take his weight any longer, he laid on top of you, your fingers subconsciously finding their way to his hair while he wrapped his arms around your waist. 

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[ticifics]

BUNNY

Sirius Black x bunny!animagus!f!reader

Summary: in which Sirius loves to tease his bunny girl whenever he can

Warnings: suggestive, no use of y/n, est relationship

A/N: i thought the way it looked was strange, so i changed the appearance of the post.

Masterlist

Sirius Black had the infuriating habit of teasing you whenever you were in your animagus forms. Transformed into a tiny bunny, you were a stark contrast to the large, imposing dog he became. Whenever you found yourselves alone on the grounds of Hogwarts or tucked away in some hidden corner, Sirius just couldn’t resist. With a speed and precision that made you roll your eyes, he would gently grab you by the scruff of the neck with his teeth, as if you were a toy. Then came his signature look — that mischievous, satisfied glint, almost daring you to react. But the truth was, even when you protested, both of you knew your racing heart wasn’t out of fear.

Now, back in the castle, you were alone in a narrow corridor near the west tower. The earlier conversation — full of laughter, teasing, and that unmistakable intense energy — had evolved into what could only be described as a typical scene between the two of you.

“You really should stop doing that, Sirius,” you grumbled, crossing your arms. “One day your teeth are going to tear my neck. I’m a bunny, remember? Fragile skin and all.”

He, of course, gave you that crooked smile that made your stomach twist. His black, unruly hair fell over his bright gray eyes, and his relaxed posture only added to his dangerously charming aura.

“Oh, but you didn’t seem so worried last time,” he teased, taking a step closer. His eyes danced with mischief, but there was a tenderness there — something he reserved only for you.

“I’m serious, Black. Shameless dog,” you insisted, but your whining tone betrayed you.

Sirius narrowed his eyes, his smile widening. “Shameless, huh? Let’s see about that.”

Before you could react, he took another step, pinning you against the cold stone wall. The weight of his breath seemed to echo in the empty corridor, mingling with the silence that only heightened the tension between you. Sirius was too close, the heat of his body burning through the nonexistent space. His eyes, always so intense, now gleamed with something darker — possession, desire, and that blatant adoration he never hid from you.

The tip of his nose brushed against your neck, trailing slowly, as if he were sniffing out every erratic beat of your heart.

You barely had time to respond before he closed his teeth around the soft curve between your shoulder and neck, biting for real this time. Not hard enough to truly hurt, but enough to be felt — enough to draw out a small gasp you couldn’t hold back. The pain was sharp, intense, and, somehow, almost too good. He held on for a few seconds, as if he wanted to mark you, imprint some part of himself onto your skin, your heart.

When he let go, the heat of the bite lingered, throbbing gently. Sirius pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, and the smile he gave was pure challenge and satisfaction, as if he knew exactly what he had just stirred in you.

“That hurt,” you whispered, though your voice was rougher than you intended.

“Did it?” he asked, his tone dangerously soft — both an invitation and a tease. He tilted his head, and before you could answer, his lips were back at the spot where his teeth had been moments before. Only this time, he used them to soothe the skin. Slow, gentle kisses, as if he wanted to erase the mark he’d just left — or maybe make it impossible to forget.

“You know,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and almost feline, “you didn’t seem to be complaining just now.”

Heat flushed your cheeks, but it was impossible to deny the shiver that ran down your spine. His hands were now on your waist, fingers firm, holding you there as if you might run — which, of course, was never an option.

“Sirius…” You tried to sound stern, but the word came out more like a sigh.

He lifted his head just enough to look at you again, the glint in his eyes almost predatory but somehow endearing in a way that was so, so Sirius. “You complain so much,” he said, leaning in until his lips were a breath away from yours, “but deep down, I think you like it.”

[revelboo]

Can we ask for a 'my favorite accident' update? I'm dieing to know what brakedown does and how knockout would react seeing the reader not at home

Breakdown isn’t having fun

My Favorite Accident Pt 11

Knockout x Reader x Breakdown

• Half tempted to just let you run off into the desert and die, he snarls and shifts on his shocks. It’s not like Knockout would ever know it’s his fault. Knowing the medic cares about your horrible, squishy self for some reason is what guilts him into transforming and chasing after you. And you screech like you’re being bloodily murdered the klik you realize he’s chasing you. Somehow much faster than he’d anticipated, little legs fueled by terror. “Stop running!” He snarls.

• Heart racing, you’re sprinting full out, honestly surprised you’re faster than he is. Very aware that if it had occurred to the big moron to stay in vehicle mode, he could have easily run you down. And you don’t have a plan except not getting murdered and buried out here, your lungs already burning and a stitch tearing into your side to make it very clear you should have worked out more. Because you’re faster, but you doubt your stamina is going to outlast the big, killing machine. Who has apparently decided you’re a little home wrecker.

• Pulling into the lot for the hovel you call home, Knockout waits. Growing more and more irritated when you don’t come out. Deviating from your routine. Or just ignoring him. Growling softly, his avatar flares into existence, getting out and crossing to your door to knock. Silence. Your ugly car is here, so you must be. Banging harder on the door, annoyance flips into worry when he doesn’t hear any sounds through the thin door. Humans are stupidly fragile creatures. Maybe you’re hurt in there? Who’s going to race with him if you’ve done something inconsiderate like die on him?

• Stiffening as the door next to yours opens and a grizzled, ancient human man with a smoking brown thing clenched between his yellowed teeth squints at him. ‘Ain’t home,’ the man grunts and Knockout leans to snag the door knob before the human can close it. “And did you see where they went?” He asks, smiling angrily. Who you left with. Pulling at the door insistently before realizing he’s not winning, the old man scowls. ‘Some big guy dragged ‘em off to their vehicle.’ Real body shifting on his shocks, his avatar bares its teeth at the man. “And did you try to stop this?” Doubts it given the way the man cringes away. Had probably just watched you get kidnapped, kicking and screaming. Oh, he’s going to have fun dismembering whatever fool took you. You’re his.

• How are you so fast for being so tiny? Everytime he almost has you, you throw yourself down, scrambling on all fours like an animal. He’s almost stepped on you twice by accident when you’ve tried to run between his legs. You’re wearing down though, face flushed and breathing raggedly. “Games over, human,” he growls, crouched and servos splayed. He’d backed you to the edge of a drainage canal, there’s nowhere for you to go. Something you seem fully aware of, trembling with exhaustion to almost make him feel guilty. And you tense, looking over your shoulder at the steep concrete incline. You wouldn’t. Calculation in your expression, you suck in a deep breath. “Don’t you dare,” he snarls, swearing when you drop and roll over the edge. For Primus’s sake, what is wrong with you?

Previous

Next

[shelovesosa]

Nanami X pregnant!Reader

a/n: Small Drabble,I miss my future family 💔

He comes home a little later now.

Not because he wants to, but because he knows every hour he works is one you won’t have to worry. He slides the door open quietly, sets down his briefcase, and finds you curled on the couch in one of his sweaters, both hands resting on your growing belly.

The lamp is dim. The house smells like lavender and lemon. And you—his entire heart—you look up at him with that tired smile like you’ve been waiting all day.

“You didn’t eat,” you say softly.

He walks over, kneels in front of you, and presses a hand to your stomach.

“I missed you,” he says instead.

You sigh, combing your fingers through his hair.

“She was kicking again.”

“I’m sorry I missed it.”

“No,” you whisper, “she waits for you now. Just like me.”

He closes his eyes at that. He never thought love could hurt like this. Not in the way that lingers even in stillness. Not in the way that watching you simply breathe could make his chest feel too small to hold all of it.

—

There are moments he wishes he could take your pain.

When your feet swell. When you cry at night because your back aches, or because your body is changing faster than your mind can keep up with. He runs warm baths. He rubs your ankles. He lets you cry into his chest, even when he’s not sure what to say.

Sometimes, he sings to you under his breath. Just a hum. Just something soft to fill the silence when you're afraid.
He kisses your neck and tells you you're beautiful until you stop shaking.

He wants to believe love can be enough.
Even if the world is terrifying. Even if he still has nightmares. Even if there are parts of him that are too quiet, too cold, too broken.

But when you rest your hand on his cheek and say, “She’s going to love you,”
he thinks maybe—maybe it will be.

—

You go into labor on a rainy morning.

He drives with a clenched jaw and one hand on your thigh, telling you to breathe, just breathe.
You squeeze his fingers so tightly he thinks you might break them.

He doesn't care. Hours blur. Time turns to water. But he never leaves your side. Not once.

By the time they admitted you, your pain had sharpened.

Time started to melt together—bright lights, nurses’ voices, monitors beeping, your hand squeezing his like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

You cried once, in the middle of a contraction. Your whole body curled into him, and he couldn’t do anything but press his lips to your temple and breathe with you.

“You’re doing so well,” he said, again and again, his voice low and tender. “You’re strong. You’ve got her.”

Hours passed. Your cries turned guttural. He kissed the sweat from your brow and whispered, “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

And then—The sound of your daughter’s first cry. You sobbed, shaking, and Nanami looked down at the small, pink life that had just been lifted from the air between life and love and pain.

He couldn’t speak. Just stood frozen in place as they wiped her off and placed her into your trembling arms.

You laughed through your tears, “She’s here.”

He came closer. She was warm. Fragile. And real. Nanami sat beside you slowly, arms around you both, forehead to yours.
She let out a tiny yawn.

“She has your mouth,” you said.

“No,” he whispered. “She has your light.”

You rested your head on his shoulder.

He looked at her like he’d never seen anything more terrifying or more sacred. And when you reached for his hand, he gripped it back.

“I’ll protect her,” he murmured, barely audible. “Always. Even from myself.”

You closed your eyes. She breathed. You breathed. He breathed. The world didn’t stop. But in that quiet, sacred hour before dawn—
it finally felt like it could begin again.

[princesseilish]

I have an idea what if we got Billie x sensitive fem reader and like we accidentally broke a cup and Billie was near and she seen us have the biggest pout and teary eyes trying to clean up the glass and apologizing for braking the glass. just an idea maybe

TOO FRAGILE

Billie Eilish x Fem!Reader

Warnings: crying, um and stuff

Synopsis: y/n broke a cup..?

The sharp crash echoed through the kitchen, and Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She stared down at the shattered glass, hands frozen in midair as the reality of what just happened sank in. Her chest tightened, her bottom lip trembled, and her eyes glossed over almost instantly.

Billie had barely stepped into the room when she saw her—her girl standing so small, looking like she was about to burst into tears over the broken cup.

“Baby…” Billie’s voice was soft, careful, but Y/N was already dropping to her knees, reaching for the shards with shaking hands.

“I—I didn’t mean to,” Y/N stammered, voice thick with guilt. “I was just trying to grab it, and it slipped, and—”

Her breath hitched, a single tear slipping down her cheek as she tried to clean up the mess.

Billie was in front of her in an instant.

“Whoa, whoa, sweetheart, no,” Billie said, catching Y/N’s wrists before she could touch anything sharp. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Y/N looked up at her with the biggest, glossiest pout, and Billie swore her heart nearly gave out.

“But I broke it,” Y/N whispered. “I—I should clean it up, I—”

Billie shook her head, rubbing gentle circles into Y/N’s wrists. “Baby, I don’t care about the cup. I care about you.”

Y/N sniffled, eyes flickering back to the mess like she was still determined to fix it somehow. Billie sighed, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Sweetheart, it’s just a cup,” Billie murmured. “It’s nothing. You? You’re everything. And you look way too damn pretty to be crying over this, okay?”

Y/N hiccupped a tiny, wobbly giggle, and Billie grinned.

“There’s my girl,” Billie cooed, thumbing away the tear on Y/N’s cheek. “Now, go sit on the counter, and let me clean this up before you start pouting again and I really lose my mind.”

Y/N hesitated but nodded, letting Billie guide her up onto the counter before she grabbed the broom. And when she was done, Billie wrapped her arms around her girl, nuzzling into her soft warmth.

“You’re way too cute for this world,” Billie whispered, kissing the side of Y/N’s neck.

And just like that, Y/N forgot all about the cup.

[fiakive]

AFTER THE BUBBLES BURST

requested: yes | req: will smith x reader angst to fluff maybe reader sees a text on wills phone from a girl and thinks he’s cheating on her so she avoids and ignores him.

pair: will smith x f!reader

genre: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship.

warnings: swearing, jealousy, emotional confrontation, mention of alcohol, misunderstandings, (waterproof) phone in a bathtub, implied emotional vulnerabilities.

summary: when will comes home late from a night out with the guys, he brings with him the scent of perfume, alcohol, and something heavier… doubt. you try to stay cool. you smile. you fetch him water. but a text from a girl on his phone shatters the fragile trust between you. driven by jealousy and a heart aching for answers, you confront him before he can even rinse the shampoo out of his hair.

fia’s note: heyy anon! i know your request was for the reader to fully ignore him and trust me, i considered it but the more i sat with the idea, the more i kept thinking… if she really did go full silent treatment, then boom, that’s it. no fluff, no tension, no hope, just crickets and heartbreak. and while that’s totally valid and angsty, i couldn’t help myself from adding a tiny twist. i decided to keep the vibe light and throw in a bit of humor instead, just so there’s still something left lingering between them. hope you don’t mind the little change, and i truly hope you enjoy how it turned out! thanks again for the idea, it really got my brain turning!

join fia’s taglist. | pow-wow box.

“Baaaabyyyy,”

Will’s voice drawled as the front door clicked shut behind him. He wasn’t slurring, not yet, but his words stretched just enough to tell you he was leaning heavy on tipsy.

You were sitting on the couch, the TV screen flickering silently in front of you. The time read 2:03 a.m.

“You’re late,”

You said without turning around, trying not to sound like you’d been watching the clock since midnight.

Will kicked his shoes off with a grunt and padded closer.

“Zach wanted to do shots. I didn’t. But he got emotional about his ex, so…”

You turned your head. He was smiling, his stupidly charming smile that could melt steel when sober but now it was softened by too many drinks and the faint red flush in his cheeks. And then you smelled it. The alcohol, yeah but also that perfume. Sweet. Overpowering. Not his. Not yours.

You swallowed hard. “You smell like a headache.”

He blinked, confused, and looked down at himself.

“Oh. Yeah. Probably got hugged by like, six people. Most of them smelled like Sephora.”

You didn’t respond. Just stood and moved past him.

“Go upstairs. Get out of those clothes. Take a shower if you want. I’ll bring you water.”

He reached for you, pulling you in briefly, and pressed a wet kiss to your lips, messy and alcohol-stained. You didn’t pull back, but your smile was paper-thin when you said,

“Go on, Smitty. I’ll be up in a minute.”

Will looked at you for a second longer, as if trying to read what you weren’t saying, but the alcohol dulled his instincts. He nodded and made his way up the stairs, humming something under his breath.

You moved to the kitchen, filling a glass with cold water and breathing through the knot in your chest.

You didn’t want to be this jealous, paranoid girlfriend. But being in love with Will Smith, NHL player, everyone favorite boy of Jose Sharkies, meant you saw things. The way women hovered around him like moths to flame. The way some just didn’t care he was taken.

But it was fine. You trusted him.

Or… you tried to.

When you came upstairs, you placed the glass on his nightstand. His phone was right there beside it. Lit up with a new message.

You didn’t mean to look.

But the screen said.

‘Had fun meeting you tonight :) wish you stayed longer’

From a name you didn’t recognize. No heart emoji. Just a smiley face. But it was enough.

Your throat went dry.

Had fun meeting you.

Meeting. YOU

You blinked at the screen. Because no old friend, friends would word it like that. No girl who knew about you, who respected your existence would even dare.

Your vision blurred as white-hot jealousy rose like bile.

The bathroom door slammed open hard enough to bounce off the stopper.

“Who the fuck is Kaylee?”

Your voice was sharp, dangerous, and already echoing in the steam-filled room.

Will jumped. Actually jumped. Shampoo still lathered in his dark curls, water running down his back, and now staring at you like he’d seen a ghost.

“I. What?”

“You think I’m fucking stupid?”

You stepped further in, your heart thudding.

“You met some girl tonight, and now she’s texting you like you gave her a fucking reason to. You think I wouldn’t find out?”

He wiped shampoo from his eyes, still trying to process.

“Babe, what are you talking about?”

You didn’t wait. You raised his phone like a goddamn gavel and launched it into the bathtub.

*Splash.*

He blinked, water dripping off his nose.

“That’s waterproof.”

“Good,” you snapped.

“Then you can read your flirty little texts while you drown.”

Will shut the water off, breathing slow through his nose like he was grounding himself. He stepped out, grabbing a towel and wrapping it low around his waist. His hair was still sudsy, water trailing down his chest, but his voice was calm. Too calm.

“I didn’t cheat on you.”

You folded your arms tightly over your chest.

“Then explain that text.”

“She was some random girl. She was with a group we ran into. She asked for a photo. I said yeah. Then she got weird.”

“‘Wish you stayed longer’ isn’t weird. That’s flirty. That’s crossing a line.”

“She asked for my number, I said no,” Will said carefully.

“Zach was already halfway drunk, thought it was funny to play matchmaker, gave it out before I could stop him. I didn’t text her. I was gonna block her. But before she walked away, I told her something that you’d probably want to hear.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What.”

Will moved slowly, walked to his duffel bag in the corner and pulled something from the side pocket. A silver ring.

You stared at it.

“What is that?”

“It’s fake,” he said, almost sheepish.

“But I’ve been wearing it when I go out with the guys. Especially when I know they’ll end up somewhere stupid and loud and full of people who don’t care if I’m taken.”

He looked up at you then, honest and flushed, curls sticking to his forehead.

“She asked if I was single, and I showed her this.”

He slid the ring onto his finger. Left hand. Ring finger.

“Told her I was married. Told her I was going home to my wife.”

You blinked. “You… what?”

Will smiled, a little sad, a little proud.

“Yeah. You didn’t know because I never wanted to make a big deal out of it. But I’ve been calling you that in my head for months. Feels more honest than ‘girlfriend.’ You’re more than that.”

Everything inside you, the jealousy, the rage, the heartbreak tilted off its axis.

You stepped forward, heart thudding, looking at the fake ring and the way it seemed to fit too perfectly.

“You told a random girl you were married?”

He nodded. “And showed her this ugly-ass Amazon ring like it meant everything to me. Because it does. Because you do.”

You exhaled, every inch of you buzzing with disbelief and the sudden shift from fury to something close to shame.

“I’m such a dick,” you whispered.

“No,” Will said gently.

“You’re someone who’s been loving a guy in the spotlight and still trying to stay sane. That shit’s not easy.”

“I threw your phone.”

“You’re passionate.”

“I stormed in while you were literally covered in shampoo.”

“You’re dramatic. I like that about you.”

You cracked a laugh, half-choked on guilt.

“You should’ve told me about the ring.”

“I was waiting for the right time,” he said.

“And maybe for a real one.”

Your eyes snapped up. “Wait…”

Will leaned in, pressing a wet forehead to yours, voice low.

“I don’t need a headline engagement or a stadium proposal. But one day… I want the real thing. With you.”

You wrapped your arms around his damp torso, pressing your cheek to his chest. His heart was still racing.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured.

“I’m not,” he said.

“Because now you know how serious I am about you.”

You tilted your head. “You’re still shampooing your hair while saying all this.”

He grinned. “Yeah, but I sound hot doing it.”

You laughed, really laughed this time, the knot in your chest finally loosening.

Later, you’d dry him off with a towel, slide that ridiculous silver ring off his finger and kiss the skin beneath it like a promise.

You woke up to the sound of something clattering violently downstairs. For a second, your brain went to robber. Then earthquake. Then, most terrifying of all ‘Will attempting breakfast without supervision.’

You grabbed his shirt from the floor, padding out of the bedroom with sleep lines on your cheek and hair doing something wildly unflattering. As you crept down the stairs, the smell of… burning toast? eggs?… smacked you in the face.

And there he was.

Will Smith, San Jose Sharks center, casually standing in your kitchen shirtless, wearing plaid pajama pants and a black apron that said ‘Kiss the Cook (Even If He Sucks)’.

But that wasn’t the best part.

On his left hand, glinting in the morning light, was that cheap-ass fake silver ring, yea, right back on his finger like it had never left.

You squinted at him.

“Are you… seriously wearing that thing again?”

Will turned, spatula in hand, eggs in the pan questionably scrambled.

“Absolutely. You thought last night was just drunk sentiment? Nah. This is a lifestyle choice.”

You crossed your arms, hiding a grin.

“You’re lucky I didn’t throw your AirPods in the sink too.”

“I checked,” he said solemnly.

“They’re safe. I kissed them goodnight after the trauma you put us all through.”

You rolled your eyes and walked over.

“You’re not even married, Smitty.”

“Oh, I know,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“But it got me out of at least two awkward conversations at the grocery store last month. This thing’s practically magical.”

He pointed to the ring like it was forged in Middle Earth.

You leaned against the counter.

“So this is it now? You pretending to be my husband in public?”

“Please,” he scoffed. “I’ve been pretending to be your husband in private for months.”

You blinked. “Explain.”

Will smirked and gestured at the chaos around him, the overtoasted toast, the butter melting off the counter, the eggs clinging to the pan like regret.

“Tell me this isn’t husband behavior.”

You laughed, full-bellied and still tired.

“It’s gremlin behavior.”

“And yet, you love me,” he said, sliding a mostly-intact plate in front of you like it was a five-star meal.

You looked at the eggs. “These are crunchy.”

He nodded seriously. “That’s pepper. Probably.”

You stared down at the ring again and sighed.

“You know you can’t propose with that thing, right?”

Will winked. “Noted. But I am wearing it to your cousin’s wedding next month and telling everyone you trapped me.”

You covered your face with one hand and groaned.

“I hate how good you are at this.”

He leaned across the counter, ring glinting in the sunlight, voice low and playful.

“At what?”

You smiled, soft and reluctant.

“At making me forget I was mad at you.”

He grinned. “Babe… I’m irresistible in an apron.”

You threw a napkin at his head.

[synity]

Will you please do svt-member S.Coups with a s/o who broke her wrist/arm trying to save a puppy from being hit by a car or bike(?) and was afraid to tell him so s/o only called him at practice when she was done getting casted or something saying she got a “minor” injury and Coups wanted to come to her at the hospital but she insisted that she’s fine and can go to him instead (trying to prepare herself for what’s to come). She then went to their practice room and tried to hide her casted wrist but he literally snatched her arm out and went crazy or something?

I know, it’s oddly specific but my brain just made that scenario up while I was eating lunch lol

Please feel free to do whatever you want with it

Thank you!❤️

HOLD ON TIGHT

(Choi Seungcheol x FemReader)

*Romantic, Hurt Comfort Slice of life*

The day had started like any other, the sun high and warm overhead as you strolled down the familiar streets on your way home from the café. Your mind wandered over the errands you still had to run, the dinner you wanted to make, and the texts you hadn’t replied to yet.

Then you heard it a sudden, terrified yelp that cut through the city noise.

You glanced up just in time to see a tiny puppy darting across the street right in front of a bike that was hurtling down the lane much too fast.

Without thinking, you bolted after the puppy, heart pounding like a drum in your chest. Your body moved on pure instinct, fueled by a desperate need to protect the little life.

You managed to grab the puppy just before the bike screeched past, but in your hurry and the uneven pavement, your foot caught a crack in the sidewalk. You stumbled, falling hard, your wrist slamming against the rough asphalt.

A sharp, searing pain exploded in your arm, white-hot and merciless.

But the puppy was safe. Wrapped in your arms, it whimpered softly, oblivious to the chaos it had caused.

You stayed on the ground for a moment, catching your breath, feeling the throbbing pulse in your wrist, and telling yourself you were fine.

You weren’t.

The next few hours passed in a blur. Someone nearby had called an ambulance, and after some X-rays and a painful wrap, you were sent home with a thick cast encasing your wrist and strict instructions to rest.

The doctors called it a “minor fracture” and said you’d heal well, but the truth was, your wrist felt heavy and fragile like glass.

You wanted to tell Seungcheol right away, but every time you reached for your phone, anxiety knotted in your stomach. You didn’t want to worry him. He had a grueling practice schedule, and you hated feeling like a burden.

So you waited.

By the time practice was over, exhaustion had sunk deep into your bones. You sat quietly in your room, your cast propped on pillows.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you finally dialed Seungcheol’s number.

“Hey, Coups,” you said softly when he answered, trying to keep your voice casual.

“Y/N? Everything okay?” His tone was instantly concerned, eyes narrowing even though you weren’t there to see it.

“Yeah, yeah. I just… got a minor injury. Nothing serious.” You could feel your voice cracking but forced a smile. “Wrist’s in a cast, but I’m fine.”

There was silence. Then a quiet, disbelieving, “Minor?”

You tried to laugh it off. “Yeah. Really. Don’t worry about me. You have practice. I can come by tomorrow or something.”

“You don’t have to tough it out, you know.” His voice was soft but firm. “I want to come see you.”

“I’m okay. I can come to the studio instead. I want to prepare myself before you see it.”

Seungcheol sighed heavily, but didn’t argue.

“Okay. Just text me when you get here.”

You pushed open the door to the practice room, your cast hidden beneath a long sleeve.

Seungcheol looked up from the group, surprised but smiling.

“Y/N! You came,” he said, relief washing over his face.

You smiled back, trying to hide the ache in your wrist. “Thought I’d surprise you.”

But when his eyes caught the edge of your cast peeking from under your sleeve, his smile faltered. His gaze sharpened as he slowly stood.

“Let me see.”

Before you could protest, he reached out, gently but firmly pulling back your sleeve and then he practically snatched your arm to look at it properly.

His brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line.

“This looks serious. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you whispered

His voice was low and fierce. “You should never have to carry that alone.”

You bit your lip, trying not to cry. “I’m sorry.”

Seungcheol’s expression softened instantly. He pulled you into a hug, cradling you as if he’d never let go.

“Next time, you tell me right away. Promise?”

You nodded, finally letting yourself lean on him.

The next week was a mix of gentle chaos.

Seungcheol became your unofficial nurse checking your ice packs, helping you with meals, and making sure you didn’t overdo it.

Practice wasn’t easy with his busy schedule, but he always found time to call or send voice messages full of teasing encouragement.

“Hey, slowpoke. How’s my favorite superhero doing? Did you save any more puppies today?”

You laughed through your pain, missing the way he could turn your worst days into something bearable.

One afternoon, he showed up at your place unannounced with stickers and markers.

“Time to decorate this cast of yours. We can’t have you walking around with a boring, plain thing,” he said, grinning like a kid.

You let him draw little stars and hearts, even a tiny puppy doodle.

It wasn’t just about the cast or the injury anymore.

It was the way he stayed up late to help you practice simple tasks, the way he listened to you vent about the frustration of being limited, the way his hand never left yours.

You realized healing wasn’t just about the body.

It was about being seen. Being loved even at your most vulnerable.

Seungcheol was teaching you that, one day at a time.

And you were grateful.

[mejaemin]

˚　✦　.　　. 　 ˚　.　. ✦　˚　　. ★⋆. 　.   ˚　　* . ✦　. ˚ . ✦ ˚ 　.　˚ .

untitled - yoon jeonghan

wc: 0.7k summary: jeonghan always knows what you need, and won’t ever hesitate to give it to you warnings: being v sad, being comforted + taken care of an: crazy how the only time i write for my main ult is when i myself need comforting…

˚　✦　.　　. 　 ˚　.　. ✦　˚　　. ★⋆. 　.   ˚　　* . ✦　. ˚ . ✦ ˚ 　.　˚ .

you walk in the front door, and jeonghan’s eyes light up from where he’s sitting in the living room. it warms your heart, truly, seeing the way he goes from all sunken into the cushions right into perfect posture, full of joy. you give him a half assed smile, too lazy and unmotivated to give him anything better. you can’t see it when you reach down to remove your shoes, but his expression softens and he’s on his way over to you to take your bag and help you.

when you stand back up, he’s got a hand on your shoulder, and all he needs to do is give you a look, silently asking do you want to talk? and it’s so sweet, seeing how much he cares to avoid even prompting a conversation when you’re not ready, you shake your head softly, immediately letting your head fall into his shoulder once the tears come.

he pulls you into him, a hand rubbing your back while the other runs over your head. “you’re okay,” he whispers into your hair, voice deep and comforting against your body. “i’m here.”

your patience has been tested many times today, people yelling at you and overall disturbing your peace. you’re good at keeping your cool, letting yourself fall numb to these daily occurrences, and essentially going on autopilot for the entire work day. you were still in that mindset when you got here, but seeing jeonghan, so sweet, treating you with such fragile care, it brings you right back to earth and all that frustration falls down to nothing but tears, your vulnerability coming through. there isn’t even anger anymore, just a feeling of being tired.

you pull your head away, wiping at the wet spot on his shoulder. he chuckles, holding your face in his hands to wipe at your tears with his thumbs.

“come,” he says, placing a hand on your shoulder to lead you into your bedroom. your feet drag, hurting and tired, yet he stays patient, matching your pace until he can finally push the door open and sit you down on the bed.

he sits next to you, letting out a little ‘oof’ as he does so. with calm, gentle hands he helps remove your clothes, gently lifting them over your head. it might be simple, but for every movement you make to help him in the process earns you a kiss on the cheek. words of praise fall from his lips all the way until your done, left in your underwear. wordlessly, you turn your back to him, and his cold fingers leave goosebumps on your arms as he unclips your bra. his eyes stay up as he grabs your discarded clothing, putting it away before grabbing a shirt for you. it’s one of his, on the baggier side.

he slips it on for you and it’s baggy enough to cover some of your legs and feel comfortable. with a gentle nudge he leads you to lay down, pulling the blanket over you before turning to shut the light off. when he comes back to bed, he gets on his side, covering himself with the blanket. he brings you close, draping an arm over your stomach, and eventually his breathing evens. you try to fall asleep too, but there’s too many thoughts plaguing your mind to let you do so.

“hannie..?” you speak up, voice tiny and hoarse due to being silent for so long.

after a beat of silence, you hear a ‘hmmm?’ come from beside you.

“can you..” feeling too exhausted to speak, you just tug on his arm, dragging him a little closer until his body is partially on top of you.

eventually he gets the message, picking the blanket up to scoot over, until he’s finally on top of you, he gently lowers his weight down, nuzzling his head into your shoulder. it’s a common occurrence to have him lay on you, the weight extremely soothing and healing to your mind. he’s more than happy to do it for you at any time, i mean, he’s not exactly one to complain about being held and cuddled every once in a while. finally, you relax, the pressure on your torso allowing your body to finally release its tension and sink into the mattress. jeonghan presses a few soft kisses into the crook of your neck before they finally still, resting against your skin as he sleeps. you’re right there with him, your arms tight around his body as your mind finally calms and you succumb to your own fatigue.

˚　✦　.　　. 　 ˚　.　. ✦　˚　　. ★⋆. 　.   ˚　　* . ✦　. ˚ . ✦ ˚ 　.　˚ .

perm taglist: @chenlezip @coquettejunnie

[dragonsoulage]

The sweet dreamer…

feat. Alucard

You being such a fragile, sleepy thing. Totally emotional when you dreamed of his haunting human life…how you shed tears for him, for a monster. And this, thing touched his dark soul more than you know.

Hello together, it was time for another Alucard story. 🌚 and I just adore this man so much, sitting here like a yearning wife 💀🤣 this time something more angsty. You are a dreamer in this story. What means you can dream about the future, the present and the past but you can’t choose exactly what you want to see. I just saw a TikTok where my poor baby human Alucard suffered and I just wanted to write something to kinda comfort him in that way. I swear idk what I do sometimes but I love him in all his forms 🤣💀😭♥️

Wordcount:2,3k

Warnings: angst, sad, mentions of abuse (Alucards past), still a little fluff I guess, comfort

You were someone speical, how else should it be, you were actually a dreamer.

You were able to dream about past events but also about a future that might come.

It was like you were an alarm system to Hellsing, or a tool able to get on information that was thought to be secret.Evene when you never could chose what you dream.

You were treated with such care, from everyone even Integra herself.

No one wanted you to strain yourself, little did they had known you never had a chance to a restful sleep.

Always seeing things, no matter if it was good or not. But the world contained so much horror, you mostly flinched in your sleep, stirred, because of the intensity you dreamed in.

Not just that you always seemed a little uncollected, like the wind just blew through our mind, looking so haunted, trying to unreavel your dreams in your thoughts over and over again.

But today, oh, today you dreamed something what truly shocked you.

Something that made your blood run so cold, so cruel it made you wake up with salty tears in your eyes.

What did you dream?

Oh, the hurtful past of Alucards past life as human. Since he was around you more often, it simply affected your sleep too.

The tall, and mighty vampire sometimes simply observed the sweet, little doe, sleeping all so undisturbed but so troubled in her slumber.

A sight to behold for him, a sight that kinda calmed him.

Just looking into your serene face until it scrunched up with a slight frown, the way your breathing first so calm then sped up.

He always could tell when you dreamed something bad, it was not hard to actual read that from your face.

But this night, this night he just came back from a mission, you had been alone when you slept. Seeing the horrible thing of a human man, the same raven hair, and eyes...not red but blue, so hauntingly sad, so blunt looking towards his fate, he needed to endure too many times.

Too many times before he turned to be the undead being he is today.

It made your soft heart ache, it made your eyes water, it made your senses feel all the more coldly.

When you dreamed about the past of other people, it was always like you were the one that saw it through their very eyes.

It was nearly unimaginable that someone like him had been used and abused by a high ruler, was discarded and hurt, a soul broken into so many pieces.

Every tiny piece, part after part, was like cut away from someone so good.

Human Alucard, may have not been perfect, but no one deserved this.

Being hurt, and still he would have needed to go to war, what turned out in an insane bloodshed.

Maybe it didn't make it better he had killed his own soldier, should have been punished for it, but after life had treated him with such feet, you felt what he felt at that moment, the eternal darkness, the only thing that accepted him after drinking blood from the battlefield. Making him the true vampire he is today. 

You sat in your bed, with trembling limbs, trying to get up, wearing nothing but a white nightgown, before you grabbed the fabric and literally hurried through the long and dark corridors of the elegant Hellsing Manor, looking for that very vampire.

And when you spotted him, your gaze full of concern toward someone who is gone for so long. Human Alucard did not exist anymore, but you didn't care if he membered or not.

All you wanted to do was to hold the man, to hold the cruel, bloodthirsty creature.

When you found him, without saying anything you tapped over, with bare feet, on the cold marble floor.

You had found him in the grand hall. You stopped right in front of him, the vampire looked down, his expression unreadable since he still wore the glasses. Furthermore, you hurried to wrap your arms around his mid, your face pressed against his chest. He clearly saw you were a poor-troubled soul. 

"Did you dream something bad, little one?" he asked you, a voice soothing like heavy red silk, instead of pulling away he allowed you to search embrace, little did he know it was for him, not for you.

"It's not about what I dream... I mean, it is, but it is not because of me." you mumbled, your short arms trying to hold him tighter.

You heard a small chuckle, Alucard was much aware of your delicate sleep as dreamer, your state you were always in.

He knew even when you seemed confused, you never were. Maybe it was everyone else, who claimed any different things about you.

Alucard just could imagine how exhausting it might be to explain these things, so he was always really patient with you, and so gentle.

An arm laid around you, to hold you, thinking you were the one who needed it, maybe you needed but all you wanted to do was to hold him, close to your heart.

"Then tell me, little dreamer, what was it that you saw that you come to me?" he asked you looking down before he finally took off his orange glasses, as if trying to examine you further.

After some moment, he slightly pulled your body away, but just so much he could come down to you.

Knelling down to your height since he was so tall, on one knee. Holding your hands, seeing your glistening unshed tears.

"Oh, my sweet, it really troubled you, hm?" he whispered, tenderly brushing away a stray tear that escaped your pretty orbs. 

"I... I dreamed about something that already happened, something about you." you started slow, not sure if you should even say it, before your face turned further into distress.

You were a delicate woman, always taking in such big emotions, in your heavy mind. Always being so empathic, it laid on your heart.

"Was it the bloodshed of the many lives I took, that made you afraid?" was his next suggestion, no matter what he thought it could be, for once he was wrong. You just shook your head.

"I had seen a glimpse of your past life, your human life. And I just feel so sorry for you, I just want to...to hold you." you let him know, a voice strained with sadness but so much feeling.

You just went forward, your arms again laying now around his broad shoulders, where your head now also laid.

For a moment he was speechless, was it a faint memory of who he had been? It was like, so long ago, so many centuries the vampire just stated this as bad, long forgotten memories of someone who died this very day, when he became Alucard, a true vampire.

Red irises widened, arms now hanging at his sides.

This was something he never could believe would happen.

Someone who wanted to comfort him? A monster? Someone so mighty and embraced by darkness, while you were like a beacon of light.   

"I am not worthy such a devotion. Or someone who weeps for me." you could hear him say, a voice cold but with a vulnerability in the undertone. It affected him deeply, it struck a chord in the undead heart.

A memory long forgotten, and yet a feeling what slowly crept back in his mind.

"You were so good, you didn't deserve any of that. You never deserve anything like this." you quietly sobbed into the crook of his neck.

These tears you cried, they were all for him.

He was never a man who wanted pity, nor that he ever would need that.

It were a weakness of the mortals.

But you...this was no pity, this was a need to show you him your comfort, you genuinely wanted to hold the strong man in your warm embrace.

Just to tell hm how good he was, how he just deserved the best.

Was this really true?

Someone who wept for a life shattered into pieces.

It took him a moment before his crimson eyes soften, taking in the display.   

"Foolish girl, do you even know what you are doing?" Alucard questioned you, but not to mock, it was a soft tone, as if he could not believe it.

You nodded with your head, your voice just so trembling now, salty tears ran down your cheeks, as you hold him, wrapping your arms tighter.

"I don't care, when this is foolish... I just want to...be here." you tried to explain.

A dream where you saw what he endured to his lifetimes, making you truly sad? A dream, that shook you this much that you came running to him.

A dream that made you want to give this big, bad vampire a hug?

An endearing display, when it wouldn't be so sad.

Then his long arms accepted your hug, the need to hold him, and he let you do it.

His arms bringing you even closer to him, before he laid down his head too.

Thick raven hair tickling your cheek before he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck.

"It nearly seems like, you understand the depth of pain more than me." he mumbled, his hands stroking up and down your spine.

The very fact that you felt true empathy for a creature like him.

It did something to the handsome vampire.

It touched him indeed, so deeply, that he was not able to be sarcastic.

Not when it came to someone delicate as you. Not when the very tears you shed, were for him. 

Your small hand crept up the backside of his neck, to brush against his black hair, gently caressing it, just to hold this tall man, who already needed to come down on one knee to be on your height.

"I am just so sorry." you repeated, and he still could hear the slumber in your voice.

"That someone ever would be haunted by my human life before. Even think about that... I am not worth such pure tears, my dear." he whispered as his lips brushed your sensitive shell of your ear.

"But in my eyes, Alucard. You are worth every tear. No matter if it was your human self, or yourself now. I see you and I hold you in all of your forms. You deserve to be loved. You deserve to feel comforted." you whispered, hugging him with such a lovely warmth, making him hold onto your small form even tighter.

"Still, it makes you foolish, my dear. But I guess you wear your heart on your sleeve, maybe this makes you so responsive to the dreams that haunt you." his deep voice murmured into the crook of your neck. Inhaling your scent in a gentle motion, taking you in with all the emotions, that usually were not often seen on the vampire.

Not that he would cry, but indeed he felt a stone right on his heart, a sorrow not just from the usual lack of life. The very fact of a glimpse from someone he had been, sometimes yearning to understand the complex emotions of a sweet human being like you.

You were kind-hearted, but not weak, far from it in his eyes.

Someone like you, always bearing the insights of past and future, always enduring such dreams that meant so much and needed to be dedicated correctly. 

And yet you stood up after that haunting dream of him, it was not the bloodshed he caused that made you afraid, how could it be?

You leaned a little back to look in his pale face, a sad smirk tugged on his lips, so your hands reached for his face, cupping his cheeks so tenderly.

Thumb stroking over the part under the eye.

"Maybe it is the reason, only because I can't hide my emotions doesn't mean everyone see it. The most people ignore, but I simply can't. And not everything is terrible." you spoke, and you two were so close.

He let out a deep sigh, you were a fascinating creature, so adorable, and yet you hold such a burden coupled with the intense feelings that flooded you.

He gently brushed a strand of hair out of your face.

"You are not terrible." you added softly and the gaze you hold, full of adoration and love. 

"You have a kind heart, I can sense the light in it. The very essence of your being. You would bet on losing dogs, because your heart wouldn't take it, isn't it like this, little one?" he mused out loud, still the surprise lingered on his face that someone was truly comforting him.

"When they lose, I lose, and I am on their side, it always had been like this. And it is nothing I am afraid of. But you are not a losing dog, Alucard." you explained, your tears slowly stopped falling from your lashes. Yet he still collected one with his thumb.

"No... I am the bird of Hermes, I eat my wings to make me tame." he answered, and it was a reference to the very fact how strong he really is and that he cherished humanity, not wanting to overpower everything so easily, so eating his wings to make himself tame is the only option he has.

"Then let me tame you, so you don't need to hurt yourself." you replied, and when you said this a low gasp came out of his throat.

Your eyes looking into his red ones, he is a vampire, he is immortal.

You offered anything you could, not even aware of how much power he holds back, and you didn't want him to hurt himself? His long fingers ran through your hair, feeling their silky texture, before a small chuckle rumbled in his throat.

"Maybe you are right, little dreamer. Maybe I should let you tame me."

Alucard replied, amazed by the fact you offered nothing but comfort and love, nothing false or intriguing behind your actions. True connection and real care, a bright light shining in your pumping human heart, what made him all so weak for you...