#it's not enough to just say ''states bad''

[mariasont]

That anon was living under a rock because your smut fics (all of your fics tbh!) I reread wayyy to many times, lol. But if you’re taking smut requests, I’d love to see more bimbo!reader and Hotch! I can’t get enough.

I’ll take anything!! But more specifically, their first time, all of that built up tension (that you write so perfectly!) finally breaks!

Anyways, I never send in requests but I saw a window of opportunity and had to take it, haha.

Third Date Rule - A.H

summary: the third date proves to be worth the wait when you and hotch experience your first time together. pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, sexy time, fingering, oral fem receiving, p in v, they did not in fact wrap it before tapping it and it's not really discussed so yeah idk about that one, aftercare wc: 7.7k

This was so overdue.

Technically, it's only been three dates. Technically.

But if you count all the years you'd known him, the months spent daydreaming about this moment, the weeks of waiting while he played the world's longest game of restraint, then really, you should have had him naked ages ago.

And if Aaron (which still feels like a thrill to say — Aaron — because you're dating now and you can freely call him that) wasn't so stubborn and noble and insufferably gentlemanly, you would have.

But tonight was finally the night. The third date. The sacred, hallowed, much-debated, universally accepted gateway to getting into the sheets. And yes, okay, maybe you barely survived the wait without jumping his bones, but that's hardly relevant now. The point is, you did it.

And now you're in his lap, his tie wound tight around your fingers, his tongue deep in your mouth, and gods, if this night didn't end with him inside you, you might actually die. 

Like, literally. Heart failure. Sudden death.

This was premeditated. At least, for you. You moisturized like your life depended on it, doused yourself in perfume that could be classified as a controlled substance, and selected a bra that made your tits look so insane, it might actually be illegal in some states.

And then you spent an embarrassing amount of time picking the perfect dress that says oh, I'm classy, but also please take me home and rip this off with your teeth.

You pull away, just enough to see him. To take in the slow bloom of pink trailing from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, the way his pupils are so wide they’ve all but erased the brown of his eyes. And his lips — swollen and red from kissing you — part like he was debating how bad it would be to drag you right back in. You wouldn’t mind.

“Aaron,” you sigh, fingers burying into his hair, marveling at how absurdly soft it is, how freely he lets you have this piece of him. “We should go to bed.”

For a second, he locks up. Not hesitation but calibration, a body processing desire so sharp it might break him. You feel it in the way his chest expands, in the quiet exhale through his nose.

"This wasn't my plan for the night," he murmurs, voice softer now, not strained, but steeped in something much gentler. Something careful. "I wasn't —," He shakes his head, like the whole concept doesn’t sit right in his mouth. "I don't want you to think this is just —,"

"Sex?"

You can see the way he wants to argue, like he wants to carve the word out of the air and replace it with something that means more.

"Yes."

You can’t stop the stupid, lovestruck smile pulling at your lips. Maybe it’s the wine from dinner finally working its magic. (It’s not.) Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, all serious and earnest, like you’re the only thing in existence, and if he blinks, you might vanish. (It definitely is.)

A laugh bubbles up, light and giddy, body not knowing what to do with all this adoration. You lean in, pressing a kiss to his jaw, just to see if he’ll let you. (He does.)

“Are you serious? If you just wanted sex, you wouldn’t have spent actual years pretending my very dedicated, very expertly executed attempts to seduce you weren’t happening.”

His brow arches, but you see it for what it is — a stall. “Expertly, huh?”

"Remember that heatwave last summer? When I just had to eat a popsicle at my desk every afternoon?"

His eyes darken like the memory is playing in high definition behind his eyes.

"I remember."

"Do you?" Your fingers slip beneath his color. “Because —” You tilt your head. “I always seemed to finish them standing in front of your office —"

You don't even get to finish your sentence. 

One second, you’re speaking, the next, you’re airborne. Lifted clean off the couch, legs locking around his waist automatically, arms thrown around his shoulders like you planned this all along.

You didn’t, but you wish you had. 

Not that it matters, because he’s already moving, already walking straight to the bedroom.

You bury your smile against his jaw, letting your breath tickle against the shell of his ear as another giggle slips out. It couldn’t be helped.

"I really hope you know," you whisper, “that I am, like, stupidly excited for this. Like, counting down the days excited.”

Aaron sets you down on the mattress gently, but his body doesn’t follow right away, hovering over you.

"You're not making this easy for me."

You ignore him because you’re much more distracted by how insanely soft his sheets are. That was your first thought when your back hits the mattress, hair fanning across the pillows.

For a fleeting second, you wonder if he’ll catch the scent of your perfume tomorrow. If he’ll notice the ghost of you when he lays down alone.

Your second was that this is so not the time nor place to get emotional. 

But this is his space. His bed. His room.

It’s tidy, but somehow not sterile, everything having its place, but not afraid to be used. A book sits on the nightstand, a book mark sticking out mid-thought. A photo frame faces the bed, though from this angle you struggle to see what’s inside.

There’s his suit jacket from yesterday, draped over the back of a chair, a little rumpled. 

And maybe it's silly, but you feel weirdly honored to be here.

You should probably be processing this moment, what it means to be here, with him, like this. Instead, you take a second to admire the view.

The lamp softens the sharp lines of his face, making him look almost gentle — which is funny, considering how you hoped to be thoroughly destroyed by him.

Something expands inside you, stretching against the walls of your chest, something too big, something that terrifies you.

So you do what you do best. You deflect.

“I can’t believe I’m about to sleep with my boss.”

He doesn’t even try to hide his exasperation, his forehead dropping into the crook of your neck. “Sweetheart—,”

"What?" You giggle, letting your fingers slide through his hair, letting your nails rake lightly over his scalp. "It's true."

His sigh is nothing short of pained, but then he kisses your cheek anyway, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. You were starting to feel like each was a thinly veiled attempt to tame you.

"Please don't phrase it like that."

"Yes, Mr. Hotchner." 

Every self-satisfied thought evaporates the moment he kisses you – really kisses you.

It’s not just a meeting of lips but a focused intensity, tongue sweeping inside your mouth and suddenly nothing before this mattered, because clearly, clearly, every kiss you’ve ever had was just practice for this one. 

Your body responds before your mind can catch up, spine arching and he doesn’t stop you, just kisses you with a hunger that makes teasing obsolete, that makes breathing secondary to the way he’s taking from you, giving to you, all at once.

His lips wander, dragging across your jaw like he’s leaving invisible ink behind, pressing something permanent into your skin.

You hope you’ll wake up tomorrow and still feel him there.

Your hands move to the nape of his neck, drawn by craving, by the need circling inside you like a ribbon of fire.

It stretches outward, licking at your skin, threading through your veins. His hands hold you still, spanning over your rib. His breath fans over your pulse, and you swear he can feel how fast it’s racing.

You should be gloating right now. This is, after all, exactly what you wanted, what you worked for. A biting remark sits on the top of your tongue, but then his mouth moves, and he finds it.

That wicked, traitorous little dip beneath your jaw that turns your entire brain into pink, glittering static. He pauses, listening, feeling, before sealing his mouth over it again, tongue dragging over the sensitive skin like he’s testing a theory that he already knows the answer to.

Your fingers clench in his hair, a startled sound choking in your throat before you can stop it. And then, the bastard laughs. Not sweet, not kind, but low and sharp and smug because he knows exactly what he’s done. 

You had the upper hand. Past tense.

"There it is," he murmurs, pressing another kiss there, his tongue flattening over it just to make you squirm. "You want to know how I figured this out?"

You hum, or try to. But it’s pathetic because you’re barely conscious, every cell fried to uselessness by his mouth.

He mimics you, just to be an ass about it, mocking the dazed little sound like he hasn’t just reduced you to it. "You always reached for it when I looked at you too long."

Your mouth opens. Closes.

"Or," he continues, "when I stood too close to you at the coffee machine. You'd fidget, tuck your hair behind your ear like you weren't thinking about it." His exhale burns against your pulse. "Cute."

You gasp, a little offended, mostly turned on. "Oh, wow. Profiling me? At work? That's, like, wildly unethical."

"Didn't need to," he murmurs. "You were practically begging me to figure you out."

His mouth is perfect in the way lightning is perfect – striking, searing, and completely out of your control. It’s perfect enough that you can pretend not to hear him.

He sucks, slow and hard enough to tear a sound from your lips before you even know it’s there, something that feels like vulnerability in its purest form. Something you would never willingly give him.

His laugh is quiet, wrecking, as he pulls back, lips slick with your skin. "That good?"

His mouth makes quick work, over your collarbone, down, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, down, branding every inch of skin he can reach. 

He stops at the neckline of your dress, and suddenly, you can't think about anything except how it's still on.

You want to strip it off, want to offer yourself up as a willing sacrifice, but you’re well aware that if you try, if you even reach, he’ll stop you. Or worse, he'll make you wait. He'll slow you down, draw it out just to watch you squirm because patience is his weapon of choice, because he lives for making you suffer.

His teeth graze the swell of your breast, just enough to sting, and whatever fragile grip you had on yourself disintegrates on impact. Your hands fumble blindly for his face, fingers shaking, needing to see his eyes.

"Please, Aaron.” It’s an exhale, a prayer. “Need you."

You see the ripple of tension along his throat. And for one tiny, blinding second you think this is when he finally snaps, abandons his tolerance and just takes you.

"You don't know how long I've wanted you like this," he rumbles. "I'm going to take my time."

You whine, frustration bleeding from your fingertips where they clutch his shoulders, fingers digging in like you can physically push him into moving faster.

He does not move faster. 

His hands slide up to the straps of your dress, as he drags it down with all the urgency of a leisurely Sunday stroll. 

Your mind is halfway through an exceptionally justified complaint about how slow he is moving when he folds the dress.

Folds it.

Sets it aside. Doesn't toss it.

And that may be the hottest thing he's ever done.

Because you know he knows. He’s always known. Known that your things aren’t just things — that your dresses, your heels, your overpriced lip glosses aren’t frivolous, aren’t some shallow indulgence, but tiny, curated pieces of you.

He has listened to you decide between two pairs of shoes that are, for all intent and purposes, identical. He knows jasmine is mysterious and vanilla is flirty, knows that you’ll debate your right to own the same three shades of pink. 

And instead of dismissing it, instead of rolling his eyes (though he does that too), he folds your dress. As if it matters.

You stare at him, somewhere between melting and spontaneous combustion, and he simply raises a brow. “Something wrong?”

"No." You shake your head for emphasis, voice a little too weak to get the point across. "Just thinking I might have to marry you."

His hands settle at your waist, fingers tracing over the pink lace like he’s trying to process it, like if he touches it enough times, it’ll confirm that this is actually happening and not some cruel illusion. His thumb brushes the scalloped edge, breathing shallow. You were pretty sure he’s currently having a full-scale existential meltdown over lingerie.

"Agreed," he murmurs, distracted, hooded eyes still glued to your chest. "I think the courthouse opens at eight."

Your giggle stutters, hiccups right out of you, because his hands are suddenly everywhere, roaming with no clear plan, just a man in crisis over how much of you he wants to touch first. His palms skate over your stomach, down your thighs, up over your breasts.

"So, this is all I had to do to convince you to do what I want?"

His mouth follows, retracting the path of his hands, rewriting, reworking, perfecting – because apparently, the first time wasn’t good enough, wasn’t thorough enough. 

"You think this is what did it for me?" His voice is hushed. "You could've walked into my office six months ago and told me to get on one knee.” A kiss, open-mouthed, starving, just below your navel. “I would've done it."

Six months ago. You don't know if you believed that.

Except now you're spiraling, backtracking, rewinding, piecing together little details like some lovesick conspiracy theorist with red string and a bulletin board. Every interaction, every loaded glance, every time he let you get away with high-level flirtation without so much as a blink. You thought you were testing him, but what if he was never fighting at all?

And before you can even recover from that, before you can file an official grievance about why no one told you sooner, his hands squeeze at your thighs, his mouth so close to exactly where you need him, and his voice —

"You're so beautiful."

His nose presses into the damp center of your panties, and your hands fly to his hair so fast it’s practically reflex, breath stalling in your chest like your body forgot how to function for a second. 

This is everything. What you've wanted, dreamed of, written in the margins of notebooks (hypothetically, of course).

It should be perfect, but suddenly, it isn't.

Uncertainty slips between the cracks, heat turning into something less solid. You don’t have time to find it, to name it, because he’s already there, already sensing it, already fixing it before you even know what’s wrong.

"Hey." His voice hooks into you, gently reeling you back from wherever your brain was about to go. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"No, I—," The words come out far too fast and desperate, and you can't decipher why it's so hard to say. "I do want to. Obviously." The nervous laugh that follows is definitely not your usual flirty confidence. "Have you met yourself? Because if you haven't, I would love to introduce you. Tall, devastatingly handsome — you'd love him."

His move curves, but his eyes stay patient and focused, giving you a second to breathe.

"It's just..." Another pause, another frustrated sigh. "I haven't been with anyone in a while."

"That's okay, we can take it slow." He moves so that he's hovering above you again, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, his smile just amused enough to leave you flustered. "How long?"

"May."

"May?"

"Yeah, like, May. Three years ago."

Aaron just stares at you, processing. You can see the gears turning, the little mental loading wheel spinning, his expression caught between stunned and deeply interested.

His fingers creep up, sliding under your ribs, just close enough to the heavy swell of your tits to remind you exactly where you are. What he was doing to you before you so rudely derailed this into actual conversation.

"Really?"

You pinch his arm. "Hey! That is not an absurd amount of time."

"No. I know. I didn’t say that," he says quickly. "I'm just... surprised."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His lips part and he immediately shakes his head, exhaling like he's physically trying to dispel what just ran through your mind, knowing exactly where your thoughts were.

"I just mean — I don't know how every man you meet doesn't immediately worship the ground you walk on."

"Oh, well, they do." You smile. "But I was only ever planning on letting one of them take me to bed."

You reach for his dress shirt buttons, tugging insistently, but your hands refuse to cooperate, not properly communicating with your brain.

It's his fault, you decide.

He looks too good, and it was extremely hard to focus on anything but that.

You have no idea how you survived dinner. Or the car ride home. Or even the eternity it took to get past the door, because that was definitely a struggle considering your mouth was all over his, tasting the whiskey he’d barely touched, before he could even get the key in the lock.

You spent all night picturing this, the way his hands would feel in you, the way his mouth would taste, the way his suit would look crumpled on the floor.

Which, in hindsight, probably meant you were a pretty terrible dinner guest. Nodding, smiling, pretending to listen, all while barely holding back the need to ride him in public.

Aaron laughs, clearly entertained by your struggle, and then, because he’s nothing if not arrogant, he starts undoing the buttons one-handed, to be a show-off.

It’s rude, really. Because now all you can do is watch, helpless as he peels himself open to reveal golden skin, dark hair dusting over firm pecs, trailing lower, disappearing beneath his belt. 

Your manicured fingers glide over the broad expanse of his shoulders, pushing his shirt away like uncovering some lost Renaissance painting that scholars would kill to get their hands on — something that should be in a temperature-controlled glass case, not just here, sprawled above you like he belongs to you. Which, he does, because he’s just letting you do this, letting you look. And you look. He is art. No, better than art. Art is stationary, lifeless, some brushstroke interpretation of what beauty should be. But this, him, he is warmth and breath and muscle.

Museums wish they had something this valuable. They’d burn down in despair if they knew he existed just for you.

"May," he muses, letting the word roll off his tongue, turning it over in his mind. "That's an oddly specific answer."

You make a vague sound of agreement, mostly just to acknowledge that yes, technically, he did say words, but you’re too busy to actually care. Too busy with spreading your hands over the planes of his chest, with grabbing at his belt.

"You were hired in May three years ago."

Your hands freeze. 

"That's... um weird." A slow blink. "Weird that you know that. Weirder that you noticed."

You work his belt loose, tugging it free. It’s meant to be a distraction, a well-placed touch to shift his focus from his revelation.

But then your plan backfires spectacularly because he’s hard, thick, unreasonably big and suddenly your fingers feel useless.

Aaron makes a sound — half a hiss, half a laugh — and his hands snap to your wrist, catching you before you can explore further, like he knew you were going to do that. "It’s okay, honey."

"I���I don't—," You blink up at him, floundering, desperately trying to sound casual. "That's, uh, I don't know what that's supposed to mean."

Aaron’s smirk deepens, his grip on you slackening just enough to trick you into thinking he’s going to be nice.

But then his other hand moves, slipping between your bodies, sliding beneath the heat trapped between your thighs, finding the neediest part of you, and pressing.

Your whole body jerks, a startled gasp catching in your throat as sensation flares — hot, sharp, mercilessly good.

His fingers start to move, rubbing tight circles against you. Your hands cling, one locked onto his bare shoulders, the other pressing against his dick, desperate to make him feel even a fraction of what he's doing to you.

It earns you a groan, low and gritty, hips twitching against your palm, his breath is hot against your lips, his mouth hovering just barely out of reach.

"I won't tease," he promises, but the way he bites at your bottom lip feels like a lie. His tongue is quick to follow, flicking over the welt he’s just left, soothing the burn before sealing it with a kiss, just this side of messy. “Three years… that’s a long time.” His lips skim yours again. “For both of us.”

A pleased sound bubbles up from your throat, slipping between his lips, that makes it obnoxiously clear just how much you love those words. That is a sentence you’d like embroidered on a pillow. Maybe cross-stitched into a nice, elegant frame for your future shared bedroom. 

"Oh," you sigh, a smile stretching against his lips. "I really, really, like knowing that. That's, like, incredible news."

Your brows scrunch, and you pull back just an inch. 

"Just to be clear, though, you do mean in a wow, you've ruined me for other women way, and not in a I've been to busy for a sex life way, right? Because those are two different things, and I need to know which one we're working with here—"

Aaron huffs a laugh and instead of answering with words, his hands slip into your panties, fingers finding your clit without prelude. Skin to skin now, no fabric, no flimsy barrier. Just touch.

His fingers dip lower, dragging through the slick, indecent in how easily he moves through the mess of you. He makes a noise — nearly a groan, mostly a hum of appreciation, of possession — before he spreads it, smearing your own arousal over your clit, rolling circles.

"Oh, wow, sweetheart."

Your thighs fall open like you have no say in it — because you don’t, because every instinct in you is reaching for him, needing it like a fix.

And maybe, maybe that should be embarrassing — the obvious, shameless way you seek him out — but it’s a gorgeous kind of humiliation, a flush that spreads lower.

"Well," you gasp, chest rising in stuttering little pants. "Y—you kept me waiting forever."

Aaron hushes you with a soft tsk, his fingers pressing, stroking, coaxing you into sweet, mindless submission. Every movement feels preordained, like he already knows your body, like he’s a man who’s spent years thinking about this.

"I know, sweetheart," he soothes, murmuring it against the fragile skin beneath your ear, punctuating it with a kiss. "But I think I'm making up for lost time pretty well."

"I guess," you manage. "Th—that's acceptable."

Aaron chuckles, the vibration traveling straight into your skin. His lips descend, an idolization thing, but it’s the kind of devotion that sets you on fire.

His hands spread over your thighs, parting them gently.

Your underwear drags down, slipping over your thighs, grazing the curve of your knees, and then off. And suddenly, there's nothing separating you from his eyes, from the way the air licks over you, cool against the sticky heat between your thighs.

His lips part like he wasn't expecting to fall apart so easily. Like he thought he'd have more time, more control. And the power in it, the sheer, intoxicating power of knowing he's just as affected as you are, that this is breaking him open, makes your skin fizz, burn, ache for him even more.

If someone had told you a year ago that Aaron Hotchner, mister all-business-all-the-time, would be between your legs, staring at you like he's never seen anything more perfect, you would have said something nonsensical. Something about fate. Or destiny.

And you would have been right. Because you always knew this was a definite.

"Oh, honey.... You're gorgeous," It's almost a whisper, like the words were dragged out of him against his will, stolen straight from his lungs the second his eyes landed on you. His gaze drinks you in, head tilting, lips parting, tongue skating over the swell of his bottom lip. “I knew you would be, but…”

A sharp, sizzling spark races up your spine, white-hot and unbearable, but when it should tip over into relief, it withers into frustration. The kind that makes your body revolt against the absence of touch. Your hips buck, thighs squeezing as if you can somehow force the friction you’re being deprived of.

"Give me a second, baby," he teases, caressing his nose along the inside of your thigh. "Just wanna look at you."

His mouth moves in decadent passes, open-mouthed kisses pressed into your inner thigh.

Another kiss. Then another. So close.

Then he detours. Veers off, pressing his lips into the dip of your hip instead, dragging his tongue along something that is not your clit.

"So perfect."

His fingers prod through your folds, parting you, fingertips wading through the slickness pooling at your entrance. The sound that spills from him is sinful.

All of your muscles coiling tight, every inch of you scorching with unmet need and just when you think you're going to have to beg him, just when the words start to form —

He gives in. 

His tongue is there first, dragging a flat, broad stripe through your center, licking over every hypersensitive inch of you before looking up at you through hooded eyes. You swear you nearly come from the sight alone.

"Knew you'd be sweet."

Aaron doesn't waste another second, burying himself in you, mouth moving like he's been ravenous for this. 

His grip is firm as he spreads you wider, keeping you at his mercy. His lips wrap around your clit for a split second before he moves again, tasing, licking, humming, lapping up everything you're giving him.

It's messy. Wet. Dripping. His mouth moves as he tries to wreck himself on you. Each second convincing you that he wouldn’t mind suffocating here if it meant another taste.

His nose nudges against you, the angle so cruelly perfect it sends another violent tremor through your body, legs jumping against his shoulders. Your fingers grasp blindly for purchase, gripping the sheets, tangling in his hair, at anything you can reach. 

"That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs into you, words muffled by your pussy. "Let me hear you."

"Oh — " The sound falls from your lips, your eyes squeezing shut like you can block out the overwhelming pleasure if you just try hard enough.  "Oh, that's — "

Your hips stutter, thighs tightening around his face.

Aaron chuckles darkly, and you feel it more than you hear it, the sound pulsing through your core.

You’re not sure you have a body anymore, not sure you exist outside of this moment. You’re just sensation, just trembling atoms held together only by his hands, his breath, his voice. There’s no past or future – just now, just him.

If this is what it means to transcend, to be unraveled and rewritten in the same breath, then let it consume you whole. You could die like this, and it would be the kindest death you could ever ask for.

A single finger ghosts over your entrance, teasing but never quite committing. He dips in, just the barest of intrusion, and you shudder, clenching around nothing because it’s gone just as fast. 

He waits, just long enough to hear the next breathy fussing before finally spearing back in. Your eyes flutter shut, breath breaking apart in little puffs.

The sounds coming from your cunt should embarrass you, sticky, so shockingly loud that if your brain was working, you’d be mortified. But it’s not working. Not even a little. 

His hand flattens over your stomach and suddenly the pressure doubles, triples.

"Tell me, baby," he murmurs, "feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes, yes, oh my gods, Aaron, I—"

Your normal senses have left the building. Packed its bags, hit the road, abandoned you to whatever dark magic this is. Because this —this isn’t how your body works. This isn’t how guys work. You don’t come from this. 

But here you are, hurtling toward it at full speed and all because he decided you would.

It’s happening too fast, the pressure stacking. Your thighs shake open, stomach clenching so hard it aches. Your mind is lagging behind, still reeling, still trying to rationalize but it doesn’t matter because your body has already made its choice, has already given in, has already decided this is happening, whether you’re ready for it or not.

"Aaron, I think—,"

Aaron just groans, finishing your sentence for you, lapping up your confession with his tongue,

"I know, baby." Hot air blows against your swollen clit. "Let me feel it."

It crashes over you, back bowing off the bed. Your body splinters apart, thighs trembling so hard you couldn’t stop them if you tried. The edges of your vision smear into nothing as the pleasure consumes everything in its path. 

His mouth stays on you, tongue and fingers pushing you through the aftershocks until you’re clawing at the sheets, until that pleasure tilts so far into oversensitivity that makes you unaware if you’re pulling him closer or pushing him away.

Your limbs feel like liquid, consolidating into every inch of your body, melting into the mattress as Aaron moves to be face to face with you.

He's looking at you like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to this planet, and maybe he is, because when his lips get close enough, you tug him the rest of the way down, crashing your mouth into his in a way that's all sloppy desperation.

You can taste yourself on him, can feel the way he groans into it when you sigh against his mouth, all soft and dreamy and drunk on gratification. 

When you pull back, your fingers card through his hair, fixing nothing but feeling everything.

"Oh my gosh," you gasp, dissolving into giggles, toes curling as you flop back against the pillows. "I knew you'd be good at that, obviously, but I wasn't expecting all that. Like wow, you should get a certificate of excellence or something."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you sigh dramatically, "Or like, a trophy, a raise, a sash that says best head giver in gold letters—," You pause for a breath, sucking in air like you just realized how winded you are.

"— and I mean, I've never come like that before. So. You should probably put that on your résumé."

When Aaron presses against you, you feel every inch of him. Thick and unfortunately still restrained. His slacks are a cruel barrier, the rough drag of the fabric catching your clit in a way that rips a whimper straight from your throat.

His teeth scrape along your jaw, then he's mouthing at your neck, sucking, teasing, marking you.

"Firstly," he murmurs. "I hate the idea of anyone else touching you."

An involuntary shiver rolls through you.

"And secondly," he continues, "the fact that they didn't even know how."

Your hands are frantic as they fly to his waistband, fumbling a bit, the last hindrance between you offensive in its existence. 

"Well, yeah," you sigh, looking up at him through fluttering lashes, glossy lips parted just for him. "I mean, you're literally the only one who's ever known what to do with me. That has to mean something, right? Like, cosmic destiny or whatever."

Aaron shoves his pants and briefs off, barely sparing them a second thought, and then he's back, fitted between your thighs.

"You already know the answer to that." His lips brush your temple. "I'm the only one who knows how to handle you. And I plan on proving it."

"Yeah, okay," you say, squirming beneath him. "Not gonna argue when that sounds like the best idea ever."

You've seen a lot of versions of Aaron. You've seen work Aaron, serious and bossy, looking at crime scenes like he can hear the evidence whispering just to him. You've seen grumpy Aaron, glaring over his coffee when you talk too much at morning briefings (but you know he likes it, he just won't say). You've seen soft Aaron, the one who lets you steal his jacket even though you definitely don't need it.

But you've never seen this Aaron. This post-kissing-you Aaron. Lips slick, still damp with you, evidence of where he’s been, what he’s done.

His eyes flick to yours, and there’s no shame, no rush to wipe it away. If anything, he tilts his head, letting you see it from a better angle.

"You're so handsome, Aaron." Your voice trembles. You don't even know if you said it out loud or just thought it so hard he must have heard it anyway.

"And you,” he murmurs, tracing his thumb over your cheek, “are so damn sweet, honey."

You beam at that, overwhelmed, so unbelievably happy that your thoughts are practically spilling out faster than you can catch them.

"Okay so I just need to say — this is so exciting, like, you do realize I've had a crush on you for years, right? And now this is actually happening, and that's just — wow."

You suck in a sharp breath, nails dragging over the thick muscles of his arms, across his shoulders.

"I mean, it's us, Aaron. Can you believe that? Like, I feel like this has been building for so long and now I'm just — gods, you're so hot, this is actually distracting me. I can't even finish my own thought —,"

You laugh, because you already feel so full of him and he isn't even inside you yet.

"And I know you're being all careful and slow because you're sweet and romantic and, like, the most perfect man alive, but also —,"

You grind up, chasing friction, his cock sliding just right over your clit. Your breath stutters, hands fisting at the nape of his neck as you try to remember what you were saying.

" — I'm literally at your mercy right now, so you should probably take advantage of that before I —,"

"You talk so much, baby."

And then he shuts you up. Hard.

His mouth rams into yours, ingesting the comment, the breath, everything.

He doesn't rush. 

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance before he finally, slowly, pushes inside.

It knocks the breath from your lungs. Your mouth parts against his, lips catching on his as a little sigh slips out. Your nails dig into his shoulders, helpless against the way he's opening you up. 

He stills, a sharp, fractured inhale slicing through the air, fingers digging into your hips — hard. He is struggling. You can feel it. The way his cock twitches inside you, like his body is screaming at him to move.

"I-I'm good." Your laugh wobbles, catches at the edges, barely disguising how badly you want him to believe you. "You can keep going."

"You're tensing because it's been a while." You don't mean to, but your body reacts before your brain can tell it not to, stiffening. Stupid, stupid. His exhale is shaky, and his lips press against your cheek. "I know that. I expected that."

You swallow, but it doesn't help.

"I also know that you think if I notice, I'll stop." His forehead rests against yours. "But I need you to hear me, baby. I'm not stopping."

His lips graze yours.

"I'm going to work you through this. Just let me in, princess."

And the second you do, the second you finally give in —

He groans, pushing deeper, stretching you completely, filling you to the hilt. 

"There we go," he breathes, wrecked with praise. His hand presses to your lower belly, feeling how deep he is, how well you take him. "That's my good girl."

Your head tilts back, lips parting, body doing the melty thing that feels really, really nice but also really, really dangerous because you swear you're seconds away from levitating straight out of your own skin.

"Okay, so I did think this would feel good —," Your fingers twitch against his chest, nails raking lightly over sweat-damp skin as another sharp moan tumbles free. "— but, um, wow, this is like — this is so —,"

Your words taper off, get lost somewhere between your psyche and your mouth, because oh. Oh, wow. He's so deep, so heavy inside you, pressing into places you didn't even know existed.

"Go on, baby," he murmurs, a smirk plastered across handsome features as he dips his head. "You were saying?"

"You know," you gasp, words all flimsy and loose, like they've been shaken up inside you, "I kinda always wondered how big you were —"

Your breath hooks halfway through, hiccups on a moan, brain scrambling to keep up with your mouth, your mouth scrambling to keep up with — him.

"Not that I, um — I stared at your pants or anything —" Another sharp inhale, another desperate moan, your walls fluctuating and squeezing around something too thick. "I mean, I try not to because I'm a professional —"

An involuntary clench makes him curse, makes his fingers dip into your hips, makes his head plunge forward hard against your shoulder.

"Honey, shit—,"

Your lashes flutter. "What?"

"Sweetheart, if you keep squeezing me like that while you ramble about my cock, I'm not going to last."

Your mouth clicks shut promptly.

"That's what I thought."

Hotch rocks his hips, just once, a sharp gasp fissuring from your lips like you weren't expecting it. 

"Jesus, sweetheart. You're trembling." He cups your cheek, his thumb skimming over your bottom lip, eyes dark and aflame. "Does it feel that good?"

You nod, and he hums, dragging his cock almost all the way out before pushing back in. 

His hand drags down your waist, spans over your belly, fingers pressing like he's charting the way he fits inside you.

"I used to tell myself I wouldn't do this," he admits. "That I wouldn't touch you. Wouldn't ruin you like this."

Your head lolls back, eyes fluttering, lips parted prettily, gasping as he rocks into you again, and again, and again. You shake your head, or at least, you think you do.

"You don't —" You try to shape words, but they liquefy on your tongue. "Don't ruin me, Aaron, you — oh, you make me —"

Hotch's throat bobs, his pupils blown.

"You make me so, so good, so soft, so perfect."

His hand cups your jaw. "You're already all of those things, sweetheart."

"Not before you," you sigh. "I've been waiting so long, Aaron, so, so long —"

"I know, baby," he groans. "I know."

His hand veers between your bodies, his fingers finding the swollen, neglected bundle of nerves.

“Aaron — oh, wait, wait, wait —,” Your hands shoot up to his shoulders. “I don’t know if I can, I mean, I can, but it’s just —,”

His cock throbs inside you, his rhythm stuttering for half a second before he finds it again, harder this time, his fingers matching the pace.

“Too much?”

“Yes, no, kind of? I don’t know, I can’t—,” You choke on your own breath as another thrust knocks every last rumination from your head. “I can’t think.”

“Good.” His forehead presses against yours, his lips parting against your mouth, panting, his control slipping. “I don’t want you thinking. Just feel me, sweetheart. Feel what I’m doing to you.”

Your body is shaking, shaking so hard that you don’t even know if you’re moving or if he’s just pushing you through it. 

“I know, baby. But you can take it, can’t you?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter, body twitching. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises, groaning as he grinds into you, stretching it. “One more, honey. You can give me one more.”

It hits you slowly, unwinding through your organs like smelted honey.

“Oh, oh —,” Your breath falters, mind going blank, the pleasure overwhelming every nerve in your body until you can’t do anything but let it consume you.

“Christ,” he groans, feeling you clench around him so tight it nearly undoes him.

You barely register the way you’re gasping, twitching, babbling out breathless little moans, vision blurring, and for a second you think you might black out.

“That’s it, princess,” he rasps, fucking you through it the reverberations. “So, so good for me.”

His pace turns shallow, sharp, chasing the tight, perfect squeezing of you still thrashing around him.

“You’re so tight, honey,” he grits, hands bruising your hips, your breath still catching from your own orgasm.

You’re too gone to respond, too wrung out to do anything but whimper as he takes you, using your body to pull himself over the edge.

He groans, low and deep, his fingers tangling in your hair, his mouth ghosting over your cheek as he finally breaks.

A shudder, a muttered curse, his body jerking, hips slamming into yours as he spills inside you.

He doesn’t mean to collapse, you know that, because even as his body gives out, his arms brace, still trying to be careful, even now. You want to cling to him, lock your legs around his waist, but you barely remember how to move, so you just let out a sleepy sound, nuzzling blindly at his throat. 

He murmurs something low, something that sounds like praise, maybe worship.

His lips press to the side of your face, half-gone and still recovering, and then his muscles tense, trying to lift himself off you.

Your arms wind around his neck before he can get too far. 

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, “I’m crushing you.”

“Don’t care,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse. “Feels nice.”

“You did so good.”

When he finally pulls out, you feel the loss and everything that comes with it, his release sticky and warm beneath your thighs. 

Aaron disappears into the bathroom, and you barely have time to miss him before he’s back with a warm cloth in hand.

You giggle, squirming before he even touches you, already restless, and the second he presses the cloth to your inner thighs, you jerk, laughing helplessly.

“Oh, wait —,”

Aaron sighs, one hand pressing against your hip to keep you still. “Sweetheart. You have to let me clean you up”

“But it tickles—,”

He smirks and continues his work. “How do you feel?”

“Like I saw god actually,” you ramble, kicking your feet against the sheets. “Or, like, like, if I had to describe it, I’d say I transcended reality for a little bit —,”

Aaron just chuckles, pressing a kiss to your knee as he finishes cleaning you up. Each swipe reminds you that your legs might not be on speaking terms with you tomorrow.

When he’s done his mouth finds yours again. It’s easy to kiss him. If it were physically possible to stay attached to him, twenty-four hours a day, you’d gladly test the theory.

“Worth the wait,” he breathes into your mouth.

“Well, yeah,” you murmur, smirking up at him. “I figured it would be for you.”

He laughs.

“Yeah, baby, you were good,” he mutters, kissing right over your stuttering pulse. “You were so good.” Another kiss. “So good I’m already thinking about the next time.”

Your heart hasn’t even slowed down, and you’re already thinking about the next time. Already plotting, already ready to drag him back down and see just how quickly that next time could turn into right now. But before you can so much as tug at him — Aaron is rolling out of bed, pulling on his pants, disappearing into the kitchen.

You mean to protest, to demand why he left you alone in a post-bliss haze, but then he’s back, pressing a glass of water into your hand, watching you drink it like it’s his personal responsibility.

Then comes food, something light and something he feeds you between kisses, between lazy murmurs about nothing. 

At some point, the blankets are back over you, his lips pressing against your forehead, his voice saying something about getting some sleep before you got any ideas, before pulling you against him.

You hum, content and drowsy, shifting a little, rolling over to get more comfortable —

And then your eyes land on that photo frame from earlier. You had a clear view of it now.

It was you.

It takes you a second to place it, but once you do, you almost laugh. You know this photo — because Garcia took it. She printed it out months ago, probably as some ridiculous gag, and stuck it to Aaron’s office wall with a bright sticky note that read your favorite obviously. You’d rolled your eyes at the time, called it workplace favoritism, but he’d never taken it down. 

And now, somehow, it’s framed. On his nightstand, like he’s been looking at you every night for —

You don’t finish the thought.

Instead, you just smile, huge and uncontrollable.

He doesn’t say anything.

And you don’t need him to.

Because you already know.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[mxurelle]

synopsis: gojo helps you ride out your high by eating you out. cause why not?

cw: high sex, mentioned/implied drug use, oral sex, a slightly geeked out satoru. -18 dni.

wc: 1,765.

“you must be absolutely fried, ain’t hear a thing i just said.”

you perk up against the wall, half-lidded eyes lifting up from the ground to follow the familiar sound of your boyfriend’s voice at your side. as your eyes met, your gaze instinctively narrowed to examine his face, gauging the look of mischief behind those rounded glasses he wore. you were high as all hell, no doubt about it. droopy eyed, excessively dry lips and parched throat, gravity weighing itself on you unlike anything you’ve felt before; aside from when you’re stoned.

“huh?” you bat your lashes, brows creased a look of iminiate confusion as you attempt to decipher his sentence. which worked, partially. “—so you aren’t? and don’t say it like that, makes me feel self conscious.”

gojo chuckles a delightful sound at your side and you lick your lips, an otherwise seamless ‘keke’ swelling a fluttering sensation to sit at your chest, traveling throughout your nerves before shooting down directly in between your legs. you click your tongue, displeased with how easy you’ve become, deciding to blame your alerted state of mine.

“my tolerance isn’t all that low, been there done that, though i only ever take part in this sort of thing unless i’m with you or suguru.” he explains beside you, blabbering off about god knows what at this point, presumably ignorant to the effects his voice alone has on you. you refuse to look his way, tired eyes focused on the bare wall ahead of you.

“wouldn’t that make your tolerance lower than mine?” you mutter to yourself, unaware of the fact you spoke aloud. you fold your arms over your chest, gulping down the lump in your throat as you stare ahead. or so you tried, your eyes were barely open, not to mention disinterested in an empty wall.

what you really wanted was your legs wrapped around his neck, mindless whimpers muffled against your throbbing cunt, echoing against your ears as you used his tongue to your heart’s content. not that you would say any of that, though.

gojo fell silent for a moment, piercing blue eyes poking holes through your side profile even behind the glasses. “eh, i suppose.” he shrugged, shuffling against the wall as he took a step closer. “how come i’m staring at half a face, hm? you shy now?”

“the fuck? no,” you immediately blurted out in a means to supposedly defend yourself, lips etching into a distasteful frown; resembling a mean mug with the way you do it. “i’m in deep thought. thinking, in simpler terms for you.” you were snappy in your response, masking what proved to be factual behind an attitude.

gojo hummed a response, his presence looming over your side as he drew closer. “look at me.”

you gulped once more, soothing an itchy throat as you angled your neck to the side, instantly met with the realization of how close he’d gotten. your eyes widened as a gasp caught in your throat, effectively startled. your mind began to race for a bit, the events of just a few seconds prior and the present moment meshed a foggy blur, you found yourself wondering how long the two of you had been standing there.

though, the heavy atmosphere packed with an intense sexual tension between the two of you quickly redirected your attention. an exaggerated ‘damn’ pulled from his lips as they quirked into a toothy grin, his hand lifting to gently tuck your hair off to the side. “your eyes are bloodshot red! it’s kinda cute though, i dunno.” he teased; and to which you swatted his hand away. being the only one baked out of your mind was already bad enough, but of course, who would he be if he didn’t tease you for it.

“you piss me off.” you leisurely shook your head, eyeing your boyfriend up and down, giving him the nastiest look to prove a point.

gojo raised a brow as his grin shamelessly deepened, visibly amused by your frustration. he moved in closer, as close as the two of your bodies would allow before his hands were wrapped around your waist, pressing your back against the wall. his lips morphed an ‘i’m sorry.’ against the heat of your neck, his nose nudged beneath your jawline as he drew in a deep inhale, followed by a relieved sigh as he shrunk against you. he’s always loved your scent, you knew that.

he peppered small pecks along your neck, quickly transitioning to open mouthed kisses as he traveled downwards, focusing on the area right above your breast. you nipped at your bottom lip, angling your head to the side as an invitation; permission to keep going. his teeth gently grazed your skin to serve as a warning, promptly bracing you before sinking into your skin, electing a sharp hiss from you.

your hand flew up to the nape of his neck, fingers gliding upward to clench around his white locks, holding him in place as your eyes fell to a close. though your efforts proved meaningless as he promptly pulled away, dipping down to praise your stomach with gentle kisses as he positioned himself on his knees.

you blinked down at him, squinting as your reddened eyes met with the air, your hands now resting at his shoulders. gojo made quick work of your shorts, tossing the article of clothing once you’ve stepped out of them. he then leaned forward, warm palms placed at each side of your hips as his lips hovered your clothed clit, pools of your arousal staining the fabric of your panties.

his tongue finally laid flat against your clit, and you panicked, yelping as if you’d seen a ghost. gojo pulled back to look at up you, startled by the tone of your exclamation.

“that!—wait, it feels weird. i can’t really feel it like usual, so are you sure you wanna keep going?” you huffed, half-lidded eyes searching for his. truthfully, you could feel it. it felt even better than usual, almost as if you took an aphrodisiac, and the intensity of it all freaked you out.

“can’t feel it?” he analyzed, brows raised as he gaped up at you. after a short pause he resumed the previous laps of his tongue, lathering the surface of your clothed cunt, collecting every inch of you on his tongue. “you can’t feel this?” he muffled against you, barely audible as he explored what felt like every bit of your pussy. even over your panties.

your left hand flew up to cover your mouth with a slap, a low, guttural moan muffled against your palm. your hips rolled against his tongue, sparks of pleasure erupting in jolts throughout your lower abdomen as you shivered. his hand slid beneath your upper thigh, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder and providing you with extra wiggle room in the process.

with your lack of an answer to his question he pulled back, replacing his mouth with his thumb, teasing your throbbing nub in circular motions. he lifted his gaze, exacting eye contact with you. “want me to stop since you can’t feel it?”

you sighed into your palm, the loss of his tongue leaving your soaked core vulnerable to the cold air. you slowly shook your head, sluggish in the motions, eyes silently pleading with his. his head titled to the side, gaze flickering away from your eyes to briefly glance at the hand clasped tightly around your jaw. “move your hand,” his index and middle finger gently pinched around your folds, shifting up and down. “c’mon, talk to me. tell me what you want.”

though you wish you had the resolve to be stubborn, you swiftly removed your hand as instructed. you took a shallow breath in, choked up halfway through as the pallets of his tongue pressed against your clit once more. “i—okay, i can feel it. please don’t stop.” you managed with a hiss, prodding fingertips digging into the flesh of your upper thigh.

gojo seemed content with your plea, swiftly pulling your panties to the side and ogling at the bare sight of you. his tongue dove in-between the heat of your folds, tracing the gape of your entrance before slipping inside of you. he groaned as you shamelessly clenched around the muscle, back arching off of the wall and further into the sensations, rutting your hips against his mouth.

your heavy breaths left rigid, the pound of your heart threatening to burst through your chest, fingers clasped a tight hold around your boyfriend’s hair. his eyes never left yours, drinking up and basking in the lewd expressions you’d make, eager to pull even more from you.

your head fell against the wall with a thump, tears swelling at the corners of your eyes, completely overwhelmed but in the best possible way. “shit, i think—i’m close. i’m gonna cum.” your fingers tugged at his hair, earning a quiet whimper from the man beneath you.

“go ahead, i got you.” he reassured below you, giving the flesh of your hips a gentle squeeze.

your hips stuttered within his hold, thighs enclosing around his head with a tight squeeze as you sobbed. overbearing waves of pleasure enveloped the heat of your body, leaving you knees weak, legs trembling as they tried their best to keep you upright. gradually, your hips began to move in unison with the motions of gojo’s tongue, serving as a guide as you rode out your high.

“satoru,” you called out without reason, allowing your back to slide down against the wall once gojo had pulled away to acknowledge your call. the sight you were met with was one you’d wish you’d seen sooner; disheveled white locks poking out in each and every direction, swollen lips glossed over with your arousal, a lovely flush of red spread along the bare skin of his neck and cheeks. if you hadn’t been so exhausted, another go wouldn’t have seemed so taxing.

you raised your hands to cup his cheeks, gently kneading as if he were a stress ball. “you um.. have my cum all over your face.” you cleared your throat, eyes beaming as you marveled at the sight, dumbfounded.

“mm, and you taste good,” he smiled, his palms slinking beneath the fabric of your shirt to caress the smooth surface of your skin. he traced small shapes with his index finger along your sides, unintentionally teasing as shivers shot up your spine.

“you okay? you look absolutely gone, but completely fucked out. it’s hot.”

“..goddamn freak.”

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗜𝗙 𝗜 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗 𝗚𝗘𝗧 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗘 max verstappen x  fem! lawyer! reader (angst) fic summary . . . when max meets with a lawyer to try and fight back against the FIA for getting community service fines, he discovers he might have accidentally swapped dreams with someone (704 words)

( main master list | more of max verstappen ) ( requests )

The restaurant was dimly lit, the kind of place that was meant to look expensive without actually trying too hard. Max shifted in his seat, fingers drumming against the table as he watched you skim through the document in front of you, your brows slightly furrowed.

This was awkward.

He wasn’t sure what was worse—the fact that he had been fined for swearing in a press conference again or the fact that the FIA had thrown in community service hours like he was some reckless teenager caught speeding in a school zone.

Lando had laughed when he found out. "You’re gonna need a lawyer if you wanna fight back, mate," he had grinned, not even trying to hide his amusement. "I know someone. She’s brilliant. I’ll send you her number."

And now here you were, sitting across from him in a restaurant in Monaco, having driven over from Nice to help him deal with his punishment.

"So," you finally said, flipping the page. "Two hundred thousand euros and twenty-five hours of FIA-approved community service before December 31st."

Max exhaled through his nose. "I only said one bad word."

You looked up, amusement flickering across your face. "As soon as I went into qualifying I knew the car was fucked . . .  Max, you swore at your own car."

"Because it was fucked." He reasoned, shrugging at the topic like it was the most obvious and normal thing.

You chuckled, shaking your head before jotting something down in your notes. Max watched, taking a sip of his gin toic, not quite sure what to say next. He wasn’t used to lawyers. He wasn’t used to needing lawyers.

"You know," he starts, voice low, almost swallowed by the hum of the piano in the background. "If my dad hadn't pushed me to stay in karting, I think I would've been a lawyer."

You huff a laugh, one that tastes like irony. "Yeah? If my parents hadn’t forced me to finish school and go into law, I think I would've been a driver."

Max blinked.

Your sour words made him look up from his glass. His blue eyes—fierce in every race replay you've ever forced yourself not to watch—are softer here, dimmed under the low lights of a restaurant that neither of you belong in. "Seriously?"

You nod, taking a sip. "Yeah. I wanted it. The speed, the competition, the whole thing. Wanted to move up into single-seaters, F1 eventually, you know? The dream. But my family . . .” You exhale. "They thought racing was a hobby. Law was the real future."

“I’m in Formula One,” Max stated, looking at you with his head tilted. He felt it was as if he stole your dream.

“I can see that, Max,” you chuckled, lifting the file the FiA had given him as proof.

Max leans back, shaking his head with a smirk that's more tired than amused. "Funny. My dad thought law was stupid. Racing was the real future."

The piano plays on, and neither of you say anything for a moment. It’s not awkward. Just . . . heavy. Like you're both listening to ghosts of the past, telling you how things should have been.

"You still watch?" he asks eventually, his voice careful.

You shrug. "Not really." A lie. You watched enough to know his career, his wins, the way he makes magic out of machinery. "You still read about law?"

His lips press together, considering. "Sometimes." A lie. You bet he still thinks about it when he reads contracts, when he argues with his team, when he wonders if he could've been just as ruthless in a courtroom as he is on a track.

"Do you ever think about it?" you ask. "If you'd had the choice?"

Max smiles then, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "All the time."

The music plays on. The waiter refills your glass. Outside, the world moves forward, fast as ever, like it never had to choose between two lives. But here, in this quiet little nowhere, you and Max sit with your what-ifs, sharing a quiet conversation about what to do moving forward and how to get rid of the fine and community service fine, the ghosts of who you could've been watch over your shoulders.

[callsigns-haze]

-ˋˏ The week it all went south ˎˊ-

Part 5

Part 1 here Part 2 here Part 3 here Part 4 here

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader

Azriel has the perfect life. You as his wife. Kaia as his daughter. But him and the boys are stupid enough to challenge you for a week and then his perfect life might simply...disappear

Warning: ANGST, mentions of past lovers, mentions of sex, cursing, kissing, mentions of injured child, drinking, mentions of character death (nobody is dead though they just mention it), throwing up, Az being an ass and MC being a badass mama, kidnapping, mentions of physical force against characters, mentions of bleeding.

Word count: 16.4k

The guards at the River House barely had time to react as Eris winnowed into the courtyard, his usual composed demeanour replaced with an urgency that radiated off him like heat from a flame. His fiery hair was dishevelled, and his sharp features were drawn tight with exhaustion and determination.

Two Illyrian sentries stepped forward, wings flaring slightly in caution. "State your business, Eris Vanserra," one of them said sharply, though his grip on the hilt of his sword remained steady.

"I don’t have time for pleasantries," Eris snapped, his amber eyes blazing as he strode past them with a commanding air. "I need to see Rhysand. Now. Tell him it’s about Kaia."

The guards hesitated for only a moment before one of them nodded, stepping aside and sending a mental note to their High Lord. Eris didn’t wait for formalities or introductions; he shoved the heavy doors open and stormed into the River House, the sound of his boots echoing off the marble floors.

Inside, the tension in the air was palpable. Rhys was already in the main room, standing hunched over a table scattered with maps and reports. His hair was tousled from days of restless searching, and dark circles rimmed his violet eyes. Cassian sat nearby, sharpening a blade, his face grim and his posture radiating barely contained frustration. Azriel leaned against the far wall, his shadows shifting in a restless, agitated dance, his haunted expression betraying how close he was to breaking.

Eris didn’t bother with decorum. "Rhysand!" he barked, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a knife.

Rhysand’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing as he took in Eris’s wild appearance. "What are you doing here, Eris?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. Cassian and Azriel straightened, both watching the Lord of Autumn Court with barely veiled suspicion.

"I found her," Eris said, his voice sharp and urgent, his chest rising and falling as though he’d run the entire way. "I found Kaia."

The room froze. Rhysand’s expression turned from wary to disbelieving in the blink of an eye. Cassian stood abruptly, his blade clattering to the floor, and Azriel pushed off the wall so quickly his shadows scattered in confusion. "What did you say?" Rhys asked, his voice dangerously soft as though he didn’t dare hope.

"I found her," Eris repeated, more slowly this time, his voice steady and certain. "She’s at the Forest House with a healer. She’s alive."

Rhysand staggered back a step, his hand gripping the edge of the table for support. His violet eyes were wide, shining with a mixture of hope and disbelief. "Alive?" he whispered, as though testing the word on his tongue.

Cassian let out a string of curses, his wings flaring wide, while Azriel simply stared at Eris, his face blank but his shadows curling tightly around him, a storm waiting to erupt.

"She’s injured bad," Eris continued, glancing at each of them in turn. "Her wings... they’ve been damaged, and she’s weak. But she’s alive, Rhysand. She’s safe for now."

Azriel’s voice broke the silence, low and razor-edged. "Take me to her. Now."

Rhysand straightened, the shock on his face hardening into resolve. "Cassian, alert the others. Azriel—" he stopped as his brother began striding toward Eris without hesitation. "Go. Now."

Eris didn’t need further prompting. He held out a hand, and Azriel grasped it without a word. In a flash of flame, the two were gone, leaving Rhys, Cassian, and the heavy weight of relief mingled with dread in their wake.

Azriel and Eris winnowed into the Forest House, the cold air of the autumn woods immediately replaced by the warmth of the small, dimly lit structure. The faint scent of herbs and antiseptic wafted through the air, and the crackling of a nearby hearth filled the silence. Azriel didn’t take a moment to orient himself—his focus was already on the figure standing rigidly outside a closed door.

Lucien.

The Autumn Court emissary leaned against the wall beside the door, his arms crossed over his chest. His russet eye glimmered in the low light, while his mechanical eye rotated subtly, scanning the hallway with precise attention. At the sound of their arrival, Lucien’s gaze snapped toward them.

"Finally," he said, his tone a mixture of relief and tension. His usually sharp and calculated demeanour was tempered by something softer—an almost sympathetic edge.

Azriel was on him in an instant, stepping so close their noses were nearly touching. "Where is she?" he demanded, his voice rough, strained. His shadows lashed around him, crackling with his barely-contained fury and desperation.

Lucien, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He gestured to the closed door beside him. "In there. The healer is with her."

Azriel moved toward the door, but Lucien stepped in front of him, holding up a hand. "Wait," he said firmly, his golden eye locking onto Azriel’s. "She’s stable, but she’s in bad shape. You need to be prepared for that before you go in there."

Eris, standing a few feet back, observed the exchange silently, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides, and his wings flared slightly, the tips twitching as though he could barely restrain himself. "Move," he growled, his voice low and lethal.

Lucien held his ground, his gaze steady but not unkind. "I’m serious, Shadowsinger. You’re not going to want to see her like this—not without bracing yourself first."

"I’ve been searching for many weeks," Azriel hissed, his voice shaking with emotion. "Many weeks without knowing if she was alive or dead. If you think for one second that I’m not going in there—"

"Azriel," Eris cut in, his voice calm but firm. "Let him speak. For her sake, not yours."

Lucien’s gaze softened slightly, and he lowered his hand. "She’s been through hell," he said quietly. "She’s scared, she’s hurt, and she’s weak. The healer’s doing everything she can, but... just don’t expect her to run into your arms the moment she sees you."

Azriel’s throat worked, and for a moment, he looked like he might crumble. But he nodded, swallowing hard. "Move," he said again, though this time his voice was softer, less edged.

Lucien stepped aside, and Azriel immediately reached for the door handle. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before pushing the door open and stepping inside. Eris and Lucien stayed behind, neither speaking as the door closed softly behind him.

Azriel stepped into the room, his heart pounding so violently it echoed in his ears. The space was dim, lit only by the flickering glow of a lantern on the bedside table. The healer, a middle-aged woman with soft features and a calm, steady demeanour, glanced up as he entered but said nothing, her hands moving carefully over the small figure lying on the bed.

Kaia.

Azriel's breath caught in his throat as his eyes landed on her. His daughter looked so small, so fragile, cradled in the mound of blankets. Her usually vibrant skin was pale, almost translucent, and her dark lashes rested against cheeks stained with tear tracks. Her tiny wings, his pride and joy, were bandaged and bound tightly against her back. Even through the layers of gauze, he could see faint traces of blood seeping through, and his stomach churned violently.

Kaia's little body barely stirred as the healer adjusted her position, whispering soft reassurances. The sight of her there, so still, so unlike the lively, curious child he knew, nearly brought him to his knees. He had imagined this moment—finding her—so many times over the past two weeks, but nothing had prepared him for this.

"She’s stable for now," the healer said softly, her voice breaking through his haze. "But weak. She’s been through more than any child should ever endure."

Azriel nodded mutely, his throat too tight to form words. He stepped closer, his footsteps almost silent, and sank into the chair beside the bed. He reached out with a trembling hand, hesitating for a moment before gently brushing his fingers over her tiny hand. Her skin was cold to the touch, and his heart fractured further.

"Kaia," he whispered, his voice barely audible. His thumb ran softly over her knuckles. "I’m here, sweetheart. Daddy’s here."

Her eyelids fluttered faintly, and for a moment, he thought she might wake. But she only whimpered softly in her sleep, her little face scrunching in pain before settling again.

Azriel inhaled sharply, his free hand curling into a fist on his thigh. He couldn’t protect her from this, couldn’t take the pain away. And that knowledge gutted him. For the first time in centuries, he felt powerless.

"She’s been sedated to help with the pain," the healer explained quietly, her voice gentle but firm. "She needs rest above all else now. Physically, she has a small chance of recovery. But emotionally... she’ll need you. Both of you."

Azriel nodded again, his jaw tightening. "I failed her," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I should’ve found her sooner. I should’ve—"

"Stop," the healer interrupted, her tone surprisingly stern. "Blaming yourself won’t help her now. Focus on what you can do moving forward. She needs you strong, not consumed by guilt."

Azriel swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. He leaned over the bed, pressing a soft kiss to Kaia’s forehead, his shadows curling protectively around her tiny form. "I’m so sorry, baby," he murmured. "But I swear, I’ll never let anyone hurt you again."

For the first time in weeks, Azriel let his tears fall freely, his shoulders shaking as he kept his head bowed over his daughter. He would stay by her side now, no matter what it took. No matter how broken he felt, she would never feel alone.

Azriel sat there for what felt like hours, his hand never leaving Kaia’s. The room was silent, save for the occasional sound of the healer preparing fresh salves and the soft, shallow breaths of his daughter. His shadows crept out, brushing lightly over her form as if they, too, were trying to comfort her in their own way. They whispered to him, a thousand sounds he couldn’t quite make out, but their presence was grounding.

The door creaked open behind him, and Azriel tensed instinctively, his wings flaring slightly. When he glanced back, his shoulders relaxed only a fraction. Rhysand stood in the doorway, his face as pale and drawn as Azriel had ever seen it. Behind him, you hovered, your hands clutching the doorframe as if it was the only thing keeping you upright.

Azriel’s heart clenched at the sight of you. Your eyes were bloodshot, your face tear-streaked, and you looked like a ghost of yourself. You locked eyes with him, and in an instant, everything came crashing down. You pushed past Rhys, crossing the room in hurried steps until you stood at Kaia’s bedside.

“Kaia,” you choked out, your voice trembling. Your hands hovered over her as though afraid touching her would break her further. Azriel reached out, gently guiding your hand to rest on her arm. She didn’t stir, but the warmth of her skin under your palm seemed to ease some of the tension in your body.

"She’s alive," Azriel said softly, his voice hoarse. "She’s alive, Y/N."

A sob tore from your throat as you leaned over, pressing your forehead to her tiny hand. "My baby," you whispered, your voice cracking. "My sweet girl."

Rhys stepped fully into the room, his violet eyes taking in the scene before him. He moved to stand at the foot of the bed, his usual composure shattered. He reached out, brushing a hand over Kaia’s bandaged wings, his jaw tightening as he took in the blood-stained gauze.

"This should have never happened," Rhys said quietly, his voice filled with guilt. "I failed her. I failed you both."

Azriel looked up at his brother-in-law, his expression hard. "Don’t," he said, his tone sharp. "This isn’t on you, Rhys. It’s on me. I’m her father. I should’ve been faster. Smarter. I—"

"Enough," you cut in, your voice trembling but firm. You lifted your tear-streaked face, looking between the two men. "This isn’t the time to point fingers or wallow in guilt. Kaia is here now. She needs us to be strong for her, not broken."

Azriel nodded, his throat tightening. He reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as you both sat by Kaia’s side. Rhys lingered for a moment longer, his gaze heavy, before stepping back toward the door.

"I’ll let the others know she’s safe," Rhys said quietly. "They’ll want to see her, but... later." He glanced at Azriel, his expression softening. "Take care of her. Take care of both of them."

Azriel gave a faint nod, his focus returning to his daughter and the mate he swore to protect. For the first time in weeks, hope flickered in his chest. It was fragile, tentative, but it was there. And as he held your hand tightly in his own, he vowed to do everything in his power to make sure his family healed—together.

-----

It had been two weeks since Eris and Lucien had found Kaia, and you and Azriel hadn’t left the Autumn Court since. Moving her back to Velaris was out of the question; her condition was too fragile, and the healers insisted she remain where she could be closely monitored. The forest house had been converted into a sanctuary of sorts for your little family, though it hardly felt like one with the constant weight of worry hanging over you.

Kaia was still weak, her small body fighting to recover from the injuries she’d endured. Her wings remained heavily bandaged, the cuts along their stems slow to heal, and she was often too tired to do more than whimper softly when you or Azriel were near. The sight of her like this broke something in you every time you looked at her. Your vibrant, mischievous toddler, who had once chased butterflies and giggled endlessly, now lay quietly on her bed, her golden-brown eyes dull and filled with exhaustion.

Azriel rarely left her side. He sat by her bed for hours, his shadows constantly swirling around her, as though trying to offer her some semblance of comfort. He barely slept, and when he did, it was in the chair by her bedside, his hand always resting lightly on hers. His face was gaunt, his hazel eyes rimmed with dark circles, and his shoulders seemed perpetually hunched under the weight of his guilt.

You weren’t much better. The two of you hadn’t spoken about what had happened—not really. The shared grief and fear seemed to have built a wall between you, one neither of you dared to break through. You spent most of your time tending to Kaia, whispering soft lullabies to her as you held one of her favourite teddies, the same one you’d clung to in those harrowing weeks she was missing.

The healers came and went in quiet intervals, bringing fresh salves and herbs to aid her recovery. One of them had told you just the day before that her wings might never fully recover, and while they assured you she might possibly be able to live a full life, the thought of your baby losing even a fraction of her joy was unbearable.

Eris had been surprisingly accommodating. He ensured you had everything you needed, from food and clothing to extra security around the forest house. Lucien visited frequently, bringing small gifts for Kaia—soft blankets, delicate wooden toys, and once, a tiny music box that played a soothing tune. The gestures were kind, but they couldn’t erase the ache in your chest.

This morning, as the first light filtered through the tall windows of the room Kaia was staying in, you sat on the edge of her bed, gently stroking her hair. She was asleep, her breathing shallow but steady. Azriel stood by the window, his back to you, his wings tucked in tight as he stared out at the forest beyond. The tension in his frame was palpable, and you knew he was battling his own demons in silence.

“She looks better,” you said softly, breaking the silence. Your voice sounded foreign to your own ears—hoarse and quiet, as though it had forgotten how to speak.

Azriel didn’t turn to you, but his wings twitched slightly. “Not enough,” he muttered, his voice low and rough.

You didn’t have the energy to argue, though the words stung. Instead, you turned back to Kaia, your hand lingering on her small shoulder as you whispered, “She’s strong, Az. Stronger than we think.”

At that, he turned, his gaze locking on yours. There was something haunted in his eyes, something that mirrored the ache you felt in your own chest. “She shouldn’t have had to be strong,” he said, his voice breaking. “She’s just a baby.”

Your throat tightened, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. Instead, you reached out, taking his hand and pulling him to sit beside you on the bed.

The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of the wind against the tall windows and the rhythmic sound of Kaia’s shallow breathing. You and Azriel sat side by side on the edge of the bed, your fingers absentmindedly stroking Kaia’s tiny hand as she slept. The silence between you had stretched thin, heavy with tension, and you knew it was only a matter of time before something cracked.

“Az,” you began softly, your voice hesitant. He didn’t look at you, his focus fixed on Kaia’s frail form. “You should go back to work.”

The words hung in the air like a bomb. For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then Azriel’s head snapped toward you, his hazel eyes sharp and blazing with disbelief.

“What?” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

You met his gaze, your heart pounding but your resolve firm. “You’ve been here for two weeks, Az. I know you’re worried about her, but Kaia is safe now. The healers are doing everything they can, and I’m here with her. You have responsibilities—things that need your attention.”

His wings flared slightly, the shadows around him stirring like a storm ready to unleash. “Responsibilities?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “What are you even saying right now?”

“I’m saying you can’t just abandon everything else,” you said, keeping your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “The Night Court still needs you. Rhys needs you. We’ll be fine.”

Azriel shot up from the bed, his tall frame towering over you as he paced to the window. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and when he turned back to you, his expression was a mixture of anger and disbelief.

“‘We’ll be fine?’” he echoed, his voice rising slightly. “Do you even hear yourself? Our daughter nearly died! She’s lying there, barely able to move, her wings—” His voice broke, and he shook his head, his hands trembling. “And you’re telling me to leave her? To leave you?”

You stood, anger bubbling up despite the guilt gnawing at your heart. “I’m not telling you to abandon her, Azriel! I’m telling you to trust that she’s safe now. I’m telling you to trust me.”

“Trust you?” he snapped, his voice bitter. “How can you say that when you’re the one telling me to leave? What kind of mother—what kind of mate—says something like that?”

The words hit you like a slap, and your breath caught in your throat. “Don’t you dare,” you said, your voice shaking with anger. “Don’t you dare try to make me feel like I don’t care about her. I love her just as much as you do, Azriel, but I’m trying to be realistic. We can’t both sit here and hover over her forever. She needs us to be strong—for her, for each other.”

Azriel’s wings flared fully now, his shadows lashing out in frustration. “Strong?” he hissed. “You call this strong? You’re cold-hearted, that’s what you are. Telling me to go back to work while our daughter is lying there, recovering from the worst trauma of her life. How could you even think of sending me away? Do you not care about what I’m feeling? Do you not care about her?”

Your heart shattered at his words, tears springing to your eyes. “How dare you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “How dare you accuse me of not caring. Everything I’ve done—everything I’ve said—has been for her. For us.”

“Then act like it!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “Act like you actually give a damn about what’s happening here instead of trying to shove me back into work like none of this matters!”

Tears spilled down your cheeks, and you clenched your fists, your chest heaving as you struggled to find the words. “You’re not the only one who’s hurting, Azriel,” you said, your voice trembling. “You’re not the only one who’s scared, who feels guilty, who wakes up every night wondering what you could’ve done differently. But you don’t get to stand there and call me heartless. You don’t get to throw that at me.”

The room was silent, the weight of your words hanging between you. Azriel stared at you, his expression shifting from anger to something softer, something broken. But you couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. You turned back to Kaia, sitting on the edge of her bed and gripping her tiny hand as though it were the only thing tethering you to this world.

Azriel remained by the window, his wings drooping slightly as the shadows around him stilled.

You stayed seated at the edge of Kaia’s bed, your hand gripping hers so tightly you worried you might hurt her, but you couldn’t let go. The silence in the room felt unbearable, the tension coiling tighter with every breath. Azriel stood by the window, his back to you, his wings sagging slightly as though the weight of everything had finally settled onto his shoulders.

“I’ve hit it,” you whispered, your voice trembling but loud enough to cut through the heavy air.

Azriel’s head turned slightly, but he didn’t look at you fully, his shadows curling around his feet as if trying to comfort him.

“I never thought I’d feel this way,” you continued, your voice cracking as tears burned your throat. “I never thought I’d hit rock bottom like this. That I’d feel so—so empty. So... hollow.”

Azriel turned then, his hazel eyes meeting yours, the anger from before replaced by something softer, something achingly vulnerable. “Don’t say that,” he said, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Don’t do this.”

You let out a bitter laugh, tears streaming down your cheeks as you shook your head. “Do what, Azriel? Speak the truth? Admit that I’ve lost everything I thought I had? I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I don’t even recognize us anymore.”

His wings flared slightly, his shadows stirring as he stepped closer. “We’re still us,” he said, his voice desperate, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. “We’ve been through worse—we can get through this.”

You shook your head, letting out a shaky breath. “It doesn’t feel that way,” you said softly. “Do you know what it feels like, Azriel? To look at your mate and feel like they’re just... ordinary? Just another person in the room? Not the one you’re supposed to lean on, to trust with everything, to feel whole with.”

His breath hitched, and you saw the pain flash across his face, the way his wings drooped even further. “You don’t mean that,” he said, his voice breaking. “You can’t mean that.”

You let out a choked sob, burying your face in your hands. “I don’t know what I mean anymore,” you admitted, your voice muffled. “I don’t know anything anymore. All I know is that Kaia is lying there, barely holding on, and I feel like I’ve failed her. I feel like I’ve failed myself. And now... now I feel like I’ve failed us too.”

Azriel dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands trembling as he reached out to cup your face, forcing you to look at him. His hazel eyes shimmered with unshed tears, his voice thick with emotion as he said, “You haven’t failed, Y/N. You’re still here. You’re still fighting—for her, for me, for us. You haven’t failed.”

You shook your head, the tears streaming down your cheeks relentless. “It doesn’t feel like it,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “It doesn’t feel like I’m fighting anymore. It just feels like I’m surviving.”

Azriel closed his eyes, his forehead pressing against yours as his wings curled around the two of you, creating a cocoon of warmth and shadow. “Then let me fight for you,” he said, his voice raw. “Let me fight for us. I’ll do whatever it takes, Y/N. Whatever it takes to fix this. To fix us.”

You sat there, your fingers trembling as they rested on Kaia's blanket, your voice shaky as you looked at Azriel. His wings drooped behind him, his hazel eyes fixed on you with so much guilt and pain that it was hard to meet his gaze. But you spoke anyway, your voice quieter than you intended.

"When I was little," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "my mother used to sew dresses for Rhys’s future wife. She’d work tirelessly, stitching and cutting, always saying that his mate deserved nothing but the best."

Azriel’s brow furrowed, and he shifted closer, his shadows coiling tighter around his frame, but he stayed silent, letting you continue. "I used to sit beside her, watching her hands work, so delicate, so sure," you said, your throat tightening with the weight of the memory. "And one day, I asked her, ‘Are you going to make dresses for my future mate?’ I was just a child, so naive, but I was so curious."

Azriel swallowed hard, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something, but the words seemed caught in his throat.

"She laughed," you said, tears welling in your eyes as you stared at the floor. "She laughed and said, ‘Oh, sweetheart, your future love of your life is already wearing my clothes.’"

The room fell into silence, heavy and suffocating, and you felt the tears streaming down your cheeks. You finally looked at Azriel, meeting his stunned gaze.

"She thought it was you," you whispered, your voice breaking. "She thought it would always be you. And for so long, I thought so too. But now... now I’m not so sure. Now I feel like she was wrong."

Azriel flinched, as if your words had physically struck him. His wings curled inward slightly, and his hands clenched at his sides.

"Don’t say that," he said, his voice hoarse, raw with desperation. "Please, Y/N. Don’t say that."

Your shoulders shook as you let out a bitter laugh, the tears falling freely. "I don’t want to feel this way, Azriel. I don’t. But look at us. Look at what we’ve become. I don’t even know who I am anymore, and I don’t know who you are either."

He reached for you then, his hands trembling as they cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. His hazel eyes were glassy, his voice breaking as he said, "I’m still me, Y/N. I’m still yours. Please, just... tell me how to fix this."

You shook your head, your voice barely audible as you whispered, "I don’t know if you can."

Azriel’s grip on you tightened, his shadows flickering wildly around him. "I won’t accept that," he said, his voice fierce despite the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. "I won’t accept losing you. Not you, not Kaia. I’ll do whatever it takes, Y/N. Whatever it takes to make you believe in us again."

You pulled away from Azriel’s trembling hands, stepping back as your heart clenched painfully in your chest. His wings twitched, his shadows writhing around him as if mirroring his turmoil.

"Y/N," he said, his voice low and desperate, but you shook your head, tears blurring your vision.

"I can’t do this right now," you whispered, your voice breaking as you turned toward the door. "I need space, Azriel. I need to breathe."

He stepped toward you, panic etched into every line of his face. "Don’t walk away from me," he pleaded. "Not like this. Please, Y/N, we can—"

But you didn’t let him finish. You took one last look at him, his expression shattered, his wings slightly drooping, before you winnowed away without another word.

"Y/N!" he shouted after you, his voice filled with anguish, but by the time the sound of his plea echoed through the room, you were already gone.

-----

The River House was quieter than usual when you winnowed into the foyer, the cool stillness only broken by the faint sound of papers rustling in the nearby study. Rhys and Cassian were walking out, deep in conversation, when they spotted you standing there.

"Y/N?" Cassian asked, surprise etched on his face. "What are you doing here? We were just about to—"

His words faltered as he saw your tear-streaked face, your shoulders trembling as you hugged yourself tightly. Rhys stepped forward, his face paling.

"What happened?" Rhys demanded, his voice low and urgent. "Is it Kaia? Is she—?"

"No!" you cut him off quickly, shaking your head vehemently. "She's... she's fine." Your voice cracked, and a fresh wave of tears spilled over as you tried to steady your breathing.

Cassian let out a sharp exhale, relief flashing in his eyes, but the worry didn’t leave his expression. He stepped closer, his brow furrowed. "Then what is it? Why are you here? Did something happen at the Autumn Court?"

You tried to answer, tried to form the words, but the weight of everything—the past weeks, Azriel’s words, your own breaking heart—came crashing down. A choked sob escaped your throat as you covered your face with your hands.

Rhys closed the distance between you, his hands gently gripping your shoulders. "Y/N, talk to me," he urged softly. "What’s going on?"

But all you could do was cry, the anguish too overwhelming to explain. Rhys glanced over his shoulder at Cassian, whose jaw was tight as he watched you crumble. "Let’s get her to the sitting room," Rhys said quietly.

Cassian nodded, stepping aside as Rhys guided you gently toward the room, his concern written in every line of his face. Neither of them pushed you to speak again, giving you the time to collect yourself as they exchanged uneasy glances, silently wondering what had happened to leave you in such a state.

In the sitting room, Rhys guided you to the couch, his touch steady and gentle as you sank down, curling into yourself. Cassian sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his face a mask of worry.

"Y/N," Rhys began softly, sitting beside you. "Please tell us what happened. If it’s not Kaia, then... what’s wrong?"

Your voice broke as you tried to speak. "I—I can’t do it anymore," you whispered, staring down at your trembling hands. "I can’t stay there with him. I can’t pretend like everything is fine."

Rhys stiffened slightly. "With Azriel?" he asked carefully, his tone measured, though concern laced his words.

Cassian sat up straighter, his brows knitting together. "Did he—"

"He didn’t hurt me," you interrupted, shaking your head. "Not physically. But his words..." You trailed off, another sob escaping your lips as the weight of Azriel’s accusations hit you again. "He said I was heartless. Cold. That I didn’t care about Kaia, about him."

Rhys’ eyes darkened, his posture stiffening. "What?"

Cassian looked furious, his hands clenching into fists as he struggled to keep his composure. "Azriel said that? To you?"

You nodded, tears streaming down your face as you buried your head in your hands. "I told him he should go back to work, to get some air, and he just... he lost it. He called me heartless for even suggesting it."

Rhys rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly, his violet eyes filled with a mixture of anger and helplessness. "He’s been on edge for weeks," he murmured, more to himself than to you.

"That’s no excuse," Cassian snapped, his voice low but seething. "He has no right to talk to her like that, especially after everything she’s been through."

You sniffled, looking up at them through blurry eyes. "It’s more than that," you admitted, your voice trembling. "I... I told him I felt like I’d hit rock bottom, like I wasn’t even his mate anymore. And he didn’t..."

Cassian cursed under his breath, standing abruptly and pacing the room. Rhys sat in silence for a moment, his jaw tight as he tried to piece together his thoughts.

"Y/N," Rhys said gently, his hand resting on your knee, "you’re not alone in this. We’re going to figure it out. Azriel is... he’s struggling, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. He’s just—"

"He’s not the male I fell in love with," you interrupted, your voice cracking. "And I don’t know if he ever will be again."

The room fell into a heavy silence, your words lingering like a dark cloud. Cassian finally stopped pacing, his expression softening as he looked at you. "You’re exhausted," he said quietly. "You’ve been through too much. Maybe staying here for a while... away from him... is what you need."

Rhys nodded, though his face was tight with emotion. "You’re welcome here for as long as you need, Y/N. And when you’re ready to face Azriel, we’ll be here for that too."

You nodded weakly, wiping at your tear-streaked face. "Thank you," you whispered, though the ache in your chest remained, a reminder of the fracture that now lay between you and your mate.

Cassian leaned back against the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest as he glanced between you and Rhys. His hazel eyes softened as they settled on you, still curled up on the couch, your eyes red and swollen. Letting out a deep breath, he broke the tense silence.

"Rhys," Cassian began, his tone firm but not unkind, "I’ll take Nyx to see Kaia."

Rhys blinked, his brows furrowing slightly. "Cass—"

"No arguments," Cassian cut him off, holding up a hand. "You need to stay here with Y/N. She needs you more than Azriel needs another body standing around in the Autumn Court." He glanced at you again, his expression softening further. "You’ve both been running on fumes, but Rhys... you can’t just leave her right now."

Rhys ran a hand through his hair, his violet eyes conflicted as he looked at you. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly, glancing back at Cassian.

"Positive," Cassian replied firmly. "I’ve already been back and forth. Nyx will be happy to see Kaia, and I’ll make sure everything is handled. You stay here. Focus on your sister."

You looked up, your voice weak but filled with gratitude. "Cassian..."

He waved you off, his lips quirking into a small, reassuring smile. "Don’t even start. You know I’d do anything for Kaia—and for you. Az and I may want to strangle each other half the time, but he’s still my brother. We’ll keep this together."

Rhys hesitated a moment longer before nodding, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Alright," he finally said. "Take Nyx. And... thank you, Cass."

Cassian clapped Rhys on the shoulder, giving him a reassuring nod before stepping closer to you. He crouched down, resting a hand on your knee. "You focus on yourself, alright? Kaia is safe, and I’ll make sure she knows how much her mama and dada love her."

Tears welled in your eyes again as you nodded, your voice breaking as you whispered, "Thank you, Cassie."

He gave you a warm, lopsided grin before straightening. "Get some rest," he said firmly, looking between you and Rhys. "Both of you."

As he left the room, you and Rhys sat in silence, the weight of everything hanging heavily in the air. But for the first time in weeks, there was a faint glimmer of hope.

You shifted on the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders as Cassian’s footsteps faded from the room. Turning to Rhys, you wiped at your tear-streaked face, your voice hoarse as you asked, "Where’s Feyre?"

Rhys looked over at you, the question catching him slightly off guard. He leaned back against the armrest of his chair, his violet eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. "She’s upstairs with Nyx," he replied softly. "She’s been keeping him distracted... keeping herself distracted."

You nodded, the mention of Feyre grounding you slightly. "I—I’d like to see her," you murmured, your voice wavering but determined. "I just need... I need to talk to her."

Rhys tilted his head, studying you for a moment. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but he hesitated. Instead, he simply nodded. "Of course," he said gently, rising to his feet. "I’ll let her know you’re here."

Before he could leave the room, you grabbed his wrist, your grip weak but desperate. "Rhys," you said, your voice trembling. "Thank you... for staying."

His gaze softened, and he placed a hand over yours. "Always, sister," he said quietly. "You’re not alone in this."

He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before heading toward the staircase, leaving you alone with the quiet crackle of the fire and the faint sound of the city beyond the windows. You tried to steel yourself, but the weight of everything pressed heavily on your chest.

Moments later, soft footsteps approached, and Feyre appeared in the doorway, her expression a mixture of worry and relief as she saw you. She crossed the room quickly, sitting beside you on the couch and wrapping you in a tight embrace.

"You’re here," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Feyre held you tightly, her warmth and steady presence grounding you as sobs racked your body. She didn’t say anything at first, letting you cry against her shoulder, her hand gently stroking your hair. It wasn’t until your breathing began to slow that she finally spoke.

"I was about to come see you," she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. "But... I’m glad you’re here."

You pulled back slightly, wiping at your swollen eyes. "I couldn’t stay in Autumn anymore," you admitted, your voice breaking. "I feel like I’m suffocating, Feyre. Azriel... he’s so angry and distant, and I—" Your voice faltered, tears spilling over again.

Feyre cupped your face, forcing you to meet her gaze. "You’ve been through hell," she said firmly. "Both of you have. It’s not fair for either of you to carry this weight alone."

You nodded weakly, but the tears wouldn’t stop. "I told him to go back to work," you choked out, your voice trembling. "I thought... I thought it might help him focus on something other than the guilt, but he... he called me heartless, Feyre. He said I was cold."

Feyre’s jaw tightened, and you could see the fury flash in her eyes, though she kept her tone even. "Azriel is lashing out because he’s hurting," she said softly. "But that doesn’t make it okay. You’re hurting, too."

"I feel like I’ve lost him," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "After everything we’ve been through... I feel like he doesn’t even see me anymore. Like I’m just... there."

Feyre’s arms wrapped around you again, pulling you close. "That’s not true," she said firmly. "Azriel loves you more than anything. He’s just drowning in his own pain right now, and he doesn’t know how to reach out. But you two will find your way back to each other. I know it."

The conviction in her voice made your chest ache, but you weren’t sure if you believed her. You stayed like that for a while, Feyre holding you as the fire crackled softly beside you.

Eventually, Rhys entered the room, his presence calm but heavy. "I sent Cassian off with Nyx now," he said quietly, glancing between the two of you. "They’ll be at the Autumn Court by nightfall."

You nodded, your hands clutching the blanket tightly around you. Rhys’s gaze softened as he looked at you. "You should rest," he said gently. "You’ve been running on empty for weeks now."

Feyre squeezed your hand. "I’ll stay with you," she offered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into her side. "Thank you," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rhys lingered for a moment before giving a small nod and stepping back, leaving you and Feyre in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.

-----

Cassian landed heavily outside the Autumn Court’s forest house, Nyx held tightly against his chest as he adjusted his grip on the boy. The moment his boots hit the ground, he could already sense Azriel inside.

Kaia was here. Healing. Recovering. And Azriel hadn’t left her side.

But Cassian hadn’t come for Azriel. Not really.

The guards at the door let them through immediately, and Cassian pushed inside, the warmth of the fire doing little to thaw the ice settling in his veins. Nyx wiggled in his arms, eager to be let down, but Cassian held him close, rubbing a hand along his back to keep him calm.

It was Azriel who came into view first. He looked rough—exhausted, shoulders tense, his eyes shadowed even more than usual. The moment his gaze locked onto Cassian, the Spymaster straightened, as if preparing for whatever storm Cassian was bringing with him.

Cassian had half a mind to rip into him right then and there.

For what he said to you.

For letting you leave like that.

For making you feel like you were alone in this.

But Nyx stirred in his arms about being to old to be held, and Cassian swallowed the anger, pushing past Azriel without a word.

Lucien was standing just outside the bedroom where Kaia was resting. He gave Cassian a nod before stepping aside, letting him through.

Cassian exhaled slowly before opening the door, stepping into the dimly lit room.

Kaia was curled up beneath thick blankets, a healer sitting nearby, quietly monitoring her condition. Her tiny wings were wrapped in soft bandages, her face turned toward the pillows.

"Kaia," Nyx whispered.

The little girl stirred slightly, blinking up at them with sleepy eyes. Her lips wobbled, and for a moment, Cassian thought she might cry.

But then Nyx wiggled out of his grip, stumbling toward the bed, and Kaia’s little fingers reached for him immediately.

Nyx climbed up beside her carefully, curling into her side, one of his hands resting against her bandaged wing as if he could protect her from whatever had hurt her.

Cassian exhaled, his chest tight. He turned, stepping back toward the door where Azriel still stood, watching from the shadows.

Cassian met his brother’s gaze, the anger from earlier flaring up once again.

Azriel could feel it. He knew exactly how pissed Cassian was at him.

And he didn’t even try to defend himself.

Cassian clenched his jaw before looking back at the bed.

Kaia was safe. That was what mattered.

But Azriel had a hell of a lot to answer for.

Azriel stood motionless in the doorway, shadows coiling at his feet as he watched Nyx curl around Kaia like she was the most precious thing in the world. His daughter—his baby—was alive. That should have been enough to ease some of the storm raging inside of him.

It wasn’t.

Not when he could feel Cassian’s burning stare from across the room. Not when he could still hear your voice in his head, raw and broken, telling him you’d finally hit rock bottom.

His fingers twitched at his sides, his jaw locked so tightly it ached. He hadn’t slept in days. Hadn’t thought about anything except keeping Kaia safe.

But you had left.

And now Cassian was here, standing in his home, barely holding himself back.

Azriel braced himself for the inevitable as Cassian finally turned away from the bed, stepping toward him. His brother’s wings flared slightly, his chest rising and falling with the effort of holding back whatever was brewing inside him.

“Outside,” Cassian said, his voice a low growl.

Azriel just stared at him.

“I said outside.”

A muscle feathered in Azriel’s jaw, but he didn’t argue. Without a word, he turned and walked past Cassian, pushing the door open and stepping out into the cool, damp air of the Autumn woods.

Cassian followed, the door clicking shut behind them.

Azriel barely had a second before Cassian grabbed him by the collar of his leathers and shoved him back against the wooden exterior of the house.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Cassian seethed.

Azriel didn’t fight back. He just stared, his hazel eyes cold, unreadable.

Cassian shoved him again. “She came back to Velaris in tears, Az. She left here broken. And you let her.”

“She told me to go,” Azriel said flatly. “So I let her do the same.”

Cassian let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

Azriel’s wings twitched. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Tell you the truth? Tell you that you pushed your own mate away when she was barely holding on?”

Azriel clenched his jaw. He wanted to tell Cassian that it wasn’t that simple. That you had told him to go back to work like Kaia would just magically be fine without him. That you, who had fought for her just as fiercely as he had, were now acting like you could just—just move on.

But deep down, he knew that wasn’t what you meant.

And it hadn’t been what you needed to hear.

Cassian’s grip loosened slightly, but his expression remained furious. “She’s grieving, Az. And instead of holding her through it, you made her feel like she was the only one hurting.”

Azriel exhaled slowly through his nose. His shadows twisted around his boots, restless.

“She still loves you,” Cassian added, his voice quieter now. “But you need to fix this before she starts believing otherwise.”

Azriel swallowed, his throat tight. He had never doubted your love for him—not even for a second.

Cassian’s grip on Azriel’s collar tightened, his knuckles going white. His breath was hot with rage, his chest heaving as he stared Azriel down.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Cassian hissed. His wings flared, his entire body vibrating with barely restrained fury.

Azriel remained silent, his expression unreadable, but his shadows coiled tighter around him, reacting to the anger radiating off his brother.

Cassian let out a bitter, humourless laugh. “You think this is just about you? About your pride? Your pain?” His voice rose, his rage spilling over. “You have no idea what she’s feeling right now. No fucking idea.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his hazel eyes flashing dangerously. “I lost her too.”

Cassian shoved him hard, slamming him back against the wooden wall. “Then why the fuck are you acting like you didn’t?!” he bellowed.

Azriel’s wings flared, his own anger finally sparking to life, but Cassian didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“She sat in her room for two fucking weeks, Az. Two weeks, holding onto that teddy like it was the only thing keeping her together, crying herself to sleep, and you weren’t there!” Cassian’s voice cracked, but he pushed through it. “You chose not to be there.”

Azriel’s breath was heavy, uneven.

Cassian shook his head, disgusted. “She begged me not to tell you how bad it was. Because she still—still wanted to protect you. And you—you stood here, let her walk away, and fucking watched as she shattered.”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides. His shadows were writhing now, slithering across his boots, up his arms, reacting to the storm inside him.

“I’ve seen her broken before,” Cassian growled, voice low and raw. “But never like this. Not even after she lost her wings.”

Azriel’s entire body locked up. A deep, old pain flickered behind his eyes, but Cassian wasn’t done.

“She needed you. And you made her feel like she had no one.”

Azriel’s chest rose and fell, fast and uneven. His shadows had gone completely still.

Cassian released him with a sharp shove, stepping back. His voice was thick with fury and disappointment. “You need to fix this, Az.”

Azriel swallowed, his throat tight, his hands still clenched into fists.

Cassian exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Then, with one last glare, he turned and walked back inside, leaving Azriel alone in the cold, with nothing but his shadows and the weight of his mistakes.

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as he stepped back into the dimly lit room where Kaia and Nyx were. His anger still simmered beneath his skin, but he forced himself to push it down, to focus on what mattered—on them.

The soft glow of candlelight flickered against the walls, casting long shadows over the room. Kaia lay curled up on the plush bed, wrapped in thick blankets, her tiny form barely visible beneath them. Her wings—still bandaged, still healing—rested limply against the mattress.

Nyx sat beside her, his small hand gently stroking her hair as he whispered something Cassian couldn’t hear. His expression was heartbreakingly solemn, far too serious for a child his age.

Cassian sighed and walked over, his heavy boots barely making a sound on the wooden floor. Nyx looked up as he approached, his eyes wide with concern. “Uncle Cass?” he asked quietly. “Is everything okay?”

Cassian hesitated. No. Nothing is okay. But he couldn’t say that. Not to Nyx.

So instead, he forced a small, tired smile. “Yeah, kid. Just had to talk to your uncle Az.” His voice was rough, thick with lingering frustration.

Nyx studied him for a moment before nodding. He turned his attention back to Kaia, his fingers still brushing through her dark curls. “She was whimpering in her sleep,” he murmured. “I think she’s hurting.”

Cassian’s heart clenched. He carefully lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, his large hand resting near Kaia’s tiny fingers. Her breathing was soft, but uneven. Even in sleep, she looked fragile.

“Hey, sunshine,” Cassian whispered, leaning in slightly. “Uncle Cassie is here.”

Kaia stirred at his voice, her little brow furrowing. She let out a quiet whimper before shifting, her tiny fingers reaching blindly in her sleep. Without thinking, Cassian slid his hand into hers.

Her fingers curled weakly around his.

Cassian swallowed against the lump in his throat.

Nyx looked up at him again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Is Auntie Y/N coming soon?”

Cassian’s chest ached at the question. He knew Nyx had been missing his aunt, and Rhys had been trying to keep him distracted, but it wasn’t the same.

“She’ll come soon,” Cassian promised, though he wasn’t sure if that was true. He had no idea what was happening back at the River House. No idea if Azriel had finally pulled his head out of his ass and gone after his mate.

Kaia stirred again, her grip on his fingers tightening. Cassian instinctively reached out with his other hand, brushing her hair back gently.

“Sleep, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”

She let out a small sigh, shifting a little closer to Nyx, her breathing evening out once more.

Cassian glanced at Nyx, whose eyes were still on Kaia, filled with the same fierce protectiveness his father had.

“She’s gonna be okay, right?” Nyx asked, voice small.

Cassian hesitated for only a second before nodding. “Yeah, kid. She’s tough.”

Like her mother.

Like her father—if Azriel ever got his shit together.

Nyx nodded solemnly before snuggling closer to Kaia, his own little hand resting over hers.

Cassian let out a quiet breath, leaning back slightly, but he didn’t let go of Kaia’s hand. Not yet.

Because as much as he wanted to believe his own words, he wasn’t sure any of them would ever be okay again.

Eris strode into the room with his usual effortless grace, though there was an edge to his movements—a sharpness that hadn’t dulled since the night he had carried Kaia, bleeding and limp, through the forests of the Autumn Court. His amber eyes flickered over the space, first landing on Nyx curled beside Kaia, then shifting to Cassian, who was still seated on the edge of the bed, Kaia’s tiny hand wrapped around his own.

Cassian barely acknowledged him, his jaw clenched tight, his attention still on the sleeping girl.

Eris exhaled sharply, crossing his arms as he glanced around again. “Where are her parents?” His tone was even, but there was something pointed in it, something layered beneath the words.

Cassian lifted his gaze then, his expression unreadable. “Y/N’s at the River House,” he said gruffly. “Azriel—” He let out a humorless huff. “—he’s probably still brooding somewhere. Who the hell knows.”

Eris scoffed. “Typical.” He took a few slow steps into the room, his sharp eyes sweeping over Kaia once more. “I expected at least one of them to be here.”

Cassian’s grip tightened around Kaia’s little fingers, but he kept his voice steady. “Y/N just got back last night. She needed time.”

Eris hummed, but his gaze didn’t leave Kaia. “And Azriel?”

Cassian’s nostrils flared. He knew exactly what Eris was doing—pushing, needling, waiting to see if his words would strike a nerve, Nesta told him when she got back from Day that you and Eris used to be a thing so if this was the point Eris was trying to prove...

“He’ll show up,” Cassian muttered, though even he wasn’t sure if that was true.

Eris arched a brow. “Will he?”

Cassian shot him a warning look.

Eris merely lifted his hands in mock surrender. “I just find it interesting,” he said, voice almost casual. “That the moment his daughter is found—alive, though barely—he suddenly disappears.”

Cassian’s fists clenched, but before he could snap back, Nyx spoke.

“Uncle Az is coming,” he said quietly, his small voice firm despite the exhaustion lining it.

Cassian and Eris both looked at him, finding the young boy staring at Kaia, his little hand still resting protectively over hers.

Nyx looked up then, his violet eyes eerily serious. “He’ll come,” he repeated.

Eris let out a slow exhale before turning back to Cassian. “He better.” His voice was lower now, almost thoughtful. “Because if he doesn’t, I don’t think Y/N will ever forgive him.”

Cassian didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

Because deep down, they both knew Eris was right.

Eris lingered by the door for a moment before stepping fully into the room, his sharp amber gaze locked onto Kaia’s small form. His usual mask of indifference was thinner today, barely concealing the tension in his shoulders, the flicker of something dangerously close to concern in his expression.

He exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms as he tilted his head slightly. “How is she?” His voice was quieter than before, the usual sharpness dulled.

Cassian shifted in his spot, still holding Kaia’s tiny fingers in his much larger hand. He hadn’t let go since he’d arrived, and it didn’t look like he planned to anytime soon. His hazel eyes, weary and shadowed, flickered up to Eris before he glanced back down at the sleeping girl.

“She’s alive,” he said gruffly, his voice thick. “But she’s weak.”

Eris took another step closer, his keen gaze raking over her small frame. Her face was pale, exhaustion lining every delicate feature. Even in sleep, there was a tightness around her eyes, a subconscious flinch every time she shifted too much. The bandages along her back, where the healer had worked tirelessly to repair the deep wounds at the base of her wings, were fresh—evidence that her injuries were still healing.

Eris’s jaw tightened. He had seen the blood, had held her as it soaked into his clothes. The sight of her now, fragile and unmoving, made something in his chest twist uncomfortably.

“And the wings?” he asked after a moment.

Cassian’s fingers curled slightly around Kaia’s hand, his other clenching into a fist on his thigh. His voice was low when he answered. “We don’t know yet.”

Eris didn’t move, didn’t react outright, but Cassian saw the way his fingers flexed at his sides, the way his expression turned even graver.

Silence stretched between them before Eris finally spoke again. “And Y/N?”

Cassian let out a long, tired breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “Not great.” He didn’t elaborate, but Eris didn’t need him to.

He already knew.

-----

The River House was quiet. Too quiet.

You stood by the window in the sitting room, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you stared out at the Sidra. The water was dark beneath the early evening sky, its surface rippling with the wind that had begun to pick up. Normally, you found solace in this view, in the steady, unchanging flow of the river. But today, it felt hollow.

The house was nearly empty—Rhys was somewhere, likely still pouring over paperwork, and Feyre had yet to return from wherever she had gone. Only the occasional crackle of the fireplace and the distant sound of someone moving upstairs broke the silence.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeves. It had been hours since you winnowed away from Autumn, from Azriel. Hours since you’d stormed out, leaving him standing there. You had thought coming home would bring some kind of peace, that being here—away from everything—might help you breathe again.

But all you felt was emptiness.

Your eyes flickered to the small pile of Kaia’s things in the corner of the room. A few of her favourite books, a stuffed animal she’d left behind last time she was here. A blanket she used to curl up with on the couch. The sight of them made your throat close up.

She should be here. She should be running around, laughing, filling the house with her little voice. Instead, she was in Autumn, healing. And you weren’t there.

A lump formed in your throat, and you clenched your jaw, forcing down the sob threatening to rise.

You barely heard the footsteps approaching until a familiar presence settled nearby. Rhys didn’t say anything at first, just watched you, his violet eyes filled with something unreadable.

After a long moment, he finally spoke, voice quiet. “Y/N…”

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

But Rhys wasn’t fooled. He stepped closer, his expression softening. “I know you don’t want to talk,” he said, “but I need you to.”

You swallowed hard, still staring out the window. “There’s nothing to say.”

Rhys exhaled. “That’s a lie.”

Silence.

Then, barely above a whisper, you said, “I don’t know what to do.”

It was the first honest thing you had admitted in days. Maybe weeks.

Rhys hesitated before moving forward, wrapping his arms around you. The moment his warmth enveloped you, the dam broke. A choked sob escaped before you could stop it, and you clung to him, your body shaking as you buried your face in his chest.

His arms tightened around you. “I know,” he murmured, pressing a hand to the back of your head. “I know.”

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself fall apart.

Your sobs wracked your body, the kind that stole the breath from your lungs, the kind that left you gasping. Rhys held you tightly, his hands steady against your back, but it did nothing to stop the storm raging inside of you.

“Why do I always fuck up?” you choked out against his chest, your voice barely audible, yet filled with a raw, gut-wrenching pain. “Why is it always me?”

Rhys flinched at your words, but he didn’t loosen his hold on you. If anything, he only held you tighter, as if he could somehow keep you from unravelling completely.

Your hands curled into the fabric of his tunic, clutching onto him like he was the only thing keeping you upright. “I should have known,” you whispered brokenly. “I should have done something—”

“Stop,” Rhys cut in, his voice firm but not unkind. “Y/N, you didn’t fail.”

You let out a bitter laugh against his chest. “Then why does it feel like I did?”

Rhys pulled back slightly, just enough to cup the sides of your face, forcing you to look at him. His violet eyes searched yours, filled with something raw, something unbreakable. “Because you love too much,” he said softly. “Because you love so fiercely that when something happens to the people you care about, you take it all onto yourself.”

Your vision blurred with tears. “But I was supposed to protect her.” Your voice cracked. “She’s my daughter, Rhys. And I wasn’t there.”

Rhys’ thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “And yet, she is still here. Still fighting.” His voice dropped to something even softer. “Because she has a mother who would burn the world down for her.”

A fresh wave of tears welled in your eyes, and your lip trembled. “I just…” You shook your head, your voice breaking entirely. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Rhys sighed, pressing his forehead to yours. “You don’t have to fix it alone.” His voice was steady, grounding. “We will get through this. You and Azriel will get through this.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words settle, letting yourself breathe. But even as you clung to your brother, the weight in your chest remained, heavy and unyielding. Because deep down, you weren’t sure if you believed him.

You pulled away from Rhys, your hands slipping from his tunic as you took a shaky step back. The warmth of his embrace lingered, but it did nothing to soothe the hollow ache spreading through your chest.

He watched you carefully, his violet eyes scanning your face, waiting, bracing. He had seen you angry before, devastated before. But this… this was something else entirely.

Your throat was raw from crying, but your voice came out steady—too steady. “I don’t think there’s anything left to fix.”

Rhys blinked, his brows furrowing as if he hadn’t heard you right. “Y/N—”

“I mean it,” you cut in, shaking your head. “Azriel and I… We’re not the same anymore. And I don’t know if we ever will be.”

Rhys’ jaw tensed, but he didn’t say anything, letting you continue.

“I’ve spent years believing in us. In our bond. No matter how bad things got, I always thought we’d make it through.” Your voice wavered, your fingers curling into fists at your sides. “But now? Now I don’t even know who we are.”

Rhys exhaled slowly, his shoulders stiff. “You’re grieving, Y/N. Both of you are. You’ve been through hell, and—”

“I know what I’m saying,” you interrupted, your eyes burning with fresh tears. “I know how I feel.”

Rhys’ expression darkened slightly. “So, what? You’re just giving up?”

You let out a bitter laugh, void of humour. “I’m not giving up. I’m realizing that maybe, just maybe, some things aren’t meant to be saved.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

Rhys stared at you for a long moment before running a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “Does Azriel know you feel this way?”

You swallowed, looking away. “I don’t think he cares.”

Rhys’ expression hardened. “That’s not true.”

You scoffed. “Isn’t it? He looks at me like I’m a stranger. Like I’m the enemy.” Your voice broke, but you pushed through. “And I can’t keep fighting for something he doesn’t want to fight for.”

Rhys sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Y/N, you and Azriel have spent centuries building a life together. You’ve survived wars, loss, everything. Don’t let this be what breaks you.”

You shook your head, your vision blurring. “I think we were already broken.”

Rhys reached for you then, his hands settling on your arms, grounding you. “Just… don’t make any decisions right now,” he murmured. “Not while everything still hurts.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Because deep down, you weren’t sure if this pain would ever go away.

Sobs tore from your throat, raw and unrelenting, the weight of everything crashing down all at once. Rhys lowered you both to the floor, his arms wrapping around you, anchoring you even as you shattered.

“I—” You tried to speak, but the words were swallowed by another choked sob. Your chest ached, your entire body trembling as you buried your face against Rhys’ shoulder. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Rhys. I—” Another sob ripped through you. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

His grip tightened, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing soothing circles against your back. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “Just breathe, Y/N. Just breathe.”

But you couldn’t.

Every breath came out shaky, uneven, the grief clawing at your throat like it was trying to consume you whole. The weight of the past weeks—losing Kaia, the helplessness, the distance between you and Azriel—pressed down on you, suffocating.

Tears soaked through Rhys’ shirt, but he didn’t seem to care. He just held you, rocking you slightly, his own breathing uneven as if your pain was his, too.

Your fingers clutched at him, desperate for something, anything to keep you from falling apart completely. “I feel so empty, Rhys.” The admission came out in a broken whisper. “Like there’s nothing left of me.”

His arms tightened around you. “You’re still here. You’re still you.”

You let out a gasping sob, shaking your head. “I don’t feel like me.”

Rhys swallowed hard, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Then let me hold onto you until you do.”

And so he did.

Minutes passed—maybe hours—as you sobbed into your brother’s arms, the storm inside you refusing to settle. And still, Rhys held you, unwavering, refusing to let you drown.

-----

Azriel sat in the chair by Kaia’s bedside, his elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles had turned white. He hadn’t moved in hours. Not since Cassian had stormed in, not since Nyx had curled up beside Kaia on the bed, keeping her company while she rested.

He barely even blinked.

The quiet of the room was suffocating. The only sounds were the soft breaths of the children and the distant crackle of a fire from the sitting room. But even that warmth couldn’t reach him.

Not when the only warmth he had ever known had left.

His shadows curled restlessly around him, mirroring the storm inside him. He knew where you were. Could feel the bond, muted and distant but still there. Still holding. But he didn’t know if you would come back. Didn’t know if he deserved for you to.

A sharp knock at the door made him tense, but he didn’t look up. Didn’t move.

“Az.”

Cassian.

Azriel exhaled slowly, forcing himself to unclench his jaw. “What.” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Cassian sighed, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He crossed the room in a few long strides, dragging a chair closer before sinking into it with a heavy thud. He didn’t speak right away, just sat there, watching Azriel with an expression Az couldn’t decipher.

Finally, Cassian leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “She’s at the River House.”

Azriel didn’t react, didn’t let the flicker of relief show on his face. But Cassian knew him too well.

“She’s a mess, Az,” Cassian continued, voice softer now. “Rhys had to carry her to bed. She hasn’t slept. She’s barely eaten. And—” He exhaled sharply. “She thinks it’s over.”

Azriel’s head snapped up at that. His eyes, rimmed with exhaustion, locked onto Cassian’s. “What?”

Cassian hesitated, but then, with brutal honesty, said, “She told Rhys she doesn’t think there’s anything left to fix.”

Azriel’s breath left him in a sharp exhale, his wings twitching, his body going rigid.

Cassian’s gaze softened, but his tone was firm. “You need to go to her, Az.”

Azriel shook his head, looking away. “She told me to go. To leave.”

“And you actually listened?” Cassian scoffed, shaking his head. “Since when do you give up that easily?”

Azriel’s fingers dug into his knees. “She said she’s hit rock bottom.” His voice cracked, and he hated himself for it. “She said she never thought she could look at me and feel nothing.”

Cassian’s expression darkened, but he didn’t look surprised. “Then prove her wrong.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. “She doesn’t want me there.”

Cassian huffed. “Maybe not right now. But she needs you, Az. And you need her.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Azriel’s eyes drifted back to Kaia, still fast asleep, her small frame curled up beneath the blankets. Her little hands clutched the stuffed dragon Nyx had given her.

His daughter. His mate. His entire world was slipping through his fingers.

And he was just sitting here, letting it happen.

Cassian stood, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You’re one of the most stubborn bastards I’ve ever met,” he said. “Use that. Go fight for her.”

Azriel didn’t move as Cassian left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

He just sat there, staring at his daughter, his mind spinning.

And then, finally, he stood.

Azriel winnowed straight into the River House, his boots landing silently on the polished wooden floors of the foyer. The moment he arrived, his shadows recoiled, sensing the heavy weight of sorrow clinging to the air. It was quieter than usual. No laughter, no chatter. Just the distant crackle of a fire somewhere deeper inside the house.

His heart pounded as he took a step forward, his wings tucking tightly against his back. The dim candlelight flickered against the dark walls, casting long shadows that danced with his own. He could feel you. Somewhere in this house, you were here. Broken. Hurting.

And he had caused it.

A figure moved in the doorway ahead, and Rhys appeared, leaning against the threshold of the sitting room, arms crossed over his chest. His violet eyes raked over Azriel, assessing, exhausted.

“You finally grew a pair,” Rhys muttered, pushing off the doorframe.

Azriel ignored the jab. His throat felt tight as he asked, “Where is she?”

Rhys exhaled through his nose, studying him for a moment before jerking his chin toward the staircase. “Upstairs. Her room.”

His room. Theirs.

Azriel swallowed hard, nodding once before moving past Rhys. But before he could reach the stairs, his brother’s voice stopped him.

“She hasn’t slept in days,” Rhys said quietly. “And she won’t talk about it, but I know she thinks this is the end.”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists.

Rhys hesitated, then added, “Fix it.”

Azriel didn’t respond, just started up the stairs, each step heavier than the last. The house was eerily silent, and with each door he passed, the weight in his chest grew.

When he finally reached their room, he hesitated.

The door was slightly ajar, candlelight spilling into the hallway. He could hear your breathing—uneven, strained.

Guilt clawed at him.

Slowly, he pushed the door open.

And there you were.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, knees drawn to your chest, one of Kaia’s stuffed animals clutched in your arms. Your eyes were red-rimmed, face streaked with dried tears. You didn’t even look up when he entered, your gaze locked onto some invisible point on the floor.

Azriel felt like the air had been stolen from his lungs.

He had seen you strong. He had seen you furious. He had seen you in pain.

But this—this hollow, shattered version of you—he had never seen before.

And it terrified him.

He closed the door behind him, the soft click making you flinch.

His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “Y/N.”

Your fingers curled tighter around the stuffed animal. Still, you didn’t look at him.

Azriel took a slow step forward, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t know what to say, what to do, to fix this. He had always known how to mend broken things. Swords. Strategies. Wounds.

But this?

This was you. His mate. His love. And he had broken you.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

He crossed the room in three steps, sinking onto his knees in front of you, his hands trembling as they reached for yours. You tensed at his touch, but you didn’t pull away.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his forehead resting against the back of your hands. “I don’t know how to fix this, but I need you to tell me how.”

For a long moment, you didn’t respond.

And then, in a voice so quiet he almost missed it, you said, “I don’t think you can.”

Azriel felt like he had been gutted.

Your words hung between you, heavier than anything he had ever carried. His wings drooped slightly, his fingers tightening around yours as if he could somehow anchor you to him, to this bond that now felt so fragile, so breakable.

“I don’t accept that,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I won’t accept that.”

You let out a hollow, humourless laugh, finally looking at him. Your eyes were dull, lifeless. “Then you’re a fool.”

Azriel flinched.

“I have nothing left, Azriel,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Nothing. I lost my mother. I lost my sister. I lost my wings. And now—” You sucked in a sharp breath, shaking your head. “I almost lost our daughter. And you—” Your hands slipped from his grasp as you pulled away from him, wrapping your arms around yourself. “You weren’t there. You shut me out. You let me break alone.”

Azriel’s throat felt raw, his shadows writhing around him in distress. “I didn’t know how to fix it,” he admitted. “How to make it better.”

“I didn’t need you to fix it!” Your voice was suddenly sharp, filled with something closer to anger now. “I needed you to be here! To sit with me in the fucking wreckage instead of running off like that would solve anything!”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his wings flexing slightly. “I thought—” He exhaled roughly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I thought if I just kept searching, if I just kept moving, then I wouldn’t have to face it.” His hands dropped into his lap, and he met your gaze, raw and open. “I was terrified, Y/N. I have never been more afraid in my entire life.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, your eyes shining with fresh tears.

“I failed you,” Azriel said, barely above a whisper. “I failed our daughter. And I don’t know how to come back from that.”

Silence settled between you, thick and suffocating.

And then, you whispered, “I don’t know if we can.”

Azriel’s stomach twisted violently, panic clawing up his throat.

No.

He refused to believe that.

“Please,” he said, his voice breaking. “Please don’t say that.”

You looked away, your fingers gripping Kaia’s stuffed animal like it was the only thing keeping you together.

Azriel reached for you again, his hands cradling your face, forcing you to look at him. “I love you,” he murmured, desperate, his thumbs brushing over your damp cheeks. “I love you more than anything, and I will do whatever it takes to fix this. To fix us.”

Your lips parted slightly, and for a second—just a second—he thought you might believe him.

But then your eyes filled with more tears, and you slowly pulled away.

“I don’t know if love is enough this time, Azriel.”

And those words shattered him completely.

Azriel stood frozen, your words echoing in his head like a death knell.

He had faced wars, endured centuries of pain, lived through the worst kind of suffering, but nothing—nothing—had ever felt like this. Like his very soul was being torn from him.

You turned away from him, your back shaking with barely restrained sobs. You didn’t want to fight anymore. You didn’t even have the energy to be angry. You were just…done.

Azriel took a step forward, but something in your posture made him hesitate. He had pushed you too far. He had let you break apart alone, and now, when he finally wanted to piece things back together, you weren’t sure if there was anything left to mend.

He swallowed, his voice rough. “Y/N…”

But you shook your head. “I can’t right now, Azriel.”

His wings drooped further, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He wanted to argue, to plead, to tell you that he would spend the rest of his life making this right. But you looked so exhausted, so broken, and he knew that pushing any further would only widen the distance between you.

So he stepped back.

“Okay,” he murmured, though it felt like the hardest thing he had ever said.

He turned toward the door, hesitating only for a second, hoping—praying—that you would call him back. That you would tell him to stay.

But you didn’t.

And so Azriel left, feeling more lost than he ever had before.

Azriel barely made it down the hall before he heard Rhysand’s footsteps behind him.

“You bastard,” Rhys bit out, his voice low but sharp.

Azriel exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself before turning. He didn’t get the chance. Rhys was already there, grabbing him by the front of his leathers, shoving him back against the nearest wall.

“I told you to fix it,” Rhys snarled. “Not to make it worse.”

Azriel didn’t resist, didn’t push back. He let Rhys hold him there, let him release the fury Azriel knew he deserved. He felt like a ghost of himself, hollow and lost, his own shadows recoiling from him.

“She doesn’t want to fix it,” Azriel muttered, voice rough. “She—” His throat closed up. He swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “She doesn’t think there’s anything left to fix.”

Rhys’ grip tightened, his violet eyes burning with anger and something deeper—something almost desperate. “Then make her believe there is.”

Azriel clenched his jaw, looking away. “I don’t know how.”

Rhys let out a harsh breath and released him, stepping back. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. “Az,” he said, quieter this time. “She’s drowning. And you—her mate, her husband—just walked away.”

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut.

“You fought for her once,” Rhys said. “Fought like hell for her. Are you really going to let it end like this?”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He had spent two weeks searching relentlessly for Kaia, had given everything he had left to finding their daughter. But somehow, in the process, he had lost you.

And now, standing here, feeling like the biggest failure in existence, he realized—he couldn’t let that happen.

He opened his eyes, meeting Rhysand’s gaze.

“I won’t,” Azriel said, voice filled with quiet, unyielding determination. “I won’t let it end like this.”

Rhysand held his gaze for a long moment, searching, assessing. Then he gave a sharp nod, stepping back fully.

“Good,” he said. But there was no relief in his voice. Only expectation. “Then fix it.”

Azriel inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His feet moved before his mind had fully caught up, carrying him down the familiar hall toward your shared room. The door was closed, and for a moment, he hesitated. He had no idea what he would find on the other side. No idea if you would even listen to him.

But he had to try.

Slowly, he pushed the door open.

The sight of you knocked the breath from his lungs.

You sat on the edge of the bed, your back to him, shoulders hunched. Your hands clutched one of Kaia’s teddies, holding it against your chest like a lifeline. Even from across the room, he could hear the quiet, broken sniffles.

Azriel swallowed hard, his heart clenching painfully.

He stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. You didn’t react, didn’t even lift your head.

He took another step. And then another. Until he was standing just behind you.

“I know I’ve hurt you,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “I know I’ve made everything worse. And I know I don’t deserve it, but—please. Look at me.”

Silence.

For a moment, he thought you wouldn’t.

But then, slowly, you turned.

And when your eyes finally met his, filled with so much pain, so much anger, so much exhaustion—Azriel felt like he might break apart entirely.

Azriel didn’t move, barely breathed as he took you in. The dark circles under your eyes, the redness in them from days—weeks—of crying. The way your lips trembled, like you wanted to say something, scream something, but didn’t have the strength to.

And then, in a voice so hoarse and tired it nearly destroyed him, you whispered, “Why are you here, Azriel?”

He opened his mouth, but for once in his life, he didn’t know what to say.

To apologize? To beg? To tell you he loved you, even if right now, you weren’t sure you could believe it?

“I—” he tried, but the words caught in his throat.

Your eyes flashed with something sharp, something broken.

“You left me,” you said, your voice shaking. “You let me sit in that room alone for weeks while our daughter fought for her life. You let me feel like I had to hold everything together while you buried yourself in your own grief.”

Azriel flinched. He wanted to argue, to say that he had been searching, that he had been doing everything he could to bring Kaia home, to keep himself from completely shattering.

But you weren’t wrong.

And he knew—knew—that the worst thing he could do right now was try to defend himself.

So he didn’t.

“I know,” he admitted instead, voice barely above a whisper. “I know, and I’m so damn sorry. I thought—I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping busy, trying to fix it. But I wasn’t fixing anything. I was just running.”

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “And now you decide to come back?”

Azriel’s throat tightened. “I should have come back sooner.”

Your jaw clenched, and when you looked away, Azriel felt something in his chest cave in.

“But I’m here now,” he continued, voice raw. “And I’ll stay. If you’ll let me.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then, your voice so quiet it was nearly swallowed by the space between you, you asked, “What if I don’t know if I want you to?”

Azriel swallowed hard. He had never felt fear like this. Not in war, not in battle. This—this uncertainty, this possibility of losing you—it was worse than anything.

But he nodded. Because this wasn’t about him.

“I’ll wait,” he said, meaning every word. “As long as it takes.”

Your throat was tight, raw from the sobs that had wracked through you before Azriel arrived. You had told yourself—sworn to yourself—that you wouldn’t ask. That you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing you still cared, that you still needed to hear it from him.

But the words slipped past your lips anyway, fragile and desperate.

“How is she?”

Azriel exhaled sharply, his wings shifting behind him. He looked exhausted—more than exhausted. He looked hollow. Like whatever had been keeping him upright was barely holding on.

“She’s…” He hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure how to answer. “She’s getting better.”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “That’s not an answer, Azriel.”

His jaw tightened, but when he spoke again, his voice was gentler. “The healer says she’s improving, but it’s slow. She’s in pain. Her wings…” He broke off, shaking his head. “She won’t fly for a long time, if ever.”

The air left your lungs like you’d been struck.

If ever.

Your sweet, beautiful daughter—grounded.

A quiet, strangled sound left you, and Azriel took a step toward you, instinctively reaching out. You flinched back.

He froze.

You didn’t mean to do it. You knew he wasn’t the enemy, that he wasn’t the one who had hurt her. But the space between you felt like a canyon, one neither of you knew how to cross anymore.

“She asked for you,” he said softly. “Every minute.”

Tears welled in your eyes, burning hot as they slipped down your cheeks.

“I should have been there,” you whispered.

Azriel’s face twisted, like he wanted to argue but knew he had no right.

“She’ll be okay,” he said, though he didn’t sound entirely sure. “She’s strong, just like you.”

Your voice broke as you whispered, “I don’t feel strong.”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides. Like it physically pained him to hear you say that.

“She needs you,” he said after a moment. “And I—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Come back with me.”

You looked away.

You didn’t know if you could.

The sob burst out of you before you could stop it—raw and jagged, ripped straight from your chest. Your hands trembled too much to grip it properly. The weight of everything, of Kaia’s pain, of Azriel’s voice, of the unbearable hollow ache inside you—it was too much.

A gasp tore from your throat, and then another, and suddenly you couldn’t stop. Your shoulders shook violently as the sobs wracked through you, your breath coming in uneven, desperate gasps. Your hands covered your face, as if that could somehow hold you together, but the moment you closed your eyes, all you could see was Kaia.

Your baby, broken.

You bent forward, pressing your forehead against your hands, trying to breathe, trying to think past the agony that had settled deep in your ribs. But all you could do was sob harder, the sound echoing through the room.

Azriel was in front of you in an instant, kneeling, his hands hovering, unsure if he was allowed to touch you. “YN,” he whispered, his voice tight, pained.

You shook your head frantically, curling in on yourself, your hands fisting into your shirt as if you could claw the grief out of your chest. Your breath hitched, too fast, too shallow, and for a terrifying moment, you thought you might not be able to breathe at all.

Azriel’s hands finally found your shoulders, grounding, steady. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Breathe with me, love. Just breathe.”

But you couldn’t. You were drowning, lost in the unbearable weight of your daughter’s suffering, of everything that had been shattered between you and the only person who was supposed to understand.

“I c-can’t,” you gasped between sobs, shaking your head, your vision swimming. “Azriel, I can’t—I can’t—”

His hands tightened slightly, warm and firm, as he moved closer. “Yes, you can,” he whispered, his forehead pressing against yours now, his breath steady despite the anguish in his voice. “You’re not alone.”

But you had never felt more alone in your entire life.

Azriel didn’t hesitate this time. The second he saw you breaking apart, crumbling under the weight of everything, he pulled you against him, his arms wrapping around you tightly. His wings curled around you both, shielding you from the world, as if that alone could keep you safe from the pain tearing through you.

You didn’t resist. You didn’t have the strength to. The second his warmth surrounded you, you collapsed against his chest, sobbing so hard that your entire body shook with each ragged breath.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice raw, his lips pressing against the crown of your head. “I’ve got you, love.”

His hands moved slowly, one stroking up and down your back, the other cradling the back of your head, holding you as if you might shatter completely if he let go. His touch was gentle, reverent—so achingly familiar that it only made you sob harder.

“I know,” he whispered, rocking you slightly, his voice barely more than a breath. “I know, YN. Just let it out.”

You clung to him, your fingers curling into his tunic as you buried your face in his chest. His scent surrounded you—night-chilled mist and cedar and something distinctly Azriel—and it only made the ache in your heart worse.

“I c-can’t do this,” you gasped between sobs. “I can’t—Azriel, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he said firmly, his hand sliding into your hair, his fingers threading through it in slow, soothing strokes. “You’re the strongest person I know, YN. You have always been strong.”

You shook your head against him, your body still trembling. “Not anymore.”

His grip on you tightened, his wings pressing closer, wrapping you in warmth. “That’s not true,” he said quietly. “You are still you. Even if it feels like you’re falling apart, you’re still here. You’re still fighting.”

Your sobs slowed just slightly, your breathing still uneven, but no longer the desperate gasps of before. His fingers traced slow, steady circles against your back, grounding you, anchoring you to him.

“I need her back,” you whispered brokenly, your voice barely audible.

Azriel swallowed hard, his chin resting atop your head. “I know,” he murmured. “We’ll get her back, love. I swear it.”

Your hands fisted tighter in his tunic, as if holding onto him was the only thing keeping you from completely unravelling. His steady heartbeat thudded against your cheek, a quiet rhythm that, for the first time in days, gave you something to hold on to.

And even though the pain was still there, even though the ache in your chest felt like it might never fade, you let yourself sink into his warmth, into the arms of the only person who had ever truly understood you.

You sniffled, your breath still uneven as you rested against Azriel’s chest. His warmth, his steady presence, was the only thing keeping you from completely falling apart. But it wasn’t enough—not yet. Not when your heart still ached with a desperation so deep it felt like it might consume you.

“I need to see her,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying.

Azriel tensed slightly beneath you, his arms tightening around you as if he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers. “YN…”

“No,” you said, shaking your head, pulling back just enough to look up at him. Your face was still streaked with tears, your eyes swollen and red, but there was no hesitation in your voice. “I need to see my daughter, Azriel. I need to hold her.”

His jaw clenched, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “She’s still healing,” he said carefully. “She’s fragile, YN. Moving her could—”

“I’m not asking to take her away from there,” you cut in sharply. “I just want to be with her. I just—I need to see her.”

Azriel exhaled slowly, searching your face as if trying to gauge whether you could handle it. Whether he could handle it. But you knew him—you knew that he wanted the same thing. That despite everything, he was still terrified of seeing her like that, of feeling helpless when all he wanted was to fix it.

But he wouldn’t tell you no. He couldn’t.

“I’ll take you,” he said finally, his voice soft but firm. “I’ll take you to her.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding as your fingers gripped his tunic once more.

Azriel pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment before he whispered, “Hold on to me.”

And as he winnowed you away, your heart pounded in your chest, equal parts fear and hope battling within you. Because in just a few moments, you would see her again. And you didn’t know if you could bear it.

-----

Cassian sat in the chair beside Kaia’s small bed, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his jaw tight with barely contained fury. The dim glow of the faelights cast long shadows across the room, flickering softly against the delicate features of the sleeping child beside him. Nyx sat on the edge of the mattress, tiny fingers gently brushing over Kaia’s hand, his little brows furrowed in concern.

“She’s so small,” Nyx whispered, barely loud enough for Cassian to hear.

Cassian’s throat tightened. He knew. He knew all too well. Kaia looked impossibly fragile, her wings carefully bandaged, her skin still pale from blood loss. Even in sleep, she winced slightly, the pain still present even through the healer’s efforts. It made something sharp twist in his chest.

He reached over, smoothing a hand over Nyx’s dark hair. “She’s strong,” he murmured. “Like her mother. Like her father.”

Nyx nodded solemnly, but his eyes didn’t leave Kaia. “When will she wake up?”

Cassian sighed, his fingers curling into a fist in his lap. “Soon, bud. The healers said she needs rest.”

Nyx was quiet for a long moment before he said, “Mama would sing to me when I was sick.”

Cassian’s chest ached. He knew that, too. Feyre had done the same for him when he’d been recovering after the war. He swallowed hard, glancing at Kaia before looking back at Nyx. “Do you want to sing to her?”

Nyx hesitated, then gave a small nod. His voice was quiet, soft, a child’s lullaby barely above a whisper. Cassian closed his eyes for a moment, listening, letting the melody settle over him like a blanket.

Then he heard the distinct shift of air behind him—the subtle sound of winnowing. His eyes snapped open, and he turned just in time to see Azriel and YN step into the doorway.

And the second YN saw her daughter, Cassian saw the breath leave her lungs.

YN didn’t move at first. She just stood there, frozen in the doorway, her eyes locked onto the tiny form of her daughter lying in the bed. Azriel was beside her, his hand hovering near the small of her back, as if ready to steady her if she collapsed.

Cassian watched as her expression crumbled. She made a sound—half a sob, half a breathless whisper—and then she was moving.

“Kaia,” YN choked out, her voice breaking as she rushed forward.

Nyx quickly moved aside as YN fell to her knees beside the bed, her shaking hands reaching out but stopping just short of touching her daughter, as if she were afraid that any contact might shatter her.

Cassian saw the tears spill freely down her face as she finally—finally—placed a hand over Kaia’s tiny fingers, her touch impossibly gentle.

“She’s okay,” Cassian murmured, his voice softer now. “She’s healing.”

YN let out a shaky breath, her other hand coming up to brush a few strands of hair away from Kaia’s face. “My baby,” she whispered.

Azriel still hadn’t moved. He was standing a few steps away, his shadows curling around his shoulders as he stared at Kaia, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His face was unreadable, but Cassian could see the tension in his jaw, the storm in his hazel eyes.

Kaia stirred slightly at her mother’s touch, her little brows furrowing, and YN let out a quiet sob, pressing a trembling kiss to her daughter’s forehead.

Cassian stood, giving Azriel a look before motioning to Nyx. “Come on, bud. Let’s give them a moment.”

Nyx hesitated but nodded, casting one last glance at Kaia before taking Cassian’s hand. They stepped toward the door, and Cassian briefly clapped a hand on Azriel’s shoulder as he passed, grounding him. Azriel didn’t react, just kept staring at his daughter.

As Cassian and Nyx left the room, he heard YN whispering Kaia’s name over and over, like she was trying to convince herself that she was really here. That she was safe.

Kaia stirred beneath YN’s trembling hands, a soft whimper escaping her lips as her little body shifted against the blankets. Her brows furrowed as if sensing the weight of exhaustion and pain still lingering in her small frame.

YN sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers tightening around Kaia’s hand. “Kaia?” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Azriel stepped closer, his breath caught in his throat as he watched their daughter’s lashes flutter. It was the first real movement she had made since they’d arrived.

Kaia’s tiny fingers twitched beneath YN’s, and then, sluggishly, her eyes cracked open.

“Mama…” The word was faint, barely more than a breath, but it shattered something deep inside YN.

She let out a sob of relief, brushing her fingers gently over Kaia’s warm, flushed cheek. “I’m here, baby. I’m right here.”

Kaia blinked sluggishly, her little lips parting as if trying to form more words. Her gaze, unfocused and glassy, shifted slightly, searching.

Then, in a broken, hoarse voice, she whimpered, “Dada?”

Azriel made a sound—one that was almost a strangled breath. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, his shaking hands hesitating just above Kaia’s tiny body.

“I’m here, sweet girl,” he rasped, his voice barely holding together. “I’m right here.”

Kaia’s small fingers curled slightly, as if reaching for him, and that was all it took. Azriel’s hands gently enveloped her tiny one, his shadows retreating for the first time in weeks as he pressed a trembling kiss to her palm.

YN let out a watery laugh between her sobs, smoothing Kaia’s tangled curls. “You’re so strong, my love. So strong.”

Kaia blinked up at them both, her little body weak, but the warmth of her parents surrounding her seemed to settle her.

Then, in the softest, sleepiest voice, she whispered, “Home?”

YN bit back another sob, leaning down to kiss her daughter’s forehead. “Soon, sweetheart,” she promised. “Soon, we’ll go home.”

Kaia’s lashes fluttered as she drifted back into sleep, her breathing deep and even.

Azriel exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against YN’s as they clung to each other, holding onto the one thing that mattered most.

One more part left...

[elodieunderglass]

I also want to say something about “authenticity,” I.e. as someone said upthread, “at least I know I’m me” with their baked-in idea that “there is a real self and unreal self” and that the “real” self is superior.

But I suspect that people who are struggling with that sort of thing are also struggling with things like depression, and a key thing about those struggles is that they destroy your good judgment. So this isn’t a go at anyone personally, and is behind a cut.

“The real self” is a sort of Sesame Street version of “authenticity.” Authenticity is a great piece of character-building, because “becoming a person with a strong character” is the only realistic, practical, mature ambition humans can have. You don’t have a huge amount of control over your career, achievements, relationships, or nation - you can only do the best you can with how you are in relation to them. You do not control luck or war or the economy or the hearts of others, so the best thing you can do is build character. Your life’s project is to become someone who does their best in relationships, has good judgment, manages luck (bad and good), and lives up to their values and principles. Authenticity is useful for determining your values and principles; for understanding not necessarily who you are, but what sustaining principles you’ll always follow when who you are changes. The courage and bravery of authenticity and “the real self” aren’t “whatever shit I’m randomly doing right now.” That’s not identity, that’s just Saturday. The courage and bravery of authenticity come from choosing values and principles and expressions that might be different to society’s, and sticking to them despite challenge. What parts of you would you refuse to compromise? If you experience a change in your material circumstances - if tomorrow you are a displaced refugee, or suddenly marry a prince, or if you are forced by torture to recant - will you still hold your core beliefs? What of You would always you be brave enough to keep? And - if one of your principles is the belief in change - will you be brave enough to change, when you’re ready to grow?

identity is not fixed but shifting like water, and authenticity is not about “being me” or “wallowing in dirt.” They are instead, as Oriah Mountain Dreamer says: “what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.”

Thus, an authentic and real and courageous choice I’ve just seen someone make. One of their core values, something fundamental to their identity, is being a kind and attentive parent. When they realised their poor mental health was impacting their children - they lost patience quickly and became shouty - they decided to seek help, and accepted the offer of antidepressants. That is because their real self is a person who does not harm children. They had already decided that - as a real, powerful, important person with a strong, mature, real character - and the rest is just weather and window dressing - moods and Saturdays; and sometimes your brain chemistry is Kiki and sometimes it’s Bouba; but ultimately you do actually have an identity, all your own, entirely separate from medicine, politics, the motions of clouds, and whatever the hell your glands are doing that moment.

And even if it wasn’t - if your identity was somehow contained in the chemicals, and not what the chemicals do to help you live - then my goodness! How terribly dreary! How hideously defined by the weather! How wretchedly inconvenient, to sacrifice “good judgment” for a randomly generated chemical state! What if we wanted something a bit better for ourselves? Maybe - maybe if the identity is simultaneously “in the chemicals” and ALSO the real self is not an especially pleasant person and ALSO the real self isn’t doing much at the moment - maybe it’s okay to try a new identity, one in which different chemicals take a hand, and we may emerge a more pleasant bundle of chemicals - since we’re not doing anything else and have nothing to lose, the “real self” apparently being just a half-metabolised serotonin molecule anyway, and therefore worth about £0.000001, if this is what you believe. If this is what you believe, that identity is nothing more than chemicals, and changing them changes your identity, then surely you ought to be in favour of having the best possible chemicals!

I also just saw @queeranarchism say something really relevant:

The idea that your sexuality of gender is your 'identity' that must be expressed to everyone you know in order to be 'authentic' fits within a culture in which we think first and foremost in individuals as separate brains-in-a-jar that must achieve ultimate self-expression. It doesn't fit well within cultures that focus more on the relationship between people and in the community they form as the point of focus.

Which is to say that there’s a lot to develop further in the Sesame Street idea of real selves/authenticity in the first place. Some of it is “is this specifically a capitalist marketing construct, where the self-as-a-unique-identity posits a universe of rivals in consumption?”

And some of it is, “ok, so ‘I’m Proud of Being Free, It’s Real to be So Me’ is an excellent song and a fantastic lesson, but it is very much a song by a Muppet to encourage three-year-olds to feel proud of their natural hair texture; we should definitely take that in! And then as adults we are encouraged to grow beyond that, building on our preschool foundations, and start folding in additional things!”

In conclusion, “ah, but My Real Self” is not actually a tool to bother other people with on their posts. It is worth reflecting on and taking care of , but it isn’t an argument, let alone an anti-medication one.

90s movies: Psychopharmacology is as good as a lobotomy. If you take pills to treat your mental illness it will literally murder your imaginary friends and you will become a boring, lotus-eating conformist drone.

Me after taking my meds: drives the scenic route home to see if there are any geese on the pond and does a little dance in line at the grocery store and comes home to throw everything​ in my fridge into a stew pot because I can finally taste food again while singing songs at my birds in which I replace all the instances of "she" with "Cheese" and doing a Dolly Parton impression on the phone to my sister

[dokyumms]

seventeen's reaction to their s/o being a surgeon !

pairings: ot13 x gn surgeon!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 861

cw: none

a/n: another request done! i'm definitely not a surgeon, so this is probably not accurate T-T also, i'm going to try to start posting on a schedule eventually... but i'm not sure yet. anyways, enjoy this kings ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

scoups - he didn't even realize he could fall more in love with you until you told him you were a surgeon. not only are you smart, but you save lives (and he just thinks you look hot in scrubs)? oh he's dug himself up a deeper hole. he tries to do what he can to help you, always offering to pick you up from work even if you clock out just hours before he has to go to practice.

jeonghan - he enjoys being your stay at home wife and sugar baby lol. when he found out, he probably showed the most excitement he'd shown in a while, "so, this means you have enough money to buy me a dyson hair dryer?" he likes knowing that you're working hard while he rots on the couch, but he hates when you have to get up for work at 5:30 in the morning. you can't count how many times you've almost been late for work since jeonghan will trap you in bed with him until the very last minute.

joshua - honestly the best moral support. he really loves that you help others for a living and wants to get involved, making bracelets for all your surgical patients. whenever you're burnt out or tired, he's there to catch you as well. he wants to make sure you're always in the best state to do your job well, so occasionally he'll nag on some of your bad habits, "we need you alive so you can keep other people alive silly,"

jun - he's very curious about your job, "you do what?? tell me more," he always asks about how your day was and won't sleep till you tell him every detail. so, now he knows all the drama between your coworkers. anytime he gets injured he immediately sends a photo to you with absolutely no warning and asks you to diagnose him (because he lowkey thinks surgeon = doctor 😭).

hoshi - very explosive reaction to say the least... "WHAT?? that's like such a scary job though??? how..?" he's honestly a little scared of you now. one time he sent you a picture of a vase he accidentally broke and was like "you won't dissect me or something because of this... right?" but anytime a member disrespects him? he's instantly using you to threaten them.

wonwoo - if he didn't have enough respect for you already, he certainly does now. he lovesss having a book-smart partner. sort of like jun, but he does more research so he can engage in more conversation with you. he even read a book all about it so you don't have to explain all the medical lingo to him.

woozi - secretly very impressed. he tries to be nonchalant about it when he finds out like, "okay.. cool," but then he'll end watching a ton of videos about it later. he would've never thought someone like you could have such an enduring job, you're always so bright around him! if it were him, he'd never be in a good mood lol.

dk - he's definitely worried about you all the time now, but also you're biggest cheerleader! anytime you have a big surgery coming up, he always send you good luck messages, "my y/nnn, you got this! i'll be cheering you on ๑˃̶͈̀Ⱉ˂̶͈́๑" he totally checks up on you like every hour as well, "are you eating? well you should eat :)"

mingyu - like jeonghan, he's now your stay at home wife. he literally packs you lunch every morning and even puts in little sticky notes with surgeon-related jokes... are they funny? well, more or less, but he always draws little doodles of you in your scrubs that make you giggle.

the8 - he admires you so much for your job, and he makes sure that you know it too. when you get home from work he's just like, "you're so cool, you know," if you EVER downplay yourself, he's constantly reminding you that you shouldn't try to make it sound like your job is easy. and to your dismay, he's always flexing that he's got a surgeon as his partner.

seungkwan - impressed and worried. whenever you mention having a big surgery, he's more nervous than you (even if it's already passed). he's really big on making sure you're taking care of yourself, offering to treat you to a spa day whenever you have time. plus, it's an excuse for him to do face masks with you.

vernon - bro will NOT stop making 'grey's anatomy' references. it's too late to stop him. "there're no 'mcdreamys' at your job right?" he makes you watch the show with him and asks if it's accurate. other than that, super chill and respects your work ethic.

dino - he's scared of you, but also super proud. you won't catch this guy even coming close to disrespecting you anytime soon. also someone who will confuse surgeons as doctors, so you have to explain to them that they're really different, and no, you can't write him a doctor's note so he can skip practice because he has a 'mega bad headache'

[twstfanblog]

Heyyyyy so uhhhhh…

What if the mc back in their world was a slave? Not servant like jamil, just, straight up slave where their opinion didn’t matter :( n they r female, afab, pronounce she/they? Hopefully nothing bad happened but people who get slaves r bad people so :((( overblot boys pls 🙏🥺

I feel like they would all threaten crowley to absolutely NOT look for a way to send mc home n to stop making her do his things cause that reminds her of back home in a very bad way :(

N then they comfort n hold the mc cause they r safe n wont have to be treated like shit anymore :(

They will punch anyone who treats em like shit

Which practically everyone in school did when they arrived at NRC, and they just thought ‘this is normal’. :(

Overblot Boys React to Slave Reader

Overblot Boys x Reader

Riddle

Lowkey saw you as an ideal student. Polite, respectful, and mindful of the rules. So he wouldn't notice anything past a few odd ticks that he himself wouldn't fully question since his own upbringing was shitty.

It takes him and Ace having an argument, Riddle brings up that Ace can learn a thing or two from you on being a respectful student. And Ace fires back on you being a SLAVE. Of course, his overbearing ass would love that. And Riddle has to really think about what kinda person that makes him that he didn't even notice.

He talks to you, wanting personal confirmation on what Ace had blurted out. Once he gets the confirmation, his attitude gets much softer. You don't get as harsh treatment for rule-breaking, but he's still stern about them.

End game, he makes up a secondary set of rules for you only. Rules like 'We say something if we are uncomfortable' or 'We are allowed to say No'. He just gets much softer but remains true on rules being important. He just also stresses that you should have your own personal rules now.

Leona

Clocked immediately you came from a background of servitude, though he wasn't aware how severe it was.

He didn't plan on getting invovled but his little bleeding heart took Ruggie under his wing for a reason. It was one part pity and mostly annoyance seeing you getting bullied by his dorm everyday.

You basically get 'Leona's Servant' boot camp with Ruggie suddenly. He teaches you how Leona likes his laundry tended to and what snack flavors he prefers. It's a smooth transition from slave to servant until Ruggie tells you it's free game to steal from Leona.

Leona never brings it up, but he knows your old home was not a good environment. He also knows he can't just fling you into a healthier dynamic with those around you, so he'll do it slowly and sneakily. Ruggie is the perfect one to bridge the gap for him to start spoiling you.

Azul

Knew something was off but had no real frame of reference. He would make little theories and try to figure out why you act the way you do. He only started thinking you had come from a background of servitude when you follow orders so quickly.

Honestly doesn't know how to feel because he did do slavery in tricking the contracted students into working at the lounge against their will. He's not entirely sure how to save face with you after he's come across as a cruel and unfair slaver. Lowkey uses his overblot aftermath as an excuse for a fresh start with you.

He starts treating you kinder, making sure to address you properly and showing that he respects you. People from his dorm follow his lead, at least. The Tweels are part-time bodyguards, making your old bullies more hesitant to start anything because an eel might slip out of a crack or something.

Azul is a sneaky one too, slowly helping you raise your standard of how you should be treated by others. If you get him blabbing long enough, he'll slip into just stating how precious you are to him.

Jamil

I'm sorry, even with the English sanitation, Jamil’s situation can only come across as slavery to me. He's a very well cared for slave because Kalim adores him, but a slave none the less.

It's a little jarring to him to see someone who really could understand. But he's so used to keeping himself guarded he never reached out in a friendly sense. Treating you more like a new coworker; helpful but distant. It wasn't until you accidently broke something in Scarabia and nearly had a panic attack when Kalim looked at you does he realize how severe punishment was back in your world.

Gets much softer to you. It's sad because he does love and care about you, but he would not allow you to be with him long term. You've managed to come to a new world where your old masters can't reach you, you're free. Don't waste it following him back into a life of servitude.

Jamil would understand you the best so he'd be the one to really push and guide you to trying new experiences with your freedom. Wants you to be selfish and use your friends' kindness to make your life better. If he never gets his dream of being able to travel the world he wants you to be able to.

(Should the miracle happen and he and Kalim have the conversation finally, Jamil would go globe trotting with you. He legit has thoughts of just not going back and disappearing with you.)

Vil

I don't think he'd mean anything malicious by it. But he would end up treating you like a purse dog for a while.

Vil has a strong and cemented personality and sense of worth. Dealing with someone as passive as an abused slave, he would easily bulldoze over them and not really notice. Because he'd basically have you on the 'Betterment Plan' he has Epel.

He saw the potential and just kept going because you never said stop. Lots of beauty routines, he picks outfits for you for outings, basically has you as his shadow before either Rook or Epel bring up how he's running you ragged.

Vil never dealt with someone who's come from the situation you did. The very idea that 'No' wasn't a boundary you were ever allowed horrified him for a bit. But like the queen he is, he doesn't try to defend his misstep and goes right into correcting his behavior. The introduction of choices was the best start, but you slowly start saying no to events and choices and Vil couldn't be more delighted.

Idia

Lowkey, I'm not sure if he'd notice in any capacity until you told him point-blank. Idia is the one of the boys who sticks mostly to himself and he'd avoid you if he saw you constantly being hounded by other students.

But, if you managed to get close enough to him, he'd question why you always freeze up when your bullies call you? Why running isn't an option you take? And then you'd tell him about where you came from and how running never ended well for you or the other slaves...

He's not one I think would actively try to curb your behaviors but it would effect his own. Now when he sees you being bullied there's a high chance he'll use what power he has a housewarden to get them to leave. When he's sneaking around, he'll catch your eye and give the mental offer to come hide out in his room with him. He becomes a legit safe space for you to just breath since no one but Ortho really enters his room.

He's had to stop you multiple times from cleaning his room. Yes, it's a mess. No, you don't have to thank him by cleaning. Yes, he's aware you can also keep his stuff organized for him while you clean. You don't have to clean, you aren't his maid. (He is terrified he will ruin your friendship the second you find anything embarrassing under his piles of junk. Like a body pillow, or a 18+ comic, or a stray love note he wrote you-)

Malleus

Adorable you think the bonds of slavery from an unknown world matter to him. Malleus is...a prince, a crown prince at that. I don't think he has 'slaves' but with servants of royalty, I'm never really sure. But anyhow, this boy hasn't been told no enough in his life and it shows.

So when you try to back away from the friendship a bit under the fact of you being a slave and not...worthy of his princely company. He just decides you aren't a slave anymore. Just wills and speaks it into existence. There, it's fixed. You can continue being his beloved child of man, now come. He has a new gargoyle he wants to show you.

Fae to me have favorites, and they love to keep an eye on them. So god help some poor schmuck who tries to bully you into doing their work after Malleus has decided you don't do that anymore... You start saying No and leaving the situation with much more effectiveness because the other choice is Malleus making some poor student drop out for fear of their life.

Malleus canonically ignores the autonomy of others for his own gain. So it would be a really weird balance of him simply stating that you are your own being capable of choice and that your old-world status as a slave doesn't matter here. But with that new free status, you are also his best friend, who will come on night walks with him, talk with him, and make friendship bracelets.

[luigilore]

Hiii i’m having an awful flair up because i’m on my period, and reading anyyyyything lu + pain related would be so great. either he takes care of us or we take care of him or visceversa. esp if it’s like vulnerable and tender. thank you so much mwah <3 also no pressure if this isn’t something you wanna write today :D

luigi x reader with chronic pain, taking care of you (a/n: i am sorry this took so long also i hope you're feeling better!! i kept it vague re the exact pain but i really hope you like it <33)

luigi enters your shared bedroom quietly, just in case you’re sleeping. you're not– your pain instead spreads throughout your body and invades your mind like a parasite. 

“i got the heating pad,” luigi murmurs, holding it up with a soft smile and what you can tell are analytical eyes, silently assessing your state.

"thank you," you mutter halfway into your pillow.

“a hallmark of a strong relationship is a shared heating pad,” he jokes, bending down to plug it in. when he stands up, a hand comes almost instinctively to intertwine with your own. 

“i grabbed some epsom salts when i picked up your medicine- if you want a bath later," he adds.

sometimes you feel like luigi is so unfairly good that maybe you don't deserve him; deserve his tender patience or the energy he's put into researching remedies. but he always rejects those worries flat out, he knows how you feel, because he feels like that too sometimes. luigi always makes a pointed effort to how strong you are and how much he loves you whenever you have bad flare ups.

right now, you just want to pull him closer and let him hold you and forget everything else, an enticing offer, but your pain makes your mind focus on other more consuming things. 

“what if it doesn’t go away,” you whisper, avoiding his eyes as he sits down on the edge of the bed next to you. 

“then we’ll deal with it. if that happens,” he says carefully. you sometimes go back and forth with each other like this, trading reassurances. it just sounds so much better coming from luigi than it ever could from the voice in your head. it's always 'we' and you're glad that it is. he gently turns your chin to look directly into your eyes, hazel flecks from the sunlight streaming in through the windows, “right?”

"yeah," you say eventually, a bit distantly, "sorry."

luigi scoffs indignantly, "what could you possibly be sorry for?"

"i dunno. moping, making you cancel your plans." luigi had plans this afternoon to go to a yoga class with his friend but your flare up made him cancel- even though you still encouraged him to go.

luigi frowns and raises his brows. "first of all, you're not moping. second, shockingly, you're a bit more important to me than a yoga class, even with the cancellation fee."

"just a bit," you echo.

"yeah," he laughs, warm thumb rubbing across your palm, hands still interlocked. “you know i love vinyasa.”

you smile up at him and the silence between you is comfortable, like it always is.

“i just-" you start and struggle to find the right words, luigi doesn’t interrupt you and waits patiently, “feel like a bit of a burden.”

you cringe slightly at how vulnerable your voice sounds, something only luigi would get to hear. he smiles sadly, “i get it,” he starts slowly.

you look up at him with an equally sad look, taking an opportunity to fill a second of silence, “i wish you didn’t.”

luigi hums, like what can you truly do. “but, you're not a burden. not to me. or anyone. plus i like feeling useful and taking care of you," he says, which you know is true. your wide smile at him makes his cheeks burn red- even after years together.

“did you eat while i was gone?” he asks after a few beats of silence, looking at you expectantly with raised brows, knowing the probable answer. you look at him sheepishly and that’s enough of an answer for him. 

"you still have to eat even when you’re hurting," luigi says disapprovingly with knitted brows. he stands up and you frown as your hands break apart. "i can go get us something," he checks the time on his watch and laughs lightly, “we can have an early dinner.” 

"i just want you to stay here," you say honestly, maybe a bit desperately, voice hoarse.

“let me make you something then,” he says easily, “we need a grocery trip but i’ll get creative.” 

you smile and he does to; sometimes the amount of love he looks at you with overwhelms you in a really nice and tender and precious way. a feeling you want to hold onto for a long time. "thank you," you whisper.

“you do the same for me,” luigi says. like it's simple- and maybe it is.

[tessasturns]

TEXTS + BLURB WITH BSF!CHRIS PT. 5

warnings…. swearing, angst, love confession

blessings and riches, tessa

(pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) (masterlist) (taglist)

you open the door to see the brunette boy standing in front of you, he looked like he hasn’t slept in days.

“hey come in” you say, opening the door wider to let chris in. he does just that, taking a seat on the couch.

you close the door and join him on the couch. the room is quiet, neither of you knowing how to start the conversation.

you had a crush on chris, but it was at the beginning of your friendship. you knew it wasn’t going anywhere at the time, but do you want this to go anywhere?

“so… how’ve you been?” you break the silence with a shaky voice. “don’t start that shit” he snaps.

you just hold your tongue, not knowing why he’s been so off. “i really like you, y/n. i do. more than a friend. i meant it in my text.” chris’ tongue betrays him, the words spilling out.

“uh- chris”

“you don’t need to say anything. i just wanted you to know that.” he states. the both of you stare at the tv ahead, gravity falls on pause.

“chris i like you too, but i’m not sure if i’m ready for a relationship yet” you sigh.

“but i trust you chris. even though i may not be ready, i trust you enough to know you won’t hurt me. we don’t have to start anything right away, but i do want to take things slow with you.” you look up at the boy who is already looking down at you.

“i promise you that i will never let you go and i will never let anything get in the way of us. i love you.” chris replies in a soft voice

“thank you for understanding chris”

“so, we can just start slow?”

“i’d like that.”

the rest of the night was just watching movies and slowly cuddling closer to each other. the two of you decide to call it a night, and go to your room.

it wasn’t uncommon for you and chris to have sleepovers, so you did just that. the two of you laid closer than usual as the silence crept in.

chris looked down at you while you slept, curled into the blanket you used to make blanket forts with.

he couldn’t believe it. he couldn’t believe that the girl he once would share juice boxes with would be his girlfriend.

he couldn’t believe it.

was he moving to fast? what if the ‘relationship’ doesn’t work out and he throws away years of friendship?

the panic had flooded his mind. what if they were better off as friends? yes, they flirt like a couple, but what if they’re not meant to be together? what if y/n didn’t really want to, she just felt forced?

chris wanted a relationship with you, of course he did. but what if.

he knew it was wrong, he knew it was rude but he slowly crept up from where he was previously laying then grabbed his phone and his keys.

he opened the door with a quiet precision, careful not to wake you up. he left through the back door and practically sprinted to his car.

his mind was racing a thousand kilometres a minute. why was he doing this? he wanted this relationship so bad? why is he running away?

once he enters the car, the rest of the night is a blur. speeding down streets, slamming on the brakes every now and then, wondering why he left her in the first place.

the sun intruded the room through the curtains as you groan and wake up. you look to your left, expecting to see the brunette boy who once laid there, but didn’t.

what the fuck? where did he go? maybe he’s just in the kitchen?

you put on your slippers and walk to the kitchen, not seeing chris anywhere.

you reach for your phone and try to see his location, only to find that he stopped sharing it with you.

great.

you text him at lightning speed, wondering what you did.

chris was probably on do not disturb, as always. you decide to text his brother matt, hoping he knew chris’ whereabouts.

then, the anxiety settles in. were you too clingy? what if he wanted a relationship and he didn’t want to ‘start slow’?

you throw your phone onto the couch in the living room, flopping down right next to it.

you try to hold back the tears, but they spill out of your eyes. you knew crying over a boy wasn’t going to do anything, but let the emotions wash over you nonetheless.

tessa’s notes… sorry abt the cliffhanger, part five will be out soon !!

taglist… @emely9274 @baileysturnz @sllutty-sturniolo @chrisspussygang @ivysturnss @evansturn @sturniolosluttt @kisschriss @sheluvsthesturniolos @glitterybtch @mothstvrnz @joanakaulitz @csturnioloswifey @bee-43 @leprechaunbirthdaygirl

comment to be added or removed.

© tessasturns

[fizzyapplecandy]

The one where you fall in love with a pirate

Hyung line X fem reader

Genres and warnings: short imagines, fluff, mature language, humor, so many kisses

Word count: 4k

I've been on a roll with our hyung line, and I can't stop thinking about a pirate au. Maknae line will be out shortly.

Lots of love, and happy reading X

Hongjoong

Your relationship with the Captain has always been a bit strained. He wasn't too fond of a female crewmate, but his fellow pirates adored you. He, for the life of him, couldn't understand why. Women weren't meant to be out on the sea, and you'd proved his point many times. You were constantly sea sick, the rocking causing your nausea. You hated getting wet, which happened a lot on a pirate ship. You also hated how out of touch you were with the world all the time.

Sure, you cooked for them. You even payed attention to all of their preferences, always making a variety of dishes. You kept the deck pristine, and the boys now had clean clothes, sewn together where needed, always neatly stacked in their cupboards.

Wooyoung pleaded with him to take you in, stating how cruel the townspeople were towards you. Your father was a gambler, and people were after you to pay his debts.

To this day, Hongjoong doesn't know what came over him to say yes. Maybe it was the terror written so clearly on your face, or the bruises visible on your arms. Or the fact that you were... Pretty. Soft spoken, well mannered, and a much needed addition to their ship.

He would never admit it out loud.

One night, he couldn't sleep, so he went out on the deck to get some fresh air. He was surprised to see you there, sitting on a barrel in your nightgown. The flimsy material wasn't enough to keep you warm, he thought. Nights in the open sea could get extremely cold.

Without much thought, he took off his coat and placed it over your shoulders.

You weren't aware of his presence until he did so, and it startled you for a second.

"Oh, Captain! You don't need to do that, you'll freeze!" You were about to take it off and give it back, but Hongjoong stopped you, placing his warm hands over your cold ones.

"No need. I can handle it. You on the other hand..."

He took in your red cheeks and pale lips, your whole body shivering, teeth almost clicking together.

You chuckled and wrapped the coat tighter around yourself.

"You're right. Silly me, I was in such a rush..." You stopped suddenly, turning your head away.

Hongjoong leaned on one of the pillars, gaze fixed on you.

"In a rush? Care to explain?"

You swallowed, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. Hongjoong was intimidating, and you experienced first hand why the called him the 'Sea Monster' in your town. However, the amount of care he put into his crew, the sheer worry on his face whenever one of them wasn't okay... It told you much more about the stoic Captain than he liked to show.

"Well... I kind of... Have nightmares. They aren't that bad anymore. I think being on this ship with all of you helps." You glanced at him, noticing how he hasn't moved an inch, paying attention to your words.

"Sometimes I need to feel present. I need to know that it was just a dream. So the cold kind of... It lets me know I'm here, and I'm safe."

You stood up and turned towards him fully.

"Does that sound weird?"

There was a pause between you. No words were said, but your eyes never left eachother.

"No, it doesn't sound weird. But getting hypothermia isn't the best solution, you know?"

Did he just joke around with you? That's a first. Before you could help it, a giggle left your mouth. You quickly covered it with your hand, eyes widening.

"Am I amusing you, Miss Y/N?"

Hongjoong's tone was relaxed, and you felt like he was almost mocking you, but not in a bad way.

"Ah, no, no! Sorry! It's just... I haven't talked to you like this... Ever. So, you know..." You trailed off, not knowing what to say.

The Captain made his way over to you, now inches apart. He took in every little detail of your face, as if he finally gave himself permission to indulge in his curiosity towards you.

"We talk. You just don't listen to me. Maybe you find me boring compared to the others?"

You flailed your arms around, shaking your head.

"Of course not! You're not boring! I mean, your the Captain! You always tell these amazing stories, and you're so kind towards everyone, even though you don't like to admit it. You... You saved my life that day, and I'm forever in your debt."

Hongjoong didn't know what came over him. One moment he was watching how your chest rose and fell after your energetic exclamation, and in the other, his hands were on your cheeks, lips firmly planted against yours.

You made a noise of surprise, not expecting the kiss, but you certainly didn't mind. In your head, it kind of happened differently, but now that you were wrapped in each others embrace, you wouldn't want it any other way.

There was no saying who pulled away first, but you were both breathing heavily, and your giggles filled the air again.

"Oh my Captain... That was..."

"Yeah... I... Y/N..."

You shushed him, grabbing his cheeks between your palms, placing another sweet kiss on his lips.

That night, in the warmth of his embrace, you were rooted in the moment, and it was the best one in your life so far.

Hongjoong just had to make sure the next one would be even better.

Seonghwa

Of course he had the task of keeping the princess occupied. He figured they'd make Yeosang do it, but he would have probably freaked you out with his staring.

Seonghwa watched as you shifted in your seat, back straight, hands crossed in your lap. You were the epitome of royalty, and you stood out like a sore thumb in the dingy old room on their ship.

For someone who's just been kidnapped and held at ransome, you seemed pretty calm.

"How much money did you ask for?"

Seonghwa's eyebrows furrowed.

"Excuse me?"

You turned towards him, your stance as perfect as ever.

"Money? You did ask for it in favour of giving me back? Otherwise this would be a ridiculous way of courting me."

The pirate stood flabbergasted. A smile was about to make it's way on your face, but you managed to control your emotions.

"Well..." He started, voice a bit unsure. "Our Captain does the deals, but I assume you're worth a pretty penny."

You nodded, and he thought you'd go back to being poised, but you managed to surprise him again.

You shot up from your seat, startling the poor man. The crown you wore was ripped from your head, and you placed it in front of Seonghwa.

"Here, this is worth more than a pretty penny. Go give it to your captain, and ask him if he needs a maid or a cook on this ship."

"What?"

Seonghwa watched the woman, noticing how her expression hasn't changed. She was dead serious about this.

"You heard me. I'm sick and tired of living like Rapunzel! You probably don't know who that is, but nevermind. I want to sail around the world, go on adventures, you know? I don't want to marry a prince, and I cannot stand being in dresses like this anymore!"

Seonghwa didn't know whether to be scared or turned on by you. You were a strong willed woman, and you weren't backing down. For some reason, he couldn't help but feel intrigued. Maybe keeping you with them wouldn't be such a bad idea?

He stood up from his seat and grabbed the crown from the table. Without another glance towards you, he went to the door.

"I'll see what I can do."

.

.

"Oh come on! You literally don't let me do anything fun around here!"

"Yeah, well, that's because you get into trouble more than I anticipated. Now let go!"

You and Seognhwa were playing tug of war with your favorite bag. The boys went out into town to gather supplies for your next trip, and you wanted to go with them. Seonghwa was stuck babysitting you again, and he wouldn't let you leave.

"Please! Do you hate me? Do you not want to see me happy! Come on Hwa!"

It's been about three months since you ran away with them, leaving your castle and princess status behind. Seonghwa asked you from time to time if you regret your decision, but the answer was always a strong 'No'.

"Princess, I've about had it with you! Can you please just let go and sit still for once!"

Now, that wasn't the tone of voice he usually used with you. He was accustomed to your antics, and he let you do whatever you wanted, but he never once sounded as serious about saying no as now.

You slowly loosened your grip on the strap, and you could tell something was wrong with him.

"Hwa? Hey, I won't go. See? Here's the bag, take it. I'll stay on the ship."

He only nodded before turning around and marching to the other end of the deck. You quickly followed after him, trying to look at his face, but he wouldn't turn your way.

"Seonghwa? I know I'm a bit tough to deal with, but something's up with you. Wanna tell me before we start a guessing game?"

His hands gripped the railing tightly, and he tried to calm down enough to look at you. Seonghwa knew his fear was a bit irrational, but it wouldn't go away. He also knew he had to tell you before you started freaking out.

So, he took a deep breath and turned to look into your eyes.

"Listen. I know you love it here. I know you love the boys, the ship, the food Wooyoung makes, the strange animals San sometimes brings aboard... But what if..." His gaze fell to the floor.

"What if, one day, you venture out into the city and realise you miss it? What if you want to go back?"

Seonghwa paused, noticing how quiet you were. As if sensing his unease, you came closer and took his hands in yours.

"Go on." You whispered.

"I can't let you go, Y/N. I... You've made me so happy. Even though you give me constant headaches, I wouldn't want it any other way."

"Oh Seonghwa..."

Before he could tell you to let him down easily, he was surprised with your lips pressed onto his. He quickly gathered himself, wrapping his strong arms around your waist, getting lost into the passionate kiss between you.

You pulled away first, and he was about to chase after you, not wanting it to be over, but you placed a finger on his lips.

"I just want to say... I will never leave you. Yes, I love exploring the city, but I've found my home now."

You leaned your forehead onto his.

"You are my home, Seognhwa."

After that, he let you wander off as much as you wanted, because he knew you'd always come back to him.

Yunho

"Hey! Get back here you son of a bitch!"

Yunho never ran so fast in his life before. His legs were about to give out, but thank goodness the dock was close.

You see, he may or may not have gotten into a slight altercation with a merchant.

The man wanted Yunho to pay for the compass, whereas Yunho... Well... Didn't.

Now, he was in a chasing match with said merchant, as well as three of his friends. They were surprisingly slow, and he thought he was in the clear until he bumped into something.

Or more precisely, someone.

The basket you held flew up in the air, and it was raining apples all around.

"I think he went that way boss!" The men were coming closer, and Yunho cursed from his position on the floor. You on the other hand dusted off your skirt before kicking the man in the leg.

"Hey, I'd say you have about five seconds before they catch you, so why don't you hide in my shop?"

His eyes widened, and he quickly got up and followed after you. You ushered him behind the counter and motioned for him to stay quiet.

There was noise outside, and the door of your shop opened.

"Hello there Miss Y/N. You didn't happen to see a mongrel with long legs running around?"

Yunho glanced at you from his crouched position, and you seemed casual enough.

"No, I can't say that I have. Sorry gentlemen."

They grumbled, but soon enough, the shop was enveloped in silence. You glanced outside, seeing them going back where they came from.

"All clear now big boy. You can come out."

Yunho poked his head up, and you chuckled. The tall man gave you a youthful vibe, and the smile on his face made you stop in your tracks.

"That was a close one. Thank you, little lady. I'm sorry about your apples."

You waved him off while he curiously looked around your bookshop.

"Wow, quite a collection. Are you the owner?"

"My father is. I just help around when I can. Now..." You stepped closer to him, examining his handsome features.

"What did you do? That was one hell of a chase."

Yunho laughed, but he stopped abruptly to check his pockets. He let out a sigh of relief as he took the small compass out. He extended his hand and held it over to you.

"Oh, wow. Did you steal it?" You watched as he nodded, expression almost sheepish.

"I didn't bring any money with me, and I know my Captain wouldn't let me go back for it because we're in a hurry, so..."

He trailed off, but you got his point.

"Ahh... I see. Well, in that case you might want to hurry to your ship before Mister Jung finds you."

His eyes widened and he rushed past you towards the door. You were almost sad to see him go.

"Thank you, again. I wish you all the best!"

He was out before you could reply, but you followed after him to watch as he ran down the street, an apple from your basket in his hand as well.

"What a silly boy..."

.

.

It's been about a month since your encounter with the gentle giant, as you called him. You couldn't stop thinking about his handsome face, and it made you sad every time. You figured he was a pirate by the way he dressed, and he only confirmed it when he mentioned his ship.

Your father always knew you were a free spirit, and he was sad you chose to stay in the city and spend your days in the bookstore. He knew you felt uneasy about leaving him, but he couldn't convince you to change your mind. That is, until he found a young man curiously peeking through the shop window.

The tall man came inside, and he could sense his nervousness in the air.

"Hello there... Is... Is the little lady somewhere around here?"

Your father smiled. "Oh, my daughter. She went out to get us some fruit. You're welcome to wait inside."

Yunho nodded, and went over to one of the shelves to browse. It didn't take long for you to return, and you almost dropped the basket of pears you were holding.

"Oh..."

Yunho turned towards you, a big smile spreading across his face.

"Hey there! Long time no see!"

You glanced at your father, and he nodded slightly before smirking. After that, he stood up and went to the back to give you some privacy.

"Yeah, long time... What are you doing here?"

You placed the pears on the counter, offering one to... Well you didn't know his name.

"Well, I... I had to go and settle my debt with Mister Jung. I also..."

He took the fruit from your hand, fingers brushing yours. You looked into each other's eyes, unconsciously coming closer.

"I had to see you again. I know it might sound crazy, but I can't stop thinking about you, little lady."

Yunho leaned in slightly, his voice almost a whisper.

"What's your name? I need to know the name of the girl of my dreams. Mine's Yunho."

"I'm Y/N." You managed to mumble, eyes still fixated on his.

"Say, you two, why don't you go back to our house and start packing Y/N's bags?"

You let out a startled noise, and turned around to look at your father. He was standing behind the counter, a wide smile gracing his features.

"Dad? What..."

"Yunho, I assume you're here to ask my daughter to come with you, is that right? I know how you pirates get."

Yunho stood frozen, surprised at how easily her dad got him figured out. He was right, he did come to ask Y/N to travel with him. His life was on the sea, has been for a long time, but she... She was something he felt was missing.

"I can really go?" You went towards your father, not believing what was happening.

He gently placed his arms around you in a hug, whispering into your ear.

"You were never meant to love a mundane life, my sweetie. Go now, before I become too sentimental."

It wasn't long after that your bags were packed and you were waving at your father from Yunho's ship. As the town you grew up in got smaller, your eyes filled with tears.

A pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist, and a kiss was placed on top of your head.

"Everything okay little lady?"

You turned around in Yunho's embrace, placing your hands on his chest. Without much thought, you got on your tiptoes and placed a soft kiss on his lips. He stood frozen for a moment before his arms tightened around you, deepening the kiss.

When you finally broke apart, you placed your head above his heart, listening to the steady beats.

"Everything is perfect."

Yeosang

Yeosang loved being a pirate. He loved the freedom he had, the laughs he shared with his shipmates, who he now viewed as brothers. He loved everything about his life. Apart from the times they had to wreak havoc in a random town.

They tried to bring justice where they could. Once they found out about groups doing harm on the townspeople, they intervened in no time.

Tonight wasn't any different from their usual agenda, if he excluded you.

They were seated in one of the more problematic bars in town. Hongjoong told them the job was simple - Get in, take out the bad guys, get out. There was one man, Han Sehun, and he was known for intimidating the lower class people into giving him their well earned salaries, as well as harassing women.

That's where you came into the picture. You were working the night shift at the bar tonight, and you hated it every time. Sehun was adamant on making your life hell, but you couldn't complain because you needed the job. Your parents were long gone, and there wasn't anyone in town you were close with.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't notice the handsome men making an entrance. You could tell there was something different about them.

One in particular caught your eyes the most. He had a blonde mullet, and he seemed like the calmest of them all. As if he could sense your eyes on him, he turned his head, but you managed to look away in time.

"Yeosang, stop staring at the pretty lady. You'll scare her." Wooyoung chuckled after pinching Yeosang's cheek.

He swatted his hand away.

"I'm not staring."

Wooyoung smirked. "Sure you aren't."

Without another word, Wooyoung stood up and went over to you. He smiled at you, showing you eight fingers and motioning to their table. You nodded, giving him a thumbs up.

Yeosang was nervous all of the sudden. He knew they were on a mission, so what was Wooyoung doing.

"Relax, Sangie. The pretty lady will bring us some drinks in a second."

Hongjoong pinched his nose.

"Now is not the time for drinking, or staring at girls. Get it together."

Wooyoung held his hands up, and Yeosang remained still. That is, until you came to their table holding a tray with eight beers.

"Here you go boys. Enjoy!"

His mind must be playing tricks on him, because it seemed like your eyes only met his before you went back to the counter.

Before he could dwell on it, Sehun started causing a scene at the bar.

"Oh come on Y/N, when will you give it up? You know I can show you a good time."

"For the last time, please leave me alone."

"Still trying to act tough? Just wait until I fuck the attitude right out of you!"

Yeosang had the sudden urge to march over an fuck up his face, but Hongjoong's glare kept him at bay. They had to wait for the perfect timing, otherwise they would cause a ruckus.

The night went on like this with Sehun's comments getting even worse. Yeosang felt immense relief when he saw Hongjoong nodd, and the plan went into action.

Soon enough, the bar was turned over upside-down. Sehun was in handcuffs, and you were hiding under your counter. The officers would be here any moment, and the boys had to run.

Yeosang glanced at his crewmates as they went down an alley, his chest tightening.

"I have to do something quickly. Meet you at the ship."

"Yeosang!" Their voices were now faded into the background as he re-entered the place they wrecked.

"Hello? Miss?"

You slowly lifted your head from your hiding place, glancing at the handsome man from earlier. You should have known they were pirates, his outfit basically screamed it in your face.

"H-Hi?"

He turned his head towards your voice, a small smile gracing his features.

"There you are. Come out, I won't hurt you."

For some reason, you believed him. After all, they managed to take away your town's biggest problem.

You carefully got up, and he could tell your dress was ripped in some places. Probably got caught in one of the broken tables.

"What do you want?" You asked, voice trembling.

He approached you, paying attention to your body language. You were still apprehensive, but slowly loosening up.

"I'll cut right to the chase. Want to come on a little trip with me?"

.

.

It's been about a month since you took Yeosang up on his offer. You weren't sure what came over you to say yes so quickly, but you felt like he was trustworthy.

Honestly, you didn't have much left in the town, and you felt like you weren't leaving anyone behind. You only gained another family, a bit rowdy, but definitely lovely and supportive.

You also gained something else along the way, and you hoped Yeosang was feeling the same.

"Hey there treasure. What's got your head in the clouds?"

His voice brought you out of your daydream, and you could feel him beside you, gripping the railing. The sea was calmer than usual, giving you a sense of peace.

"Oh, nothing much. Just thinking about you."

Yeosang let out a startled noise.

"M-Me?"

You turned to look at him, noticing the slight blush on his cheeks.

"Yeah, you. I don't think I ever thanked you properly for taking me away from my miserable life."

Yeosang stayed silent, observing your expression. You looked... Happy.

"So, forgive me if I'm reading this wrong, but I just can't hold it in."

Before he could get a word in, you placed a kiss on his cheek, lightly catching his lips. It took him off guard, but he wanted to make sure you knew the feelings were mutual.

So, as you went to pull away, he grabbed your waist and placed a proper kiss on your lips.

You just looked at each other, smiles stretched out from ear to ear.

"I can't hold it in either."

.

.

[jburrgf]

Champagne Coast, JOE BURROW.

“Finishing 8 or 9, tell me what’s the perfect time. I told you i’ll be waiting hiding from the rainfall.”

◦pairing: ¡long hair!joe x ¡college student!reader

◦summary: fwb, no attachment relationship, attachment problems, forbidden type of love. +18 readers only!

◦description: academic pleasure is your thing, and that means that you put nothing over your education. literally nothing. but when a long-haired football player that just got transferred from the north just pops in front of you, it’s too hard to say no to him.

◦n/a: i’m doing this for my latina girlies (like me! <3). she has curly hair and slightly tanned skin.

Mornings were always the hardest.

Not because I wasn’t a morning person—I was, to some extent—but because they reminded me of how much I had to do and how little time I had to waste.

My alarm went off at 6:30 a.m. sharp, vibrating against the nightstand with a persistence I could never ignore. I didn’t allow myself to hit snooze. I couldn’t afford to. Instead, I threw the covers off, stretched until my spine cracked, and made my way to the tiny bathroom in my apartment, eyes barely open as I turned on the sink.

The mirror reflected my exhaustion back at me. Dark circles had made a home under my eyes, the evidence of another night spent hunched over my laptop, working through notes, assignments, and emails.

I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and tied my hair back into a loose ponytail before heading to the kitchen. Breakfast was always a rushed affair—black coffee, a piece of toast if I wasn’t running late. Today, I had just enough time to spread some butter over it and let the warmth seep into my fingertips before taking a bite.

As I stood there, leaning against the counter, I flipped open my planner, its pages filled with neatly written notes, deadlines, and reminders. Between classes, assignments, and shifts at my internship, every minute of my day was accounted for.

But today felt different.

Excitement buzzed under my skin as my eyes skimmed over a note I had scribbled down the night before: New project meeting – 2 PM.

My internship had been one of the best things about this year. It was demanding, sure, but it gave me a sense of purpose. The chance to work on something real, something tangible. And today, I was finally getting assigned to a project I had been hoping for.

I double-checked the details, making a mental note to grab an extra coffee before the meeting. If I was going to impress them, I needed to be on my A-game.

After slipping into a pair of jeans and pulling on a navy-blue sweater, I slung my bag over my shoulder and stepped outside. The crisp morning air bit at my cheeks, the sky a soft, muted blue, but I barely had time to appreciate it. My days ran on a tight schedule, and I had no room to fall behind.

The walk to campus was second nature by now. I moved on autopilot, weaving through streets and past coffee shops, my earbuds in, music humming softly as I mentally prepared myself for the day ahead.

By the time I made it to the library, my coffee was already half gone, but the caffeine was finally kicking in. I settled into a seat by the window, pulling out my laptop and opening the file I had started last night. I had about an hour before my first class—plenty of time to go over my notes, make sure I hadn’t missed anything.

This was my routine.

And I liked it this way, but today, my friends had another plan. Rachel and Nathan have been keeping me busy about every single gossip on this campus, and the new one was The transferred quarterback from Ohio State. And of course, the whole campus needed to celebrate.

I wasn’t planning on going to the party that night. It was the kind of LSU house party that smelled like cheap beer and desperation, packed with sweaty, screaming students all trying to forget their midterms or bad decisions. But my roommate, Rachel, had another plan.

A few hours earlier, I had been sitting in my psychology class, half-listening as the professor droned on about the power of love in humanity. It was some philosophical tangent about how emotions, particularly love, played a crucial role in human development and scientific progress. I struggled not to roll my eyes. Love, to me, had always been a concept romanticized beyond its worth. Sure, it made for great literature, but I had never been convinced that it held any real power beyond that.

When class finally ended, I packed up my things and headed to the campus diner, where Rachel and a few other friends were already gathered in a booth, their laughter rising above the chatter of the busy place. Jess, my best guy friend Nate, and his roommate Lucas were already deep in conversation when I slid into the seat beside Rachel, who immediately pushed a menu toward me.

"Are you actually eating or just here to mope about your long, miserable week?" she teased.

"Neither," I replied, scanning the menu without interest. "I just need a drink."

"That’s the spirit!" Jess cheered, raising her iced coffee like it was something stronger.

"So, you’re coming to the party tonight?" Lucas asked, drumming his fingers against the table.

I sighed. "Yeah, but I’m not really in the mood for it. I just need to blow off some steam."

"That’s what parties are for," Rachel said. "Besides, have you heard about the new transfer? Joe Burrow?"

Jess wiggled her eyebrows. "Apparently, he’s not just good. He’s supposed to be the guy. Like, NFL material."

Nate scoffed, leaning back against the booth. "Everyone’s acting like he’s a god or something. He’s just another quarterback."

I shrugged, uninterested. "I’m sure he’s good at what he does, but that doesn’t mean he’s obnoxious."

Rachel smirked. "So, you’re saying he’s just a great professional player who happens to be really good?"

"Pretty much. I don’t get why everyone acts like he’s the second coming or something."

"Because he might actually be," Jess said with a dramatic sigh. "And you, my dear, are going to meet him tonight."

Nate chuckled. "Yeah, maybe you two can talk about quantum physics and see if he can keep up."

I rolled my eyes, but I knew there was no escaping it now. The party was happening, and whether I liked it or not, Joe Burrow was about to become part of my night.

[…]

I got to the party slightly late. My friends were already over there, bouncing over songs that we used to listen to together and talking louder above the speakers. To me, that was irritating. I love parties, but after a long week of work, the last thing I wanted to do is partying all night on a friday.

The music thumped through the walls, a steady, pulsing beat that rattled through my ribs as I wove through the crowd, my plastic cup clutched loosely in my fingers. I wasn’t even sure what was in it anymore—some neon-colored mix of whatever they had at the bar—but I had taken exactly two sips and decided I didn’t need more.

I was about to turn around when a voice cut through the noise.

“You’ve been standing there for a while.”

I looked up.

I turned, expecting one of my friends, but instead, I was met with someone unfamiliar. He was tall—really tall—with messy blond hair that fell over his forehead, and sharp features that the dim lighting only made more defined. His sweatshirt hung loose on his frame, sleeves pushed to his elbows like he had just come from somewhere else, and the cup in his hand was barely touched.

“I was just—” I hesitated, glancing at the dance floor. “People-watching.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Yeah? Anything interesting?”

“Not really,” I admitted. “Just the usual: drunk freshmen, a couple making out in the corner, a guy who’s definitely going to regret that keg stand tomorrow.”

"You don’t look like you’re having fun," he said, his voice cutting through the noise of the party.

I raised a brow. “And you’ve been watching me?”

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I just noticed. Everyone else is either dancing, drinking, or trying to do both at the same time. You, though? You’re just… here.”

I huffed, half amused. “I guess I’m not very good at parties.”

He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Nothing wrong with that.”

I turned my head, surprised he was talking to me. "That’s because I’m not."

He smirked. "Then why are you here?"

"Peer pressure."

"Same."

I looked at him, doubtful. "I find that hard to believe. Isn’t this your crowd?"

He shook his head. "Not really. I’m still figuring out who my crowd is here."

I hummed in response, not sure I believed him. He was too comfortable, too effortless in the way he carried himself.

"What’s your major?" he asked.

"Psychology," I replied. "And you?"

"Consumer and family financial services.”

I raised a brow. "That’s oddly specific."

He chuckled. "Yeah. I like numbers."

"So, you’re actually smart?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.

“But I’m here cause of football.”

I raised a brow. “Of course, you do.”

He chuckled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I shrugged. “You have that whole… football player look.”

He looked vaguely amused. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not necessarily.” I took a sip of my drink. “I just feel like I already know your whole deal.”

Joe leaned in slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Yeah? And what’s my deal?”

I pretended to think. “Cocky, thinks he’s smarter than he is, probably way too competitive.”

“You don’t know me at all. He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that made something flicker in my chest. He stepped closer, but at a safe distance "I like to think I'm smart. Want to test me?"

I leaned against the counter, intrigued. "Alright, what’s the capital of Lithuania?"

"Vilnius."

I blinked, impressed but unwilling to show it. "Okay, what’s the powerhouse of the cell?"

"Mitochondria. Come on, give me a hard one."

I bit my lip, thinking. "Fine. Who wrote ‘Pride and Prejudice’?"

He didn’t even hesitate. "Jane Austen."

My mouth parted slightly. "Huh."

He grinned. "Not what you expected?"

"Not even close."

He tilted his head, studying me. His blue eyes went all over me, starting at my face and getting down all over my body. "What about me gave you the impression I wasn’t smart?"

I hesitated, but he was looking at me with genuine curiosity. "The hoodie, the wristbands, the fact that this house is a frat-football house. And, no offense, but most guys like you care more about throwing balls than reading books."

He let out a breathy laugh. "Fair enough. But I promise you, I’m more than that."

I found myself wanting to believe him.

“Oh, I bet.”

The night stretched on, and we kept talking. The party faded into the background. He told me about growing up in Ohio, about transferring to LSU for a fresh start. I told him about my dream of being a psychologist, working with kids was my whole goal.

At some point, we ended up outside on the porch, sitting on the steps as the humid Louisiana night wrapped around us. I hadn’t realized how much time had passed until my phone buzzed with a text from Rachel: "Where r u???"

I looked at him, his hair messy from the night, his blue eyes watching me like I was the most interesting thing in the world.

"I should go," I said reluctantly.

He nodded, but there was something in his expression that made my pulse skip. "I’ll see you around?

I hesitated, then smiled. "Yeah. See you around."

As I walked away, I felt his gaze linger. And for the first time in a long time, I wondered if maybe, just maybe, I had been wrong about people like him.

[…]

The city buzzed with the hum of conversation and the scent of freshly brewed coffee as we walked the familiar route to our usual spot. The sun had begun its slow descent, painting the sky in warm hues of orange and pink. It was the kind of late afternoon that felt like a soft exhale after a long day, the air thick with the scent of summer and distant laughter from students scattered across the campus.

Rachel, Jess, Nate, Lucas, and I had just wrapped up another draining day—classes, internships, and the slow crawl toward graduation looming over us like a deadline we weren’t ready to meet.

"I swear, if I have to listen to one more professor drone on about case studies, I might actually drop out," Rachel groaned as she linked her arm with Jess’s.

"You say that every semester," Nate teased, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

"And yet, here I am. A survivor," Rachel shot back, flipping her hair dramatically.

I trailed slightly behind, exhaustion weighing on my shoulders. My internship at the counseling center had been particularly draining today. A few tough sessions had left me with more questions than answers, the complexities of the human mind unraveling in ways I hadn't yet learned how to piece back together.

"I don't know how you do it, Y/N," Lucas said, as if reading my mind. "Listening to people’s problems all day would drive me insane."

I smirked. "That’s kind of the point. Psychology is about understanding people, not just fixing them."

"Yeah, yeah," he waved. "Just remind me never to tell you my problems."

We finally reached the café, a cozy little corner of campus life where we had spent countless hours avoiding responsibilities. The scent of espresso and fresh pastries welcomed us as we pushed through the doors, greeted by the comforting hum of low conversation and the occasional clatter of dishes.

Sliding into our usual booth by the window, we settled in, each of us instinctively knowing our roles in the ordering process. Rachel and Jess debated over which overpriced latte to get, while Nate and Lucas argued about football stats neither of them would remember in an hour. I, meanwhile, busied myself scrolling through my phone, half-listening to their conversation.

That’s when the notification popped up.

A follow request.

Joe Burrow.

I frowned slightly, the name unfamiliar for only a second before my memory caught up. Joe Burrow, the new player. Why was he texting me like that?

And then, a message.

“Finally found you. Do you know how hard it was to track you down?"

I blinked, confused.

Then another message appeared.

"It’s Joe—the guy you thought was dumb. We met at the party last Saturday."

The guy I met at the party.

Joe Burrow, the quarterback.

The transferred dude and the new quarterback were the same person.

My stomach did a weird little flip. I had spent the entire night talking to him, intrigued by the way he had effortlessly thrown back every challenge I gave him. I had walked away thinking I’d never see him again.

And yet, here he was.

I stared at the screen, my mind racing with possibilities.

"Earth to Y/N?" Jess’s voice broke through my thoughts.

I looked up, realizing they were all staring at me.

"Who’s got you looking like you just saw a ghost?" Rachel asked, sipping her drink.

I hesitated, my fingers hovering over my phone.

"No one," I said, too quickly.

But the smirk on Rachel’s face told me she wasn’t buying it.

And truthfully? Neither was I.

I stared at my screen, my heart pounding for reasons I couldn’t explain.

And he texted me again.

"So, did I pass your intelligence test?"

[interruptedtrance]

Stress relief (franco x reader)

Smut; 18+

contains: calling franco master, nicknames (amor), reader being a brat, being used as stress relief, hands being tied behind the back, spanking, using a ruler, crying, aftercare

masterlist

“come here”

“yes master”

“over the desk”

“i'm sorry, what?”

slamming down his work, “bend over the desk, i've had enough of you amor” now slightly getting up from his chair, pointing where he wants you on the desk, “you have been such a brat, teasing all morning, disturbing me while i work, and now again walking around in a skirt that doesn't even cover anything!”

hesitation fully leaving your body, you move to his desk and bend over it, “i'm sorry master” you let out a small whimper.

he gently runs a hand on the inside of your thigh, before roughly grabbing your mound, and ripping your panties off you, “amor,” he inhales a deep breath, only making you more worried, “i want you to be quiet, and let me use you as stress relief.”

you lightly tremble, “yes master”, you feel franco grab both of your arms and pull them behind your back, firmly holding them to your lower back. his other hand, working off his tie, and carefully binding your arms together, making sure the knot isn't done too tightly.

soon franco sits down and returns to his work, while reading over some documents he gently traces his hand along your thigh, every now and then giving it a gentle squeeze, making you let out a tiny breath.

but the touches don't stop there, his hand moves to your ass giving it a rough squeeze, pulling a moan from you. “what did i tell you?” he questions without easing up his grip on your ass.

“to not make any noise”

“and what did you do?”

“i made noise, i'm sorry master” you knew better than to piss him off even more.

“amor, what do brats like you get?”

“they get punished sir”

“that's correct amor, now pick a number between one and five”

hesitating a bit, before you answer “four”.

“four times five is twenty, exactly how many swats you will be getting”

“what, why so many?” you try protesting. but franco now pulls you over his lap.

“why twenty, well you chose four swats, and the five is for every offence you have done, i see that before each session you will need to explain why you are getting them”

“yes master” you hang your head in defeat.

“can we start? why are you getting the first set?”

“i went over my spending limit”, as soon as those words came out you felt the first slap on your right cheek, the second soon following to your left, and the next two landing in the middle, each one making you hiss out in pain.

franco now gently rubbing your ass, “you should be thankful it wasn't for every dollar you went over, now what's the next thing?”

“i wore short skirts in the hopes of getting your attention sooner”

“shame you didn't ask for it” and with that another set is done, he makes sure to hit the exact same spots to really drive the message home, each spank harder then the last, making you cry out in pain.

franco is still gently caressing your bruised ass, and cooing at you to get you to calm down, “aaa amor it's not so bad, i wouldn't be doing this if you were good for me.”

“i disturbed you while you worked”

franco didn't start as soon as you stated what you did wrong, he caressed your ass for a second longer, “the next round will be with a ruler.”

“yes master” and again, in the same pattern he abused you ass, this time laying down even harder smacks making you shed a few tears.

“what color amor?” he questions, while gently running one hand over your burning cheeks, and with the other grabbing the implement.

“green master” you say with a tremble.

“alright amor, for what are you being punished now?”

“i didn't listen when you said i had to be quiet”

“correct” franco gently drug the ruler up your thighs to your cheeks, making sure both of them felt the ruler equally. when he brought the instrument to your ass, he held it there for a moment, and just gave you a few light swats with it, not enough to hurt, just enough to sting a bit, making you release a breath you didn't know you were holding.

“and what is the last thing amor?” he questioned, while pressing the ruler into your burning skin.

“i've argued with you”

before he spanks you for the final four times, he gently kisses you on your head, and gives you another four light swats, making sure to spread them out so it doesn't hurt too much.

“thank you master” you say, while he is undoing the knot.

“stay over my lap for a second” he orders, while moving to grab something from his desk drawers, in the meantime you move and fold your arms under your head so it's being supported a little.

“this might be a bit cold amor” he mentions, before he softly traces his palms against your red cheeks to spread the ointment so you don't bruise. the cold from the ointment makes you let out a content breath.

he moved you, so that you are now sitting on his lap, careful of the area where he has delivered the hardest spanks too. “did the ointment feel good?” you only nod in return, now tired from the punishment.

franco gently grabs your face in his hands, and with his thumb lightly wipes away the tear streaks on your face, before softly connecting your lips together.

[wlwsoccerfics]

Hungover(StephCatleyXFoordReader)

Summary: you go out with Kyra, Alessia & Vic and your fiancee knows that you gonna wake up the next morning with a Hangover.

You came home at 1am. Completely wasted, that is the important part there. In your 27 years of life If was rare that you were so drunk. Maybe happend twice in your life before. But you were out celebrating your Engagement with some of your Arsenal Teammates/Friends.

Steph was out with Jen, Beth, Leah, Lia, Katie and your sister Caitlin. While you were out with Vic, Lessi & Kyra. Of course you two would have a big celebration with everyone soon. There was also a bachelorette Party planned before you would get married next year.

Steph wasn't home alone when you got back, no your sister, Katie and Leah were there with her. They were still chatting when they heard the Front door open and you stumbling in. Followed by Kyra who was the only one sober. You were hugging a bottle of Champagne.

"y/n, sit down and give me that bottle!" Kyra said. It was rare that she was the responsible one. One had to be. Because Vic & Alessia both were wasted as well. They stumbled in behind Kyra.

"my bottle." You said with a pout.

"what the f*ck!" Kate stated.

"No doubt the Hangover tomorrow will be bad!" Leah answered.

"never in my Life have i seen my sister so wasted!" Caitlin replied. Your fiancee didn't even know what to say. Vic & Alessia both had a bottle of Champagne as well. Nothing much was left in either of those bottles.

"damn, we can never let these three go anywhere alone anymore when it comes to drinking." Katie stated. You saw your girlfriend sitting on the Couch and stumbled into her lap.

"hi pretty Woman. Kyra is trying to steal my bottle. " You told her.

"Babe, i think you had enough of that happy juice, because you smell like a Mini bar!" She told you and took the bottle from you. Which earend her a pout from you. At the same time Kyra was Wrestling the bottle out of Alessias Hand and managed to sit her down on the couch. Leah sat Vic down on the Couch inbetween herself and Alessia.

"i am sorry this got out of Hand!" Kyra told your sister and sighed softly.

"this isn't your fault. they are all adults." Steph let her know.

"plus the Hangover they gonna have in the morning is gonna be such a punishment. I am sure they won't ever drink like that again!" Caitlin said.

"i am gonna call a cab so i can take Vic home with me!" Leah answered.

"and we gonna take Lessi with us!" Katie offered.

"good Idea! I didn't drink anything though so let us just drop you two of at your place, Leah!" Your sister informed Leah.

It wasn't long until they left and Kyra helped steph to take you upstairs into the bedroom you shared with your fiancee.

"we should grab a bucket, just in case, cause i am sure all of the Champagne is gonna come back up." Kyra suggested.

"good thinking. can you go grab it?" Steph asked Kyra.

"i don't need one, i am fine!" You tried to protest but it didn't have that much of an effect cause all of sudden you felt quite sleepy.

"sure." Kyra went to grab a bucket and put it besides the bed when you needed it.

"Thanks Kyra." Your fiancee said, offering her a soft smile. At this point you already have been asleep.

Kyra went to her own room and Steph laid down next to you. Watching you sleep.

"you gonna regret drinking so much, my Love." She whispered out, kissing your head gently, before closing her eyes and falling asleep. Not for long though. Two hours later she heard you throwing up. Hanging over the bucket.

"oh Babe." She said and rubbed your back. You whimpered softly.

"i feel like crap!" You sobbed out after having a break from vomiting like crazy.

"i know Love. No surprise there. You had quite alot to drink." Steph answered.

"never again, Steffy." You told her.

The night and morning was filled with you throwing up and your fiancee comforting you. It didn't look much better for Alessia & Vic.

Even the day after this when you went back to Training you could still feel that you weren't there a 100% there yet. And like that wasn't enough the three of you totally got teased by Caitlin, Leah and the others.

[thanosscross]

My Aein - BangChan x Reader

Summary: y/n l/n was taught from a young age that you always try to be the utmost respectful person, which causes issues in your adult life of never being able to stand up for yourself, so what happens whenever a new found friend, is extremely protective over you?

Warnings: your manager is a dick, your agency wanting you to do things you don’t want to, SMUT 👏

Christopher Chahn Bahng was protective in life, anybody could see that, especially the way he was with his group members, and his family. Nobody could predict how protective he'd become whenever he met Y/n L/n though, it was like you were made for each other.

You were a part of a growing girl group, and as the youngest of the group, you had grown accustomed to doing whatever was asked of you. Your parents raised you to be a respectful, kind, and thoughtful person, so it was only right to do what your elders asked. It'd start to become an issue once you started working for creepier staff, sure there was a handful that were absolute sweethearts, but the rest? Definitely took advantage of the fact you'd do anything for them. You'd always get the more suggestive outfits, lyrics, choreography, and the fans either ate it up, or hated you for it. They'd either love the way you'd put yourself out there, or they labeled you as the group's whore. Rumors constantly flying around about what group or group member you had allegedly slept with, or what scandalous thing you had done that week.

That's when you'd run into BangChan, you'd be at an award show backstage whenever Christopher would overhear you and your manager speaking. "When you start your single, you're going to have a planned wardrobe malfunction with your top, where it'll fall off, just keep your back to the camera, it'll fit your character" He'd explained, his words would strike anxiety through you as you instinctively brought your arms up to cover your still clothed chest "D-Do we have to?..I feel like that's a little too fa-" Your manager cut you off quickly "Are you questioning me? Next question, are you seriously arguing with your boss and an elder right now?" He snapped, you flinched back slightly, starting to stutter and ramble attempting to find the words to defend yourself. "Excuse me. She's got a right to say she doesn't want to" A voice came from behind you, you were too focused on not wanting to come off as rude or disrespectful that you never glanced back while speaking with your manager. "I-It's okay, I-I'll do it, it's okay, J-just don't worry about it" You rambled, your bottom lip starting to tremble as your manager just stormed off in the opposite direction, clearly frustrated with your behavior. As you turned around, your hands shaking slightly with anxiety, Christopher finally got to see how beautiful you looked. Taking in your shaken state, his hands quickly found yours, holding them gently as he leaned down slightly to be eye to eye with you "Hey, you're alright, you don't have to do it" He assured, frowning whenever tears started to fall from your eyes, you felt like a drama queen or crybaby, but you couldn't help it, your parents raised you as if disrespecting your elders was almost as bad as murder.

Christopher wasn't sure what to do, so he followed what his gut was feeling, and pulled you into a tight hug, keeping his hands above your waist, but not high enough to be near your chest. You just melted into his hold, finding comfort in the way it felt like your bodies were made to fit perfectly together. Bangchan felt frustration rise in his chest as he held you closer to him, why weren't the older idols in your group not helping you stand up against people like that? Why would anybody want to make you upset? It was heart shattering to him to see you like this. "Channie!!~" He heard his friends call loudly as they approached, clearly not seeing the smaller shaken frame of yours being held protectively in his arms, despite not even knowing your name yet. "Who is that?" Felix asked tilting his head as he noticed his best friend was basically holding a girl hostage in his arms. "An Idol whose manager is an asshole" He stated, rubbing his hand up and down your back slightly as he noticed your shaky breathing was slowing down back into calm state. "So..You stole her? I'm pretty sure that's illegal, Christopher" ChangBin laughed, chuckling quietly whenever his friend gave him a stern look, silently telling him to shut up.

"Y/n! Come on!" The leader of your group shouted, her tone dripping in annoyance, causing the frustration to build back in Christopher's chest. You slowly leaned away from Christopher's hug, you locked eyes with him for a moment "Thank you..Channie" You giggled, referring to the nickname you heard his friend shout whenever he walked up. "Anytime, Y/n" He chuckled, happy to see a smile on your face, finally.

You wouldn't fully fall in love with Christopher until during your performance, whenever one of your back-up dancers slipped past you, cutting the small piece of fabric that tied around your neck to keep your shirt on. Noticing what the hell was happening, Christopher quickly pushed past the staff that was standing at the walkway for the stage, hidden by the curtains and props. Before anything could be shown to the cameras and audience, BangChan would have a tight hold on you, keeping your chest flush against his. Before you could process anything, Christopher would be glaring the cameraman down as he moved around to try and get a clear shot of your wardrobe malfunction, his plan being destroyed by the older idol using his jacket he had on for their performance after you, to cover your body completely.

As soon as you'd shake off the initial shock, you'd be back in 'performance mode' holding the cut fabric together to give a temporary fix as you tried your best to match the choreography. You'd continue to fall behind and stumble, causing your fellow group mates to laugh and giggle at your actions, only giving you waves of embarrassment. As Christopher stood backstage again, he was grateful of the loud music covering his shouts, he could feel his blood practically boiling as your manager and staff stood a few feet ahead with their backs to him. Seeing that they weren't going to listen anytime soon, Bangchan stormed off, deciding to take a different approach to the situation, his mind (or heart..) not allowing him to just forget about it. Stepping back up to the tape indicating what was front stage and backstage, Christopher noticed you wiping away tears from your cheek as you tried to hit the final mark as the song ended, only looking extremely awkward with your arm reached back behind you.

You would leave stage after that, using your shirt malfunction as an excuse to run off away from anybody who saw your 'performance'. As soon as you'd get the door closed to your dressing room, you'd be quick to try and find your bag of spare clothes. Anxiety would start to rise as your usual f/c bookbag was missing from its spot on the couch, leaving you with no extra shirt for now. The panic would be short lived though, as Christopher knocked on the door gently "Y/n?..It's um..It's Christopher" He called gently, his heart shattering all over again whenever he was greeted with your upset state as you opened the dressing room door. "I-I don't..have a shirt.." You whispered, your voice shaking and cracking as you spoke, you were hoping he wasn't like your managers and would just come in anyways. Instead, Christopher hummed softly as if he was going through his mind for ideas before slipping off his jacket quickly. Before you could speak, he was pulling off his T-shirt and slipping his jacket back on, he stepped forward a bit, eyes squeezed shut as he handed you the t-shirt from the crack in the door. "I-I can't" You protested, not wanting to take the man's shirt off of his back. Christopher huffed loudly in reply "I'm older than you. Take it" He demanded, his tone coming off more demanding, smiling slightly to himself as he saw your arm disappear behind the door with his t-shirt.

Whenever the door would fully open, Christopher would open his arms slightly for a hug "If it's worth anything, I thought you did good" He whispered as you hugged him tightly, not caring that you had just met the man a few hours ago, he was so kind, and his hugs were the most calming thing you had ever experienced. What could you say? You were a hopeless romantic, and this man was hitting every box for your fairytale dream guy. "Don't lie to me, Channie" You huffed, smiling to yourself at the nickname, it was silly, but cute, especially for someone like Christopher. He couldn't hold back his chuckle as he rubbed your back gently "I'm not lying, I think with the situation you were in, you did great" He protested, pulling away slightly to look you in the eyes "I don't like to lie to my friends, especially not the maknaes" He stated, brushing your hair back behind your hair as you locked eyes "I'm not that young, I'm twenty-two" You defended, pouting slightly whenever Bangchan gasped in shock before laughing slightly "You are young! Younger than Jeongin!" He laughed, mocking your pout playfully once he was finished with his laughing session over your age. "Bangchan to the stage, Christopher to the stage" He heard through his earpiece, causing him to mentally groan, of course he had to leave whenever you two were having fun. "Listen, how about you come watch our performance, maybe it'll cheer you up, rather than sitting in here with your group" He offered softly, gently running his hand down your arm until he made it to your wrist, holding it gently as he waited for a reply. "I guess you're right..." You whispered, not wanting to disrespect him in anyway.

You sat in your reserved seat, feeling as if you were to move spots, you'd upset a lot of people, so you stayed with your group members, watching as the boys made their way out on stage. As soon as Bangchan got to his spot, his eyes would lock with yours, giving you a slight smile before motioning you to move to their table. You shook your head slightly, giving him a soft smile, hoping he'd understand that you were fine. As the music started though, a staff from his group made their way over to you "Ms. l/n? Christopher wants me to tell you that he's technically your elder, and he says sit at their table" The young woman stated, maybe a few years younger than you, tilting your head slightly for a moment before finally giving in. As you moved to sit in Christopher's reserved seat, you noticed the music changing over into a different one of their songs. Christopher smiled brightly and innocently as he noticed you sitting in his spot now, waving at you excitedly before moving to his mark for the choreography. The boys would follow the leader, all of them smiling at you and waving excitedly before moving to their marks, leaving you watching with a bright blush apparent on your face.

By the time the award show was over, you'd be asleep curled up in Stray Kids' dressing room, covered by almost every single one of the boys' coats. Bangchan would drag you into the room once everybody was done changing, not liking the way your staff and group members treated you. He wanted you to see and understand that's not how people should treat others, it doesn't matter if their older than you or not, they shouldn't take advantage of your willingness to help others. Now they were packing up the rest of their things, while you slept peacefully, unnoticed by all eight members of the group, until Jeongin would try and get your attention for Christopher. Noticing you were asleep, he'd jump back quickly, almost like he'd be scolded if he woke you, which in all honesty, he probably would've been. "Chan-Hyung" He called out quietly, trying to get his eldest hyung's attention as he finished packing his phone chargers. Turning around Bangchan raised his eyebrows, smiling as he noticed you were asleep in his t-shirt, using his jacket as a blanket, the others just piled on top. "I'll wake her up, you boys just finish up, I'm sure you're all ready to go home" He smiled softly, motioning for Jeongin to finish his packing as he swapped him places, Bangchan now standing a few feet away. As the others made their way to the car that sat outside waiting for them, Bangchan rested a hand gently on your shoulder "Y/n..Jagi...You have to wake up" He called softly, giggling whenever you huffed, pulling his jacket over your face, shaking his head he started to brush your messy hair out of your face. "Come on..I'd hate to leave you here alone" He whispered, smiling to himself whenever your eye peeked open to look at him between his jacket and the sofa you were laying on.

It'd take almost five more minutes to get you on your feet and moving, he wouldn't let you go though, wrapping his coat around you as he led you outside to the car, quite literally just stealing you for the night, even if he wished it was forever. His wish would end up coming true after a short time, you'd end up falling head over heels in love with him after that award show, which would quickly blossom into a relationship between the two of you. Bangchan would be your savior in your eyes, always rescuing you right when you need it, and never asking for much in return, other than your love. It wouldn't take long for the rest of your groups to figure out that you two were together, especially with how often Christopher would steal you in the middle of the night to cuddle with him. It became a habit, neither of you being able to fall asleep without the other, so with your demanding schedules, you spent a lot of your time together just napping with each other.

You'd be lying if you said BangChan's constant want for you learning how to stand up for yourself wasn't extreme pressure on you. You'd try your best, but sometimes people just wouldn't get the hint, and you'd need BangChan's help in order to keep a stern, No. Your staff was starting to become irritated with Christopher and the fact you were becoming less willing to just do whatever, so they'd purposely wait to make plans with you until he wasn't around.

Which is how you ended up standing anxiously in front of your manager, who was eyeing you down as an intimidation tactic. You nervously twisted your rings as you shifted your weight from foot to foot. "I-I don't know, I don't think people will respond well to tha-" You started to explain your reasoning, whenever he'd cut you off in a snippy tone "Y/n. Seriously, I'm getting really tired of this damn act you've been putting on. If I tell you that you're going to do this photoshoot, then you're going to do it" He snapped, his tone caused you to step back, your heart hammering in your chest as you tried to remember what Christopher had told you. "I'm sorry I just don't think it's a good-" Your manager cut you off again, this time his body language showing he was becoming very pissed off. "Y/n! Damnit you're doing it!" He shouted stepping closer to you, feeling like you were going to throw up you just nodded in defeat "O-Okay" You whispered before rushing off down the hallway of your agency's building, pressing yourself against the wall as you tried to calm yourself down. Your manager swore up and down that a scandalous photoshoot involving you using ropes as props would be just what you needed to boost your stats, you knew deep down though, it was the company trying to ruin the last bit of reputation you had left. Between your manager, and the spiraling thoughts and reminders of how angry Christopher got towards people because of you not standing your ground, you felt like you were going to pass out.

You slid down the wall until you were resting your forehead against your knees, your hands tangled in your hair as you hyperventilated and sobbed. Christopher was never once angry or even annoyed with you, but you despised the look you'd get from him whenever you'd explain you were stuck. The mixture of possessiveness, and pity always made you feel like a burden to him for some reason, you felt like if you were to just 'get over it' and either stand your ground or just do whatever is asked of you, he wouldn't even need to feel pity for you or get upset.

Whenever you never answered your phone for your usual lunch break call, Christopher had gotten extremely worried, even making the other seven members call your cell phone as well, only for no reply. Feeling something off in his chest, he rushed over to where he knew you'd be, a meeting with your asshole boss and manipulative group members. He still couldn't wrap his mind around why anybody would treat someone younger than them like how your group members treat you. As he entered the building, he took in your group and managers sitting in the conference room, but you and your manager was nowhere to be found inside of the glass room. "You! if you're so adamant about changing y/n why not fucking change her flaws instead of making her more difficult to deal with!" He heard a voice shout harshly from behind "Excuse me?" Christopher asked turning around to face your manager, his face showing nothing but utter disgust for the man standing a few feet away. Your manager just rolled his eyes "You heard me. Either quit your shit, or- even better!- just get her to quit the industry entirely" He spat, smirking as he watched Christopher's fist clench tightly at his sides, Bangchan was trying his best to not just swing on the guy. Who the hell did he think he was? At least you had a name for yourself, this guy was a nobody. Taking a few deep breaths, Christopher had made up his mind, he was going to kick this guy's ass, assault charge or not.

Right as Christopher took a step forward, his thoughts were halted by the short echo of a shaken cough. He would've brushed it off if he hadn't recognized the sound, even if it was barely audible, he had heard it so many times before, the sound of you having a panic attack. "Fuck off" He spat before turning around to figure out where exactly you were, his heart pounding in his chest as his quick walk turned into a jog before a full-blown run down the hallways trying to figure out where your cries were coming from. Whenever he'd finally spot you, he'd kneel down close, not wanting to risk making anything worse for you by immediately pulling you into a hug. His hands twitched as he held back his instinct to just hold you while you cried, but he needed to make sure you were okay first. "Jagiya...oh aein" He whispered, choosing to just rest a hand on your back for now, his heart shattered at your shaken terrified state, swearing in his mind that he'd make whoever responsible extremely sorry. You'd let yourself fall against BangChan's side, feeling some of your anxiety start to fade as he wrapped his arms around you. "Honey..you're safe, it's okay" He whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he held you tighter, you just attempted to hide in his hold, trying to make yourself appear as small as possible. You tried your best to calm down, but anytime you'd make eye contact with your boyfriend, you'd start crying again. "My Aein..Please speak to me" He whispered, cupping your cheeks as you calmed your breathing for what felt like the 100th time in row "I-I tried to say no a-and stick with it, I p-promise, oppa, b-but he j-just kept g-getting upset, I'm s-so sorry I couldn't-" You were cut off by your body forcing out another cry, Christopher frowned before bringing you closer into a hug, resting a hand on the back of your head so he could run his fingers through your hair. "Oh my- Jagiya, are you sorry because of me? Baby please don't be" He whispered, his voice cracking as he tried to hold back his own tears.

"Y-You've been trying so h-hard to help me s-stand up for myself, a-and I can't ever do i-it" You sobbed, clenching his shirt fabric in your fists "My Aein, I should be sorry, I never wanted you to feel pressured to, I'll always be here to be your 'bad guy', baby" He whispered, trying his best to keep his tears from falling onto you. Christopher never meant to make you feel so much pressure on standing up for yourself, he never wanted you to feel like you needed to put yourself in panic just to make him proud. After a few moments, and seeing your manager storm past, BangChan decided it was best to just to just take you home. Knowing the last place you'd want to be is your dorm room, he'd take you to his apartment style dorm he had shared with Jeongin.

Once you were sat down in your boyfriend's bedroom, next to him on the bed, he pulled you in to yet another hug "What happened today?" He whispered, running his hands up and down your back as you sighed, deciding to flop yourself on top of him before telling him about fight you had with your manager. "oof- Okay, What's that for, princess?" He chuckled, raising his eyebrows as you squeezed your arms around him tightly "Promise you'll stay in this bed no matter what?" You asked, knowing he was going to be extremely pissed off whenever you explained "..I can't make a promise that I can't keep" He stated after a moment, feeling his mind start to grow cloudy with anxiety and anger, what the hell had happened to make you this cautious about him leaving? "They want me to do a photoshoot.." You mumbled, now starting to rethink telling him anything, you knew this situation would definitely be stepping over the line. "Okay..You're scaring me" He stated, sitting up quickly as he held onto you, keeping you straddled on his lap as he tried to read your facial expressions, hoping that might give him some idea. "Their idea..was for me to be scandalous, and wear something similar to..lingerie..with ropes.." You mumbled, BangChan only heard part of your explanation, tuning out everything after lingerie and ropes, he was going to fucking kill this man and anybody else who had the stupid ass idea. You whimpered a bit in discomfort feeling your boyfriend's hands gripping your hips tightly as he glared past you at the wall, desperately trying to calm himself down before he ended up in jail for murder. No wonder you were so panicked whenever he found you. "C-Chris" You whispered, resting your hands on his as his eyes flicked over to meet yours. Christopher gasped a bit, immediately taking his hands off of your hips, carefully moving the waistband of your jeans to check if you were injured in any way. "I'm so sorry, my love, did I hurt you, aein?" He asked quickly, you just smiled a bit cupping his cheeks, caressing his cheekbones with the pads of your thumbs. "No oppa, I'm okay..Are you..okay?" You whispered cautiously, shocked at how much control he was showing by not storming out to find your manager. BangChan laughed softly shaking his head "I'm going to fucking kill somebody..but.." He whispered, trying his best to keep his mind from planning exactly how intense he was going to beat your manager. "Christopher.." You whispered, trying your best to keep his attention on you and distracted, BangChan really did appreciate you and all you did for him, but this was too far. It was one thing to force you to do an over-demanding job, it was another to try and force you to do something like that, it should've been illegal to force someone into a photo shoot like that. He was silent for a few moments before standing up, taking your hand in his gently before leading you towards his youngest member's bedroom. "Jeongin! Best friend in the world" He called sweetly through the door, smiling the best he could whenever his friend opened the door. "Hey, so can you hangout with Y/n, and make sure she doesn't leave the house to follow?" He asked, not explaining anything else before giving you a gentle push into the bedroom, rushing to grab his shoes and leave the apartment.

He had a plan, kick your manager's ass, come back home to you, his girl. As he made it to your agency building, he realized he had been so focused on his thoughts he never even noticed he had jogged the entire way there, well, might as well get some exercise in too. He was about to enter the building until he stopped, there were cameras inside, and how could he possibly knock out your manager's teeth if there were hundreds of employees inside defending him? Standing off to the side in the parking lot, he waited, watching until your manager made his way out to his car "Hey! Why don't we finish that conversation now that I know what kind of a scumbag you are" Christopher spat, making his way closer to your boss "Excuse me? The only reason you or that whore should be talking to me, is either to hand in her resignation or to agree to the gig" You manager argued, turning around to face your boyfriend, just in time for BangChan's fist to connect with his mouth. "Watch your damn mouth" He growled, leaning back quickly to dodge your manager's punch before swinging again, wincing as his knuckles split from the force of connecting with your manager's jaw. "This is assault!" He called out, BangChan just rolled his eyes "So is trying to force her to pose half naked for you" He growled, kneeling down to grab your manager's tie tightly "Y/n isn't your fucking idol anymore, so keep her name out of your fucking mouth, don't even think about her, or I swear to God, I'll fucking find you, and it'll be so much fucking worse" He snapped, delivering one more swift, hard, punch to the cheekbone before tossing him to the concrete by his tie.

The walk back home, BangChan couldn't keep his mind straight, his blood was boiling and his mind just kept going back to the idea of you dressed like that for somebody else. You were his, His girl, His princess, his best friend, his Aein, you were his, and anybody who tried to change that, or hurt his girlfriend, would have the same fate as your manager.

As he entered the apartment, he slammed the front door, huffing loudly as he kicked his shoes off making his way to his bathroom. As he entered his room, he stopped, noticing the bathroom door already open, and the shower running "Oppa?..Is that you?.." You called out from the shower, your eyes closed tightly as you rinsed the conditioner out of your hair. BangChan wouldn't answer, just making his way into the bathroom, and leaning against the counter, silently waiting for you to be done. Feeling his pissed off presence, you quickly finished up before turning off the water, grabbing your towel to wrap around you, and stepping out of the shower. "Ah! Christopher! You can't do that you scared me!" You shouted, almost losing your balance as you jumped, coming face to face with your boyfriend. Taking in his state, you felt slightly nervous, he had never looked so pissed off, his chest was rising and falling as he panted, and his fists were clenched at his sides, but you could still see the faint bits of blood on his red knuckles. "What the hell happened? Chris why aren't you talking to me" You asked quickly, taking his fist into your hands gently as you tried to examine the wound, anxiety was starting to build as he was still silent. BangChan was stuck in his mind, the thought of anybody ever seeing you like this was really pissing him off, especially with the voice in his head repeating that you were his. It confused Christopher, he had never been this possessive over anybody in his life, but here he was, about to lose his shit over just a thought of someone else seeing you like this. Before he could even react to what his body was doing, he grabbed you by the waist tightly, pulling you close to him as he planted his lips against yours roughly. Gasping in shock against his lips, you tried your best to catch your towel, only for it to slip past your fingers, landing on your boyfriend's hands that were still planted on your hips. "J-Jagiya" You whimpered as his lips moved from yours down to your neck, leaving rough kisses and nips against your skin, Christopher smirked against your skin, pulling your hips closer to press against his, letting you feel just how frustrated he was. "You're my girl, mine." He grunted placing his hands on the back of your thighs so he could lift you up, as you wrapped your legs around his waist. "I know, silly, I'm pretty sure everybody does" You giggled, not fully catching on to what was causing the sudden rush of emotions of your boyfriend.

Christopher was losing himself in his anger, roughly pulling the bathroom drawer out of the counter, onto the floor in order to grab a condom. He’d almost tear the condom itself trying to rip it open, feeling his blood starting boil again until you gently took the packaging from him. You weren’t exactly sure why he was so angry and turned on all of a sudden, but you knew he needed something to help calm him down. Calmly tearing the packaging open and slipping the condom over his hard on, keeping eye contact with him as he let out a shuddered breath, trying not to thrust into your hand. Christopher grunted, grabbing your thighs and spreading them open on the counter as he lined his cock up with your entrance “You’re my woman. This my mine.” He grunted, not really speaking to you, more of just stating a fact as he pushed his cock inside of you. You whimpered loudly as you dug your nails into his back, moaning softly whenever he bottomed out inside of you. “F-fuck, Christopher” you moaned, wrapping your legs around him, desperate to be as close as possible to him. “What, baby? Huh?” He panted, starting to thrust his hips quickly, his cock sliding out of you before slamming back in, almost hitting your cervix as he bottomed out each time. As you tried to let your head fall back, BangChan was quick to grab your jaw, not to rough, even in his beyond pissed off state he was absolutely sure not to hurt you or cause you any unintended pain. “I asked a question, princess.” He grunted, pushing his cock completely inside of you before making eye contact. “W-what?” You whimpered, not being able to remember his question, Christopher only smirked, leaning close enough to ghost his lips over yours. “Who’s the only one you can fuck you like this? Huh?” He grunted, starting to move his hips again, this time faster and even rougher. “You! Only you, Christopher Chahn Bahng!” whimpered loudly, you swore you could feel him all the way inside of your stomach every time he slammed into your pussy. BangChan was lost in his own world, not really aware of anything other than pleasure, both yours and his. His cock kept twitching inside of you anytime you squeezed him, he’d start to grow frustrated by not being able to completely go inside of you, to the point he’d lift you up into his arm, causing his cock to go even deeper somehow. You both moaned in chorus of each other, as Christopher made his way to his bed, you desperately tried to hold onto his shoulders, feeling like his cock was already poking your cervix. “I’m the only one who sees you dressed all pretty, tied up. All for me.” He growled as he dropped you onto the bed, continuing his thrust inside of you as you moaned loudly arching your back. His words made you realize what this was partially about, Christopher didn’t like the idea of you wearing something that sexy for another man. “Channie if you wanted me tied up, you could’ve just said so” you teased, pressing your lips against his jawline causing him to moan softly against your touch this time. BangChan felt like he was in a dream, getting to fuck one of the hottest women in the world and her saying he could tie her up whenever, it felt too good to be true.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, princess” he grunted, bottoming out inside of you before starting to grind his hips. You moaned loudly, your legs starting to twitch while you trailed your nails down his back “f-fuck! Right there! Please B-BangChan! Christopher- fuck!” You begged arching your back as he smirked, pulling almost completely out of you “n-no! B-baby please” you whimpered, sitting up to grab ahold of his shoulders, desperate to get any type of friction. “I know, I will, how could I not?” He whispered in your ear, his voice a lot deeper than it usually was as he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head. The position was new and exposing, but Christopher’s gaze made you feel confident, like you were his favorite meal and he had been starved for days. “Look at that smirk, you know you’re fucking hot don’t you, princess?” He panted, causing you to blush brightly, unaware he had even noticed the small twitch of the corner of your mouth. Christopher slammed his cock back inside of you, adding a twist to his thrust where he’d grind his hips after every thrust, watching in amusement as you’d moan and squeal every time. “Fuck- can’t stop thinking about how fucking hot you’d be- spread open just for me, pretty silk ties keeping your hands up. I wouldn’t want my princess getting hurt” Christopher grunted, chasing after his own orgasm as his mind kept giving him different images of different ways he’d fuck you with your hands tied behind your back. “Shut up or you’re going to make me cum” you whined loudly, embarrassed you were getting close just by his words and voice, it seemed to fuel Christopher’s ego though. “Aww, I want you to cum though.” he smirked, knowing well enough you were close to cumming just by the way you’d squeeze around his cock anytime he spoke. “C-Chris!” You whimpered loudly, squeezing the hand that held your wrists the best you could. Christopher just smirked, holding your hips as he quickened his pace, adjusting himself to reach deeper inside of you if possible. “You can do it, princess, just keep squeezing around me, fuck- just like that princess, just let me do the work, baby” he grunted as you threw your head back, moaning his name as you felt yourself on the verge of cumming all over his cock and the condom he wore. As Christopher grinded his hips one last time, he smirked and groaned softly as he felt you cum around him “fuuck, just like that princess” he panted, slowing his trusts as he placed a hand on your stomach keeping your hips flat on the bed. You whimpered loudly, running your nails down his back as you felt him cum inside of the condom he wore, leaving you both panting heavily, inches from each other’s faces. Whenever Christopher pulled out, you whimpered softly, only to be silenced by his lips pressing against yours gently. As your lips moved together in sync, you started to get lost in your sex-dazed mind. You felt deep down in your heart, Christopher Chahn Bahng was your soulmate, the one, he was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

“My Aein?..are you okay? You still here?” Christopher’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts, his dopey smile coming into your view as you looked towards him. You swore his smile was contagious as you gave him a soft smile back, giggling softly whenever he’d pull you into a tight hug “there you are! I thought I lost you in that pretty head in yours” he smiled brightly, pressing multiple kisses all over your face as he rolled over towards the edge of the bed. “I’m gonna fall!” You squealed, holding onto him as tightly as you could, really not wanting to fall on the hardwood flooring that was a few feet beneath you. “I won’t let you fall, Jagiya. ever.” He whispered to you as he stood up, lifting you up from your spot effortlessly as he walked to the bathroom that connected to his bedroom.

“Christopher?…” you whispered after a moment, glancing at his knuckles as he turned the shower on “hmm?” He hummed in reply, turning around to grab two towels out of the cabinet for you both as he listened “where’d you go?..when you left earlier” you asked gently, your parents had always raised you not to question any of your elders, no matter the age ‘they always know more than you, that’s why they’re older’ your mom would constantly tell you. You couldn’t help it, you wanted- no needed to know, what if he gets himself into trouble? “I spoke to your manager, I let him know you’re not coming back to work for them, you’ve got a different agency” he spoke calmly, walking over to take your hand in his, pulling you from your spot on the bathroom counter. As you stepped into the shower, Christopher not far behind as you turned around to steal another glance at his knuckles, trying to think of the most respectful way to call him out for lying to you. “I-I’m not trying to disrespect o-or question you but I know you’re lying. If you only spoke to him then why are your hands busted?” You asked, lifting up his hand as gently as you could, not wanting to cause him any pain, Christopher sighed, squeezing your hand gently before pulling you into a hug, making sure to keep you under the shower’s water stream to keep you from getting cold. “I got a little..angry..” he admitted nervously, pulling away to glance at you as he heard your soft short giggle “a little? Honey a little is raising your voice, I think you got a little more than angry” you laughed softly, cupping his cheeks as you sighed “I just don’t want you to get into any trouble, Jagiya” you whispered, frowning softly, your expression made Christopher feel like his heart was breaking and swelling at the same time. He felt warm inside knowing that you cared about him that much to the point you were worried about trouble, but it also broke his heart seeing you that worried about him. “I won’t be, my love, whatever I get myself into, I always get myself out” he whispered, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“So wait..what’s the agency that wants me?” You questioned as you stepped out of the shower, Chris not far behind as he rinsed the conditioner from his hair “if you want, I spoke to my manager and JYP, and he’d be willing to sign you” he explained as he wrapped the towel around his waist “seriously? I would love that” you smiled in excitement, wrapping your arms around him tightly as he smiled “of course, my Aein, anything my princess wants, she shall get” he teased playfully, laughing as you smacked his bicep gently before walking towards into the bedroom to steal some of his clothes for the night.

—

I wasn’t sure how to end this, but I’m thinking of making a part two of reader joining a new agency and maybe a reader + BangChan album/concert collab? Let me know what you think! I love you lovelies, excited to hear from you!!!

—

Stray Kids Taglist!!

@ag02212023

@onyxmango

@bbokarismeow

@yaorzu-blog

(As always, just let me know lovelies if you’d like to be added to any of my tag lists! 🫶)

[estrellami-1]

March Mating Madness

Day 1: Courting Rituals

I’ll Do (Anything for You)

Ao3 Link

This is a part of the Tell Me ‘verse! This fic takes place during Tell Me (Just Enough), but can be read as a standalone fic.

“So,” Eddie starts. They’re sitting on his couch, and he’s holding Steve’s hands. This feels strangely like an intervention, and Steve’s getting nervous.

“Um,” he says. He thinks his hands are getting sweaty. He knows he’s probably scenting something awful. “Yeah?”

“Nothing bad,” Eddie promises. “Just. You know you didn’t get to be courted the way you deserve.”

Steve softens. “Eddie, I don’t care about any of that. I have your vest, I have your bite-”

“No, I- I know, sweetheart. I know you got used to getting less than you deserve and I know this is normal to you now, but I will never stop trying to make you understand that just because that’s how it was doesn’t meant it’s how it should be. Because how it should be is you should have a whole lot more gifts than you do. I gave you the vest because you ripped up your shirt to make bandages, darling, not because I like the way you look in it. Though,” he grins, “I do like the way you look in it.”

Steve sighs. “So that’s it? You’re going to court me? And I get no say in the matter?”

“Um.” Eddie squints. “Do you… not want to be courted?”

“Well,” Steve draws out, which means he does and is being a little shit about it. Eddie grins. “If you’ve already decided, then there’s no reason for me to care either way, is there?”

Eddie chuckles. “Just you wait, baby, I’m’a blow your socks off.”

Steve chuckles back. “I can’t wait.”

“First things first,” Eddie says, and takes off a ring, “Steven Elias Harrington, I’ve come to state my intent to formally court you. By accepting this ring, you will be accepting my courtship. I will swear, as your Alpha, to always keep you safe, healthy, and happy, to the best of my abilities. I will swear, as your Alpha, to provide for your every need and want. I will swear, as your Alpha, a safe place to lay your head at night, and a safe place to rear any and all pups you may want. If this pleases you, then please, accept my first token, so I may begin courting you.”

“Why the fuck am I crying,” Steve wonders, laughing at himself even as he takes the ring. “Of course I’ll accept your courtship, Eddie.”

Eddie, kneeling on the ground in front of the couch, does a goofy little fist pump and reaches for a tissue for Steve. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m sorry.”

Steve shakes his head. “Good tears. Come cuddle me?”

“Always,” Eddie agrees immediately, clambering onto the couch behind Steve.

Steve relaxes back onto him, letting out a sigh and going boneless. “Y’know something?” He murmurs.

“What’s that?”

“You feel just right. The couch hurts my back a little, no matter what pillows I add or take away. But you fit every bump of my spine perfectly. ‘S like I was made for you.”

“I’m choosing to believe you were,” Eddie murmurs. “There’s gotta be some reason we’re scent-compatible.”

Steve snickers. “I guess so.” He snuggles into Eddie. “Tell me?” He asks quietly.

“I love you,” Eddie tells him immediately, whispering it into the nape of his neck.

“Baby,” Eddie calls, skipping into the Harrington house one day. “I’ve got something for you!”

“Oh,” Steve says, “Hi, Eddie.”

Eddie frowns. “You don’t sound too good, baby, are you feeling okay?”

Steve sniffles, shakes his head. Grabs a tissue and blows his nose. “‘S just a cold. I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t doubt it, sweetheart, but why don’t we get you in bed? I’ll make you Wayne’s trailer park-famous chicken noodle soup.”

“Don’t wanna be in bed,” he says. “‘S boring.”

“Then how about we camp out on the couch? Make a quick little nest here, I can grab some things from upstairs for you, and you can convalesce on the couch where you can watch movies. Does that work?”

Steve considers it, then nods. “You said you have something for me?”

“Ah,” Eddie says, “yes, right, here-” he holds up a bag. “I, uh, know they’re not super high quality, but… well, I know you get migraines a lot, and sunglasses are supposed to help. Is what I was told.”

Steve sniffles. His eyes look more watery than before. “Eddie,” he says, then doesn’t say anything, just stares at Eddie with big teary eyes. Eddie starts to panic.

“Do you hate them? I can return them! I can- I didn’t spend that much, honest, and maybe it’s a shit courting gift but-”

Steve shakes his head, pulls Eddie into a hug. Scent-marks him. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Eddie relaxes, supports him in the hug best he can. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs. “Now go sit down, baby, I’ll make you some food, okay?”

“M’kay.” Steve sniffles. “Is food gonna be part of courting?”

Eddie chuckles. “I guess it usually is, isn’t it? Do you want it to be part of courting? I had a plan for that, but if you’d rather skim through, we can do that too.”

Steve shakes his head. “I want whatever you’ve got planned.”

Eddie smiles, presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead. “Then maybe this’ll halfway count,” he tells Steve. “Maybe when you’re feeling better I’ll stay the night. Maybe I’ll wake up before you, sneak downstairs, and make a full spread. What do you want? Pancakes? Waffles? French toast? Fuckin’… the little French pancakes?”

Steve giggles. “They’re called crepes.”

“Crepes, then.”

Steve giggles again. “Pancakes maybe?”

“Pancakes I can do.”

“Maybe… maybe we could have blueberry and chocolate chip?”

“Sorry,” Eddie says, “I’ll give you anything in the entire world you could ask for, but blueberry and chocolate chip?” He shakes his head. “Now you’ve gone too far, baby, it’s turning into anarchy, seriously, blueberry and chocolate chip? Alert the media. Call CNN.”

Steve giggles into Eddie’s neck. “So… just blueberry?”

“Baby, I’d invent flavors for you if you said you wanted dragonberry. You want blueberry and chocolate chip? I’ll put both in the same damn cake if you want ‘em.”

Steve giggles again. “No, just separate.”

“I can do separate,” Eddie promises him. “Any other requests?”

Steve peeks out from Eddie’s neck to peer up at him. “Hashbrowns?”

“Oh, baby, now you’re speakin’ my language! Hell yeah we can do hashbrowns!” He grins at Steve’s giggle, then presses another kiss to Steve’s forehead, then one to each of his cheeks for good measure. “Now go sit down,” he tells the omega. “I’ll go grab nest things from upstairs. Anything in particular you want?”

“Robin’s flannel,” he says immediately. “And…” he bites his lip, worries it, shakes his head. “That’s it, I think.”

“Baby,” Eddie murmurs. “Remember how I’d invent flavors for you?”

A giggle. “Yeah?”

“Tell me what you want. Whatever it is, I can get it for you.”

“There’s a black blanket? It’s really soft but it’s kinda near the bottom.”

“I know the one,” Eddie promises. “You want a pillow too?”

Steve shakes his head. “Not while I’ve got you to be my pillow.”

“Always,” Eddie promises, pushing him toward the couch and moving past it up the stairs.

He grabs the things Steve requested, then pauses, pulls his t-shirt off, pulls his undershirt off—a beat-up old faded black tank top— and puts the t-shirt onto a pillow.

He rummages through Steve’s pajama drawer, grabs a t-shirt that boasts something about the whitest beaches, and slips it on.

He makes his ways back downstairs with his bounty, handing over first the blanket, then Robin’s flannel. At Steve’s questioning look, he hands over the last two items. “My t-shirt on a pillow, for while I’m cooking, and my undershirt. It should have more scent on it, even if your nose is too stuffed up to really smell, this one should scent some.”

Steve’s eyes go big and watery again. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Eddie smiles, cups his cheek, presses a long kiss to his forehead. “I think,” he murmurs, “there’s very little I wouldn’t give you already. And I think I’m only a little bit in love with you, compared to how I could be. How I will be.”

Steve nuzzles into Eddie’s hand in response, then leans back and gazes at Eddie with such unabashed love in his eyes that Eddie has to look away, has to head to the kitchen and start cooking, so he can blame the flush in his cheeks on the heat from the stove.

“Baby,” Eddie murmurs in sing-song, peeking into his room. Steve’s awake, if just barely, light dappling over his back, eyes blinking in long, slow sweeps as he fights the siren’s call. He rouses himself a little, sleep-clumsily turns onto his side, humming at Eddie, who walks in with a little coo and kneels at the side of the bed. “Did I wake you?”

Steve hums again, extends a hand to grab at Eddie’s shirt; not to pull, just to hold, to anchor. “Eddie,” he murmurs, which both is and isn’t an answer. “Y’here.”

“I am here,” Eddie agrees, brows furrowing a little. “Have a bad dream, sweetness?”

Steve hums, fists Eddie’s shirt again, tighter. “Not… bad. Jus’… not good.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Eddie murmurs, petting over Steve’s fist. “How can I fix it?”

“Y’are,” Steve tells him, tiredly earnest. “Y’here.”

Eddie’s heart explodes into a million pieces. “I am,” he whispers. “I’ll always be here, if you need me.”

Steve hums, squints at Eddie’s neck, but doesn’t want to let go of Eddie’s shirt.

Eddie does it for him, dragging his hand up first to kiss, then to slide over his scent gland.

“Y’scent different,” Steve mumbles. “More… flowery.”

Eddie chuckles. “I don’t think that’s me, baby.” He holds up a bouquet. “I think it’s your next courting gift.”

Steve smiles blearily at them. “Never gotten flowers before.” He kicks his way out of his blankets, gets tangled for a second and releases a truly, unfairly cute whine before extricating himself, sitting up and balancing on Eddie while his tired brain lags. “You got me flowers,” he whispers, reverent hand coming up to pet along a petal.

“I did,” Eddie agrees giddily.

Steve nudges the flowers aside, falls into Eddie’s chest, nuzzles into his neck. “Thank you.”

Eddie presses a kiss to the crown of Steve’s head, drags a hand over his hair and down his back. “You’re very welcome, baby. How about I put these in water and make you those pancakes? Blueberry and chocolate chip, right?”

Steve nods into his neck. “Wanna go with you.”

“Absolutely you can come with me,” Eddie agrees. “Are you gonna walk or am I gonna carry you?”

Steve’s hands come up to circle his neck even as he says, “I can walk.”

“I know you can,” Eddie murmurs, sliding his hands around Steve’s waist. “But what if I wanna carry you?”

“M’kay,” Steve agrees, pressing a kiss into Eddie’s neck. “You can. If you want to.”

“So generous,” Eddie snickers, and does, carries him down to the kitchen and puts him on the counter, pulls away with a long, sweet kiss to grab the pancake mix.

They’re back in the trailer. Steve’s got the day off and is tackling their room. Eddie’s clothes are still strewn about the place after that harried call to Wayne had him dumping the boxes and bringing them to Loch Nora. Steve’s things are nearly all put away now, but Eddie’s are still all over the place, so that’s what Steve’s working on.

Eddie’s at work, a half day at the shop, so he’ll be home just after lunch.

Steve loses track of time in their room, meaning he’s neck-deep in the closet and still hasn’t had lunch by the time Eddie walks in. “Baby,” he calls, and Steve narrowly misses hitting his head on the door as he sits back.

“Room!” He calls, even though the trailer walls are thin and he can hear Eddie heading that direction already.

Eddie’s smiling as he walks in. “Hey, baby, what’re you doing in here?” He crouches down for a quick kiss and scent mark, accepting the same back.

Steve sighs. “Just trying to organize a little. Get our room back in order.”

“Baby, this is my shit, I’ll do it. C’mon, have you eaten?”

“Getting you to organize is like pulling your toenails out, Eds, I actually like it. I’ll do it. No, I lost track of time, but I can make something real quick if you’re hungry?”

Eddie grins, shakes his head. “Nah, Flo brought something in for the guys, and I snacked between cars. C’mon, baby, lemme take care of you, what do you want to eat?”

Steve hums. “Mac and cheese? Or… do we have any hamburger helper?”

“We should,” Eddie nods. “If not, we definitely have Spam, I can add some of that to some mac?”

Steve nods. “That sounds great. Thanks, Alpha.”

Eddie nuzzles him. “Any time, omega.” He presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead and heads out to the kitchen, and Steve continues cleaning with the background noises of Eddie making him lunch.

Soon enough the noises slow, and not long after Eddie brings him a bowl.

Steve eats while Eddie putters around, putting away a few things, before stilling at the dresser. “Baby?”

“Hm?”

Eddie turns around, joins him on the bed. “So, obviously for courting gifts, the last one, the biggest one, is usually a piece of clothing.”

“Right.”

“And I’ve already given you my vest.” His lips quirk up. “I’d argue I’ve given you my whole closet,” he says, nodding down at Steve’s outfit, which consists entirely of Eddie’s clothes. Steve shrugs, because he knows Eddie loves it. “So I have something else for you, instead. If you want it.”

“Okay.”

Eddie reaches up, unclasps his necklace, and offers it to Steve. “The pick was my mom’s,” he whispers. “The first one I ever used to learn guitar. After she passed, Wayne kept teaching me. For the longest time, I thought of it as a good luck charm. Like if I wore it, the band would have a good show.”

“Then you should keep it.”

Eddie smiles, shakes his head. “The band’s done. We weren’t going anywhere anyways, and especially after the accusations…” he shrugs. “Besides, I have you now. And you’re better than any good luck charm.”

“Flirt,” Steve mutters, but his cheeks are pink as he touches the necklace. “You’re sure?”

“I wouldn’t offer it if I wasn’t, baby.”

Steve smiles, ducks his head. “Okay.” He brings his hand up to touch the pick as Eddie secures the necklace. When Eddie sits back, Steve pulls him in again for a kiss.

“Just for the record,” he murmurs when they pull back, “if we weren’t mated, I would’ve accepted all of your gifts.”

At that, Eddie grins and pulls him into another kiss.

They can always finish cleaning tomorrow.

[sweetfuchsia]

situationships & scandals ft. itoshi rin , namey name

locker room gossip . ✦ . series masterlist

summary

rin is never a part of online drama and scandals. he won’t let some girl change that.. or will he?

notes:

mostly written parts aside from the text screenshot <3 btw, i’m kinda using tifa as like.. a fill-in for reader pics because i love her so much !! BTW BTW!!! this doesn’t rlly follow most of the bllk plot so like.. it’s just… blue lock facility and games and stuff but none of that is really roo important .. meow

click on the screenshot and the full img will pop up !

to say that rin was confused is an understatement. he woke up just like any other day, yawning softly to himself as he sat up.

but when he opened his phone, he was met with the sight of a notification— not like that’s uncommon, but what is uncommon is some girl sending an angry message.

he sighs, figuring that you’re probably just attention-seeking. rin doesn’t even bother looking at your profile— to him, you’re not important. he has other things to do.

but when he hears his name pop up in the changing rooms before training paired with something that sounded so familiar, he really couldn’t help but listen in.

“yeah, name’s like, really hot.”

“yeah.. but i heard she’s into rin or something. people say she’s copying his workouts or whatever.”

“come on, that’s the dumbest thing i’ve heard all day!”

“i dunno.. what if she’s trying to flirt with him?”

“too bad. i think i’ll send her a message..”

what the fuck are these idiots on, rin thinks to himself. he shakes his head, closing his locker with a ‘slam’! before turning to his teammates.

sometimes, he wonders why he stays in blue lock if he just has to deal with a bunch of braindead monkeys every day.

“i can hear you.” he states, narrowing his eyes at the group. they weren’t even trying to hide the fact they’re talking about him— and… name, was it?

“you haven’t said anything about it, though.” isagi notes, tilting his head just slightly. he can’t lie, he’s pretty curious about this. “have you even heard of what’s happening online? dude, you’re literally at the centre of it right now.”

centre.. of.. what?

“what do you mean?” rin blinks, eyes widening a fraction. “..i’m never a part of drama. they must have the wrong person he adds with a scoff, turning his head away from the group.

“no, no. apparently some girl’s copying your workout routine!” bachira says, popping up like some sort of mole from a carnival game. he’s just like that sometimes. “apparently she’s into youuuu . . !” he teases, leaning closer and raising an eyebrow.

“oh.” rin mumbles, plucking his phone out from his pocket. he pulls out the messages, narrowing his eyes at the name on the top of the screen— and sure enough, it’s you.

name.

“her?” rin mutters, flipping his phone to show bachira who just nods excitedly, a grin stretching across his features as he snatches the phone from rin.

“look! they’re flirrttinnngg,” bachira exclaims, waving the phone around like a madman. i mean, it’s not his phone so why should he care? “he totally like her!”

“lemme see, bro—“ isagi tries, a hand reaching out in attempt to take the phone from the fidgety bachira. “give it!”

“my phone’s not a damn toy.” rin huffs, grabbing his phone and tugging it away. “we weren’t flirting and i doubt that she’s into me.” he states firmly, turning his phone back off and stuffing it into his pocket.

otoya grins, “so i can message her—“

“no.”

extra : next chapters will probably be longer <3