#let me know if you need something different / anything changed !

[cosmiclily]

idk if i wanted this before or someone did but can you write about vi and reader having a baby? i really want to see it and vi's thing about babies😭

ivy - part one

★vi x f!reader

wc: 4k

notes: been getting many requests about vi and reader having kids so here it is !!! in the first part they are not having a baby baby but wait for part two !!! 😋 thank you @strawb4kdior and anons for the requests!

Vi had always dreamed of having a big family. She grew up surrounded by noise, laughter, and the constant chaos of siblings under one roof—there was always someone shouting, someone crying, someone laughing. That was home to her. That was comfort.

So, when you got married, there was a quiet—sometimes not so quiet—expectation from her side of the family about when you two would start "popping out babies," as Mylo so charmingly put it.

That first holiday season after your wedding, when you visited her family in Zaun, it felt like the pressure kicked into full gear. Vander, ever the affectionate father figure, gave the two of you a box filled with baby clothes—tiny shirts, knitted socks, and a ridiculous little hat shaped like a mushroom.

“Ay, I’m not saying you’re having children right away,” he said with a teasing grin, pointing a thick thumb toward Vi. “But I know this one. She’ll want a whole football team at home before long.”

You laughed along with him, mostly because it was easier than unpacking the tangle of emotions that followed. But later that night, the laughter faded, and your thoughts grew heavier.

Because the truth was… you weren’t like Vi.

You hadn’t grown up with siblings. There was no chaotic, loving noise. Just you, your mom, your dad, and the occasional visit from a cousin or two. Quiet dinners. Controlled spaces. Predictable routines. The idea of raising a child—let alone several—felt like stepping into a world you’d never been taught how to navigate.

It scared you.

You were afraid of losing the little sanctuary you and Vi had built together—your late-night talks, your slow mornings, your messy, peaceful life. Afraid that having a child would shift everything out of balance, and that maybe you wouldn’t know how to hold it all together.

After the Christmas dinner, once everyone had gone to bed and the house had finally quieted down, Vi turned to you. Maybe she sensed your unease, or maybe you hadn’t done as good a job hiding it as you thought.

The two of you were lying in bed, facing each other under thick quilts, her hand gently stroking your hair as your eyes began to flutter closed.

“You know we don’t have to have kids right away, right?” she said softly, voice low and warm. “Or ever, if that’s what you want.”

You blinked slowly, your chest tightening at the tenderness in her voice.

“I know how hesitant you are about this,” she continued. “It’s a big change. And I get that it’s not just about wanting them or not. It’s about the kind of life we’d have, the kind of people we’d need to become. And if it ever feels like too much... I’d rather just have you. No tiny feet, no bedtime stories, no chaos—just you.”

You looked at her, eyes glassy with exhaustion but brimming with love. “I don’t want to disappoint you,” you whispered. “I know how much you want it.”

Vi smiled gently, brushing her thumb along your cheek. “You could never disappoint me. Family doesn’t have to look one way. It can just be us. And if someday you feel ready… then we talk about it again. Together.”

You didn’t reply right away. You just nestled closer to her, your forehead pressed gently to hers, comforted by the quiet honesty in her words.

And looking back now, that moment—her patience, her reassurance—was what changed everything for you. You hated being pressured into anything, especially something as life-altering as parenthood. But knowing Vi wasn’t expecting anything from you that you didn’t want to give… it lifted a weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying.

And from that point on, you started to look at the world through a different lens.

──────────────────────

A year and a half into your married life, everything felt like it had finally settled into place. You were thriving in your career, pouring your time and energy into several outreach programs and charities—especially those supporting children in Zaun. You’d become a familiar face in the shelters and clinics, and from time to time, Vi would show up during your shifts, bringing you lunch or tagging along to visit the homes where the children were placed.

She always lit up around the kids—laughing, joking, lifting them up onto her shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. But one day, everything shifted.

You met Ivy.

She was five years old when she first arrived—thin, quiet, and sharp-eyed, with wild, bright blue hair and big brown eyes that held more weight than any child should ever carry. The first time Vi saw her, something changed in her expression. You caught the way her eyes softened, how her whole body leaned forward just a little, like she was seeing something familiar—something important.

At first, Ivy was timid. She barely spoke to the other children, and when you tried to approach her, she’d only nod or shrink away. But Vi didn’t give up. She spoke to her gently, cracked jokes, made silly faces, brought her little gifts and toy trinkets. And slowly, Ivy began to open up.

It became a pattern—every time you had to stop by the shelter, Vi insisted on coming with you. “Just to say hi,” she’d claim, but you knew better.

One day, you left them alone to deal with some paperwork—endless inventory lists and requisition forms. When you came back, you stopped in the doorway and froze.

Vi was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the playroom, wearing a bright pink tutu over her pants, a plastic princess crown balanced crookedly on her head, and a tiny toy teacup clutched in her hand. Across from her sat Ivy in a matching tutu, proudly holding a stuffed cow in her lap and beaming like the sun.

“Do you want more tea?” Ivy asked, her voice sweet and filled with excitement.

“Yes, please!” Vi said, holding out her cup with exaggerated elegance, pinky finger raised high in the air.

You stood there quietly, heart catching in your throat, watching as Ivy poured invisible tea into Vi’s cup. Their laughter echoed softly around the room, and in that moment, it hit you like a wave.

This wasn’t just another child. This wasn’t just another case or temporary bond.

She wasn’t just someone you were helping.

Ivy was your daughter.

��─────────────────────

After you got home, the two of you sat down for dinner, the clinking of cutlery and the quiet hum of the city outside the only sounds filling the space. You pushed the food around on your plate, barely tasting it, your mind too full.

You knew it was time to talk to Vi.

“I…” The word hung in the air, heavy and uncertain. You didn’t know how to begin. Vi had formed such a natural, close bond with Ivy—it was effortless, like they’d been connected long before they’d even met. But for you, it felt different. You cared deeply, maybe even more than you could admit out loud yet, but Ivy still looked at you like you were a kind stranger passing through her life.

And you were terrified that she’d never see you as more than that.

Vi’s brow furrowed the moment you hesitated. She turned toward you, concern etched across her face. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“Yes. No. I mean—yeah, everything’s fine, I just…” You exhaled slowly, steadying your voice. “I wanted to tell you that I… I submitted us to be Ivy’s foster family.”

Vi’s eyes widened in surprise, her fork falling to the plate with a soft clatter. “What? When did you—?”

“Just before we left the shelter,” you interrupted, rushing the words out before you could second-guess yourself. “I know we said we’d make that kind of decision together, but I saw you with her, Vi. I saw how she looks at you, how she laughs with you, and… I don’t know, I just—something clicked. It felt right in the moment, and I thought, ‘Why not us?’ But now I’m spiraling because maybe it was too impulsive, maybe we won’t even get approved, and maybe—”

“Hey. Hey. Baby,” Vi said gently, reaching across the table to take your hands in hers. “Breathe, alright? You’re not crazy. You’re not wrong. And I’m not mad. Far from it.”

You looked up at her, eyes stinging a little.

“I’m thrilled,” she said, her voice soft but sure. “Ivy’s special. And I see it in you too—the way you look at her when you think no one’s watching. You care about her more than you realize.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Then that’s all that matters. If we get approved—amazing. If not, we keep visiting. We stay in her life. We try again. We don’t give up. Not on her.”

A small, grateful smile tugged at your lips. You squeezed her hands.

Vi smiled back, then leaned forward and kissed your knuckles.

──────────────────────

You had to make a lot of changes to your home before you were even considered for foster parenting.

Vi’s office was the first to go. It transformed into a small, bright room with plain white walls—you’d both agreed Ivy should get to choose the color herself once she settled in. You child-proofed the entire house, securing cabinets, covering outlets, padding sharp corners. It was a whirlwind, too fast by most people’s standards, but you couldn’t slow down.

You knew it was too soon. You knew there were risks, that things could fall apart. But every time Vi’s eyes lit up at a stuffed animal, a little blanket, or a book she thought Ivy would love, it drowned out the anxious voice in your head that warned this might not work. That it might all be temporary.

Vi had even told Jinx—despite your insistence that it wasn’t an adoption yet, just fostering. Naturally, Jinx told everyone else. And soon after, Vander was at your front door with a toolbox, claiming he was there to “help Vi set up the kid’s room,” though you suspected he mostly just wanted to feel included.

──────────────────────

The letter came on a rainy Tuesday afternoon—thin, unassuming, almost like junk mail. You were about to toss it when Vi caught the official stamp in the corner and snatched it from your hand. She tore it open, fingers shaking, while you stood beside her, breath caught in your chest.

Her eyes scanned the page. Then she looked up at you, wide-eyed, breathless.

“We got her.”

You blinked, stunned. “What?”

“We got her, baby,” she repeated, voice breaking into a disbelieving laugh. “We’re approved. Ivy’s coming home.”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until Vi wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close, her face buried in your shoulder. You held each other in the quiet, rain tapping against the windows like applause from the universe itself.

The day you went to pick her up, Ivy stood at the top of the shelter’s worn stone steps, her little backpack clutched tightly in her hands. Her blue hair was tied in uneven pigtails, and her big brown eyes blinked up at you, cautious, searching—hopeful.

Vi was the first to kneel down, soft and open. “Hey, kiddo. Ready to come home?”

Ivy didn’t answer right away. She looked from Vi to you, her voice small and cracking the silence: “Will I get to stay this time?”

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. You knelt beside Vi and reached out to gently take Ivy’s hand.

“Yes, Ivy,” you said. “You get to stay. For as long as you want.”

Vi smiled and ruffled the girl’s hair. “We’ve got a room just for you. And guess what? You get to choose the wall color. We’ll put up fairy lights, and we’ve got a bookshelf waiting for all your princess stories.”

“And teacups,” you added with a wink. “Tiny ones.”

That got a smile from Ivy—shy but real—and she gave a small nod.

The car ride home was quiet. Ivy curled up in the backseat with the stuffed bunny Vi had given her weeks ago, occasionally peeking at the two of you in the front seat as if to make sure you were still there. Still real.

When you arrived, Vi scooped her up in one arm and twirled her once in the hallway, making her giggle for the first time that day.

That night, after Ivy had fallen asleep beneath a blanket of stars projected onto her ceiling, you and Vi stood quietly in her doorway, arms around each other, watching the rise and fall of her tiny breaths.

“We have a daughter,” you whispered.

Vi rested her chin on your head and nodded, her voice thick with emotion. “Yeah… we really do.”

──────────────────────

The first few days at home were a mix of quiet observation and small, cautious steps. Ivy was polite and sweet, always whispering “thank you” and “sorry,” even when there was nothing to be sorry for. She kept to herself at first, mostly playing in her room—arranging and rearranging the books on her little shelf or curling up with her stuffed bunny in the cozy reading nook Vi and Vander had built by the window.

But slowly, the house began to come alive in new ways.

Vi showed her how to make pancakes in the morning, even letting her flip one—badly—which left batter splattered on the stove and Ivy in a fit of giggles. You turned laundry folding into a game, a sock-matching race that ended in shrieks of laughter more than clean piles. Every night, Ivy asked for the same bedtime story—the one about the brave knight and the dragon who became her friend.

Then one sunny Saturday, it was time for her to meet the family.

Vi had tried to prepare her. “They’re loud, and they’ll probably bring too many snacks and too many hugs—but they mean well. I promise.”

Ivy clung to your hand as Vander’s booming voice echoed through the house before he’d even stepped inside.

“Is the little one here? Where’s my new tea party partner?”

Vi opened the door, and there he was—massive as ever, with arms wide and a teddy bear the size of a small dog slung over one shoulder. He bent down, eyes gentle behind his tough exterior, and offered Ivy a warm smile. “Hi there, kiddo. I’m Vander.”

Ivy blinked up at him, wide-eyed, then slowly reached out and took the bear, hugging it tightly to her chest. “Hi.”

“I can’t believe I’m a granddad” he said with a laugh, giving Vi a playful pat on the back.

Jinx was next, practically vibrating with excitement as she crouched in front of Ivy. “Okay, so here’s the deal: I brought glitter, stickers, and I know how to make slime that explodes.”

“She’s joking,” Vi quickly interjected, shooting her sister a look.

“Mostly joking,” Jinx whispered with a wink, making Ivy giggle behind the bear.

Claggor, Mylo, and Ekko arrived not long after, each carrying something they claimed Ivy had to have—a toy, a book, a plushie, a puzzle. Claggor offered to help build a blanket fort out of the couch cushions. Mylo challenged her to a card game he swore he never loses. Ekko knelt beside her and offered a tiny wind-up bird he’d fixed himself, its delicate wings fluttering as it chirped.

But soon, you noticed Ivy starting to withdraw—her shoulders tensing, her voice shrinking to a whisper. You knelt beside her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Too much?”

She gave a small nod.

You gently lifted her into your arms and carried her into the kitchen. “Alright, how about a little break? Just us. We’ll go back in when you’re ready.”

There, you let her help you with the cake batter while she told you a story about a dragon and a pink-haired knight with powerful gauntlets. Vi peeked in a few minutes later, leaning on the doorframe with a smile.

“Hey, baby. Everything okay in here?” she asked, pressing a kiss to your cheek as you poured the batter into the pan.

“Yes,” you said, glancing at Ivy, who was sitting on the counter with flour on her nose. “She was just telling me a story. Apparently there’s a brave pink-haired knight who slayed a dragon today.”

Vi grinned. “Oh? Sounds like she’s got good taste. That knight sounds very strong.”

Ivy giggled, hiding her face in her hands.

A few minutes later, your parents arrived—quieter than the rest, but just as full of love. Your mom handed Ivy a hand-knit blanket, soft yellow with tiny green daisies embroidered into the fabric. Your dad offered her a small photo album filled with baby pictures of you and Vi—chubby cheeks, missing teeth, wild hair. Ivy flipped through it slowly, like it was a rare treasure.

That evening, the house was full of warmth and laughter. Ivy was now sitting between Jinx and Ekko with her new blanket draped over her shoulders like a cape. Her plastic crown was a little crooked, and she sipped from a juice box with a smile tugging at her lips.

You watched her from across the room, tucked into Vi’s side.

“She’s getting comfortable,” you whispered.

Vi’s arm slid around your waist, pulling you close. “She’s starting to believe this is home.”

You glanced back at Ivy, watching her laugh at something Mylo said, watching her curl up again with her oversized bear and the photo album tucked at her side.

And in that moment, you felt something settle inside you.

You felt whole.

──────────────────────

You and Vi were certain—Ivy was your daughter. There was no hesitation in your hearts. So the very next morning, after your family’s visit, you rushed to your office, pulled a few strings, and quietly set the official adoption paperwork in motion. No more waiting. No more what-ifs. You were ready.

In the days that followed, Ivy blossomed in your home. She had started settling in, becoming more comfortable in the little routines you and Vi had built just for her. She raced Vi to the kitchen every morning, always insisting she had won—even when Vi clearly let her. She claimed the reading nook as her personal throne, often found there with a book in her lap and her bunny tucked under one arm. And twice now, she had asked you to braid her hair before bed. Small moments. Beautiful ones.

The routine you had once feared would be shattered by change had, instead, reshaped itself around Ivy like it had been waiting for her all along.

One quiet evening, the three of you were in the living room. Vi sat cross-legged on the rug, helping Ivy piece together the glittery unicorn puzzle Jinx had given her, while you curled up on the couch nearby, flipping absentmindedly through a book. The fireplace crackled softly, casting warm amber light across the room and filling it with the scent of burning pine.

“I think this one goes here,” Vi said, nudging a piece toward Ivy with a smile.

Ivy took it with a little frown of concentration, studying the image before carefully pressing it into place. “Got it!” she chirped, beaming at Vi.

Vi held up her hand for a high-five. “Told you—you’re a puzzle master.”

Ivy giggled and gave her a victorious high five, then glanced over her shoulder at you, her voice soft, almost offhanded but sure.

“Mommy, look. I did the sky part.”

You froze, breath catching in your throat. Mommy. The word floated through the room settling over your heart and wrapping around it.

Vi’s eyes shot to yours, wide with awe—but you weren’t crying. Not yet. Instead, you were smiling, your lips trembling just slightly, your eyes shining with emotion.

You slid off the couch and knelt beside Ivy, placing your hand over hers, grounding the moment. “You did such a good job, Ivy,” you whispered.

She leaned into your side immediately, tucking her small head under your chin. You held her close, feeling the warmth of her body, the steady beat of her little heart—and something shifted inside you. That trust. That love. It had all found its way home.

Vi moved behind you, resting a hand on your back, her thumb brushing in slow circles as the three of you sat together in the flickering light.

No one spoke for a while. There was no need to. The moment said enough.

Later that night, after Ivy had drifted to sleep—her bunny in one arm, your mother’s daisy-covered blanket draped over her—you and Vi stood quietly in the doorway, watching her breathe.

“She called you Mom,” Vi whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I told you… you had nothing to worry about.”

You smiled, eyes never leaving Ivy’s peaceful form. “Yeah. And you’re always right.”

Vi chuckled softly, then wrapped her arms around your waist from behind. You leaned into her, placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder. The kind that said everything you couldn’t find the words for.

──────────────────────

It happened a week after Ivy started school, a week after you signed the official adoption papers.

She had been so excited at first—Jinx had come over and helped her decorate her tiny backpack with glittery patches, and you packed her lunchbox with all her favorites.

You and Vi had walked her to the school gates, knelt beside her, kissed her cheeks, and sent her off with whispered encouragements and bright smiles.

But the glow didn’t last.

By the third day, Ivy was quieter when she came home. She didn’t want to talk much. Said school was “fine,” but her eyes were distant. You and Vi didn’t push her. You gave her space, made her favorite dinner, read her favorite story at bedtime.

But something was wrong, she wanted to stay awake until she physically couldn’t keep her eyes open, you would lay next to her, trying to make her fall asleep, but she would battle until the last second.

Then, one night, she had a nightmare.

You both woke up to the sound of her cries—raw, terrified. Vi was out of bed in seconds, tearing down the hallway barefoot. You followed close behind, heart pounding.

When Vi opened Ivy’s bedroom door, she found her curled in a ball under the blanket, shaking, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. Her little bunny had fallen to the floor, the daisy blanket tangled around her legs.

Vi dropped to her knees at the bedside. “Hey, hey, baby,” she whispered, voice gentle but steady. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe.”

Ivy looked up at her through tears, lips trembling. She launched forward into Vi’s arms, clutching her like the world was ending. “Don’t let them take me back,” she sobbed. “Please don’t let them take me away.”

Vi wrapped her arms around her tightly, protectively. “No one’s taking you anywhere,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. “You’re staying right here, with us. I promise.”

Ivy buried her face in Vi’s shoulder, and in a choked, broken voice, she whispered, “I had a dream they took me away… and I couldn’t find you. I kept calling for you, but you weren’t there.”

Vi rocked her gently, her jaw clenched tight. “I’m always here, Ivy. I will always find you. You’re safe now. You’re home.”

And then, so soft it could’ve been a dream itself, Ivy said, “I knew you’d come, Mom. You’re my pink-haired knight. You always come when I’m scared.”

Vi’s heart broke and mended all at once. She kissed her forehead, holding her tighter than ever. “Damn right I do,” she said, voice cracking. “You’re mine, Ivy. Forever.”

You leaned quietly at the doorway, watching them from the shadows, hand pressed to your heart. Vi looked up at you, her eyes shining with everything she couldn’t say, and you simply nodded. You felt it too.

That night, you brought Ivy into your bed. She slept curled between you both, safe and warm, her little hand clasped in Vi’s the whole time.

And in the morning, she woke with a smile.

The fear wasn’t gone completely—but now, she knew that even in the dark, even in her worst dreams, her knight would come for her. Her Mom would always come for her.

──────────────────────

masterlist - part two

end notes: i don’t know how the system works in other countries so i went mostly with what i’ve seen on tv and what happens in my own country, so yeah!! if anything is wrong pretend it’s not 😛

[katnissegf]

not so hard to get — lottie matthews

summary: she’s been acting different since you ghosted her. when you finally show up at her soccer match, things get better. fluffy ending. part one.

it’s been a few weeks since the last time you spoke to lottie.

you’ve been doing your best to ignore the thoughts that invade your brain every day, such as the memories, the what-ifs, the echo of her voice and laugh.

avoiding her became part of your routine. you don’t even let yourself meet her eyes in the hallway or during class.

and yet, it’s hard not to notice how you see her less around school than before. less parties. less noise. still, one thing keeps replaying in your mind, over and over. “i really wanted this to work. this only happened with you.”

you shake the thought away when you spot mari waiting for you during lunch break. she’s leaning against a bench, already halfway through a granola bar when you reach her with a smile, or at least something you try to pass as one.

“hey, how was yesterday’s match? did you guys win?” you take a sandwich from her tray like it’s your own and start eating.

“don’t even get me started. we get worse every game! i mean we’re so close to nationals and lottie doesn’t even bothers to show up at practice like—” she cuts herself off, and your breath catches the second you hear her name. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to bring her up.”

“it’s okay, don’t worry.” you look down as you pronounce the (not very) convincing words. “do you guys have talked to her about it?”

“well.. yeah. jackie did. but she wouldn’t listen to any of us. it’s like she doesn’t care anymore.” and there’s silence. an uncomfortable one. “but she still asks about you, you know.”

“c’mon, mari.” you chuckle at her words. “i’m being serious. she’s been acting so different since you came here, and even more different when you stopped talking to her.”

you don’t say anything. you just take another bite of the sandwich that doesn’t taste like anything anymore.

“look, i’m not going to pressure you anymore. and i know what i’ve said about her before, because yeah, i thought she was playing too. but now?” she pauses, watching you carefully. “i think she meant it. she really misses you. and i can tell you miss her too.“

you hesitate, your voice softer. “do you think she changed for me?”

“not for you,” mari says. “but because of you. and that’s better.”

you were about to open your mouth to respond when the bell rang. as you both stood up to head back to class, mari caught your attention one last time.

“i’m going to make sure she shows up to the match next week,” she murmured. “so.. if you want to give her another chance, you should come. but if you don’t, that’s okay too. i just want you to feel better again.”

so you start thinking about it all weekend.

you think about her. about how she looked that afternoon by the classroom door, the hurt in her eyes when she realized you didn’t believe her. you also think about mari, who has never been the biggest lottie matthews defender, and yet she believes she has changed for good. not for you, but because of you.

then match’s day arrives. but not just any match, this is the one that decides if they go to nationals, the biggest game of the season. of course you had to assist.

you don’t even tell mari you’re going. you just show up, hands buried in your pockets. you sit higher in the bleachers this time, hoping not to stand out, at least not yet.

the stadium’s louder than usual, more people, more pressure. the team is warming up when you arrive, and that’s when you spot her right away.

lottie is focused, a little more serious now. like she’s carrying something on her shoulders and trying not to let it break her.

you don’t think she has seen you. but halfway through the first half, she glances toward the stands, and then stops. her gaze locks on yours, frozen for a few seconds before she turns back to the field.

but then everything shifts. she starts playing like she needs this. like every move is for something bigger than just a win. you heard she hadn’t been herself in the last few games, but now? she’s electric. she owns the field, she controls the game.

when the final whistle blows, it’s official, they’ve won. they’re going to nationals. her teammates scream, jump, throw their arms around each other. but lottie doesn’t celebrate. she turns, breathless, scanning the bleachers again, searching for you.

you think about leaving before she finds you. you even stand up, taking a step toward the exit, but you don’t move any farther. and she notices that.

minutes later, you’re still standing at the edge of the bleachers when she finds you. she’s covered in sweat, her cheeks flushed from the nerves of seeing you again. neither of you says anything at first, the noise of the crowd fading around you.

“i didn’t think you would come.” she breaks the silence, her voice insecure, like she’s been holding something in for too long.

your heart beats fast. “i didn’t think i would either.” she laughs under her breath, but it’s not bitter, just tired. “i meant what i said,” she adds, softer now. “back then. i still do.”

and finally, you really see her. not the version you built in your head, the flirty, careless girl everyone warned you about. that’s not who’s standing in front of you now, and you know it.

“i’m sorry i didn’t believe you, lotts. but i do now. and i miss you more than anything.”

“then prove it.” she says without hesitation, smiling. a real smile, one she hasn’t worn in a long time.

you just step closer, wrapping your arms around her neck confidently. her hands find their way to your waist, like that’s exactly where they belong. and then, you kiss her.

it’s slow, careful, like you’re both still afraid it might break. but it doesn’t. around you, the crowd is still celebrating, but for once, lottie matthews isn’t chasing a win. she’s holding it in her hands.

[sidemari]

• Bun in the oven •

Some texts about you telling them that you’re pregnant and some headcanons about how they’re during the pregnancy. 

Characters included: Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Keegan P. Russ, Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, König, Nikto and Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader 

TW: Mild angst, mentions of abortion and insecurities, implied smut. But everything works out in the end. 

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

You call him from the corner of the room, that nervous smile on your face. Soap knows right away that something big is coming — he feels it, like he senses danger on the field… But this time, it’s something different. Something good.

“Johnny… Do you remember the night you came back home after being away for so long due to that mission?” You tested the waters by avoiding telling the truth right away.

“Yeah… How could I forget that night?” He smiled warmly, his mind flashing with the images of that day. “What about it, hon?” 

“Well… You know we got carried away and…”

“And…?”

“We’re having a baby.” You finally share your secret. 

He blinks. Once. Twice. His usual playful smile disappears for a second, replaced by a stunned look, as if he’s trying to decode what he’s just heard.

“Are… are you serious?” You nod, and he… explodes with joy. He literally lifts you into the air with a surprised cry, almost laughing and crying at the same time.

“Oh my God! We’re going to be parents?! Aye, fuck, baby, is this really real?”

He kisses your forehead, then your belly, even though it hasn’t even changed yet. He murmurs a bunch of sweet things in that warm accent — promises, plans, dreams. And then he whispers very softly, just for you to hear:

“I swear I will be the best father in the world… to our baby. And the best man to you. Always.”

When the morning sickness starts, he becomes your personal bodyguard against any suspicious smells: “What the hell is that in the air?! It smells like poison, honey. Close that window!”

He researches everything about pregnancy and becomes the most emotional “expert” on the planet. He sends you messages like: “Did you know that the baby already has little fingers today? LITTLE FINGERS, BABY!”

He talks to your belly every day, telling them about his missions, his friends on the team, and asking if the baby prefers soccer or rugby: “If you kick now, it’ll be rugby, okay?”

He starts to become obsessed with photos. He takes a thousand selfies with you and your belly, even while you’re sleeping. 

He refuses to let you carry anything, literally: “Not even the bag. Not even the remote. Let me carry it, honey.”

He massages your feet every night, and even develops a ‘military relaxation technique’ just so you can sleep better.

He has a hospital bag ready with 30 unnecessary things, like three types of chocolate, a teddy bear, and a mini speaker to play Scottish music for the baby.

He’s always reminding you how beautiful you are, even when you feel uncomfortable and insecure. “No matter how big your belly is, you’ve always been the love of my life, and now you’re carrying our little miracle. And no, I don’t give a single fuck about those stretchmarks. You’re nurturing a life inside your womb and your body is adapting itself because of it. I still think you look damn hot and I’m forever thankful that those pregnancy hormones shifted you into a little insatiable thing.”

He gets touchy-feely, sometimes hugging you in the middle of the night just to say thank you. 

He makes up nicknames for the baby while he’s still in the womb, like “Little Soap”. 

He gets really emotional during the first ultrasound. He holds your hand tightly and tries not to cry… but fails miserably.

He makes special playlists with soft Scottish music, movie soundtracks and even records himself talking so the baby can hear at night.

He buys miniature army clothes, but also absurdly cute ones, like animal costumes, because “he needs to have style in the nursery”.

One day he shows up with a crib set up in the middle of the living room just because “he wanted to see if it would look nice in natural light”.

He learns to cook your favorite foods (even if it turns out to be a disaster) just so you can eat what you want safely.

He keeps notes with the dates of the first times: first kick, first time their heartbeat was heard, first photo of your belly. He’s creating a secret “dossier” of love.

He swears he’s going to be the most present father in the world. No matter how much life changes, he will always be there for you two. 

It was a quiet night at home. The sky was clear, with a million stars shining through the open window. You were sitting on the couch, with a cup of hot tea in your hands, and Soap was lying next to you, with his head on your lap, apparently tired from the intense mission of the day. The conversation was calm, but you knew it was time to tell him the news. He was so focused on caressing your stomach as you played with his hair, that he didn't notice how nervous you were.

"Did you know you're going to be the best dad in the world?" You said softly, feeling your heart race. Soap looked at you with a crooked smile, his eyes shining with evident affection.

"I have no doubt about that, love. But what do you mean, best dad? If I'm not, who will be, huh?" You laughed, but you were feeling overflowing with happiness. Suddenly, the moment was there, and it was as if time had slowed down just so he could hear your words.

"Well… I can't say who's going to be the best father, but you're the best for me, and… Our daughter is going to be very lucky." There was a pause. Soap stood up quickly, looking at you, confused, as if he hadn't quite understood. His eyes were curious, but his smile stubbornly wouldn't leave his face. 

"Wait… What?" He asked, his eyes shining even brighter. You laughed, feeling the heat rise to your face. 

"I… we're expecting a little girl." Soap's eyes widened for a moment and he was silent, processing the information. When it finally sunk in, he leaned forward, with a dazzling smile.

"A little girl?" he repeated, his voice full of disbelief. 

"Yes, a little girl," You said, your heart almost jumping out of your chest. "You're going to be the father of a little girl." And then, he simply laughed. A genuine, happy laugh, one of those laughs that seemed so honest that you felt your soul warm. He stood up from the couch, holding your hands tightly before he jumped close to you, not caring about the teacup that almost fell to the floor.

"Are you sure about this? A real little girl?" He asked again, his eyes shining with happiness.

You laughed then, finally, the feeling of nervousness disappearing. He was more excited than ever, and his happiness was contagious.

"I'm sure!" You answered, laughing along with him, the two of you hugging each other tightly. "We're going to have a daughter, Soap." He ran his hand over your belly, still not fully believing it, but with a sparkle in his eyes that didn't fade. 

"I promise that I'm going to be the best dad in the world. It's going to be a pleasure to watch our little girl grow up." You leaned back against the couch, feeling your heart beat faster. 

"I know you will." And as he continued to rub your belly, smiling like a fool and in that moment, you were more certain than ever that he was the kind of father who would do anything for her. 

Keegan P. Russ 

You hadn’t planned to tell him like this. You wanted something elaborate, symbolic… maybe a candlelit dinner, a note written in your nervous handwriting. But there, sitting on the couch, with his hand resting on your thigh and his eyes intently watching a movie, you felt the right moment — a comfortable, intimate silence, just the two of you.

“Keegan…” You began, your voice low, almost as if you were keeping a precious secret between your lips. He turned his face to you right away. He always did that — when you spoke, he listened. With his eyes, with his whole body. It was a habit of his to offer you his total presence.

“Is something wrong?” He asked immediately, already with that protective look that always came when you hesitated.

“No… it’s just...” You took his hand and brought it to your belly, as if that would be enough. Maybe it was. For a moment, he didn’t understand. He looked back at your face, at your eyes filled with unshed tears, at his hand under your still flat stomach, but which held a secret growing in silence.

“Are you...?” He didn’t finish the question, but his eyes said it all. You nodded, with a shy, uncertain, but hopeful smile. The air between you changed. He didn’t say anything for a second too long — but you saw it. His shoulders relaxed as if he had been waiting for this news without knowing. His eyes watered, and his mouth opened slowly, a whisper coming out between his lips:

“Are we becoming a family...?” The way he hugged you that night was different. It was a protective, reverent grip. As if you were made of porcelain. As if the most important miracle of his life was inside you — and it was.

The focused, meticulous soldier appeared in a new form: in nutrition spreadsheets, reminders on his phone with alarms for his snacks, vitamins, and appointments. He went with you to all of them—even when he was exhausted, even when he had just returned from a mission the day before. He sat next to you, held your hand, and listened intently to every word the obstetrician said.

Keegan was the type of person who didn’t say much, but showed it all through his actions. He learned to cook healthy meals even though he didn’t know how to cut a tomato properly at first. He would run his hands over his belly before bed every night, with a caress that felt like a silent prayer.

And when the symptoms got tough — the nausea, the aches, the bloating — Keegan didn’t run away. He showed up with tea (and if you refused to drink them, he’d force you to, saying it was for the good of the baby you were nurturing), warm blankets, and concerned eyes. He sat on the floor beside your bed when you didn’t want to talk. He was just there and it was enough. 

Sometimes, during the night, he would wake up just to check if you were still sleeping well. He would run his hand over your forehead, carefully adjusting your position, as if he could protect you even from nightmares.

Keegan, during your pregnancy, was as firm as steel and as gentle as a cozy blanket. He became your safe haven, your silent and constant guardian. He slept with his hand on your belly, talked to the baby when he thought you couldn’t hear, promised he would be there, always, that he would take care of you, that no one would ever hurt you both. 

You found him in the kitchen, cooking your latest craving: berry pie.

“Baby,” You called, leaning against the door frame. He looked up immediately, a small smile forming when he saw you there.

You walked over to him slowly, your heart racing, and pulled out the small pair of blue booties you had bought that morning.

“For when he gets here.” You said, placing the booties in his hands. A cheesy way to reveal the gender of your baby, yes, but those booties were just too cute for you to ignore. 

Keegan frowned, confused at first — until understanding dawned on him. He blinked a few times, in disbelief.

“A little boy?” He asked, almost in a choked whisper.

You nodded with an excited smile. He laughed softly, shaking his head as if he was still processing it. Then he pulled you slowly closer, resting his forehead against yours before spinning you around slowly and carefully to not make you nauseous.

“My little boy… Our little boy!” He murmured, his voice cracking with joy.

When the time arrives, Keegan is incredibly calm on the outside, but inside he is a whirlwind of emotions. He has never been so scared and so happy at the same time. He held your hand through every contraction, whispering “You can do it,” “I’m here,” “It’s going to be okay” like a mantra — as if his voice could protect you from the pain. When he heard the baby cry for the first time, his eyes filled with tears instantly. He tried to hide it, but the emotion overflowed in his eyes and in the way he smiled at you and when he held his son for the first time. He was completely mesmerized: his big fingers touched the little body with the greatest delicacy in the world, as if he was afraid of hurting his own son. 

Keegan refuses to sleep while you rest. He sits in an armchair with the baby on his lap, just observing every little detail of the newborn. When the medical team came back and found him with the baby sleeping on his chest, and you sleeping in bed, they said it looked like a scene from a movie. 

He talks to the baby even though he knows he doesn't understand: "You have your mother's eyes... And you'll be strong like her too." 

Takes pictures of the tiny feet, of the baby grabbing your finger, of you breastfeeding him, bathing him and sleeping with him and keeps them all in a folder that only he has access to.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

You realized something was wrong when you woke up with an upset stomach for two days in a row — and without having eaten anything heavy. The smell of the breakfast you loved started to make you nauseous… and that was the first warning sign. Kyle even jokingly commented: “Are you abandoning me in our sacred coffee ritual?” — and you forced a smile, pretending you weren’t worried. A few days later, you realized your period was late. A week. Then ten days. And then fifteen. And then, sweet fear hit deep in your chest.

You bought the test by yourself, on a quick trip to the pharmacy, and hid it in your purse as if it were a state secret. On a cold, slow morning, you took the test while Kyle was still sleeping. The silence in the bathroom was almost deafening as you waited the five minutes that the package indicated. Two lines. Two lines that changed everything. You stood still for long minutes, in the same position, holding the test with shaking hands and teary eyes. You didn't know whether to laugh or cry. You did both. The first thing you thought was: "How am I going to tell him?" — and right after: "Will he want this with me?" 

You tried to plan a cute way to tell him. A special dinner, a little box with the test and a note. But anxiety got the best of you. You told him in a simple way, on a normal afternoon, when it was just the two of you, sitting together. He noticed something different about you, and when you shared the secret you were carrying alone, time seemed to stop.

He was sitting on the couch, his eyes softly focused on you as you walked slowly toward him, your hands clasped in front of you, as if trying to contain your racing heart. He could tell right away — you were nervous.

“Are you okay, love?” He asked, his voice low, full of affection.

You nodded, but your throat was dry. You took a deep breath, then walked over and sat down next to him. His hand came naturally to yours, his warm, firm fingers wrapping around yours as if to say ‘I’m here, talk to me.’

“Kyle…” Your gaze met his, and there was so much tenderness there it almost hurt. “I’m pregnant.” For a moment, the world seemed suspended. His smile froze mid-smile, his eyes wide with surprise. You saw the emotion building there — first confusion, then a wet gleam in his eyes, as if he’d just heard something sacred.

“Are you… pregnant?” He repeated in a whisper, as if he was afraid to break the moment.

You nodded, with a small smile. His answer came in the form of a soft, almost breathless laugh, before he pulled you into a hug full of warmth and reverence. He held you as if you were made of glass, but at the same time with such intensity that your heart seemed to fit into his.

“We’re going to have a baby… Fuck’s sake!, that’s so amazing...” He whispered against your neck, as if he still couldn’t believe it. 

“Kyle… No swearing around the baby.”

“Copy that.” He smiled. “I'll be here. Every step, every beat of this little heart… I want to live it all with you.” After that, he placed his hand lovingly on your lower belly, as if he could already feel the new life you had started together. And in that moment, between soft smiles and slow kisses, the whole world seemed to fit between his arms.

He became obsessed with learning everything: he read medical articles, downloaded three different pregnancy apps, and asked the internet if certain strange food cravings were normal. 

He created a ritual: every night, he would lie with his head on her belly and whisper stories, just to “familiarize the baby with his father’s voice.” He would always say proudly: “Our baby will be born hearing the most beautiful accent in the world, honey.” 

He was so protective, but in a sweet way —  accompanying you to every appointment, carrying healthy snacks in his bag, and talking to doctors like you were a secret agent on a mission. 

When your belly started to grow, he bought funny “Loading… Baby 50%” T-shirts and forced you to wear them just to see your grumpy little face. No need to tell him they look awful, he’s already taking pictures of you. 

One day, he found you crying watching a random video of a stray dog being adopted and he just sat down with you, hugging you tightly, and getting emotional too, without even knowing why. 

He insisted on putting the crib together with his own hands. He made several mistakes, got his fingers stuck, and cursed the manual — but in the end, the crib was perfect.

When the contractions started, he went into military mode in 0.1 seconds. He grabbed the hospital bag, checked the checklist, warned everyone and took you to the hospital as if he was on a mission.

During the birth, he held your hand the whole time, letting you crush his fingers without complaining as he kept murmuring something along the lines of “Breathe with me. I’m with you.”

When the baby was born and cried for the first time, he cried too — the kind of silent, emotional cry that comes from deep in the chest.

He was paralyzed for a few seconds when he saw the baby in his arms, with teary eyes, whispering: “We did it. Look… we did it.”

You waited to find out the baby’s sex until the birth. It was a huge shock when the obstetrician said that a little boy had been born: “Hell yeah!”, he celebrated. “My little boy,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Our son...”

König

He finally returned from that mission that seemed to have no end. 

You call him by name with that soft voice that makes him feel weak to his knees. He notices something in your tone. The blue eyes fixed on yours with attention… and a hint of anxiety. “Was ist passiert, mein Schatz?” (“What happened, my love?”)

You take a deep breath, smiling with a nervousness that he immediately picks up on — and you finally say three words that change everything: 

“I am pregnant.” For a moment, he freezes. Not with rejection. Not with anger. But as if the world had gone silent. His eyes widen slightly, he takes a step back as if he’s been shocked, only to then approach you again with visible hesitation in his hands. The mask covers half of his reaction, but his eyes say it all. Pure vulnerability. The doubt of whether he deserves this. The desire to believe he still deserves to be happy. 

“Is it… mine?” He asks, his voice lower than ever.

“Of course it is, König!” 

When you say that — of course he knew it was his — König lets out a shaky sigh and puts his hands on his head, walking a few steps as if he doesn’t know what to do with his own body. Then he stops and he comes back to you. He kneels and he hugs your still-flat belly, pressing it against his face with an almost religious reverence.

“Mein Gott (My god)… you gave me a new life.” He murmurs, his voice hoarse and muffled.

Then he looks down at you, with teary eyes — the intimidating giant now looking like a lost, happy boy — and says something you would never forget:

“I never thought I would have something so precious. I will take care of you. The both of you. Even if the world falls apart… you will be safe.” 

In the first few months, König is on constant alert. Every moment of nausea, every different expression on your face, makes him stop everything to check if you are okay. 

He obsessively researches pregnancy in silence, on his cell phone, reading scientific articles, forums, and even mothers' groups — all in secret, with his eyes fixed on the screen as if he were studying military tactics. 

He tries to cook for you (with… variable results), just because he read that certain foods help with morning sickness. 

When your belly starts to grow, König starts talking to you when he thinks you are sleeping. He lies down next to you, his head resting gently on your belly, murmuring in German with a sweetness that seems unthinkable for such a huge man. "Dein Vater liebt dich sehr, mein kleines Wunder..." ("Your father loves you very much, my little miracle...") 

He starts to accompany you to every medical appointment as if they were a mission, paying attention to every comment from the doctors and nurses as if his life depended on it. 

When your belly is already heavy and your steps are slower, König starts carrying you to any place that involves stairs. Literally. He doesn't even ask. He just picks you up with the greatest care in the world, as if you were made of glass. 

When you start having false contractions, he goes into a state of absolute focus—the hospital bag has been packed for weeks, the routes have been planned, the emergency numbers are posted on the fridge. But despite this, he is always kind, always calm with you, even though he is seething with nerves inside.

He has internal crises of insecurity, but he never burdens you with them. He writes everything down in a hidden notebook, as a way of letting off steam. 

You find him on the balcony, the sky tinged with gold by the sunset. König’s back is turned, still, silent, as he usually does when he’s thinking too much. His large hands are resting on the railing, his broad body almost blocking the light. He turns when he hears your footsteps, and his soft gaze immediately lands on your belly with an almost reverent affection.

You smile, and he responds with that shy little smile at the corner of his mouth, his eyes still seeming to search for more signs that you’re okay.

“What did the doctor say?” He asks in a low voice, waiting for each word as if they were sacred.

You walk towards him, slowly, feeling your heart beat faster — not from nervousness, but from excitement. Then you take one of his hands and guide it to your belly.

“She’s fine,” You begin, looking into his eyes. “And yes... I said she.”

König’s eyes blink, as if it took him a second to process.

“She...?” He whispers, almost in disbelief. You nod, smiling even wider.

“We’re having a little girl.” His breath catches for a moment. His blue eyes — usually so restrained, so trained not to show too much — shine with immediate moisture. He kneels, letting his forehead touch yours while his hands wrap around your belly with a delicacy that doesn’t match its size.

You run your fingers through his hair, feeling him snuggle closer, his arms around your waist as if he wanted to protect the two of you from the entire world.

“She’s already so loved, König. By me… and by you.”

“I… I don’t know if I’m ready. But I’ll give everything. Everything. For both of you.”

“You’re already everything she needs. And everything I need too.” 

Nikto

The truth is that you found out you were carrying his child only in the third month of pregnancy. The missions, your dangerous job, the obligations, plans and goals, your own complex relationship with Nikto… all of this was too much for you to handle. The days became weeks and the weeks became months as you just ignored the symptoms, thinking that the nausea and exhaustion would pass. But they remained very present, and your suspicion only increased.

You took a pregnancy test, which came back positive. And to be sure, you also took a blood test some days after and then, an ultrasound, which finally revealed the baby's gender: a little boy was coming into the world. You did all this without saying a word to Nikto, fearing that he would hate the news. You weren't stupid, you knew he would soon realize something was out of place. Your body was changing, your symptoms were still present, and you even avoided exposing yourself to any kind of risk, as much as possible, unlike before.

He suspected the possible reason why this was happening, but he never forced you to admit anything. Not until you were ready.

When you told him the news, at first he reacted with silence and a hard look, trying to process the information. He’s not the type to show emotion easily, so you thought he was angry or indifferent… But inside, he would be conflicted. Part of him would feel vulnerable — the idea of ​​having created a new life would hit him harder than he expected. Another part would be on edge, worried for your safety and that of the baby, since his world is too violent for something so innocent.

But he wouldn’t shy away from responsibility. He just wouldn’t know how to show he cares in the traditional way. You’d see him more protective, more present, but also more silent. His love would be shown in actions, not words.

The base was silent that night—just the hum of the generators and the occasional sound of boots echoing in the hallway. He was sitting at the table, cleaning his weapon with the meticulous precision of always, his mask pushed up to his forehead, revealing those hard eyes… but that always softened when they landed on you. You walked in slowly, your fingers intertwined in front of you, your heart beating fast.

He noticed it instantly. He dropped the metal piece on the table and watched you silently. Not like a soldier, but like a man. Your man.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, standing up immediately, his tone low but attentive.

You shook your head, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“It’s not that. But… I need to tell you something. And it’s important.”

His eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms, his body firm as steel, but his gaze… almost nervous.

“I’m pregnant, Nikto.”

The silence that followed was as thick as the darkness outside. He didn’t answer. He just stood there, motionless, as if time had frozen. What did you expect? A scream? A sigh? A “how did that happen?”?

None of that came.

He walked towards you, slowly, as if he were stepping on unknown land. He stopped so close that you could feel the heat of his body. His gloved hand rose to your face — it hesitated in the air for a second — and then landed with a delicacy that no one would ever imagine that man was capable of.

“My son?” He murmured, his voice so low that it seemed like a secret between you and the universe.

Son… And he even had guessed the baby gender right.

You nodded, tears in your eyes, but smiling.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, there was something there. It wasn’t fear. Or anger. It was… instinct. A raw kind of love — unconditional, protective.

"How do you…" You hugged him, and that took him by surprise. It took Nikto a few seconds to hug you back, but when he did, he stroked your hair with affection. "How do you know it's a boy?"

"Is it?"

"I mean… yeah."

"Perhaps it was just my intuition." He kissed the top of your head, wanting to protect you from the world.

“You will not leave my sight.” His voice had returned to its firm tone. “I will take care of you both. From now on.” And then, for the first time since you met him, Nikto knelt down, making himself vulnerable before you. Lifting your shirt, he pressed his lips to your slightly swollen belly, so gently that it barely seemed real. But it was. It was his promise. No pretty words. Just presence. Just surrender.

Nikto was already a controlling person by nature, but from the moment he found out about your pregnancy, he became a constant shadow by your side. He checks safe routes before you go out, monitors the environment where you sleep, and leaves discreet trackers on everything you wear “just in case.” He doesn’t say, “I’m afraid something will happen,” he just acts—as if he could take on the whole world for you and the baby.

He’s not the type to say, “You look so beautiful carrying my son” but out of nowhere you find a soft blanket on the couch, hot tea on the table, or maternity clothes in your size neatly folded on the bed. When you ask him if that was his doing, he just answers curtly, “Maybe.” But if you insist, he might say, “I like to see you comfortable.” (And he looks down, because that was the most vulnerability he could show that day.)

If you’re lying down and you let out a whimper of pain or discomfort, within seconds he’ll be there, kneeling beside the bed, pressing his hands firmly against your back. He never comments anything, he just keeps going until he feels you’ve relaxed. When you say a weak “thank you” he’ll give you a quick nod and maybe — just maybe — press a kiss against your forehead before leaving the room.

At night, when you are dozing on the couch or in bed, he will slowly come over and, if he is comfortable doing so, he will rub your belly while speaking to the baby in Russian. They are short, almost military phrases, but sweet in his own way: "Your mother is stronger than anyone. You will get this from her." Or even: "You will not know war. I swear."

Even with all his confidence, he sometimes stays silent for long periods, staring at you from afar. When you ask him, he ends up saying something like: “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this. I only know how to fight.” It’s at this moment that you see his most human side. He’s not afraid of war, but he is afraid of failing you. And when you hold his hand and tell him he’s already doing more than enough, he doesn’t respond. He just squeezes your hand tightly — and doesn’t let go.

Simon “Ghost” Riley 

Hot and intense nights became common when the pressure of the world became great enough to suffocate you both.

You sought refuge in sex, night after night indulging your most primitive and sinful desires as a relatively effective, but twisted, way of enduring the horrendous reality of serving the country.

Even though you knew that being careful was relatively far from being part of your routine, you felt the world fall apart when the first symptoms began.

Nausea, fatigue and insecurity had become part of your essence and the fear of the future permeated your soul.

You tried to hide your pregnancy for as long as possible, not wanting to tell Simon, much less your team members.

Bringing an innocent life into the hell you lived was a senseless act. Then why did you feel so much love for someone who hadn't even been born yet?

You were almost four months pregnant when, during a mission, you fainted for no apparent reason. You weren't taking care of yourself enough — eating little, sleeping little and keeping so many secrets to yourself... It came as no surprise to anyone when your body couldn't handle all of that.

"Stay with me... Hey! She needs medical help!" Ghost shouted, looking around desperately, protecting your body as if you were the most fragile thing in the world at that moment.

Your consciousness slowly returned, and you realized that you were being carried by him to a safer place.

"I'm sorry." You stammered, feeling guilty for having interrupted the gathering of such important information.

"Don't apologize. I've never seen you so pale and weak like this, not even on worse missions." You were finally in a calmer place, still alone with him, and before other people entered the room to check on you, you decided it was time to tell him the truth.

"Simon, I..." You hesitated, wondering for a moment if being honest with him was really what you wanted.

"You...?" He encouraged you, squeezing your thigh affectionately, as usual.

"I... I'm pregnant." His eyes widened, and his grip on your thigh tightened, almost hurting you.

"What...?" He mumbled to himself, slowly fitting the pieces of the puzzle together and everything made sense — your extreme sensitivity to the tastes and smells that you usually liked, your endless naps, your hurried and unannounced trips to the bathroom, your lack of complaints about cramps, almost as if you hadn't had your period that month... It all made sense, and his head almost exploded.

"How did I not notice?" He whispered, pulling you close, hugging you tightly as if he wanted to protect you from all the evil in the world. "How far along are you?"

"Almost four months." You mumbled against his chest as he stroked your hair lovingly. "I think it was on your birthday..." 

That night... That fateful night.

"How are you feeling about this?"

"I... I don't know what to think..." Your hands involuntarily went down your body, caressing the slightly swollen belly due to the life that was developing there. "But I love them so much already..."

He smiled against your hair, hugging you tighter, a genuine happiness slowly forming inside his heart.

"I'm scared, Si." You admitted. "I'm scared of bringing them into this world only to suffer and see horrible things like the two of us."

"Hey, don't say that. Even in hell I found you. I found someone worth fighting for and waking up to everyday. Life isn't all bad, you taught me that yourself." You didn't answer, but he understood what you meant.

"Regardless of your decision — whether you’re keeping them or not — I will support you and stay by your side. Until my last breath." And he kissed the top of your head.

You couldn't muster the courage to abort that life. They were the fruit of the love between you and Simon and they were the best thing you had.

So you decided to keep it, to face the consequences of your acts, to carry the responsibility of bringing a life into this world. 

Months passed without you wanting to know the baby's sex, until Simon convinced you to investigate it.

"Guess." You murmured against his lips, your hands cupping his cheeks.

"Hmm, I have a feeling it's a girl." He secretly longed for one. You guided his hand so he could feel the baby moving, kicking you weakly every now and then.

"It's a girl! We're having a little girl, Si!" His heart fluttered with joy.

"Bloody hell, love... Fuck, I love her so much already. I can't wait to finally meet her."

He has a habit of murmuring sweet nothings your swollen stomach as his fingertips caresses the skin of your belly.

He doesn't let you lift a finger to do almost anything and he even asked captain Price not to allow you to leave the base for any more missions. He couldn't bait to lose both of you.

He helps you with your craving and pregnancy pains —  his massages are divine and melt away any tension you may be feeling.

Close to delivery, when you can no longer bear the weight of your very own stomach, he holds your belly gently with both hands, slowly freeing you from the weight of your little girl for a few seconds — seconds that relieve you absurdly.

Actually cries when he sees his baby for the first time — she's just so tiny, all wrapped around a blanket and her baby clothes, her foot is barely the size of his thumb and she's a little carbon copy of him in appearance. He's utterly glad you decided to keep her over five months ago. He couldn't imagine a world where you three didn't exist anymore.

He is completely disarmed by his daughter. He can face any enemy without hesitation, but if she cries in the morning or asks for something with that look in her eyes, he simply melts.

Protection is his second name. He checks locks, cameras, and sleeps lightly, as if he was still in the field. But the truth is that he just wants to make sure that nothing will hurt the two people he loves most in the world.

As your husband (fucking finally, right?), Simon is silent… but constant. He doesn't need big words; he shows it with actions. Coffee ready, blanket pulled up in the middle of the night, arm around waist without saying anything. He is simply perfect.

[angelholic1]

Blow off steam 𓂃⋆.˚

⤷ After a frustrating match, Michael Kaiser comes home wanting you

pairing : michael kaiser x fem reader 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ

warning(s) : ooc? not edited, changed a bit of the plot, smut, degradation, idk what else..!

The door clicked shut behind him, not slammed, not thrown, just… closed.

You were curled on the couch, phone in hand, pretending to scroll through social media. But the second Kaiser entered the apartment, everything in the room shifted. The silence went heavy, like a storm about to break.

He dropped his bag near the door and stood there for a second. Just breathing.

Still in his match-day kit, jersey clinging to sweat-slick skin, cleats undone but not removed, blond hair damp and falling into his eyes. You’d seen him like this before, fresh off the field, adrenaline still humming under his skin, but this time felt different.

He wasn’t smug. He wasn’t cocky.

He was… quiet.

“Hey,” you said softly, setting your phone aside. “You okay?”

Kaiser didn’t answer right away. He ran a hand through his hair, slow, almost shaky. His mouth opened like he was about to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned and walked straight into the kitchen.

You followed.

He leaned against the counter with his back to you, head bowed. The muscles in his shoulders were drawn tight beneath the fabric. Tense. Angry.

“They were chanting Isagi’s name,” he said finally, voice flat.

You blinked. “What?”

“After I scored the winning goal,” he said, turning slightly. “Not mine. His. Like he mattered more.”

There it was. The crack.

You crossed the room carefully, your bare feet soft on the floor. “You played well, Kaiser. You were incredible.”

He didn’t respond, just grabbed a water bottle and twisted it open. He took a long sip, throat bobbing, before setting it down and facing you fully.

That’s when you saw it, right there in his eyes. Rage. Insecurity. That messy storm of arrogance and fragile ego that made Michael Kaiser who he was.

But behind it… something else.

Something raw.

Need.

“I shouldn’t give a fuck,” he muttered. “I know I’m better. I am better. But all I can think about is…”

His jaw clenched. He stepped toward you.

“All I can think about is you.”

Your breath caught.

Kaiser was right in front of you now, towering, flushed, fists clenched at his sides. His gaze dragged over your face like he was starving.

“I don’t want to talk,” he said. “I don’t want comfort. I don’t want a fucking talking to either.”

He leaned in close, voice a growl.

“I want you.”

You swallowed hard. “Then take me.”

“No,” he said, and you blinked.

His hand came up, gentle, trembling slightly, as he cupped your jaw.

“Let me have you,” he said, voice rough. “Just for tonight. Let me fuck this frustration out. Let me. Please.”

It was the please that undid you.

You nodded without hesitation. “I’m yours.”

Kaiser’s breath hitched, and then he moved.

Lips crashing into yours, tongue demanding entry, hands roaming with a hunger that made your head spin. He kissed like a man possessed, no finesse, no teasing, just heat, want and desperation.

He tugged at your shirt, growling when it resisted, before yanking it over your head in one aggressive pull.

“Fuck,” he breathed, looking at you like he might lose his mind. “You’re so fucking pretty. Sitting here like this, soft and sweet, while I’m going insane.”

He kissed you again, messier this time, backing you toward the bedroom. You barely registered your steps before the backs of your knees hit the bed, and he shoved you down onto it.

He stood above you, stripping off his jersey and staring like he was trying to memorize you.

“You gonna let me be selfish?” he asked. “Let me blow steam off like the way I need to?”

You nodded. “Anything.”

He climbed over you, pinning your wrists down above your head. “Say it.”

“I'll let you do anything to me, I need it, Kaiser. Please.”

That broke him.

He attacked your throat with kisses, biting and licking and leaving angry red marks. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wide, dragging your panties down your legs.

“So wet already,” he muttered. “You like being my outlet, huh?”

“Yes.”

He groaned, dragging two fingers through your folds and pressing just enough to make your back arch. “So fucking needy. Dripping for me before I’ve even gotten started.”

You moaned when he slid a finger in, then a second. He curled them ruthlessly, watching your face twist with pleasure.

“I want this burned into your body,” he said. “Every time you feel sore tomorrow, I want you to remember why.”

“Kaiser—please—”

He pulled his fingers out and licked them clean with a smirk. “Begging already? I haven’t even ruined you yet.”

He freed his cock from his waistband, thick, flushed, leaking, and lined it up against your entrance. But instead of slamming in like he usually did, he paused.

“You’re sure?” he asked, voice softer, but eyes still blazing.

“Yes. I want it. Want you.”

And with that, he pushed in, slowly at first, letting you feel every inch. He groaned low in his throat as your walls clenched around him.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “So tight. So fucking perfect.”

You whimpered, and he leaned over you, bracing on his elbows.

“Gonna fuck all this rage out,” he promised. “Gonna bury every doubt in your pussy and forget the whole world exists.”

Then he started to move.

Hard. Deep. Relentless.

You whined out with every thrust, your body bouncing beneath him as he drove into you like a man possessed.

“This is what I needed, not applause, not praise, just this. You.”

You moaned, clawing at his back, legs locking around his waist.

“God, you sound so good when you’re getting fucked,” he growled. “Look at you. Hair messy, face flushed, all for me.”

His hand found your throat and squeezed, not enough to hurt, just enough to control. Your head spun.

“You’re perfect for me,” he muttered. “Bet you love this, huh? Being used like this. It doesn’t mean anything after today��

You moaned helplessly. “Mm..I know”

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Will we get to see any NSFW stuff with Mommy!Hwa?🥺

I totally understand if not but I just know he would go feral while pleasing his Baby😩

➯a/n: yes. yes. YES. OH MY GAWD YEA LFHSKQ I ABOUT COMBUSTED WHEN I SAW SOMEONE ASKED FOR THIS 😭i was so excited that i kept losing my train of thought and had to rant about how mommy hwa is in bed to calm down bahaha

Mess

Baby Series !

❥Yandere Park Seonghwa x fem reader

♡'･ᴗ･'♡genre: yandere, smut

✫彡wordcount: 4.5k

♫ "It feels good, girl, it feels good to be alone with you." Hozier, To Be Alone♫

♫Baby Playlist♫

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: not proof read, ddlg themes (NO age regression), dubcon (because of stockholm syndrome), hwa is a PERVERT, messy and rough sex, cunnilingus, fingering, spit, squirting, overstim, extreme dacryphilia, creampie, big dick hwa, reassurance, unbelievable amount of praise and pet names, embarrassment, accidental piss kink discovery (LMAO DONT LOOK AT MEEEE)

♡ateez masterlist !♡

➯disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and does NOT represent a healthy relationship of any kind. ➯disclaimer2: as i've said before it is VERY important to always keep age regression and age play SEPARATE, and ive also said that seonghwa never touches baby while she's in little space MANY times. baby is not "baby mode" when they are being intimate, and i will never write that. baby is ALWAYS going to be in "adult space" (kkkk i can't think of a better word) when sexual things are happening, even if she acts cutesy and stuff

MINORS DO NOT TOUCH MY BLOG

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

"Here you go," Seonghwa whispers as he tosses your shirt to a far off corner of the room; completely forgotten about as he slowly slides his hands up your sides, "let me see my girl."

"Don't be a tease, Mommy," you pant softly, already worked up beyond belief as your eyes flick up and down his naked torso.

You had joined him in going a few hours away from home for a photo shoot — of course you did, it's not like he would ever leave you behind. You watched with his manager, which was probably a mistake considering how hot and bothered it made you. You hadn't felt like slipping into your little space all day long, probably because you were so busy gawking at your 'boyfriend'.

Because it was so far away, there was a hotel room waiting for you when he was done. And he wasn't blind, he saw the way you were looking at him. He knows you like he knows the back of his hand — even better, actually.

So this room is going to get a lot more use than originally expected.

"But you're so cute when you're flustered," he smirks, cupping your chest gently as he leans down and pecks your lips. "Does my pretty baby want to play?"

You nod quickly, fisting the blanket with anticipation bubbling up. Remember your manners, "oh- oh, yes! Yes, please, I want to..."

    You hadn't been intimate together since you had a tantrum and yelled at him, almost a month ago now. That probably partly why you were so needy — if he isn't the one making you cum, it's not happening at all.

He doesn't need more convincing than that. He straddles your hips and cups your face like he doesn't have a second to waste, his kiss is different than it usually is. It's hungry and passionate and soul consuming.

He can't help himself. He doesn't have any restraint when it comes to pleasing you. Anything you want, save for your freedom, is yours the second he can do something about it.

And he won't admit it out loud, but he's just as needy as you are.

His inconvenient hard-ons have been more frequent and frustrating. He's lucky you haven't noticed the way his eyes have been lingering when he helps you change. He's sexually frustrated, sure — but he keeps to his promise and he almost always waits for you to come to him.

No matter how badly he wants you, he wants you to want him more. He needs you to.

     He starts peppering kisses along your skin; traveling lower and giving attention to your chest. As your fingers tangle up in his hair, he's moaning like he's the one having their body worshipped. He steadies himself by grabbing your waist, fingers digging in.

A broken moan bubbles up your throat as he wraps his lips around your nipple, "a-ah! Mommy, I need more..."

Oh, he might explode here and now. You call him that every single day — but not like this. Not with your voice filled with lust. Begging him to touch you.

     That little tremble in the way you call his name is reserved for times like this.

    He takes in a deep breath before he speaks, "tell Mommy what you need." He leans back over your face, hovering with stars in his eyes. Any hint of tiredness from the day is gone. Only passion remains.

"I...w-" Even when you're not in little space, you're so light headed around him. He just has that effect on you, especially after so long.

"C'mon, Baby," he coaxes you gently, giving a single roll of his hips that leaves your jaw dropped with the flood of dopamine that it gives you. "You know I won't judge you, tell me how to make you feel good."

"Please," you look away shyly, like you aren't about to ask something so vulgar. "I need you to make me cum..."

The quickness with which he yanks off your skirt and panties makes you yelp in surprise, but the sound is quickly cut off by a lewd moan as he slips down and gives a slow lick up your slit. All in one fluid movement: he's rid you of the fabric, slid down the bed, and got you on his tongue.

You slap your hand over your mouth as he spreads your thighs, your eyes nearly rolling back at the feeling of his pointed tongue. As he draws a slow circle around your clit, you nearly cum then and there. You've forgotten how skilled he is.

"God, I've missed you," his mumbles are lost on you because next thing you know; he's eating you out like a man starved. Flicking and swirling and lapping and sucking. If your mind could form any semblance of a thought, you might wonder how in the world he's doing all those things at once. And the answer is simple. He was born to please you. At least, that's what he claims.

Your other hand is wrapped in his hair like a lifeline, and the slight stinging with each movement of his head doesn't stop him from licking your clit like a mad man — it only stirs him on.

He's messy as always, slobbering all over your heat without a care in the world.

    He gives one last rough suck before he pulls back a bit, panting as he looks up at you. "Baby-ya," he calls as he slides a hand down your thigh and towards your heat. He locks eyes with you as he purses his lips and lets his spit dribble down onto you.

    "Mommy-ya," you moan back, grinding up into his hand as it brushes against your epicenter. His middle finger slips in, drawing out a loud "oh~!" from you before you can stop it.

He's never practiced so much self restraint in his life. Even just feeling your hot walls around his finger has him twitching. If he wasn't so dedicated to pleasing you first and foremost, he'd already be buried inside of you. But, his Baby comes first.

"That's a good girl," his praise makes you clench around his digit, your head tossing to the side. It feels like it's been so long. Even just his finger feels like it's hitting all of the wonderful spots inside of you as he slowly starts thrusting it. You can barely imagine what it will feel like when he's inside you again —

"Mommy, please," you groan, swirling your hips until he rests his forearm across your pelvis and holds you down to continue his devilishly slow teasing. "More!"

"I know, Baby, you want me to fuck you so bad, huh?" He nips your thigh as he adds another finger. "Mommy has to stretch you out first~"

"Hurryyyy," you pout as you try to arch your back, trying to suck his fingers in deeper, "I need you."

You don't have to tell him twice, that is for sure. The soft way you cry for him to hurry and fuck you has his brain turning into a feral mush.

You let out your loudest moan yet as his fingers, previously going at a leisurely pace, are now diving in and out of you with near reckless abandon. You can't move your hips, still held down by his arm and forced to take the onslaught of pleasure.

You slam both of your hands over your mouth as you slump back.

He doesn't like that one bit. He reaches up and yanks your hands away; and all while still curling his deliciously long fingers, he speaks, "let me hear you. Be as loud as you want, Baby. We can be as loud as we want, you don't have to be shy."

"Ah, I f-forgot," you whine, your eyebrows pressing together as his fingertips graze against something inside of you that makes you gush around his fingers with more messy arousal.

"It's okay, angel," he laces his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand as he pushes a third finger inside of you. "You can scream. Let Mommy hear how good you feel."

The stretch and the angle and his voice — "don't stop!"

He wouldn't dare. He's watching every twitch of your brow and every jolt your body makes as he searches for something inside of you. When your jaw drops and your eyes roll back, he knows he's found it. He's on a mission. He needs to make you squirt. He needs to make a mess of you.

"Ohhh," he coos deeply, "right there, Baby?"

"R-right there, Mommy!" You don't care about your volume anymore. His reassurance and the way he's practically assaulting your g-spot while holding your hand makes it impossible to care about anything.

"Riiiiight there~" He smirks as you roll your hips clumsily to push his digits deeper; even when his palm is already hitting your clit with every thrust of his fingers. "That's it, pretty girl," he leans over you and drives his fingers in at a whole new angle; pressing harder against the spot that's making you dizzy, "give me a kiss."

Shakily, and quickly, you toss your arm over his neck and yank him down. Your lips on his like you need him more than you need air: and he returns the passion ten fold, he always will.

Your moans are swallowed up by him as he sends you closer to the edge. Closer and closer and closer and straight over. Your release splashes against his lower stomach, the warmth of it makes him send moans right back to you. Your hand is still held tightly in his and he's starting to lose color in his fingers from how tightly you squeeze them.

He lays on top of you to stop your convulsing, a dark satisfaction settling in his bones as you whimper; forced to take the overstimulation as he curls his fingers. It fills the room with lewd squelches that make his neglected member twitch.

A string of saliva keeps you connected as he finally moves away from your lips. He watches it closely as it snaps, falling onto your chin. And you don't even notice it as you have your eyes closed, panting, in the throes of bliss.

He leans and licks it up softly while he slowly withdraws his fingers, making you whine and chase after them with your hips. "Shhh, none of that, Baby." He hums as he rubs down your arm gently, "you ready for me now?"

"Oh, yes," you nod quickly, you almost forgot that's where this was leading. Now, you're ecstatic at the promise of him being even deeper inside of you, "please, Mommy."

God, if you keep saying it like that he won't be able to hold himself back. He knows he'll end up being rough with you — both of you do. But he likes to take it slow at first so he doesn't hurt you.

    He bites his lip, quickly pressing his forehead to your shoulder so that you won't see the wild look in his eyes. The look that says he's about to lose control.

"So polite," he pants softly, smiling down at you after he forces himself to calm down. "I'll give my angel what she wants~"

     His pants are gone in a second flat, and he's pulling you further down the bed by your thighs until your hips hang on the edge. "Hold your legs for me, Baby," he hums as he pushes your knees together.

While you're wrapping your arms under your knees and hugging them tightly to prepare yourself, effectively exposing yourself to him — he's gathering up the wetness from his skin and lathering himself with it, jerking off slowly to the sight of you.

All worked up and gushing for him; giving him a nice, unobstructed view as you hold your legs as close to your chest as you can. Your eyes a bit fuzzy as you watch him eagerly. Your socked feet fidgeting in the air, white frills catching his eyes. Your breathing still uneven from your first peak of the night.

The first of what will be many, because Seonghwa is an overachiever when it comes to you.

He kisses your leg gently, smiling innocently as he bends down and lines himself with your weeping hole. "My good girl," he mutters softly, "that's what you are. My perfect little angel."

The praise goes straight to your cunt, fluttering around nothing before his tip is suddenly entering you with an almost audible pop. Your eyes slam shut, a gasp caught in your throat. Three fingers and a squirting orgasm suddenly didn't seem like enough prep for Seonghwa's impressive girth.

"Fuck," he groans, hands planted on the back of your thighs to ground himself; digging his fingers into your plush flesh. He leans his head against the side of your legs, gazing down at you with nothing but love and lust. "You gotta relax, Baby-"

"You're too big," you shake your head, eyes still squeezed shut.

He bites his lip in a combination of effort to conceal his chuckle and to hold himself back. He takes a breath, rubbing the back of your thighs softly as you continue to clench around his bulbous tip — it feels like you're already trying to milk him for all his worth. The warmth of your gummy walls is trying to enchant him, trying to make him sink deeper, faster. He needs to bury his whole shaft in you or he's going to lose what's left of his mind.

"Have some faith in yourself, baby-doll," his nickname makes you twitch around him. He did that on purpose, no doubt about it. "You've taken it before, right? Mhm~" He nods with you, reaching to trace your heated cheek with his knuckles as you peek your eyes open. "You can take it, can't you~?"

It's not a question, even if it's formatted as one, rolling off his tongue with a soft inquisitive tone.

It's a reassurance and a statement. You can and you will take it, just like you have so many times before. "Yes, Mommy-"

You should have chosen your words more carefully, because the second 'Mommy' leaves your lips — all whiny and sweet — he's sinking into you.

"Ah-" He almost whines, "that's it, my star~ Let Mommy fill you up."

No matter how much you relax, no matter how pliable you make yourself; he's still having to make his own path through your gooey channel. He's still carving you to the shape of his cock to fit like a custom sleeve. And it feels too fucking good — "Please!" You yelp, nails digging into your legs as you continue to hug them as tightly as possible, "please, I want you to take me already!"

You can't take another second of his slow march forward — but that's too bad, Baby.

He likes to take his sweet, sweet time to really feel your searing cavity as it encases him. "Shhh, Baby, don't you worry," he places another kiss on your leg, smirking as you quiver around him, "you know I'll give you what you want, right?"

He leans over further, crushing your thighs all the way against your chest and making your legs rest over one of his shoulders. "Right, Baby?" He moans as he finally, finally bottoms out.

"Y-yes," you pout up at him beggingly, your entire being set ablaze as he settles inside of you.

For someone built so slim, his cock is thicker than you feel it should be — but you are not complaining as he stretches you from the inside out so nicely.

"What did you say you wanted, hm?" He teases you playfully, withdrawing just an inch before sliding back in.

It's maddening, he does it again; the tiniest bit further this time. "T-aaah!" You kick your feet lightly when one of his hands snakes between you and begins rubbing your clit. "Take me! Go faster, please! Please, plea- oh my good g-aaaah!!" You wail unabashedly as he starts slamming his hips into you: rough, fast, and calculated all while toying with your bundle of nerves.

      "Of course, My Baby~"

His words are so sweet while he absolutely ruins you for anyone other than himself. Not even you could make your body fill with the pleasure that you're feeling as he rubs his thumb across your cheek affectionately while drilling into you. "Look at my gorgeous doll, taking me so well."

All you can respond with is a slurred 'mhmmfff', your brain already sufficiently scrambled and overheated from his inhuman pace with his in-and-out, in-and-out; the pad of his finger never leaving your buzzing clit.

"Aww, it feels good?"

You nod quickly, leaning into his cupped hand while you gulp down the build up of saliva in your mouth. His eyes are trained on you like a hawk, every single twitch in your face committed to memory.

"Yeah, it does~" He grins devilishly while giving you a particularly rough slam when he catches your lips parting — making a loud and lewd yip-like moan tumble out. 

    "Mommy, c-" You choke on your words, arms trembling as you clutch your legs as a lifeline.

    "Cumming~?" He hums, pressing his fingers harder to your clit and making you squeal. "Go ahead, Baby, make a mess on Mommy's cock," he licks up your neck and the warm feeling of it passing your jugular makes the burning ball of arousal in your gut spread through your entire body.

    Once again, he's holding you down with the weight of his body as you tremble, your jaw dropped in a soundless scream while you release with a wave of cream onto his member; a milky white ring forming around his base while he fucks you through it.

     You let your legs go with a whine, letting him gently maneuver them and lay you on your side while he whispers soft praises that barely reach your muddled mind. "N'break..." You slur out through your breaths, melting under his soft touch on your legs.

     "A break?" He smiles while rubbing up and down your legs. His cock, still lodged deep inside of you, is throbbing — basically yelling at him not to give you what you ask for. "Just a little one, starlight." Because he isn't done wrecking you yet.

     "Thank goodness." Your little sigh makes him chuckle as he forces himself to pull out; doing so slowwwwly to make your sensitive walls tremble and beg him to stay.  "...fuck."

    The only time you ever dare curse infront of him is when you're like this. And the sound of the filthy words on your precious lips almost makes him take back his promise of a break.

     He leans back and stands fully, his heart pounding in his chest even harder as he gets a good look at you.

    In nothing but your cute little socks, you're already in a sheen of sweat from the violent thrumming of your own heart after two intense orgasms. There's already two wet spots on the hotel bed, the source between your legs glimmering in the dim lamp light. Your poor pussy lips are already a bit swollen from his stretching and pounding, your legs twitching every so often in the aftershocks of pleasure.

     He needs to make a much bigger mess of you before he's satisfied. Some deep, dirty part of his brain demands it. He has to make a mess of you, he just has to — and you've barely cried! That will not do. He needs to ruin you completely and place you back together with his saccharine words. He needs to. 

  He maneuvers you like a doll, smirking to himself at the trust you have in him to let him move you into whatever position he sees fit.

     He kisses your shoulder softly as he lays you on your stomach, crawling over you. "Are you ready for more, Baby?"

    "Mhm," you nod, having caught as much as your breath as you could.

   "Close your legs for me."

    You look back at him with a questioning gaze, "close them? Isn't it the opposite, Mommy?"

    "Not today, Baby," he grins as he soothes your messy hair, "you want me to show you what I'm thinking?"

    You hesitate for a second before you nod, turning back to face the blanket shyly as he locks his eyes on yours while sliding back inside of you. He breathes a laugh, straddling you from behind and already stretching you to the limit when —

    He starts pushing your legs together with his own, making you clamp down on him.

     "Oh my g-good fuck!"

      "Tight, isn't it~?"

    You nod quickly, shivering as he puts almost his full weight on you — and, by extension, on his cock inside of you. By the time he's got your legs fully pressed together, it feels like he's filled you up so much that he's in your guts. And when he starts thrusting? You have no brains left in your head.

    "Ahh, yes!"

    Your yell stirs him on, making his pace pick up almost immediately and he's back to pounding you like you owe him money; no mercy at all for his precious Baby. The slap of his skin on yours echoing and making his stomach flutter. The way you can't even hold back a single noise, every hit of his pelvis to your hips making a small yelp or moan tremble out of your lips. This is his new favorite position. His only complaint is that he can't see the cute little faces you have to be making right now.

    You certainly don't have any complaints. He feels like a fucking giant as he pounds the life out of you but his arms are gentle as he wraps them around your shoulders — all of his weight on you besides what he uses to slam into you. A shattered gasp leaves you as you feel his cock prod you so rough and deep that it presses into the mattress through you.

    He feels it too, and heaven help you; because now he's never changing his angle. Groaning and praising right in your ear as he continues to relentlessly fuck you into the mattress — quite literally. "Oh, My Baby," he moans deeply, "Mommy is fucking you so deep~ And you're taking it like such a good girl. F-fuck..."

   He's pressing every spot inside of you that there is. Even one that you've never felt before — no, that's not right. You have felt that pressure before. But not when you're having sex.

     He's fucking you so deep that he's putting pressure on your bladder.

    You gasp loudly, clenching around him, "Mommy! Wa-" Clenching was a mistake. Usually, it helps you hold it. Not this time. It pulls him closer. You grab at the blanket, fisting it tightly. Fuck, this is embarrassing. Well, you'd rather just say it so he can stop and you can relieve yourself.

     "Mommy, st-op! M'gonna pee myself!"

     Only... Seonghwa doesn't stop.

     His hips stutter for a moment as he takes in your words — then he's plunging into you impossibly rougher. Like he wants you to. Because he does.

     He knows that makes his an unbelievably perverted person; wanting you to piss on his cock. But he can't help it. He couldn't stop right now even if he had to.

     He can't put it into coherent thoughts right now, only thinking 'harder, fuck her stupid, make her cry, harder, make her pee, make her break...' But when he eventually can organize his thoughts; he'll realize why he couldn't even speak because he was so focused on fucking the literal piss out of you.

     Why? He is the only one on the entire planet that can fuck you so good that you lose control of your bladder. He is the only one to see you so vulnerable. He gets to be filthy with you.

    "Mommy!! P-please! I have t'go!"

    Bless your heart. You still think he might let you get up and go to the bathroom to relieve your abused bladder.

    He wraps his arms around your shoulders tighter, panting and growling like a damn animal in your ear. He's never sounded so dangerous, so feral. He's not even acknowledging your words with any of his own. Only digging his fingers into you and holding your legs shut with his as you try to spread them and get a bit of pressure taken off.

    "Please! P- uh!!" You're crying fast, fat tears now, and Seonghwa can hear them in your voice. Not just because of your embarrassing predicament, but because it feels like pure ecstasy in your very being despite it. "Mm, fuck!" You whine loudly, still feeling his tip press against the bed through you every time he bottoms out. "M-mommy, se-riously! M'gonna pee!"

     "So do it." His words make you wail, shaking your head as vigorously as possible and instinctively clenching again even though it does nothing to help your situation. He presses somehow deeper as he leans his head up and looks over your shoulder at you.

    His cock throbs inside of you, making you gasp, as he watches the tears flow down your heated face. Now he's getting somewhere.

     "It's okay, Baby-ya," he hums, his chest vibrating against your back as he crushes you to the bed, "do it. For- for me."

    "Tha-that's dirty!" You hiccup, kicking your legs until he places his over them.

    "You're already l-leaking everywhere, angel~ You're already creaming all over me. Do it."

   "Nmf-" You bite your lip roughly, a defeated squeak in your throat as a spurt comes out with his thrust. You try to hold the rest in. You really try. Despite his encouragement, you're still mortified.

    His next few thrusts earn him the same thing, a lewd splash against the bed. It's so fucking warm. He's digging his nails into you by the time you finally stop holding it back.

      The relief is almost as good as the orgasm that slams into you like a tsunami.

     You're a complete mess below him. Sobbing, kicking your feet, gripping the blanket so tightly your hands are shaking — all of you is shaking. Trembling like leaf in the wind as relief and pleasure overwhelm your humiliation and creates a feeling you've never dealt with before.

And Seonghwa isn't far behind you. He thinks his body must know not to make him cum while he's watching the absolute work of art he's made of you, not until you finally slump below him. Then, though — he's slamming one last time until your soaking cunt and staying as deep as humanly possible while he cums, holding you so tightly that you might have heard something pop if not for your absolute fried brain and his guttural moan drowning it out.

Yeah. This is his favorite position now, for sure.

❝MESS❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

[ghostly-bat]

Y'all ever heard Shivers by Ed Sheeran? Yeah, it came on my spotify shuffle and something clicked in my brain.

─•────

Being around Damian was exhilarating.

Even as a kid, Jon felt this and acknowledged it despite Damian's bossiness, arrogance, and know-it-all attitude. All of those traits that Jon found annoying also grew into a feeling of excitement.

There is something about Damian's assertiveness, his proud and somewhat arrogant attitude. Blunt and direct, but fiercely loyal. Both independent and rebellious, and so deeply compassionate that it sent shivers through Jon whenever he thought about it.

That's not to say that Damian's recklessness didn't worry him at the same time. Because while Damian could be calculated and thorough, he wasn't a stranger to letting his emotions take over. As exciting as it was to be around Damian, Jon was often worried.

One bad slip, the snap of a grappling hook, a hit to the head that's a little too hard—all of that was enough to take him away from Jon permanently. So Jon always kept an ear out and was there the second he felt Damian's life could be in danger. Even so, the adrenaline that came with being in Damian's life was addicting.

Jon was far different from his father. While his dad represented peace and tranquility, Jon himself could be chaotic and unpredictable, and when paired with Damian, it was never seen as a bad thing. If anything, Damian himself could be chaotic and unpredictable, and that fascinated Jon over the years; seeing Damian embrace those traits that were often viewed as negative. He'd never met anyone like Damian before—someone so opposite from his wholesome and peaceful upbringing on a Kansas farm.

Damian was new and exciting.

The adrenaline rush that came with fighting next to him was truly intoxicating. The grin of victory that would spread across his face as if he knew they were going to win anyway.

The smirk he started to wear whenever Jon came to his rescue, as if he were a trained lap dog.

"You seriously need to stop pulling dangerous stuff like that! You do realize you're still human and could die, right!?"

"But you wouldn't let that happen, now would you?"

That all-knowing smirk on Damian's face was enough to prove his point. Because Jon be damned if he wasn't going to drop everything to save the one he loved.

Oh, and how he really did love him.

He never thought he could love this hard and this passionately. Someone who made his soul feel like it was on fire. He wanted nothing more than to be the guy who got to kiss Damian, make him smile, and see sides of him no one else got to.

So when leftover adrenaline led to heated make-outs in alleyways, being wrapped up between Damian's legs and arms never felt like enough.

Sneaking out in the middle of the night was nothing new to them; they'd been doing it since they were kids. But to simply sneak out because Damian thought it'd be fun to visit the San Diego Zoo at night, to have Jon fly them halfway across the world to patrol because, quote unquote, they needed a change of scenery, getting hot and heavy in the Batmobile because:

"You've kissed me just about everywhere. My dad's car should be no different,"

And it was just the way that Damian said some things that could drive Jon absolutely insane. He knew he should say no; they could get caught, reprimanded like they were kids again despite almost being in their 20s. But how could Jon say no when Damian said things with such an alluring tone?

"If we get caught," Jon walked towards Damian only to trap him between himself and the car, inching closer just so his lips could brush against the others, arms wrapped around his neck to pull him even closer, "just know my death is gonna be on your hands..." And Damian chuckled against a kiss that was only going to deepen because it was true; if his dad were to catch them, Jon's death would be on his hands.

And being able to stay up all day and all night with just Damian alone?

God, Jon loved nothing more.

Damian could tear him apart, put him back together, and take his heart as if he owned it.

And he did.

Damian owned everything that was Jon. And in return,

Jon owned him.

[yourlocaljonghoe]

The Space Between Us. || Jeong Yunho. [ Teaser ]

Summary: when yunho was tasked by his professor to keep an eye on you, he'd never thought it would change his entire world. you were the quiet, weird girl, the one people only referred to as "the ghost". he was the exact opposite of you. and yet, yunho felt drawn to you like a moth to a flame. but would you ever let him get close to you?

Pairing: jeong yunho x reader

Genre: college au, strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, eventual smut

Wordcount: final work maybe about 10k?

Warnings: none for the teaser

A/N: guess whose lazy ass is back on tumblr😎 its me... sorry for disappearing again and only coming back with a teaser😔🥲 anyways, if you like this i would really appreciate a comment to help boost my motivation to finish this, love you all and stay safe <33 divider belongs to @firefly-graphics

Taglist: @ghstzzn, @kyukyustar, @hwapetals, @foxinnie8, @preciouswoozi, @aussiekpopginger, @kitten4sannie, @hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf @therealcuppicake

College wasn’t exactly what Yunho expected when he first got here. He honestly thought it would be louder - more parties, more chaos, more sex and lust and all that shit you see in movies. And sure, there was some of that, especially with friends like San dragging him into the occasional frat party or Mingi insisting on midnight karaoke sessions in their shared kitchen with girls he knew he wouldn't ever see again. But in between all that noise, his college days mostly consisted of… nothing. Just classes, classes, even more classes, and studying his ass off for exams. 

He liked the quiet more than he let on. Not that he minded being social - he was good at it, naturally drawn to people, and the people were naturally drawn to him. But sometimes, there was something more fascinating in the silences than in all the talking.

Psychology became his favorite class for exactly that reason. It gave him an excuse to watch people. Not in a creepy way - just to study them, understand them without them talking to him directly. He was good at reading body language, at picking up on shifts in tone or flickers of emotion people tried to hide from the world. It made him feel powerful, like he could get inside someone’s world without needing a key.

He never expected to be asked to do exactly that, though.

When Professor Nam stopped him after class, Yunho thought it was to remind him of the midterm. Yet to his surprise, the older man had leaned back against his desk, arms folded, eyes serious beneath his ridiculously thick glasses. Not that Yunho had ever seen his professor be anything but serious - he taught a very serious subject after all - but he quickly understood that this was something different. 

“There’s a student I’m a little concerned about,” he’d said.

And that’s when it all started. With a name Yunho didn’t recognize, and a simple request that didn’t feel all that simple at all. Yunho hadn’t expected to be assigned a mission like this when he walked into his class that day. It was a Wednesday - or was it? - a normal day, so normal he in fact didn’t even know the date.

“Just… keep an eye on her for me, will ya?” Professor Nam had said with a slight smile. “She's brilliant, but I worry. Never says a word in class, never socializes with anyone. I just want to make sure she's okay.”

He’d agreed, of course. How could he not? He liked helping people. He liked knowing people, too. Especially that. That’s why he was surprised he hadn’t even realized you were in the same class as him, and that he'd never once even seen your face.

But there you were. First row, always the same seat, with your back perfectly straight, and your eyes always straight forward. 

Yunho noticed the little things first.

You flinched when someone spoke too loud near you. Your whole body tensed every time someone sat too close. You left exactly two minutes before class ended, quietly packing and vanishing while the professor was still mid-sentence. No one could ever catch you in the hallway. No one even knew where you sat in the cafeteria - if you even ate there.

For the first few days, Yunho thought you were just borderline shy and awkward. But no, it wasn’t that. It was avoidance. You were avoiding everyone and everything and, well, it was clearly working.

He didn’t approach you right away. Even though he barely knew you, he had a feeling you would definitely not like that. So, he started sitting nearby instead. Not next to you - never that. Just close enough to observe.

Seonghwa, Mingi and San questioned him on his new seat choice, but he just brushed them off. They didn't bother asking more questions, and he didn't bother explaining things to them.

And then one morning, you weren’t there before him. 

Instead, you entered the lecture hall three minutes late - yes, he looked at his watch for that. Your hair was damp from the rain. Your breath quick, like you’d been running. You looked at your usual seat - someone else had taken it, and from the way your eyebrows scrunched Yunho knew you were not pleased with that - and then at the surrounding ones.

Yunho watched your eyes flicker. Panic took over your features, but you quickly pushed that emotion aside.

He shifted slightly in his seat, clearing his throat.

You turned. Your eyes met for the first time ever.

He nodded once and moved his bag.

It was an invitation. He hoped you would take it.

You hesitated, let your eyes wander through the whole room. Then sighed and finally walked over.

You sat down without a word, without even sparing him a glance.

Yet still, Yunho smiled to himself.

Step one: done. He didn't care that you didn't even say thank you. In fact, Yunho didn’t expect you to. He didn’t expect anything at all, really. And so he didn't take it to heart when you didn’t even acknowledge him further.

But as the lecture went on, he noticed even more details about you; how you kept your arms extremely close to your body, or how you took notes in tiny, almost imperceptible handwriting, as if trying not to take up space even on the page.

In the background, Professor Nam asked some questions, something about behavioral psychology, but Yunho’s focus had shifted completely. At his usual spot three rows back he usually had the luxury of zoning out whenever he wanted. But here, next to you, he was wide awake and paying attention - well, not at the subject currently being taught, but that's whatever. 

You didn’t glance at him once. Not when he shifted to cross his legs. Not when he reached into his bag. Not even when someone in the back dropped their water bottle and the entire room jolted from the noise.

But your fingers twitched, and he saw how the noise frightened you.

He remembered what the professor said.

“I just want to make sure she's okay.”

And right now, sitting next to you, Yunho realized that he definitely didn't have an answer to that.

Class ended, and before he could even blink away the sleep trying to tire him down, you had already moved. Still no glance towards anyone, and definitely not a single word spoken. Your pen was capped, notebook shut, and bag over your shoulder before the professor could even wrap up the last sentence.

But this time, Yunho was ready.

He grabbed his things - almost tripped over his own feet in the process, but let's ignore that - and followed you suit.

Not too close - he didn’t want to scare you. Just enough to keep you in view. He was tall, so his steps were long and he didn't need to hurry. He even slowed them and let you lead.

You turned sharply, slipping through the side exit that hardly anyone used. Down the narrow hallway behind the auditorium, through a quiet back stairwell that was so dirty Yunho swore he could practically taste the dirt in the air. He realized something then: you knew how to disappear.

But you didn’t look back.

You either hadn’t noticed him… or you had, and didn’t care.

At the bottom of the stairs, you pushed open the door into the courtyard. It was still raining, though only slightly. You tugged your hair that usually covered most of your face into your hood and began to run into the rain.

And still, he followed.

Yunho was starting to feel weird about it. This definitely wasn’t part of the plan. He was supposed to talk to you, to try and befriend you, not… track you through campus like some creepy stalker.

So he picked up the pace.

“Hey!” he called out.

You stopped.

Slowly, you turned your head. Hood still up, eyes barely visible beneath the shadow. You looked at him like a deer caught in headlights.

He jogged the rest of the way to close the distance, pausing a few steps in front of you, hands in his pockets to seem non-threatening.

“Uh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, and scratched the back of his neck. “Just noticed you were late today. That’s not like you.”

You stared at him.

He waited.

One second.

Two seconds. 

… Three seconds.

Still nothing.

“…I’m Yunho. Jeong Yunho. We’ve had a bunch of classes together.”

Nothing. No reply. He didn't even see you blink once which was honestly a little creepy.

God, this was harder than he thought.

“…You okay?”

There. That word again. Okay. Were you okay?

You blinked. Then slowly, your lips parted, closed, then parted again.

And a quiet voice - so quiet he barely heard it - said:

“Why do you care?”

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Do you have any good Superman au Sterek fics?

For sure.

It's a Bird! It's a Plane! It's a ...Tie? by 42hrb

(1/1 I 1,254 I General)

Stiles has thought that Derek might be Superman for months, now he has something close to proof.

Twice The Nice by notyourtipicalauthor

(1/1 I 2,269 I Explicit)

boyfriend and his twin brother that he had secretly lusted after. The night was filled with carnal pleasures, their bodies intertwined as they explored the depths of their desires.

Echoes of Fate by people_change_pt2

(3/? I 6,071 I Explicit)

When Jon and Jordan arrive in Beacon Hills to live with their grandfather, they seem like ordinary teens adjusting to a new town. Polite and helpful, they seem harmless to the Hale pack—except to Eli, who feels an inexplicable pull toward Jordan. It’s a connection Eli can’t fully understand, but his father, Derek, can.

Recognizing the bond between Eli and Jordan as the rare mate connection, Derek is determined not to let his son repeat his mistakes. Haunted by the regret of never telling Stiles they were mates, Derek sets aside his wariness, welcoming the brothers into the pack to give Eli and Jordan the chance he and Stiles never had.

But as hunters arrive in town, tensions rise, and Eli struggles to protect the pack while navigating his bond with Jordan. As secrets about the brothers’ arrival unravel, the truth threatens to change everything.

This is a story of second chances, where Derek fights to give his son what he lost: the freedom to choose love and the chance to claim it before it’s too late.

What's A Secret Identity? by Chrystie,��imabignerd, kate882

(1/1 I 6,967 I Teen)

Stiles sipped at a mug of coffee, absently watching the news play in the break room. Because of course a news station couldn't play anything other than its own content, even in the one part of the office that was supposed to be a safe space from work. His interview with Superman was making a rerun and Stiles glanced at Derek before commenting absently, “I’d totally let Superman fuck me.”

Derek, who had been in the middle of a swig of coffee, choked violently, “That’s not something I needed to know at nine in the morning, Stiles.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “What time would you prefer I tell you about all of the things I would let Superman do to my body?”

Angle of View by petals42_tumblr (rosepetals42)

(1/1 I 8,017 I Teen)

Derek Hale is Superman. Stiles is Lois Lane's cameraman. They get closer than they are supposed to.

it's gonna take a superman by kellifer_fic

(1/1 I 14,184 I Teen)

Derek figured the Children of Villains support group would at least be full of outcasts like him. How wrong could he be?

Bending Steel by GrimReaperlover11

(16/16 I 25,369 I Teen)

Derek loved being Superman, and though he knew that being the man of steel came with a large amount of responsibility...there is this one person who he can not avoid..this one thief that always causes him to go weak in the knees and makes his mind go fuzzy. so what happens when he finds himself in a compromising position with this thief?

What happens when the man of steel...bends?

Batman Makes It Look Easy by Ilovesocks_24

(13/13 I 50,044 I Teen)

All of the big time superheroes like Superman and Captain America make everything look so easy. They manage to have regular jobs, save their cities and have time to maintain stable relationships. Derek wishes his life was that simple. He saves his city and works a regular job but he's pretty sure that Iron Man never hit on Batman, so why does Red Spark keep hitting on him?

Or the one where Derek and Stiles are both secret superheroes, but are too oblivious to realize that they're in love. Meanwhile there's a power draining supervillain on the loose.

Werewolves can't Fly by lhr111

(21/? I 56,874 I Explicit)

Derek has always been different, even for a werewolf. He was born with blue beta eyes, his sensory perception is better than an alpha, he is faster and stronger than any wolf they have ever met, and his instincts have never been the same as the rest of his pack. His mother, his alpha, has always loved him without judgement, but some of his pack are suspicious.

Making a choice for himself for once, Derek moves to Metropolis to take a job at The Daily Planet. He is quickly overwhelmed and captivated by fellow reporter Stiles Stilinski. Stiles has a secret, not-so-small obsession with Superman who went missing decades ago, and a burgeoning interest in the new grumpy superhero who recently started saving people around the city. Together the two will uncover the mystery of the Man of Steel, uncover crimes committed by an evil Argent-led corporation, and discover important truths about themselves in the process.

[luvly-writer]

Basgaith: We were Rebels

Xaden Riorson x Gamlyn! Reader

Masterlist

It was late — much later than usual. The rest of the squad had turned in for the night, but Xaden couldn’t sleep. The weight of the truth he’d been holding in for so long pressed on him like a vice. He had told her about the Venin in fragments, sure, but the whole story — the truth behind his father’s rebellion, the lies of the leadership, and what was still happening beneath the surface — was something he could no longer keep to himself. Especially not from Y/n.

He found her in the common area, her sketchbook in hand, absorbed in her drawings. When she looked up at him, the warm glow of the firelight from the hearth danced in her eyes, and for a moment, he was frozen. She was so alive, so full of hope, so different from everything he had been carrying inside.

She smiled softly when she saw him, but that smile faded when she noticed the seriousness in his eyes. She set the book down beside her, her brow furrowing in concern. “Xaden, what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice low and steady.

He sat beside her, not saying anything at first. His hands trembled slightly, but he clenched them into fists at his sides, trying to steady himself. This wasn’t just a confession — this was something much deeper. It could change everything. He could lose her.

After a long silence, he spoke, his voice hoarse. “There’s something I’ve been keeping from you. Something I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

Her eyes searched his face, sensing the gravity in his tone. “Xaden, you’re scaring me.”

He exhaled slowly, looking away for a moment, gathering the courage. “The Venin are real, Y/n. They’re not just some myth. People on the outside — they’re dying. And leadership...” He swallowed hard, frustration creeping into his voice. “Leadership has been neglecting them. Letting them rot, keeping them in the wards like they’re nothing. But my father… he wasn’t just trying to rebel for power. He was trying to save them. To expose what they were doing to people who had no voice, who had no protection.”

Y/n’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand, silencing her, his gaze desperate. “I didn’t want to tell you because I’m scared. I’m scared that if you know the truth, you’ll leave. I’m scared that you’ll hate me for being involved in it all. But it’s still happening, Y/n. The rebellion didn’t die with my father. It’s still going. We’re still fighting, and now... now I am fighting too.”

Y/n was silent for a moment, her expression unreadable. She could see the pain in his eyes — the fear, the vulnerability he was showing her. She could feel how much it cost him to confess this. He was terrified of losing her, but this, this was a truth he couldn’t hide anymore.

Finally, she reached out, her fingers brushing his arm, the touch grounding him. He looked at her, expecting to see disappointment, maybe even anger. But there was none of that. Instead, there was something else. Something softer, yet just as fierce.

Her voice was quiet, but there was an undeniable strength in it. “Xaden, you don’t need to be scared of me leaving.” She took a deep breath, the weight of the moment settling between them. “This... this is something I want to do with you. I want to fight with you, stand by your side. It is wrong for leadership to just leave people to die. I don’t care if that makes me a traitor, or how dangerous it is. If you’re in this, then I’m in this too. We’re in this together. I won’t leave you.”

Xaden’s breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded painfully in his chest. “Y/n...” He reached for her, his hand trembling as he cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing along the curve of her jaw. “I can’t lose you.”

She leaned into his touch, her eyes soft but full of determination. “You won’t.”

And in that moment, Xaden realized something — he had been afraid of losing her, but she wasn’t afraid to face whatever was coming. Together. They would face it, side by side.

He closed the distance between them, pressing his forehead against hers, the weight of everything else melting away for a second. The truth, the fear, the uncertainty — all of it was there, but Y/n was still with him. She wasn’t backing down. Neither was he.

“I love you, Y/n,” he whispered, the words spilling out before he could stop them. It was the first time he had said it, and the words felt right, like they had always belonged there, waiting to be said.

Y/n smiled softly, her hand finding his, intertwining their fingers. “I love you too,” she whispered back. “And I always will.”

A few days later...

The quiet hum of the morning quickly turned to chaos as the rebellion was exposed. Word spread fast, and soon, the air around Basgaith felt thick with tension. The officers, the cadets, the leaders — they all knew something big was happening. Xaden was in the center of it, standing tall, his leather jacket pressed tight against his broad shoulders, eyes steely and determined. The weight of everything rested on his shoulders, and yet, his voice was unwavering when he addressed the squad.

"Alright," he started, his tone heavy but resolute. "We’ve come to a crossroads. The rebellion — my father’s cause — is no longer a secret. You all know the truth now. And we’ve reached a point where I can’t force you to leave with us if you don’t believe in what we’re fighting for."

His gaze swept over the squad, lingering on each of them for a brief moment. "But if you choose to stay, I’ll respect that. You’ve earned your place here as riders, as warriors. But if you choose to stand with me, then we fight. Together."

The room was silent as Xaden’s words sunk in. Y/n stood by his side, her heart pounding in her chest. This was it — the moment where everything changed. She stood tall, meeting Xaden’s eyes with unwavering conviction. “I stand with you,” she said, her voice clear and strong, louder than any doubt or fear that had crept into her mind.

Her squad, the Iron Squad, looked to one another, and one by one, they followed suit. Ridoc, Liam, Rhiannon, Sawyer, and Violet all stepped forward, their expressions resolute but conflicted. It was a heavy moment, one that shifted the balance of everything they had known up until now. They were choosing to fight for something bigger than themselves.

But not everyone was in complete agreement.

Ridoc stepped forward, his gaze fixed on Y/n, his eyes wild with a mix of fury and fear. His face was twisted with emotions too complicated to put into words. It was clear from the way his jaw clenched and his fists tightened that he was barely holding himself back.

"Y/n," Ridoc’s voice was low, dangerous. “What the hell is this? You’ve known all along. You never said a word.” His voice cracked with frustration, his eyes searching hers, looking for answers that weren’t there.

Y/n’s heart sank, but she met his gaze steadily. "Ridoc, it wasn’t my secret to tell." Her voice was calm, but she could hear the undercurrent of pain in it. “I never wanted to keep it from you.”

“Not your secret?!” Ridoc snapped, his voice rising in anger. “You’ve been knowing of this mess, knowing what’s going on, and you couldn’t even tell me? You couldn’t warn me?” He turned to Xaden, eyes burning with accusation. “And you — you’ve been pulling her into this dangerous fight without telling her everything from the start?”

Xaden stepped forward, his own anger simmering just beneath the surface. "I never wanted this for her," he said through gritted teeth. "She made her choice. I didn’t pull her into anything. She chose to stand with me."

But Ridoc wasn’t listening. He turned back to his sister, his face pale with worry. "You could get hurt. This isn’t just about you anymore, Y/n. This is real. These people—the venin—they’ll kill you without hesitation. I can’t… I can’t lose you."

The weight of his words crushed her chest. Ridoc had always been her protector, her anchor, and to see him like this — angry and scared — made her feel like she was breaking something sacred between them. But she couldn’t regret standing with Xaden. She wouldn’t.

She took a step closer to him, her voice barely a whisper. "I know you’re scared, Ridoc. But this is something we need to do. And I need you to trust me."

For a moment, there was a flicker of something — maybe understanding, maybe a momentary pause in his anger — but it was gone just as quickly. Ridoc shook his head, his jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth ground together.

"You don’t get it, do you?" he murmured, looking away from her, unable to meet her eyes. "You’re my little sister, Y/n. You always have been. I’ve always protected you. And now… now you’re going to throw yourself into this, without knowing what it’s going to cost you?"

He turned away, his voice thick with frustration, “I won’t let you do this. Not without a fight.”

But Y/n, standing strong, even if her heart was aching from her twin's words, stood her ground. “I’ve already made my choice, Ridoc. I’m not going back.”

Xaden’s eyes flicked to Y/n, his hand finding hers instinctively, squeezing it. There was no hesitation in his grip. He wasn’t going to let her stand alone.

“Ridoc,” Xaden spoke again, his voice calm but firm. “This is Y/n’s fight too. If you try to pull her away, it won’t change anything. She’s with us. She’s with me.” His gaze never wavered, showing no signs of backing down.

Ridoc clenched his fists, his gaze flicking between his sister and Xaden. The pain in his eyes was evident. Finally, he exhaled sharply and shook his head, resigned. "You’re both making a mistake," he muttered under his breath.

Y/n squeezed Xaden’s hand in silent solidarity, her heart heavy but resolute. She had made her choice, and nothing could make her turn back now. The rebellion wasn’t just Xaden’s fight anymore. It was theirs.

The squad, watching the exchange, was silent, waiting for Ridoc’s final decision. They knew the path ahead would be difficult, but now, with Y/n and Xaden standing together, they were ready to face whatever came next.

The journey to Aretia was long and grueling, with each day that passed adding to the weight on Ridoc’s shoulders. The fact that he had eventually agreed to join the rebellion — to stand by Y/n and Xaden, despite his fears and frustrations — gnawed at him. It wasn’t the cause he was against; it was his own twin’s involvement. She was no longer just a child he could protect, but a warrior, a leader in her own right, and that scared him more than he cared to admit.

When they finally reached the Riorson Estate, the headquarters for the rebellion, it felt like stepping into another world. The estate was vast, the stone walls echoing with the weight of history, filled with the hushed whispers of resistance and rebellion that had brewed here for generations.

Xaden led the way, his confident stride unwavering as he gave orders to his soldiers. Y/n stayed close behind, feeling the pull of the place, the responsibility settling on her shoulders. Ridoc, however, kept a few paces behind her, his eyes scanning the surroundings, his thoughts far away.

The tension between him and Y/n was palpable. Since the moment they had entered the gates, Ridoc hadn’t spoken a single word to her. The distance between them felt like an ocean, and no matter how many times she looked over her shoulder to catch his eye, he would turn away, his jaw tight, his posture stiff.

At first, Y/n had hoped it was just the shock of everything — the sudden reveal of the rebellion, their arrival at the estate — that had left Ridoc in silence. But as the hours passed, the unspoken tension only grew. She couldn’t bring herself to confront him directly in front of the others, so she stayed quiet, her heart aching as she watched her brother become a stranger.

Later that night, as they gathered around a small fire in the estate's courtyard, Y/n tried to break the silence.

"Ridoc," she said softly, sitting down next to him. Her voice was a whisper against the crackling of the fire. "You’re here now. I’m glad you’re with us." She gave him a small, tentative smile, hoping he would meet her gaze.

But Ridoc didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the fire, his lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t even acknowledge her presence.

Y/n’s heart dropped. She wanted to say something — to tell him how much it hurt, how much she needed him — but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she pulled her knees up to her chest, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the silk tie in her hair. She couldn’t help but feel the emptiness between them. This wasn’t the brother she had known.

Xaden, noticing the distance between them, turned to Ridoc, his voice cutting through the tension. "Ridoc," he said, his tone calm but firm. He pulled the other aside. "You can’t keep avoiding her."

Ridoc’s gaze flicked toward Xaden, his eyes hardening. "I’m not avoiding her," he muttered, but the bitterness in his voice was unmistakable.

"You are," Xaden countered, his voice taking on a softer edge, but still firm. "And it’s not helping anyone. Especially not Y/n."

Y/n shifted uncomfortably at the mention of her name, feeling the weight of both of their gazes. "Ridoc, please…" she started, her voice trembling. "I know this is hard for you, but I need you. We’re in this together now."

For a long moment, Ridoc didn’t respond. His jaw clenched, and for a second, Y/n thought he might finally look at her, might finally say something. But instead, he stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back with a loud scrape against the stone.

"I don’t need you to remind me," he said, his voice low and harsh. "I know exactly what’s going on. But don’t think for a second that this makes it easier for me."

With that, he stormed off into the shadows of the estate, leaving Y/n and Xaden in silence.

Y/n let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding, her shoulders sagging with the weight of Ridoc’s silence. Xaden looked at her, his eyes filled with quiet understanding, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. There was nothing more to say. Ridoc’s anger, his fear, his hurt — it wasn’t something that could be fixed in a single conversation.

But the silence between them stretched on, thick and suffocating.

"I’ll talk to him," Xaden finally said, his voice soft. "Give him time, Y/n. He’ll come around."

Y/n nodded, though doubt lingered in her chest. Ridoc had always been there for her, always protected her. But now, it seemed like the gap between them was widening, and she wasn’t sure how to close it.

Later...

Xaden stood at the edge of the Riorson Estate’s courtyard, his arms crossed over his chest as the moonlight bathed the stone walls. He could feel Ridoc’s presence before he even heard him approach. The tension between them was palpable, thick like the humid night air.

“Got a minute?” Ridoc’s voice was low, edged with something Xaden couldn’t quite place — anger, fear, maybe both.

“Always,” Xaden said evenly, not turning around.

Ridoc stood beside him in silence for a few moments, staring out at the darkened landscape. His posture was rigid, shoulders tense, as though he was trying to hold himself back from saying something — or perhaps doing something.

Xaden waited, knowing it would come eventually. He could feel Ridoc’s worries through the bond, but this? This was something different. Ridoc was worried about Y/n, and that made the air between them crackle with unspoken words.

Finally, Ridoc broke the silence. “Are you really okay with putting Y/n in danger?” His voice was quiet but cutting, the question hanging heavy in the air.

Xaden didn’t hesitate. “I’d burn the world down before I let anything happen to her.”

There was a long pause, and Xaden could feel Ridoc studying him, trying to gauge if Xaden meant it or if it was just bravado.

“Because if she dies,” Ridoc continued, his voice almost a whisper, “her death is on you.”

Xaden turned to face him, meeting his eyes, and in Ridoc’s expression, he saw the deep, raw fear of a brother who had watched his sister grow up and had sworn to protect her. The words stung, but Xaden understood them. This wasn’t an attack — this was Ridoc’s protective nature coming to the surface, a brother doing whatever he could to shield his sister.

“I get it,” Xaden said, his voice softer now, tinged with understanding. “I’ll carry the weight of it if it comes to that. But know this — as long as I’m alive, I’ll make sure no harm comes to her. And if it ever does…” Xaden’s jaw tightened. “I’ll make sure I’m the one to fall first.”

Ridoc’s gaze softened, just slightly. The hardened edge in his expression flickered, replaced by a quiet resignation. He was still scared, still angry, but there was something in Xaden’s words that grounded him, even if just a little.

“Yeah, well,” Ridoc muttered, his voice rougher than before, “I’m holding you to that.” He met Xaden’s eyes again, the weight of his words clear. “If anything happens to her, you’ll answer to me, Riorson.”

Xaden nodded slowly. There was no bravado in his answer this time, just the weight of his promise. “Understood.”

For a long while, neither of them spoke. The sounds of the estate — distant voices, the rustling of leaves in the night breeze — filled the quiet. Finally, Ridoc let out a breath, one that seemed to release some of the tension in his chest.

“I know I don’t have to say this,” Ridoc said, turning away. “But just remember… she’s my little sister. I don’t care what happens, if you two get tangled up in something bigger than this rebellion, I’m gonna make sure you both come out of it.”

Xaden watched Ridoc walk away, a part of him silently acknowledging the weight of the promise that hung in the air between them. He couldn’t fault Ridoc for being protective, and he couldn’t promise him more than what he had already said. But there was a silent understanding now — a mutual commitment to keep Y/n safe, no matter what.

“Don’t worry,” Xaden muttered under his breath, as if speaking to the wind. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

The night was quiet, the sounds of the estate softly echoing through the halls. Y/n stood by the window of her room, gazing out into the dark landscape. The stars seemed to stretch on forever, and for a moment, everything felt still.

The door to her room creaked open, and she turned around, expecting to find one of her squad members or perhaps Xaden. But it was Ridoc.

He stood there in the doorway, his frame blocking the light from the hallway, his expression unreadable. For a long time, neither of them spoke. Y/n was used to Ridoc’s silence, but it felt heavier now, weighted with everything that had happened in the last few days.

“You’re still angry,” Y/n said, her voice soft but direct. She could tell, even without him saying anything. His presence, the tension in his body, gave it away.

Ridoc’s jaw tightened, and he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. His eyes softened for a moment, but there was still a guarded look there — like he was holding something back.

“I’m not angry,” he said, his voice low but with an edge. “I’m scared,Y/n. I don’t know if you see it, but I’m terrified.”

Y/n blinked, her heart tightening at the vulnerability in his voice. She had never seen Ridoc like this — open, honest, and stripped of the usual bravado he carried.

She walked toward him, her heart beating a little faster. “You’re scared for me,” she whispered, meeting his gaze.

Ridoc sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I am. I’ve always been.” He paused, looking down at the floor, as if struggling to find the right words. “When we were younger, I promised myself I’d protect you. But this…” He looked back up at her, his expression almost pained. “This is different. The rebellion, Xaden, everything that’s happening — it’s real, Y/n. It’s dangerous. I can’t protect you from it all.”

Y/n reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “I know you want to. I know you’ve always wanted to protect me,” she said softly. “But Ridoc… I’m not the same person I was when we were kids. I’ve chosen this path, and I’m not backing down.”

Ridoc looked at her, his eyes searching hers. “I know you’re strong, Y/n. I’ve always known that. But you don’t have to carry this burden alone. You have us.” His voice cracked slightly as he added, “And you have me.”

Y/n smiled gently, her heart swelling with gratitude. “I know, Ridoc. And I appreciate it more than you know.” She squeezed his arm reassuringly, a quiet warmth flowing between them. “But I have to do this, for me. For Xaden. For all of us.”

Ridoc let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing a little. “I just don’t want to lose you,” he admitted, his voice rougher now. “You’re all I’ve got left. I can’t… I can’t imagine what it would be like without you.”

Y/n’s smile softened. “You won’t lose me, Ridoc. I’m right here.”

For a long moment, Ridoc didn’t say anything. He just stood there, his face a mixture of relief and lingering concern. But finally, he stepped forward, pulling her into a tight hug, his arms enveloping her in a protective warmth. Y/n wrapped her arms around him in return, feeling his heart beat steadily against hers.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” Ridoc muttered into her hair. “Please. I can’t protect you from everything, but I can make sure you know how much I care.”

“I promise,” Y/n whispered back, her voice full of sincerity. “I’ll be careful. For you. For all of us.”

The embrace lasted a little longer, the unspoken understanding between them settling in like a comforting weight. Ridoc didn’t let go immediately, and neither did Y/n. It was as if they both needed this moment — to reconnect, to reassure each other that despite everything, they were still family, still bonded by love and loyalty.

When Ridoc finally pulled away, there was a slight smile on his face, though it was tinged with the remnants of worry. “I’m still not happy about all this,” he said with a hint of a teasing tone. “But I’ll keep an eye on you. And if you need anything, you come to me.”

Y/n laughed softly, her heart lighter now. “Deal.”

Ridoc gave her one last look, and as he stepped toward the door, he hesitated for a moment, as if to say something more. But then, with a nod, he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Y/n stood there for a few moments, her hand resting on her heart. She was still scared too — scared for the future, for everything that was ahead. But Ridoc’s words had given her something she hadn’t realized she needed: reassurance that no matter what happened, her family was still there for her. They weren’t going anywhere.

And neither was she.

Author’s note: And the Basgaith section is over!! I loved writing their dynamic mainly cause it’s sunshine x grumpy and it’s so different from his and Violet’s in the books. I didn’t want to write it like there also, cause when I sat down and wrote it with my OC (who is just me lmao) I said, “the way i would interact with this character would be so different because of my personality” so here we go! Hope this different dynamic (and as it develops further in the story) feel refreshing for you guys!

Taglist: @eepyfaerie @dreamdragonkadia @hiraethjules @nikfigueiredo @galaxystern08 @taleiaargenis @minidemont @poeticbookwormcat @eternallyrosyfire @shadowhuntyi @bubble300 @messageforthesmallestman @iheartshopping @fangirling-galore

To be added to the taglist, leave a comment. <3

[better-setterv2]

𝒜𝒸𝒸𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈 - 𝒫𝓉.6

Authors Note: Hi all! Here is Part 6, I hope you enjoy it. Feel free to leave any comments! Working on the next part now. Lots of love xx

Summary: After meeting the boys at the café, you and Lewis shared a quiet moment in Monaco, ending the night with a subtle, intimate message exchange.

Warnings: mild swearing

Taglist: @urmomsgirlfriend1 @mits-vi @mimisweetz @nebulastarr @hannibeeblog @jdasiilva

MASTERLIST

Pt1, Pt2, Pt3, Pt4, Pt5, Pt6

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You weren’t sure when the atmosphere shifted, but it did like a held breath finally released. After the flood of introductions, the group seemed to ease, their jokes a little less guarded and their smiles more open.

“So,” Charles said, sipping his espresso, “you’ve survived your first group chat meet up. Impressions?”

You glanced around the table, a smile tugging at your lips. “Well, you’re all louder in real life.”

Carlos let out a bark of laughter. “She’s not wrong.”

George leaned forward, his grin bright. “But you’re quiet. What’s your story?”

The question hung in the air, not demanding just curious.

You paused, fingers tracing the rim of your water glass. “Nothing special. Studying criminology and law back home. Accidentally got caught up in all this.”

Nico’s brow lifted. “Criminology? That’s not nothing.”

“You’ve got secrets, huh?” Lando smirked. “You’ve been judging us this whole time, haven’t you?”

“Maybe,” you said, smiling. “But not out loud.”

“Good instincts,” Oscar nodded sagely. “You’ll fit right in.”

Daniel leaned in, resting his chin on his hand. “So what made you stay? After the first few messages in the chat? Most people would’ve backed out.”

You looked down at your lap for a moment. Then, quietly, “It felt different. Like - safe. Like I could be myself. And none of you expected anything more than that.”

The table went quiet. Not awkward, thoughtful.

“Yeah,” Max said after a moment. “That’s kind of what we hoped it would be.”

You looked at them, these people you’d only known through handles and memes and felt something strange. Like belonging.

“So what about you guys?” you asked. “What’s behind the banter?”

They each shared something, small and sincere.

Max talked about how the chaos of the group gave him peace in a world that rarely offered it.

Charles confessed that half his memes were screenshots from his brother.

Oscar, shyly, admitted he stayed quiet most days unless the chat felt like home.

Carlos spoke about loyalty like it was the air he breathed.

Lando described loneliness in cities too big for one person.

Daniel said making people laugh kept him grounded.

And you listened. Let them unravel just a little.

While Lewis sat quietly beside you, admiringly you intensely while listening to the group.

It was beautiful, really seeing the people behind the noise.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You hadn’t realised how close he’d gotten.

Lewis sat beside you like he belonged there, like he’d always been there.

His presence didn’t demand attention but it changed the air, steadied it. He hadn’t said much since joining the group, just the occasional glance your way, the subtle brush of his shoulder against yours when someone made a joke loud enough to earn a laugh from the whole table.

But then you caught the way he looked at you - open, curious, almost thoughtful.

He didn’t say anything. Just gave you a small, knowing smile the kind that said me too without needing the words. And maybe that was enough for now.

Around you, the table had exploded into a new thread of chaotic conversation.

George and Oscar were in a mock argument about which of them had the worst taste in music.

Charles had somehow ended up with someone else’s pastry and Nico was threatening to recite poetry if anyone interrupted his coffee ritual again. It was loud. Familiar. Comforting.

But Lewis didn’t join in right away. Neither did you.

You sat in that rare silence between two people who didn’t need to fill the space. Your shoulders brushed barely and when you glanced over, you saw him watching the group like he loved them a little too much to say it out loud.

You turned back to your drink.

“They’re good people,” you said quietly, as if it might shatter something if you spoke too loud.

Lewis hummed in agreement. “Yeah. The best kind of chaos.”

He didn’t look at you when he said it, but you saw the edge of his smile. The slight curl at the corner of his mouth. The way his fingers tapped against the table. not nervously more thoughtfully.

There was something careful about him. Like he had walls, sure, but they weren’t made of concrete. Maybe more like sea glass. Shaped by years but still letting light through in certain places.

“They were really excited to meet you,” he added after a moment. “We all were.”

Your pulse skipped. You looked down at your lap again, where your fingers were tangled loosely together. “I was nervous,” you admitted. “Still kind of am.”

He finally turned toward you. “You didn’t show it.”

“That’s the law student in me,” you said with a shrug. “Fake it until you don’t have to anymore.”

He chuckled, low and genuine. “That’s fair. You’ve handled this better than some journalists I’ve met.”

You smiled, trying not to overthink how close he was. How his tone dipped a little lower when he spoke to you. Like the volume changed for just the two of you.

“Do you always make people feel this at ease?” you asked softly.

Lewis paused. Thought about it.

The noise of the group swelled again, someone had made a joke that had Carlos nearly spilling his drink and you looked towards the commotion before turning back to Lewis quickly.

“No,” he said. “But I hoped I could with you.”

Lewis leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking over your face for a heartbeat longer than necessary noticing blush arising on your cheeks.

You were about to say something, anything when a voice cut across the hum of conversation.

“Hold up,” Lando said, squinting dramatically. “Is Lewis talking more than usual?”

The table froze.

Eyes turned. Heads swiveled. And then -

“Oh my God,” Oscar said, placing a hand to his chest. “A full sentence. Someone write it down. Frame it.”

“Quick,” Carlos added, nudging Nico. “Get a video. This is historic.”

Even Charles, who had been halfway through his croissant, looked up with a grin. “Don’t startle him, he might disappear again.”

You blinked, a little confused, until it clicked - they were teasing Lewis.

Lewis, who had barely spoken a word to the group since he sat down. Lewis, who apparently was known for his silence in crowds like this.

“I knew he had vocal cords!” Daniel crowed, lifting his arms in triumph. “I knew it! I believed in you, mate.”

Lewis just smirked, lifting his coffee cup in mock salute unbothered.

“Oi,” Max chimed in, leaning forward, “You’ve been silent all week to majority of us . The main work group chat has been dead quiet from you. But now she shows up and suddenly you’re Mr Charisma?”

You blinked, heat creeping into your face. You weren’t expecting the spotlight to swing to you.

Carlos gasped theatrically. “Wait. Is this a crush silence?”

“No - no way,” George said, shaking his head with a grin. “He’s not even being subtle. Look at him, leaning in like he’s on a date.”

You tried to hide behind your glass, but it was too late. Lando was already grinning like he’d found his new favorite story.

“I knew the mystery person would bring him out of his shell?” he said, eyes dancing. “We all knew he was too invested.”

Lewis tilted his head at him, calm as ever. “Maybe I just prefer talking to people who don’t yell at me in gifs.”

That earned a round of laughter, half at the joke and half at how smoothly he delivered it.

“Wow,” Oscar murmured to Charles, “He’s even sassier when he does talk.”

Pierre nods in agreement across the table solemnly. “We’ve been humbled.”

You turned to Lewis, eyebrows raised. “So this is normal?”

He smiled, just a little. “Yeah. This is love.”

“And the teasing?”

He glanced around the table as Daniel tried to balance a spoon on his nose while Max took a picture of it.

“Unavoidable.”

You were still smiling when Carlos leaned across the table. “So what’s the deal, huh? You two just vibing silently now? Is that your thing?”

You glanced at Lewis. He didn’t look away.

“Let them talk,” he said, voice low to you.

“But they are talking,” you replied, just as softly, and for a second, the rest of the café dimmed.

Something in you relaxed.

The chaos around you was loud, this crew of F1 stars in casual clothes and chaotic friendship. Although beside you, the world felt quiet. Still.

Lewis reached for his coffee again. His fingers brushed yours by accident. Or maybe not.

You didn’t pull away.

“I’m glad you came,” he said under his breath.

You didn’t answer right away. Just smiled.

The group was still lively.

Jokes flying across the table, overlapping voices and laughter echoing off the café walls. But beside you, Lewis had gone quiet again. Not withdrawn, just...watching. Like the loudness of his friends gave him space to breathe.

At one point, Charles leaned across Lando and said to Lewis with a teasing grin, “Careful, mate. If you stare any harder, we’ll have to start charging her rent.”

Lando snorted into his drink. “He’s barely blinked in ten minutes.”

Lewis didn’t even look embarrassed. His arm brushed yours as he leaned slightly closer and murmured, “Wanna get out of here for a bit?”

You blinked. “What, like -”

“Just to walk. Talk. See Monaco. If you want to.”

His tone was easy, but his eyes held something more gentle, expectant.

You nodded, trying not to let the butterflies in your chest show. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

He stood, straightening his jacket. “Alright then.”

The boys chorused farewells, some louder than others.

“Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do!” Daniel called, grinning.

“Which means literally anything,” Oscar added.

“Bring her back in one piece!” Carlos teased, and Charles raised his brow in mock warning.

“Remember protection kids!” Pierre called out trying to embarrass them even more, as George laughed his head off sinking into his seat.

Lewis just laughed and waved them off, his hand lightly finding the small of your back as you stepped out of the café together.

The Monaco sun had shifted a bit since you’d gone in. The light was warmer now, filtering down between whitewashed buildings and stone balconies overflowing with bougainvillea.

The sea glinted in the near distance, its scent riding the breeze. The streets were vibrant, but it was a different kind of noise than the café’s. Less intimate, more alive.

Lewis guided you away from the busy square, past a curved alley tucked between designer storefronts. “This place,” he said quietly, “it’s a lot.”

You smiled. “You’ve been here a million times, right?”

“Too many,” he admitted. “But it still surprises me even if I have an apartment here. Though it depends on who you’re walking it with.”

That earned a glance from you. He didn’t take it back.

You strolled along the marina, the ocean lapping below walkways lined with yachts and palm trees. He pointed things out here and there such as a favorite quiet spot for coffee, a bookshop he always meant to go into but never did and a bench overlooking the city where he liked to think.

And slowly, word by word, the rhythm between you settled.

You talked about your degree, your best friend who’s obsessed with F1, your siblings and parents followed by your disbelief at the group chat turning into this whirlwind. He listened, eyes soft, hands in his pockets.

He told you about traveling endlessly, how the silence between races sometimes felt louder than anything. About how he liked cities best when they were half asleep. About how it felt strange, but good, to be seen by someone who hadn’t expected anything from him.

At one point, your hands brushed again. This time, neither of you pulled away.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You didn’t know how long you’d been walking, only that your cheeks ached from smiling and your chest felt strangely light.

Monaco unfolded around you like a postcard - golden stone, glimmering water, elegant turns. It didn’t seem real. But Lewis beside you did. And that grounded everything.

Eventually, he led you up a winding path near the cliffs, through a quiet park you wouldn’t have found on your own. There was a stone bench tucked into a curve of hedges, just high enough to see the sea curling around the bay.

Lewis gestured to it. “This is one of my favorite spots.”

You sat down slowly, your knees just brushing. The city spread out below like a secret. Rooftops glinting, sailboats drifting like specks of silver.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable, it was soft. Mutual. Shared.

He leaned back slightly, eyes tracing the horizon. “You ever feel like everything’s moving too fast, but you’re standing still?”

You glanced at him, surprised by the weight in his voice.

“All the time,” you said. “Especially lately.”

Lewis smiled faintly. “Yeah. It’s strange, being surrounded by people and still feeling like you’re on mute.”

You let that settle. Then, softer, “Is that how you feel?”

He nodded slowly. “Sometimes. It’s hard to know who’s real. Or who wants the real me.”

You turned toward him, knees shifting to face his. “For what it’s worth, I think the you from the airport and the you from the group chat felt pretty real.”

His eyes lifted to meet yours. Something in them flickered. Relief maybe or even gratitude.

“You’ve got good instincts,” he said.

“I’m studying to spot lies for a living,” you teased, “so I’d hope so.”

That drew a low laugh from him, warm and quiet.

There was a pause, long enough for the wind to thread through your hair and for the sea to sigh below.

Then, tentatively Lewis reached over. His fingers brushed yours again, lingering this time. Not asking, not assuming just there. Close. Available.

And you didn’t pull away.

Instead, you let your pinky hook around his, small and steady. Like a promise you weren’t quite ready to name.

He looked down at your hands, then back up at you. “I’m glad you didn���t back out of the chat.”

You smiled. “Me too.”

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You and Lewis walked back in comfortable silence, the sounds of Monaco folding around you. Waves against the marina, soft chatter from cafés, the low purr of expensive engines in the distance. He didn’t let go of your hand until you reached the edge of the terrace and even then, his fingers lingered like a secret still unfolding.

As soon as the group spotted you both, the energy shifted.

“Oh look who’s back!” Daniel called, leaning dramatically across the table. “Took you long enough.”

Oscar smirked into his cappuccino. As Nico spoke up, “Guess we know who the favorite is now.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, sliding back into your seat though this time, closer to Lewis than before. Close enough that Max raised both eyebrows.

“Did we just witness a soft launch?” Lando stage whispered to Carlos, who snorted into his espresso.

George grinned. “Someone better update the group chat rules. PDA might need its own clause.”

“I’m pretty sure this qualifies as treason,” Pierre added, raising his glass. “You didn’t even warn us.”

Lewis didn’t say much just shook his head, laughing under his breath, but the flush on his cheeks was unmistakable. When he glanced at you, it was with quiet affection, like he’d forgotten anyone else was there.

Charles leaned forward, placing his hand over his heart. “I always believed in you, mate.”

“Oh shut up,” Lewis muttered, but there was no heat in it only fondness.

You met the teasing with a steady smile. “I leave for over an hour and the entire table becomes a Greek chorus.”

Daniel threw a napkin in the air. “She gets it!”

Carlos gave you an approving nod. “You’re one of us now.”

And somehow, the words sank deep. Warm. Real. Like this ragtag table full of chaos had space for you too.

You caught Lewis looking again, it was soft, quiet and unreadable.

And this time, you didn’t look away.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The laughter from café still echoed in your ears from earlier as the night settled into the quiet of your hotel room. The sky outside your window had deepened into inky blue, the lights of Monaco glittering like a promise in the distance. It had been a long day. Too much for one heart, maybe.

Still, you weren’t tired.

Not in the way that would let you sleep.

You lay on top of the duvet, your phone resting against your chest. Every few seconds, the screen lit up with a muted glow from the group chat chaos, as expected.

GridGremlins 🛠️

[Hulk added RusselSprout and Pierrefect]

Pierrefect: Bonjour bitches! Who did I have to beat to have Admin rights?

RussellSprout: Yo yo yo, what’s up legends? The Russ-meister has entered the building.

Pastry: Charles is snoring already. I can hear him through the walls.

SmoothOperator: That’s not Charles. That’s a Ferrari engine.

Baguetteboi: I am the engine.

MadMax: Please log off.

Pierrefect: George…did we just get ignored?

You smiled. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard, about to send something lighthearted and then stopped when another name popped up, in a separate thread.

[Priavte Message - Hammertime 💬]

Hammertime: Hey. You still awake?

Your heart skipped. You didn’t overthink it so you answered immediately.

User (You): Yeah. Can’t sleep.

The three blinking dots appeared almost immediately.

Hammertime: Me neither. I keep thinking about today.

You stared at the words for a moment, caught off guard by how much they mirrored your own thoughts.

User (You): Yeah. Me too. I’m glad you came.

I wasn’t sure you would, I almost didn’t if I’m being honest.

But I’m glad I did too.

Another pause. You could almost picture him on the other end, sitting in his room with the curtains half drawn, thumb pressed to his lip as he chose the next words carefully.

Hammertime: You made today better.

It’s not always easy for me to let people in. But with you I didn’t feel like I had to try so hard.

You read it twice. Three times.

Then -

User (You): I felt that too. Like I could just be, me.

A moment passed.

Hammertime: You free tomorrow?

I’d like to see you again. Just us this time.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you typed -

User (You): I’d like that.

And then, one more message came through simple but warm, heavy with the meaning he hadn't yet spoken aloud.

Hammertime: Sweet dreams, you.

You lay back on the pillows, your chest tight in a way that wasn’t heavy anymore just full. Something was happening. Slowly. Carefully.

And this time, you didn’t feel like running from it.

[pricesbug]

Toxic Ex-Husband!Price Blurb

Summary: An extension of this. John is back home to take care of you, his sweet bird. He let you sow your wild oats. Let you let your hair down. But it was time for him to come home.

Content warning(s): exhusband!price is his own warning, toxic relationship, manipulation, abusive relationship, physical abuse, misogyny, power imbalance, only physical description of reader is they have hair price can pull, this is DARK and this is NOT a healthy relationship at all, you have been warned, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!1!1

A/N: Thinking about Price and his stupid little smile he does, you know the one. How condescending it is. Ugh I could fix him (he would hate me if he was real). Please pleASE PLEASE tell me your thoughts, I am literally dying to get feedback. Story under cut, ENJOY!!!

Your back and neck are tense as you shoulder the front door open. Grocery bags digging into your wrists, you’d be damned if you took more than one trip from the car. Toeing off your heels, toes cramping from the stiff material. Taking a deep breath and pausing in the foyer. Eyebrows knitting together as you exhale. Something is…different. The air. It feels imposing. Stifling. Checking your wrist, you sigh at the time. It was late, and your brain was more than likely just exhausted.

Padding into the kitchen and placing your grocery bags on the kitchen counter, you roll your neck around, groaning from the built-up tension. Once anything perishable is put away, you heave a deep sigh and shuffle into the living room.

Falling onto the plush couch, you let your head fall back and run your hands down your face. It had been a long week, work was overwhelming, accidentally becoming important at your corporate job was not in the cards originally, your mother was harassing you to sell your house, your car needed work, and the mechanic was trying to overcharge you. It would all be okay, though. You could do this. You could–

Something was off. Your eyebrows knitted together as you sat up on the couch. The house suddenly felt staggeringly large. And empty. Swallowing thickly, you reach for the lamp sitting on the small table by the couch. Gently tugging down the bronze chain. The wail that escapes you is guttural as the soft light finally illuminates the figure sitting on the loveseat in the corner. Before you have the chance to consider flight or fight, the figure leans forward, resting their elbows on their knees. The gun in their hands immediately became visible.

“John!?”, you yell. Anger trampled over any fear you felt. Though that wouldn’t last long. “What– What the fuck are you doing here?”, you snap at him. Venom seeping from the corners of your mouth. Tainting the air.

Those little wrinkles by the corner of his eyes you used to adore so much begin to show as he smirks at you. Tilting his head slightly, he scrutinizes you. Not saying anything. Your heart hammers in your ribcage as you stare at him. He hadn’t changed much. Much to your chagrin, he was just as handsome as ever.

“John. You… you can’t be here.” Your divorce was amicable. He had given you the house and subsequently forfeited any rights he had to said house. So he had no right to just show up on a whim. “John-”, your eyes dropped the gun he held in his right hand. Its unsettling presence abruptly dawns on you. A smile rises on his face when he takes in your expression.

“I missed you, dove.”, he grumbles. His voice dripped with honey and control.

“John. I– I don’t know what this is, but you cannot be here.”, you state with finality. Eyes trained on the gun he held. Goosebumps raised on your skin despite the summer heat outside.

“Since when is a man not allowed in his own home? Hm?” he questions, brows knitting together in mock confusion. Opening your mouth to retort and immediately snapping it shut when he abruptly stands up. Nostrils flaring as your breath becomes heavy. “John–”, you pause, swallowing thickly when he steps toward you. Crouching down directly in front of you, knees popping from the years of wear and tear. His left hand resting on your knee, the pistol in his right hand resting on your thigh. Your breaths stagger from you as you stare down at it.

“Easy, dove.”, he hums, faux concern weaving through his tone. His left hand raises and cups your face, thumb caressing your cheek, before his hand drifts to the base of your neck, fingers softly threading into your hair. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart. It’s time for me to come home now, yeah? I’ve given you more than enough time, don’t you think? You’re gonna be a good–”, your tone is fierce as you spit your words out.

“Excuse me!? Im– you–”, you sputter out incredulously. “You–you really haven’t changed, have you, John? I won’t let you do this! This behavior is disgusting.”, you spit. This was the exact fucking reason you left him. He was imposing. Arrogant. Demanding. Borderline misogynistic at times.

You continue telling him off, not noticing how he tucked his pistol into the back of his jeans. Tutting softly as he shakes his head, his hand lowering from the nap of your neck as he slowly stood to his full height. He turned slightly, sighing and shaking his head. Which, in hindsight, should have been your final warning.

“ –and you have the audacity to act like I’m inconveniencing you!? Like I’m the one in the wrong here!? God, you are so–”, the back of his hand connects with your cheek with a bone-shattering strength. The tension that settled in the room made it hard to breathe. Or maybe it was the blood dripping from your nose as you lay curled over on the couch. Your hands trembled as you cupped your face, and your entire body trembled as you stared down at the couch. Eyes blown wide with shock.

Still reeling from the strike, you wailed when John threaded his large hand through your hair, viciously yanking you up to your feet, his frame leaning down the rest of the way. He shushed you when you flinched away from the hand raised to cup your cheek. His thumb gently rests beneath your nose, softly wiping your blood away, though more begins to trickle down slowly. Much to your dismay he raised his thumb to hip lips, sucking your blood off his thumb. His hooded eyes never leave your blown-out, tear-filled ones.

“There she is. Nice and quiet.”, he mused, eyes twinkling in some sort of sick admiration. “Let’s try this again, pet. It’s time for your husband to come home. Right?” he asked, his head tilting slightly, waiting for an answer.

Your bottom lip wobbled, and you shook your head to the best of your ability, whining when he began to nod your head for you, your hands desperately clawing at the one that grasped your roots. “Look at you, dove. You need me. You need me here. To help you. I’m here now, dove.”.

[mythtakens]

Buck is spending all this time trying to like. look at everyone else’s grief from a distance so he can be apart from his own and in doing so comes to the conclusion they don’t need him after all, because they’re a 12 or they’re a 17 and they don’t eat together and they’re spinning away from him. and meanwhile they’re talking about how they’re worried about HIM because he’s not connecting or talking about it for real or sitting with his own feelings but worrying about everyone else and doing clinical grief assessments instead. and Eddie is telling Hen and Karen he’s fine (he’s not) and he’s calling LA home. he’s not back with Chris atp he’s not back on the job he’s just in LA in the house with a Buck he can’t reach and it’s still home. and he’s dreading leaving and accepting the job in El Paso and leaving Buck again and telling Buck. and Buck is saying it’s fine (it’s not) and you really think I wouldn’t be happy for you and Eddie isn’t happy for himself. and Eddie doesn’t want to confront that rn so he deflects it back to Buck even though in reality that’s not a subject change because both of their feelings about everything are so so intertwined. but nonetheless he pushes it away and turns it back to Buck’s feelings. and Buck doesn’t want to hear that nobody knows how to talk to him rn because the idea that the lapse in connection might mean he has to confront his own grief and accept it’s all real and can’t be fixed feels unfathomable and like the walls are caving in around him. and since he’s been feeling like he’s alone in his losing it even if he knows better and not being able to fix it and continuing to have people slip away without being able to stop it scares him more than anything Buck says something petty to poke the wound because he wants a reaction. in the moment he’s trying to provoke anything close to what he’s feeling because he feels lost in thinking he is the only one who can’t deal!!! but that’s literally all that it takes for Eddie to crack and everything to pour out because it’s been bursting at the seams and it’s Buck doing it and it’s always been safe to show everything to Buck before. and it’s not really about hurting each other or scolding each other or who is feeling worse. it’s about how they were both waiting for each other to say help me I’m drowning or here I’m here take my hand. but this shared devastation is different and they’re not used to sinking side by side. and in the past if they weren’t that first for each other it was Bobby. and when Eddie says “if I was there, could I have made a difference?” he means I should have been there, would everything be okay if I hadn’t left at all, could I have changed the ending? and when Buck says “you don’t think I did everything I could to save him?” he means being there didn’t help, did I still miss something, could I have changed the ending? and the grief they’re sharing is ugly and messy and hurtful and guilty and layered and still at it’s core about love. and the only real way forward and up is communication and acts of love and letting yourself accept and feel that love so you’re finally able to take a breath. and really all they wanna do is be that for each other and have the other be that for them. uhhhhhhhhh anyone else think these guys are kind of awesome

[milkoomi]

Heyy! I hope you're doing well.

I want to ask a question regarding habit changes and grooming qualities in yourself.

Before lockdown, I was disciplined, but since then, phone addiction has taken over. I don't use social media like Snapchat or Instagram, but I still spend too much time on my phone, which makes me feel miserable. I managed to control it once for two months but relapsed. How can I break this habit for good and get rid of unwanted habits permanently?

Thank you <3

hello darling!! thank you so much for sending in an ask! i hope you’re doing well! sending you so so so much love! 🤍

a realistic guide to breaking bad habits. ᥫ᭡

habits are so hard to break. it can be an extremely frustrating journey to let go of certain habits, even if it may be something as simple as high levels of screen time. i understand just how difficult it is to break bad habits, and trust me, it wasn’t an easy feat. but as i’ve gone through my own little journey of life, i’ve learned a few things that have helped me at least start to let go of bad habits!

let’s begin …

୨ৎ — immerse yourself in new hobbies

having a hobby, or multiple hobbies, can get your mind focused on something more productive or better for yourself! it gets you to bring your attention and energy into something that makes you feel good and brings you joy rather than getting lost into those habits that seem to take over your life!

there are so many wonderful and fun hobbies out there that you can try! i’ll be listing some hobbies divided into two different categories.

soft hobbies: activities you can do that won’t require too much time, effort, or money!

reading - really simple! try rereading books you love, picking up a new genre, or try different ways to read like audiobooks! visit your local library & get books from there!

coloring - there’s tons of affordable physical and digital coloring books out there! you’re never too old to color! it’s such a relaxing activity & it allows you to get creative!

creating playlists - get inspired by different moods, characters from shows/movies, books, emotions, or vibes! this is another hobby that allows you to get creative and it also encourages you to explore new music!

poetry - i love writing poetry. poems are one of my favorite forms of art! it’s a beautiful way to express your thoughts and emotions while getting those creative juices flowing! you can get a simple notebook or an aesthetic journal & start creating to have a lovely little collection of poems written by you!

gaming - okay, i know we’re trying to reduce our screen time, but if you’re needing to step away specifically from your phone i highly recommend gaming! the games you play don’t even have to be video games, they could be card games, board games, puzzles even! there’s so many different games out there that can help you relax or get your mind working. it could also encourage you to be more social and create game nights with loved ones!

crystal hobbies: activities that may require a little more time, effort, & maybe money!

scrapbooking - i personally have a digital scrapbook on my ipad & i created a scrapbook for my fiancé on our most recent anniversary! i LOVE scrapbooking. while it does take up more time & energy, it still helps you get creative and focus your mind on things like cherished memories!

nature jars - if you aren’t familiar with what these are, they’re literally just jars filled with things you’ve found outside in nature! leaves, rocks, flowers, sand; anything you find outside. this can encourage you to go out more & be one with nature and explore! not only will you get your steps in, you’ll also probably find something really beautiful that mother nature has to offer! (of course, please be very careful with what you touch and take from the outside!!)

cooking/baking - hone those culinary skills! you could try out recipes you’ve been dying to try or experiment with different flavors! cooking isn’t just a life skill, it’s art!

art - painting, drawing, sculpting; essentially any art form practice can be a great hobby to take up!

creative writing - i mentioned poetry in the ‘soft hobbies’ section, but now let’s go even deeper & try writing stories! you can start by creating synopses of different stories you’ve maybe thought about writing before jumping right into story creation! or, if you’re feeling ready, you can start writing up the first chapter of a story! you can even get more detailed by creating character pages with all the stats & information on characters you want to create!

the more hobbies you have that make you happy, bring out your creative/productive side, and make you feel good, there’ll be less time and energy going into those bad habits! it’s important you focus your mind on something else; something better, and as time goes on and you continue to immerse yourself into your hobbies, the less likely you’ll be going back to those habits! the key is to occupy your mind with other things that are beneficial and replace those bad habits with something more rewarding!

୨ৎ — write out your dream life

this is essentially manifestation, but grab your journal and write down what your dream life looks like! ask yourself: what would my life look like without these bad habits? think of this as setting goals for yourself, but write as if you’ve already achieved those goals!

bullet list

create a list of everything that involves your dream life without those bad habits! this is a quick & easy way to imagine what your life will look like!

write a story

play as the omniscient being for a moment and write your story! it doesn’t have to be a full novel of course, it can be a short story, but write and describe how you are in your dream life and what your life is like! this allows you to create a clear mental image of what you’re wanting to achieve! it can even motivate you to make that story become your reality!

things to consider…

what are you doing in your dream life? job/career? level of education? social life? traveling?

what do you look like? not just traits like skin, hair, & nails, but what are your expressions like? do you show more happiness? do you show a sense of relief and peace?

what do you sound like? is your tone of voice calmer? do you sound happier? what are things you would say?

breaking bad habits is all about your mindset, so writing affirmations and/or manifestations for yourself can help to rewire your brain and turn on that switch for motivation to get you to start breaking those habits!

୨ৎ — detachment

something that seems so easy but is also extremely difficult is distancing yourself and removing yourself from the source of your bad habits.

in this case, it’s your phone, so it’s time to start detaching yourself from it and i’m going to go through some methods of how to do so in a less daunting and more manageable way!

time-out method

this method is, essentially, putting your phone in “time-out”. it sounds silly, but i promise it works!

how to…

shut off your phone completely

place it far away from you (in another room, tucked away in your bag, in a drawer, or even in a shoe box tucked away underneath your bed). you can even ask a family member or loved one to put your phone somewhere else & hide it from you (if you’re feeling up for that!)

keep an eye on the clock and note the time you put your phone away

give yourself a set amount of time to stay away from your phone. you can start off small with 10-15 minutes away from your phone or, if you’re feeling ready to, start with 2 hours away from your phone

this method doesn’t work with every bad habit. it’s more effective for habits that involve some kind of object.

meditation method

meditating is a wonderful habit to replace with other ones! it allows you to practice mindfulness and helps to relax your mind & body!

how to…

sit in a quiet place & silence your phone (it will probably help to either turn on a ‘do not disturb’ feature or shut off your phone)

for about 5 minutes, focus on different characteristics of your body and try relaxing yourself. notice the tension in your shoulders and relax them, there may be some tension in your neck so try and relax that portion. you can also focus on your breathing during this time!

gradually increase the amount of time you meditate. maybe the first 3 days you meditate for 5 minutes, then for 3 more days you increase your time to 7 minutes, and then for 3 more days after that you increase to 10 minutes!

redirection method

our minds and bodies work as if we’re in cruise control and just do things without thinking twice about it, so this method is exactly what it sounds like: redirecting your mind onto something else!

how to…

let’s say you catch yourself on your phone, mindlessly scrolling through social media, so as soon as you catch yourself, redirect your energy to something else!

or, if you’re thinking about a certain bad habit, redirect those thoughts elsewhere like in a journal! write out what habit you’re thinking about, talk about how it makes you feel, and explain to yourself why you should do something else

redirecting can be anything! it’s just a matter of acknowledging the habit and driving yourself to something more beneficial!

go for a walk, watch a new movie, go do your skincare, journal, chat with a friend/loved one, read a book, make yourself a snack/meal, clean your room; any activity that makes you feel good and makes you feel productive can be a great choice for redirection!

final notes —

breaking bad habits isn’t easy, i can’t stress that enough. i know it’s hard and it’s all easier said than done, but! you are capable of breaking those bad habits if you put your mind to it! some discipline might have to make itself seen to really see the results you’re searching for, but you don’t have to go to the extremes to make yourself more disciplined! be patient with yourself, talk to yourself kindly, and remind yourself that progress is never linear! you will have ups and downs, right turns and wrong turns, and you might slip up a few times, but that’s completely okay!

be gracious towards yourself; you’re only human.

with lots of love, faustina 🌷

[kawhh]

To anyone who was affected or reached by Brynn's (sweetestdesire's) actions who might see this and any of her anons - if you're comfortable to read a direct apology from her and think it'll help you heal or at least understand her actions, or if you were an anon wanting to still be in contact with her and also read the apology, she's coming back tomorrow. She's coming back as @angelichughes and I wanted to take the time to let people know but to also explain why I think she should be heard out and why I believe she's learnt the lesson, has grown as a human being and understands how things went wrong and what she can do to make sure she never falls into the hole she did again.

Everyone who was hurt by her actions doesn't ever deserve to go through it again in any shape or form - her actions were wrong, it shouldn't have happened and shouldn't have dragged on long as it did. I've always understood the frustration from anyone who was hurt and especially those who had reached out and talked with her in the past - I still don't agree with how it was handled and I never have and I don't agree with anyone who was using the situation for drama points or dragging it on.

I'm not saying that was everyone, but this is also tumblr and we're all responsible for being better role models with how we handle drama and conflict. There are children here and they deserve the best from people.

But I do understand how some people felt trapped and felt like they had no other option but to deliver the initial message in the way that they did.

I'm not here to apologise for her actions. I'll be perfectly clear in that. This is NOT what this is and I'm saying all of this because I can see a real change in her and want to help people get what they need or want.

I'm not going to sit here and discuss all of the reasons and explanations and any other details - people deserve that to come from her and I also understand how some people will never want to even hear another word from her and you have no responsibility to hear her out or see her name again.

When I've been hurt in the past, it's helped me often to have an explanation for the actions even if I haven't ended up fully agreeing or understanding or wanting to change my opinion or view after reading it.

I've also had situations where I've blocked any mention of their name because I just don't want to see anything and I'm hoping by mentioning the username that I can also help with that part for people.

I'm not in her brain and I've never pretended to be in her brain, but I can see a full, genuine difference and understanding in her behaviour and her mindset after it's happened. I want to be clear about that - if I didn't see a difference and thought she was the same person with the same understanding, I would not be supporting her like this and I would not be typing this.

I do believe that she needed the shock and needed the blow for it to fully sink in for her, to drag her out. A way her brain couldn't skip over as she fell deeper into the hole.

After spending a month talking to her, I fully understand how everything happened for her and how it did happen, but there's no illusions about how she should've dealt with it and reached out. It's not an excuse coming from me or coming from her, but it'll be the honest explanation and reasons why she did it and I hope that can help people in some way.

I fully believe she understands the hurt she caused and how it went wrong at each turn and how she needs to be better for both everyone else and also herself. I believe she's honestly regretful and not just for being caught out - but for her actions as they were.

That can mean nothing to you and that's also fine, but if that does mean something to you, I'm 100% confident in every word I say.

I'm thankful for the anons of hers who have continued to send asks my way to send to her - she hasn't taken any of this lightly and hasn't avoided any of the emotional damage to both herself and everyone she hurt and interacted with and seeing some of you still wanting to understand and wanting her to heal and be a better person has meant a lot to her and myself.

I understand if any of you would be nervous about interacting with her again, but if you would still like to interact with her and give her a chance to show you how she's developed and how she wants to continue to grow with you, I would be grateful.

I also understand that there's anons who have been hurt by her actions and have distrust in all of her previous actions and interactions with you and I repeat that if you're comfortable with it, I think hearing her apology is the least you deserve.

As a final piece, I'm going to make it very clear that I'm not going to tolerate hate sent my way or sent to anyone who does interact with her. Like I said earlier, we all have a responsibility to be better on this platform and any other platform online.

I understand being hurt, but there's a difference between being hurt and asking for an explanation and being hateful. Asking her for answers and expressing hurt is always going to be fine, but we're also all humans who make mistakes and nobody deserves the kind of hateful messages some people on here send with no regard for any human being on the other side of the screen. Some people would do well to ask themselves how they would feel if it was them or someone they cared about getting some of the pure hate some of you send. Not just even this - even simple things like someone not liking a player you like.

I don't tolerate it when people send me hate. I will not tolerate it being sent to her friends.

Being actually hateful towards someone will not help you. It will not help you heal. It will not bring you comfort or satisfaction. It will not make the situation better for anyone. That's my stance on any behaviour like that on this website.

I'm also not going to be doing a personal Q&A. This is my statement and she'll make hers.

I will also understand if I'm blocked for my stance on this by anyone who was hurt - I will be interacting with my friend and I will be doing it publicly. I believe in her and the changes she's made and I'm very proud of all her development. I see someone who understands the situation and genuinely wants to be better for herself and everyone on this app daily.

I'm tagging a few of you - but I also have no expectations and have no right to ask anyone to read or forgive or be friends with her again. Everyone needs to do the right thing for themselves.

@hughesinthebox @zzbubblegumbitchzz @ruinix @rowdyluv

[thesnowflake18]

Revival Theory (Deltarune Theory)

!!!THIS IS PRE-SWEEPSTAKES PT2, I'LL REVISE LATER!!! I just need to get this out!

Let me get some key observations out of the way because all of these points connect.

Kris seems to have experience with souls

Kris was scared to enter the dark world Ch1

Kris "chickened out" around the bunker

Kris and Noelle's friendship fell out after Dess disappeared most likely

Kris knows how to play piano despite not having one in their home. In Ch2 they're angry that they can only play one note.

Kris seems to stay completely still before heading to the piano and leaves once someone notices them.

We hear ocean.ogg when we first enter the dark world

Dark "fountains"

Onionsan telling Kris of a song from the sea

Sweepstakes mystery chair covered in darkness with ocean.ogg. "What if it could get darker than dark?"

Seam says that we best get home before dark, suggesting a change after dark in the DWs, leaving it up to interpretation of what's different at nighttime.

IMAGE_DEPTHS

Leaving the sink tap open, as the sound of running water fills the environment and they leave their soul under the cabinet.

THE ENTIRE GONER MAKER SEQUENCE

Gaster connections (Goner sequence, Dark Darker yet Darker, calling us into Deltarune)

Having the Red Soul (US) shoved into Kris, removing most of their autonomy

Kris's wagon "having seen many crashes" and that mysterious stain. Our soul is thrown into that cage at the end of CH1

Kris looking that the camera at the end of CH1, as well as multiple times throughout the game

Kris likely knows of a player existence and seems to plan ahead of us so they can set their ideas in motion

Susie says it would be cruel to have Toriel bury her own child after making threats at Kris multiple times

Susie says suggests Toriel would be better off without Kris, and Kris is said to have said something that made Susie back away and leave.

Kris is suggested to not sleep well, sleep through class a lot, and has been commented to look sickly, and zombie-like

So what does this all mean?

(This is all yap and random thoughts, buckle up)

First, it establishes the fact that Dark Worlds are connected to water imagery. The deeper into DWs you go, the darker it gets. The deeper you venture into an ocean, the darker and more dangerous it gets. Kris seems to be connected to this web, as they are the ones who hear this ocean sound when first falling into a dark world.

The fact they have history with the bunker, likely a dark world that wasn't sealed, and that they back away from the closet DW suggests to me that they have some vague knowledge of them. Perhaps some trauma, even if they don't fully understand what DWs are till after CH1.

I'm fully on board with the idea that it was only Kris and Dess who explored the bunker for some reason. Perhaps Noelle was too afraid and Asriel stayed back with her, or perhaps neither of them were there, as Noelle does say that "they never found anything interesting in the forest." Dess and Kris being the boldest ventured inside, but Dess never returned.

This is where I have a different idea of what happened.

The bunker perhaps is not where Kris and Dess ventured. Or perhaps it was connected to a different DW. I'm suggesting that this DW they discovered was water-themed, and they discovered it during night time. I believe that DWs become less welcoming at night, perhaps new creatures appear who are more aggressive, and the environment is harsher. We can imagine what would happen in a water DW at night, and it's not the calming scene that Kris and Susie had, but harsh waves and high tides, and creatures reminiscent of those found deep in the ocean.

Would it be too crazy to suggest that perhaps, neither Kris nor Dess made it out of that Dark World??? I believe both of them were to be lost in the darkness, DROWNED IN THE DARKNESS. Kris, however, encountered a mystery guy of sorts (YES THIS IS GASTER I'M SORRY BUT I HAVE TO INCLUDE HIM). Since they were so young, I can't imagine they remember much, except waking up once more to feeling numbed out.

I don't believe that red soul is theirs. They have a lot of connections to other soul-types (one can argue Orange or Light Blue. For this theory it doesn't really matter), so it's my belief their soul shattered in their demise, but as they were found and saved by Gaster, they were given a new chance at life through a new SOUL. The soul associated with persisting after death. Gaster could not let the only human that could work as a vessel perish. They really are the only hope for this world with a forseen demise. (Maybe this is why Gaster made us create a vessel, since Kris was likely very sickly due to this event??)

I believe that perhaps Kris tried to return to life as normal, but knowing Dess's fate eventually made it too awkward and painful to be around Noelle, therefore they went their separate ways. I also want to think this is where Kris started feeling an inkling of their autonomy slipping away to a higher force. Something or someone was pulling strings their strings, testing how far they could go. This is why they get so still, as it's someone acting for them, and they likely resort to the piano as a way to shake themselves out of that foreign control. Eventually they have to resort to removing their soul entirely, and it becomes second-nature to them by the time we're in the picture.

I headcanon Gaster to be morally grey, doing heinous things for a greater cause. It's likely he knows of Dess being alive somewhere in that vast darkness, and is trying to help however he can through controlling Kris's new determination soul, but has consistently failed. Perhaps he's even had Kris live through other DWs and nothing yet has worked. Maybe he already saw or foresaw to an extent the demise of the world, so that's why he is finally resorting to us, an even higher being to accomplish the main goal of finding Dess, course correcting this world and hopefully giving Kris and Noelle and their families a happy ending.

I'm sure that's why he attempted to give us a new vessel, but the Angel (the incarnation of fate) has kept sabotaging his attempts to save Dess and the world, landing us into Kris's body and becoming their new controller. Now he's standing in the sidelines as we try our best to fulfill this prophecy he crafted to lure us in.

Perhaps we'll have to make Kris face their biggest fears yet. Perhaps they'll have to venture into that water DW again. Maybe this is the only way to find Dess at all. I'm not sure if they're happy that they're here again. It seems like their life has only gotten worse since that incident. Perhaps that's why they've become more quiet and reserved. Perhaps that's why they keep removing their soul, it's not like it belongs to them, it was given. And for what? They don't know, but they're too scared to fall into darkness again. It's suffocating to them. Like they're drowning again. Perhaps that's why they don't back down to Susie's mean comments, and they truly believe it wasn't fate to have them survive instead of Dess. Susie says it would be cruel to have Toriel bury her own child. Susie says Toriel would be better off without them. There's an irony to her words that only Kris knows. At this rate who is Kris to back down to those statements, maybe in another timeline that would be true.

[coracaodeleao]

"Would you fuck me if I was skinny? I fuck you now" Viktor x gn!reader

"Would you fuck me if I was skinny?"

The question hangs in the room like smoke, clinging, dense, unavoidable.

You hadn’t meant to say it. Not really. It slipped out in a breath between insecurity and laughter, meant to be brushed away before it landed. But it did land—right in Viktor’s lap, where he sat with one knee tucked beneath him, thin fingers stilling over the edge of his cane.

His brow furrows.

“Why would you say that?” he asks, voice low and a little hoarse, like it caught on something soft in his throat.

You try to wave it off. Joke. Shrug. But your smile doesn't reach your eyes. “I mean… you’re you. Tall, sharp, smart. All limbs and cheekbones. And I’m…” You gesture vaguely, not needing to finish the sentence.

Viktor exhales, slow and deliberate. He sets his cane aside, carefully. Moves toward you—not with urgency, but intention.

“I do not fuck you in some imaginary version,” he says, and there’s something molten under his words now. “I fuck you now.”

Heat creeps up your neck, your ears. “Viktor—”

He silences you with a look. Not harsh. Not pitiful. Just... full. Of everything you couldn’t believe someone might feel for you like this.

“I want you,” he says, his hand resting against your waist like it belongs there, not flinching from the softness, not pretending it’s something to ignore. “Exactly like this. You think I don’t notice the way you move? The way you take up space like the world hasn’t earned you yet?”

You blink, and your breath trembles.

“I don’t want less of you,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “I want all of you.”

You don’t know what to say. Or maybe you do, but your throat feels too full to let anything out.

Viktor doesn’t push. He just looks at you like there’s no one else he’d rather be looking at. Like he’s not waiting for you to become something different, something smaller, something else. He’s here for you, and the quiet weight of that truth settles over your skin like a blanket pulled fresh from the sun.

“I don’t want less of you,” he says again, softer now, like a secret. “And I don’t want you only when you imagine yourself changed. I want you when you're laughing so hard you shake the whole bed. I want you when you’re certain I’ll come to my senses. I want you when you ask that question like it hasn’t already been answered a hundred times, in every way I know how.”

His fingers brush your jaw, then trace the curve behind your ear, feather-light. His touch is reverent, but sure. No hesitation.

“You are not a compromise,” he says. “You are what I want.”

The kiss comes like gravity. Natural. Inevitable.

It starts soft—his lips pressing against yours like a promise he’s been waiting to make—but it doesn’t stay that way. Not for long. Because once your hands find his narrow waist, once he feels the way you hold him like he might disappear if you let go, he melts. Into you, onto you, against you. His frame trembling with the same want that’s burning through yours.

You feel him like a live wire—his body lean and tense, every motion sharpened by need. He doesn’t overwhelm; he fits. And he holds you like he’s starved for something only you can give.

“I fuck you now,” he whispers again, this time against your neck, and there’s no more doubt in it. Just certainty. Heat. Devotion.

And this time, you believe him.

He doesn’t rush. Never does. Viktor’s the kind of man who studies everything like it’s worth knowing—you included. Especially you.

His hands move with purpose now, slow but unrelenting, undoing the distance between you piece by piece. When fabric shifts, it’s like he’s peeling the world back just to find skin beneath it. His breath warms the places he uncovers, and he’s whispering things you can barely catch—soft praises in that accent-laced voice, too close to your ear, too tender to ignore.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he murmurs, kissing a path down the side of your throat. “You think I care for angles and bones when it’s you that ruins me like this?”

He presses against you, hips already betraying the control his voice pretends to hold. He’s hard. You can feel it, and the knowledge of it makes your whole body tighten with want. But more than that—it’s the way he touches you like he’s learning you for the first time and memorizing you for the hundredth. He doesn’t skip over anything. Every inch of you is received. Held. Wanted.

When you arch into him, he groans, low and broken, like the sound has been sitting in his chest for hours just waiting to escape.

His hands guide yours, dragging them under the hem of his shirt, letting you feel the sharp lines of him, the tension in his stomach, the shiver in his spine when you touch something just right.

“You make me—” he cuts off with another kiss, deeper now, more urgent, like he can’t bear being separate for even a breath longer. “Let me show you.”

And when he sinks into you—slow, careful, deliberate—it feels like gravity tipping sideways. Like everything real has narrowed to this: the stretch, the heat, the press of him fitting into every part of you like he’s meant to be there.

He curses in his mother tongue, forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged.

“You feel—gods, you feel perfect,” he chokes out. “You always do.”

The rhythm he finds is gentle but firm, hips snapping just enough to make you gasp, to make him bite his lip at the sound. He’s murmuring things now, almost delirious with the feel of you—how warm, how real, how here you are.

“I want you loud,” he says, voice thick and low. “Want to hear what I do to you.”

And you give it to him—all the sounds he asks for, all the breathless gasps, the broken moans. Because it’s him. Because it’s Viktor. Because he’s touching you like you’re a prayer he didn’t know he still believed in.

And by the time you both fall apart, tangled and panting, neither of you has anything left to prove.