#so i spent an hour to-at-from the hospital for no reason

[pinehutch]

Tuesdays were a mistake

[cassandralexxx]

Actually no I am so pressed like it is actually absurd the number of times I have had to say “well English is my first language” while up here these past few years. to a point it’s like kind of insulting like people seem to ignore all of my background and greater details about myself and focus in on half of my ethnicity.

[bunny-jpeg]

love is a kick to the stomach

max verstappen - sequel to: lust is a loaded hand gun

tags: smut/fluff, pregnancy & kids, falling in love, dad!max, body worship, tenderness, plot, cowgirl position

a/n: this was made possible by the support of over a dozen people asking for a sequel! i hope you enjoy it <3

"are you sure you're going to be fine on your own?" your former teammate charles asked as he helped you pack the last of your suitcases. your apartment in monaco was bare, and for good reason, you were going home.

you replied with a shrug, "i'll be fine. i mean if i could sustain a driving career for as long as i did. i can handle raising a baby." you rubbed your lower back a little bit.

charles said,"i guess so, you know, monaco isn't a terrible place to raise a child." he gestured to himself with raised eyebrows.

"as much as i'd love to." you said, "i think people will start to raise eyebrows when they see max's look-alike running around. plus, i guess it's a way to get away from it. something simpler for my kid."

you hadn't spoken to the father of your son, max didn't know you were pregnant. and it was the best for everyone if he never knew that you had a child with him.

you remember the first time you held nicolas in your arms, it took you close to ten hours for you to deliver him. you had to say, the aches and pains of racing were nothing compared to the rising anxiety and pain of delivering a child. didn't help he was stubborn like this father. you tried not to think about max too much during the moments of lessened pain. part of you wanted him there, while you were determined to raise your child alone. the moments of weakness you felt during delivery made you want to hastily unblock max's number and call him before the next contractions came.

"okay, okay. just you and me, baby, just you and me." you told yourself as you laid in the hospital bed with your belly swollen from the months of carrying your son. you hissed through your teeth as another contraction hit.

in the end, you had nicolas. or nico as you called him. tired, over-heated as you pushed out your baby. the nurse told you it was a boy. wrapped in a blanket as he was placed on your chest. you could only describe it as maternal warmth as you cried. this was your baby. your little nico. "congratulations." the nurse told you as you held onto him gently. when you gave birth to your son, max was in monaco streaming with the rest of the redline team. fully unaware that you just had his child.

you lived a quiet life after that, but sometimes you could still feel the rumble of the track in your soul. it pulled you in, there was no reason for it to come back. there was no way you could, nico needed his mother and you made the choice to start a family of your own.

"nico!" you giggled towards your toddler, nico was now close to three years old! you picked him up from his spot at the coffee table, surrounded by papers and markers. you gave him a kiss on the cheek and said, "remember uncle charlie?" you swayed a little with the child in your arms.

the little boy nodded, "uh-huh." charles sent you and nico christmas presents every year. he even visited once or twice during summer break and spent a week with the two of you, he loved the time away from the hustle and bustle of racing. nico knew uncle charlie mostly because of leo, you had to teach him how to be gentle with the dog.

"well, he is inviting us somewhere. we're going to see him race, just like what mama used to do." it was the pre-season testing, it would be nice to see everyone. see how things changed in the three years since you left, "i know you've been asking about the cars." you smiled at the little boy.

nico really was the son of two racers, even now he was colouring pages of cars and he learned some of his colours from the cars in your neighbourhood. his expression light up, "the cars?"

you chuckled and said, "yes! we'll see the cars go really fast." it felt somewhat silly to say that raising a child felt more fulfilling than any of the titles you won.

it was almost more challenging with more rewards. driving was intense and lit an inferno in your stomach. but, you were constantly swarmed by the media with people yelling in your ear at all times. you were both hated and loved by the press, the organization and the fans. and while parenthood was harder in a lot of ways, it was nice. it was quieter. you saw friends, you found interest in painting, you read all the books you bought on your travels as a racer. the best part about having a kid was having a travel buddy. you weren't your stats or your trophies, you were just you.

but driving was a drug, and you also wanted to see the cars go very fast. so within a couple of weeks you were on the track for the pre-season.

"and that nico, is a racing car." you pointed towards the red ferrari car. a similar one to the one you drove. and you watched your young son light up the way you did all those years prior.

-

you knew you were going to see max. it was stupid to think that you could not see him. he had won the previous year's wdc, he was everywhere. so while you spoke to lewis and charles, you caught sight of him. and he caught sight of the toddler in your arms.

charles looked over to where your gaze was and said, "oh shit." then tried to shift over to sort of usher you and nico away from the gaze of max. but you reached out and touched your former teammates shoulder.

"it's fine..." you assured him. the past year, as it felt like nico was growing so much everyday. the feelings about max had resurfaced. while you believed that you and your network of friends and family could raise nico just fine. max didn't know that nico existed. a night of passion was just that in max's mind.

you shifted your toddler in your arms and looked over to max. you smiled and gave him a small wave. and you could see the expression cross max's face.

nico let go of the front of your shirt and made child's grabby-hands towards the man. and max took a bold step forward, and then another, and then another before he was crowded in your space. an expression across his face as he looked down at you and nico.

"hey." you said.

"hi." he replied. he raised his hand for a moment, but stopped himself. he swallowed and asked, "who is this?"

you looked down at the boy who was holding onto your shirt once more. you smiled at max, "nicolas. but everyone calls him nico. he's my son."

our son.

max swallowed and looked at the boy. he patted him on the top of the head and smiled, "well, hello nico. your mama was an amazing driver." he looked at you once more before you were pulled away by charles to see the rest of the ferrari team. max watched you walk away, just as he did all those years prior.

-

"can i watch nico?" charles asked while

"i can watch him just fine. i've been doing it for three years." you chuckled as you grabbed a chip from the bag and ate it.

charles crossed his arms and looked at you, "when was the last time you had a break? plus me and alexandra are thinking about, maybe, having a child once my career winds down." he smiled a little, "want to make sure that i can handle a three year old."

you looked to your son on the carpeted floor playing with the duplo blocks that you had brought with you. you then looked to charles and asked, "so you're probably assuming that if you can handle the son of me and him, you can handle your own child?"

charles nodded, "the child of ferrari's princess and mad max. must be a handful." he laughed a little.

"he's not the son of satan, charles." you playfully shoved your former teammate. and he shrugged. you were thankful in a way that you didn't go with charles' plan for him to father your child. you felt like that would've been more complicated than what you had now, since you liked charles' current partner.

"take the night off or at least a few hours. go do something for yourself." charles gave you a sympathetic glance. and you had no choice to concede.

he was right, since nico's birth you had no time for yourself unless he was asleep. but usually you fell asleep too. in the end you dressed nicely, in a pencil skirt and a white blouse. you had your purse on hand and told charles to text you if there were any issues. and you made nico promise you to be good. you kissed the boy's cheek before you headed out.

you ended up at a bar. it wasn't busy and you blended in with the other patrons. the press didn't bother you too much, you had been out of the spotlight for long that it was mostly making the public aware that you still existed and now you had a kid.

"well, well, well." a man's voice caught your attention. you looked up from your phone to see max by your table, "has ferrari's princess finally come back to her castle."

you swallowed, "hi, max."

"where's the little one?"

"with charles tonight."

max nodded, "i was going to make a joke about him being the father... but i know that's not true." he sat down across from you at the table. he rested his forearms on the table, his watch shined in the low light of the bar, "what happened?"

"nothing happened. i just retired."

"with my son... a son i knew nothing about." his voice was low, "why didn't you tell me? do you think so low of me i wouldn't have tried to help? you ran off back home and blocked me..." there was a look in his eyes.

"i didn't want to burden the world champion." you lied as you took a sip of your stiff drink. you felt tension in your shoulders as you took a sip. your heart rattled in your chest, "i didn't expect you to do anything. i didn't need you to."

max reached across the small table and took a hold of your wrist to bring your closer. then he locked his fingers with yours. he said, "maybe i wanted to... did you never think i wanted to be a father?"

you swallowed, "no." you assumed he didn't. not after everything, you heard enough of his father's berating in your karting career. the angry dutch words followed by insults in english so everyone knew what was being said. and that apprently only scratched the surface of what had been done to him. you thought max was a good fit because he would be so disinterested in being a parent. but as he looked at you, hand in yours. you realized you made a grave error. you said, "being a parent isn't easy."

max chuckled, "i know. i'm not stupid. i thought about that night we shared, it comes back to me. i've never wanted someone the way i wanted you. and to know you carried my child, it only pulls me in more."

you took another sip of your drink with your free hand and said, "and what are you going to do about it, verstappen?" you may be a mother now, but you were ferrari's princess, the temptress on wheels. you'd still go toe-to-toe with any man.

max simply smiled.

-

you ended up in max's hotel room. his hands on you like they were all those years ago. he touched you the way a lover would as the two of you passionately made out. you moaned against his lips and you held onto his strong shoulders.

"i thought about you every day of your retirement. i wanted to know what happened. i thought you were sick." he kissed along your neck, his hands at your waist.

"i mean, i did have quite the stomach bug. took ten hours to get him out." you moaned a little bit as his lips grazed over your pulse point. you could feel a surge of pleasure through you. you had been with anyone intimately since max. you didn't have time for dates let alone hook-ups.

"i should've been there. i would've been there in a heartbeat. you, me, nico... a family." he said as he looked to you once more and you toyed with the material of his shirt, "i always had a fondness for you. you let nothing stop you."

you smiled, "i always thought you wanted a model... not a driver."

he pressed his chest against yours and looked into your eyes, "maybe in another time. i wish i could've seen you pregnant." he swallowed as his hands touched your breasts.

you chuckled lowly, "someone wanted a milf?"

he shook his head as he pressed his forehead to yours, "no, no. i wanted to see your body change from what we made. the child we made together."

"but racing..."

he groaned, "fuck it. choose between another trophy taking up space in my apartment... or a home with you and nico. such a hard choice, don't you think?" he chuckled as he held you so close to him. he groped your breasts, "a man who finds more fulfillment in pieces of plastic and metal than having a home to go to is a stupid man."

you chuckled, "i guess i didn't want to be your wag either."

he shook his head, "i don't think you can be a wag if you played the sport. if you are worried about there being expectations placed on you, then don't worry. if you can't drive, then i'll drive twice as hard for us. any ten second gap i have will be twenty seconds, because i know you only expect the best."

you felt warmth in your cheeks. and eventually he led you to the bedroom. you ended up on the bed with max undoing your button up. you giggled, "ah, does someone like mothers?"

he groaned with his nose against your heated skin, "only when they had my kid... nico looked exactly like me." he said as he got the button up off your shoulder.

you moaned, but then yelped as he pushed you back onto the bed. you looked up at him, "i'm on birth control." you licked your lips as you got out of your bra and max took off his t-shirt, "fuck, now i remember why i wanted to have a baby with you."

he put his hands on his hips and smiled. tiny waist, broad shoulders. a certain strength to him, but he didn't look like a dehydrated mess. he was strong in a way that excited you, but you also knew that he loved a good meal. long before he gorged himself on your cunt, he happily ate the meals you cooked. you remember he even said, "you'd make a great wife." which honestly sowed the seed that led to nico.

the night of passion that led to the making of your son. you could feel max's eyes wander across your body and he licked his lips. he said, "you look good. bit more curves than when we last were like this."

"yeah, i had an eight pound baby." you chuckled as you got the rest of your clothes off. max's hungry gaze lingered, "i got a few more curves that a track as carry him for nine months, you know he was three days overdue."

"stubborn." max laughed as he unzipped his jeans, "just like his mama."

you narrowed your eyes, "no, just like his old man." and max was all over you. the kissed became hungry and needy. neither of you had been intimate with another person since the night you made nico. three years ago. you were busy with a baby while max couldn't get you out of his head. he tried to find another woman, he tried to be close to someone. but you always pulled in the back of his mind.

both of you were into the hotel room and max kissed at your breasts. your breasts were roughly average size before you got pregnant. the training and weight guidelines for racing prevented you from having a big chest. but you went up at least a cup and a half during your pregnancy. and max loved kissing the heated skin.

"fuck." you gasped. both naked on the bed, moved against one another. it was like being in a familiar place. you knew max's body just as you did all those years ago. you kissed him and ended up straddled max's waist.

he was up against the pillows and your knees on either side of him. your hands roamed his chest and he shuddered. he looked up at you with those blue eyes, "please, fuck. please, give me a chance. give me a chance to be there for you and nico.."

you swallowed, you never expected that from max. a man on the top like that wouldn't easily quiver at the aspect of being a father. but max wanted it. he wanted the family. he wanted a home. you sighed to yourself, you guessed an apartment full of trophies wasn't enough.

you put a hand on his chest before you sank on his cock, "max. if nico decided not to peruse racing.... would you still love him?" that was a conversation you had to have with yourself. you loved racing, that was your passion for years. but you promised yourself to never be the parent that you saw early in your career. twisting their children to make them conform to the parent's standards. to force them into racing.

he said, those blue eyes gazed up at you, "if nico wanted to race. i'm behind him a hundred percent. if it doesn't, nothing changes... he is still my son. i'm behind him through everything."

you leaned down to kiss max on the lips, "fuck, max." you sank down onto his cock and continued to kiss him. you splayed your hands across his broad chest and continued to move against him.

"shit." he shuddered. he felt a certain euphoria that left him needy for more. never had he had soemthing like this. not since the last time he had you. it was a amazing. to have you so close once more. he wrapped his strong arms around you and moved against you. the kisses shared between you two were hot and heavy, it left him feeling tense in a good way. to have you on top of him, close to him was a feeling he wished he could never forget.

even after three years you still occupied his mind in ways that left him shuddering against you. after three years, after all this time, he still wanted to map your body with his tongue. even the changes post-pregnancy. he held onto you and kissed at your heated skin. he wished he was there, seeing the progress of you carrying nico. to be a father. he moved against you, he held you. he loved you, but he had been holding onto that love for some time. unable to properly display it, and to find out you had a child with him only fueled the passion for you. the two of you moved against one another, you both felt the intense pleasure from the heated movements against one another.

this was how you should've been a long time ago. if max had known you wanted a baby, he would've happily had one with you. but he should've been there for every moment of it. even if you couldn't race because of the pregnancy, max would kiss every winning trophy in your honor, he'd race for both of you. and then come to the paddock with you and nico, a family of three. a family he always wanted.

he wanted to kiss you in front of the cameras. even if you were retired, he wanted to make you feel that every winning was for both of you. he kissed at you heated skin and you moaned, he felt the warmth of love in his gut. you two should've been married by now, a house somewhere quiet. it didn't even have to be in monaco. max would happily pack up his racing sim gear and his cats, and move to anywhere you desired. he hoped that you two could be a family.

to come home after a triple header and see you and nico. the boy looked so much like him. those round cheeks, those wide eyes. the excitement on the track and his need to be close to his mother (you). it screamed a young max, but max wanted to be a better father. he wanted to be present, he wanted to be there for his son.

he groaned, "please, please. let me into your little family." he kissed as your larger breasts and moved against you. the pleasure was deep inside of him. to have you once more felt like a dream.

you held onto his short hair for a moment, you groaned a little bit as you felt the immense heat between you two. you leaned down and kissed him on the head with such tenderness. this wasn't the kind of sex you had all that time ago, this was something more softer. more gentle. less like a means to an end, and more like you two were becoming familiar with each other's bodies again.

"you look perfect," he said lowly, "i'm surprised you hadn't picked uo a husband after all the time." he held on a little tighter and worked your body against him. the pleasure shot through the both of you which only spurred you on the move faster.

your bucked your hips against his, you felt the inferno in your belly as you held his face and kissed him once more. if he wanted to be in nico's life then you'd allow it. you'd let max be involved, be the father he wanted to be. you thought his trophies were more important, but seeing him, his eagerness to be in nico's life made you realize that he wanted a family, a home. you kissed him once more as the two of you thrusted against one another.

you knew racing would always pull you back in eventually. it had that effect on people. it was infectious, even tucked away in your domestic life. you still sat on the couch with your rambunctious toddler and watched the races at odd hours.

"why do you want a life with me and nico, you could have any-"

"i don't want to hear it. nico deserves a father and you deserve a loving partner... hell, maybe even a husband." he said with total conviction as he moved against you. the pleasure felt like it was going to boil over soon.

you moved against him, eagerness in your movements. you couldn't think of anymore things to prevent max from being part of your family. your movements staggered and you felt the pleasure bloom into something more. you hissed, "fuck," while you moved against him. you felt the inferno in your soul, the need for him in ways you didn't need any other man.

this was the father of your son, and you carried feelings for him just as you carried nico. the combination of you two, the affection you had for one another in a brief moment. it was something you wanted to expand on. you wanted to love max verstappen.

you held onto the father of your child. you came around his cock and arched your back. you felt the fury of lust through your body as you moved against him. you laid a heavy kiss on his lips as your pussy clenched around his cock, "fuck." you said, words muffled by the kiss. max wrapped his strong arms around you and moved against you further. you felt his cock nudge against some of your softest areas and it made you toes curl through climax.

he groaned into the kiss and continued to move against you. a few more heavy strokes and he finished inside of you. he practically melted against you and you smiled against his lips with affection. his brain felt swamped with emotion as he said, "i love you."

and without thinking you replied, "i love you too, max." then kissed him once more with total affection for one another.

max swallowed as he held you as you slowed your pace to a stop. he craned his neck to press his cheek against your soft stomach, "don't leave again... please."

"max." you panted and combed your fingers through his hair. he held onto you tighter as if you were going to slip away.

he said, in a tone you never thought you could hear from a world champion, "don't.. don't leave." this was supposed to be simple. max was a means to a child, but he wanted to be in nico's life. he wanted to be a father.

you wrapped your arms around him and held him close to your abdomen. you exhaled deeply and said, "i don't want to pressure you into being a father... if you're going to be in his life, you're going all in. he needs stability."

max lifted his head to look at you. those blue eyes dazzled in the low light of his hotel room. he held onto you a little tighter, not enough to bruise however. he said, "i'm all in. you, me, and nico." like a promise.

maybe it was the post-orgasm hormones or maybe because you became a tad more in touch with your emotions after having a child. but when max said that, you cried.

-

"go nico! go, go!!!" you shouted as your nine year old sailed past the finish line in first place and you broke into a grin. your husband wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close into a kiss. you laughed into the kiss and said to your husband, "oh man. ow, ow. okay, okay!" you looked down at your swollen middle, "someone isn't happy about the excitement."

"sorry there, little one." max's hand rubbed your swollen middle. his wedding band gleamed in the afternoon light. you were welcoming a son in four months and could already feel the commotion of racing.

you smiled at max for a moment before your son got out of the cart and you were moving as fast as you could to greet him. with his helmet off, you cupped your son's chubby cheeks. he was looking more like max every day, but smashed records the way you did.

you were soon a family of four. you didn't live in your home country and max had moved away from monaco when you got married. max was a good father, as he picked up nico with ease.

"you did amazing, nico. good job!" he beamed at the little boy and the boy beamed back at him. you knew that people shouldn't have children to heal a part of themselves. you learned that when you were pregnant the first time. but when max gave praise to your son, he was giving the young boy the support he never got. that if nico was going to eventually end up in formula one, it wasn't going to be the way that max was brought up.

he'd do it right.

stern when he needed to be. you'd both push nico to be the best, but also give him the love a wide-eyed, chubby cheeked boy needed. and as you leaned down as best as you could to kiss your son on the cheek. you felt like a family. it felt like home.

you were confident that you could've raised both nico and your future son by yourself. but it was an adventure you'd rather share with max. <3

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Unconsummated -Aemond T.

Aemond finds himself quickly falling in love during the week long celebration of Aegon and Helaena’s wedding. Sadly his perfect lady is already married to a Baratheon. Happily, the idiot has yet to consummate their marriage as he never wanted to marry Y/n Arryn in the first place.

Aemond sets out to take the sweet girl for himself and he will not take ‘No’ for an answer…

It was much too loud for her tastes.

Y/n’s husband lived for parties like this, being honored that he was invited to the wedding of Aegon and Helaena and enjoying himself in every way he could. He was drunk 10 minutes after the ceremony and would be for the entirety of the next 6 days that the week long party went on for.

Y/n left the room as soon as it was acceptable for her to do so, her husband being locked on another noble woman, one who would happily spread her legs for him in a dark hallway later that night and she could do without the embarrassment of that. She ended up locating the library on her walk through the castle and she couldn’t help but stop. The room was huge, 10x the size of her husbands library as his father, his fathers father and on and on before had never been able to read (and neither could her husband).

He forced her to read all of his ravens to him in private as if he believed that no one was aware that he couldn’t read them himself. Y/n ended up knowing quite a lot about the houses and their leaders, her husband threatening to kill her if she ever breathed a private word of it. She was privy to quite a bit of sensitive information because of his illiteracy, knowing that many houses had secretly sworn to follow Aegon as the true born King or people like her husband who were sworn to Rhaenyra as the King commanded. She honestly didn’t care who ran the realm, all Y/n cared about was her small life, her duties, and her children (of which her husband didn’t seem to care to give her). He was too busy with his whores to give her a child.

She found herself a book that interested her, it was a book on High Valyrian which she had always wanted to learn. She had been teaching herself for only about 20 minutes before she heard a throat clear and she jumped up in fear, the book landing on the floor as her eyes met with one purple one staring back at her.

‘My Prince! I am so sorry! I did not know anyone would be here while the celebration went on…’

He stared at her for a moment before responding. ‘No reason to apologize, I understand more than anyone not wanting to celebrate with drunken strangers.’

‘Thank you for your hospitality…I will leave you be then-‘

‘No!’ He insisted, startling her a bit. ‘I’m sorry, I mean no, you don’t need to leave. Please, sit.’ He moved to take the seat beside her, picking up her book and looking at it before smiling. ‘Teaching yourself High Valyrian? Impressive…I am Aemond by the way, might I know my beautiful company’s name?’

‘Y/n Baratheon, my Prince. It is an honor.’

The two of them spent the next 3 hours by the fire in the Library just talking. They got to know each other very well and Aemond even gave her her first lesson in High Valyrian which he admitted she was a quick study at. It wasn’t until Aemond asked about her family that any of their conversation became uncomfortable.

‘You’re married to the eldest Baratheon son, are you not? I knew he had a wife but I did not know he had brought her with him while he-’ Aemond stopped himself as if he was unsure if she knew what her husband was up to.

‘I am aware of his indiscretions. It is how he has always been, nothing to concern yourself with my Prince.’ Aemond’s face was stoic as always but she sensed sympathy like she got from most other people. ‘He never wanted to marry me, his father wanted my name and the alliance of certain supporters. He had hoped marrying me to his son would stop his…activities and make him happy to have a family…he has no interest in such things however and I am left 6 months after our marriage unloved and childless…I’m sorry…you don’t care about that.’ She laughed though Aemond could tell it was hollow.

‘Your husband is an idiot if he does not want you my lady. I have known you for mere hours and I know that you are a smart, kind hearted girl without a judgmental bone in your body. You would be a good mother, of that I am sure.’ Aemond had no clue where that came from. Seeing this girl all alone and feeling unloved was breaking his heart…what is she doing to him?

‘Thank you my Prince, you are too kind.’

Y/n retired not long after, in bed hours before her husband joined her, collapsing into the bed in his clothes and for once she did not move to take care of him, Y/n left him in his clothes and on his chest in the bed.

Her days went on like that for most of the week. She would have breakfast and enjoy a walk in the gardens before finding her way to the library again and spending the rest of the entire day with Aemond. They both made an appearance at the party every night as was expected before abandoning the noisy, drunken mess and enjoying each others company again.

Aemond continued teaching her Valyrian and they could hold conversations now (albeit simple ones) as she was a fast learner. He also told her all about Vhagar, loving her interest in his dragon where most ladies were terrified.

She had raged when he told her of how he really lost his eye, furious that his nephew would do such a thing, all of them. She also condemned the ladies in the court who had made Aemond feel ugly just because of his injured eye. She swore to the heavens that he was one of if not the most beautiful man she had ever seen and she would not take his negative words into account.

Aemond had quickly come to love Y/n and she loved him as well, they both knew but neither of them crossed the line to say it. Though as her husband had never consummated their marriage Aemond had decided that he was going to ask his father to annul the marriage so that he could marry her instead. It would be a good match for his family, Y/n originally being an Arryn, and he knew that her father would take insult from the Baratheons for not taking care of his daughter or making their marriage legal. He was determined to convince her that night, the second to last day of the celebration, however his soon to be Princess never arrived.

Aemond waited for over an hour before searching the party. He found her husband, nearly as drunk as Aegon and with his tongue down a ladies throat but Y/n was not there.

He then left the castle and walked the gardens in search of her as he knew she enjoyed the Red Keeps gardens. After about 5 minutes he found her sitting on a wall overlooking the beach.

‘You are difficult to find, my dear.’ She jumped, turning slightly but not looking at him, turning back to the view.

‘I am sorry my Prince. I have enjoyed our time together but it must come to an end, please forgive me but I wish to be left alone now.’ He was stunned, unsure of how to respond but knowing that he wasn’t about to leave her like this.

‘Whatever I have done, please forgive me Byka Zokla? I do not-‘ (Little Wolf)

‘You have done nothing my Prince! It is I who is in the wrong. I have led you to believe that we could be friends and that was wrong of me. My job is to be there for my husband and I have not been doing my duty-‘

‘Your duty? What about him? He has not taken care of you as is his job as your husband and protector! You’re not waiting on him hand and foot anymore so he is upset, yes? Please? Do not push me away Y/n, I can help you to-‘ he cut himself off as he turned her head to make her look at him and he finally saw what she was hiding from him. Her right eye was black and blue, her bottom lip was split in 2 places and her throat was bruised, clearly in the shape of hands. ‘Oh my Love! No! This will not stand! Come with me.’ He insisted, holding out his hand. She hesitated but he looked down at her softly, giving her time to decide. ‘Trust me?’ After another few seconds Y/n took his hand and allowed him to whisk her off and they arrived in the Small Councils meeting room where the Queen walked in not a moment later having been fetched by a guard for her son.

‘Aemond…what is the meaning of this?!’ Alicent snapped, storming over to the girl and seemingly thinking that her son had done it but she changed her tune when the girl flinched away and hid behind him instead.

‘Mother. This is the girl I spoke to you about, her husband has proved…ungallant. I wish to take her as my bride.’ Alicent was looking over his ladies face when she fully understood what he had said and jerked her head up.

‘My son, she is married already. You cannot just take another man’s wife, even as a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. You-‘

‘Their marriage has not been consummated.’ She stopped speaking and looked between them in shock.

‘Well…that changes things…she will need to testify it to the King and he will need to annul the marriage before anything else can happen. It will take time. I will speak to the Hand and start the process for it, we will find a room for her here to keep her safe from now on.’ Alicent turned to Y/n and held out her hand. ‘Come, let’s get you out of those dirty, bloody clothes and put you to bed.’

‘I will come and say “Goodnight” in a bit. You have a bath and relax…I will take care of you, I promise.’ Aemond swore, kissing her hand and watching her blush before she walked off with his mother.

Aemond straightened himself as she left the room and turned to head back to the party where he almost immediately found the man he was looking for.

Y/n’s husband was holding a full goblet of wine with his arm around a ladies waist looking quite content. Aemond moved beside him to grab himself a cup of wine, purposefully causing the idiot to bump into him.

���Fuck! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.’ He laughed obnoxiously and Aemond found himself wondering how Y/n ever stood being around him at all.

‘Evidently.’ He rolled his eyes and could instantly see that this man didn’t appreciate the action.

‘You may be a Prince but you’re still only a second son, and no where close to Daddies favorite. Watch yourself. I am the head of Storm’s End and soon enough the Vale, you are nothing and even less than that without your Dragon behind you.’ The man was clearly drunk as fuck but Aemond was happy with that. It would make this easier…

Aemond smirked as he leaned in close, the young Tully girl that he had had on his arm long gone, not willing to upset a Prince, let alone the one eyed prince himself. ‘I fucked your wife.’ He mumbled, close enough that only he could hear and he absolutely did.

‘What the fuck did you say?’ He snarled, eyes nearly catching fire in his instant rage but Aemond stayed calm. He needed to control himself for this to work.

‘I fucked…your wife…Gods knows you weren’t doing it. Such a lonely girl, desperate for a man’s affection and all she was given was an insolent child. It’s pathetic. Don’t worry though, soon enough she will be raising my son and she won’t be worried about you anymore.’ The boy was practically shaking in his rage, fists clenched and men were beginning to take notice, several of the women moving to alert the guards so Aemond would need to do this quickly. ‘Give it 9 months and everyone will know exactly who your wife strayed from you with, the silver haired boy suckling on her tits will be evidence enough. I’m sure with enough words to the King I can ensure my son will inherit all of your lands when you die. Too bad you weren’t man enough to impregnate her yourself or y-‘ He was finally cut off by a truly pathetic punch to his face but he played into it, falling dramatically to the ground and biting his tongue, spitting blood out to make it seem worse than it had been.

He was grabbed instantly and held back from coming at Aemond again who smirked up at him, the boy only seeming to now realize what had happened. ‘Chain this drunken fool and take him to the Black Cells for-‘

‘No!’ Aemond snapped, cutting off his Grandsire. ‘It was me that he assaulted and as a Prince of the realm it is my decision what happens to him.’ He declared and though Otto looked at him strangely he nodded nonetheless. He reached out, grabbing the collar of the drunk and yanked him forward, dragging him from the party and outside through the front gate.

‘Aemond-‘

‘He dies tonight, would you like to argue?’ The one eyed Prince hissed at his Grandsire who knew not to argue with him in this state.

Vhagar peeked her eyes open at the sound of men approaching her beach, seeing her rider dragging along a man that was trying very hard to get away or hurt him making her bare her teeth and hiss instantly.

‘Dokimarvos Vhagar! Umbās!’ He spoke to her and she sat her head up and waited for her rider to speak. *Pay Attention Vhagar! Wait!*

‘This is a message to anyone that thinks to defy me or Gods forbid, harm the people I care about. I am not merciful, you can find mercy with my family but not here. Anyone who wants to disagree with this will not end up in the Black cells, but with my Dragon as their punishment!’ Aemond ignored Otto who was trying to stop his rushed decision. ‘Dohaerās Vhagar! Kisās!’ *Obey Vhagar! Eat!*

Everyone watched on as the giant she-dragon lifted her head over the abusive asshole and opened her mouth wide before chomping down on the man and seeming to swallow him whole which had several people screaming and one man actually fainting.

Aemond was proud of himself, he had saved his girl and it barely took an hour.

He quickly made his way back into the Red Keep and up to the room that he knew his mother had put his soon-to-be wife in. As he entered, knocking softly as to not frighten her, he saw her in a sleep shift and he couldn’t help but stare. His girl was beautiful and she was going to be all his now.

‘Did you have a nice bath?’ He asked, moving to pull the blankets back for her and enjoying her soft blush as she crawled into the bed.

‘It was very relaxing. I’ve never had servants to wash me like that before.’ She teased, though Aemond was surprised by that.

‘You are a lady, are you not? How-‘

‘My mother took care of us as children and when we grew she insisted that we were able to bathe ourselves. My husband however, did not want anyone seeing me in a state of undress…it was strange but nice I suppose. A lady could get used to such treatment.’ Her soft laugh was everything Aemond loved as he reached out and cupped the side of her face.

‘You will get used to it. You are to be my wife, and my wife will have the best of everything. I will bathe you myself if it brings you happiness.’ He teased her, kissing the side of her head before standing again. ‘Get some sleep my lady, no one will bother you, you have my word-‘

‘Will you stay?’ She asked and though he was startled he did not let it show, knowing she was still probably feeling afraid after all that had happened, especially now that she’s in a strange place that she’s sure to never leave again. She would need to get used to being his and knowing that she is completely safe here, she would learn to trust what he said when he told her that he would never let anyone harm her again-let alone another husband. Aemond removed his shoes and coat, as well as his weapons before crawling onto the other side and feeling her head rest on his shoulder. He was careful not to touch any of her injuries as he let her drift off to sleep. He knew his mother would be upset at his sleeping here but he didn’t care. Y/n would be his wife by the weeks end and he would give her everything that bitch of a “husband” could not.

Aemond Targaryen Masterlist

[motorsportbarbie13]

A Package Deal - epilogue 1

In which Lando has doubts about his worth.

warnings: angst and talk of parental death. fluff at the end tho. pairing: lando norris x singlemom!reader word count...idk like 2k? maybe less!

A Package Deal - A Package Deal - Part 2 - A Package Deal - Part 3 - A Package Deal - Part 4 - A Package Deal - Part 5 - A Package Deal - Part 6

"Today was...a lot." You sigh, collapsing into bed beside an already tucked in Lando.

"Mhm." Lando's reply is quick, a sound devoid of any emotion that has your head swinging over to where he sits beside you.

You, Lando, Stella and the rest of your family had spent most of the day moving things from your old house into the house you and Lando had purchased a few weeks after returning home from Switzerland. Both of you had wanted a fresh start as a new family and this home was supposed to be your new beginning. Something about his demeanor right now though had alarm bells ringing in your head.

"Everything okay my love?"

At this point in your relationship, you and Lando could pretty much communicate solely with an exchanged look across a room and a change in posture. You could tell when something was off with your fiance.

"Are we sure Stella should be calling me dad?"

If you had been asked to predict what was bothering Lando before he had opened his mouth, the question he asked you as he sat avoiding your stunned look was simply not even in the top 1,000 things that could have been on that list.

"I'm sorry, come again?" You try so hard to keep your anxiety and anger in check at the absolute audacity of his question, hoping that he has a good reason to be questioning his role in Stella's life.

The same heavy weight of anxiety sits on Lando's shoulders, unable to look you in the eyes. "I mean, I'm not." He says softly. "She has a dad. He died but I can't replace him. I shouldn't want to replace him."

You stare at Lando for several moments trying to come up with a response. This was certainly not the conversation you had anticpated having tonight, not after spending nearly 12 hours moving house but, here you were. Lando and you hadn't talked much about your ex. There wasn't much to say. You had dated when you were teenagers, got pregnant by accident as teenagers sometimes do, and by the time you had Stella you had gone your separate ways. He had been a good dad to Stella in those eight months before the accident, of course, but he had never connected with Stella the way you had when she was a baby.

Gingerly moving over so you're shoulder to shoulder with Lando, you lay your head on his shoulder. Relief that washes over you when he drops his head onto yours and takes your hand in his, playing with your engagement ring while he sits quietly.

Lando wasn't having second thoughts about you and Stella, about his commitment to either of you. Absolutely not. He was insecure and worried about stepping into a role that he thought he didn't deserve.

"Lan, Stella was eight months old when Chris died. You're not trying to replace him but you're the only dad she's ever known, baby. Where is all this coming from?"

If you know Lando like you think you do, you're pretty sure somethings got his anxiety up and he's worried himself into a spiral where he's convinced himself that he's not good enough or worthy of the family that he's got now.

And when he opens his mouth to explain, your suspecisons are confirmed.

"When I was packing up Stella's room today, I came across a few pictures of Chris holding Stella in the hospital." A bright shock of pain slices through Lando's chest at the thought of that picture and the feelings of jealousy that had come with seeing it for the first time. He couldn't believe how jealous he had felt knowing that he had missed that with Stella. With you. How he'd missed seeing you pregnant for the first time, how even when you started a family together like you'd talked about countless amounts of times, he'd never truly be the first one to have a family with you. He had spent the rest of the day thinking about how maybe he didn't deserve to have Stella call him dad anymore, how he hadn't earned it because there had been someone before him.

"I just don't want her to grow up thinking I'm trying to take his place. She has a dad already and what if resents me for stepping into that dad role when she's older? What if I don't deserve to be her dad?"

The pain in Lando's voice has your chest squeezing so painfully it becomes difficult for you to breathe. "Lando." You whisper, interlocking your fingers with his as you nuzzle deeper into his neck. "Baby, I need you to listen to me right now, okay? Can you do that for me?"

You pause, waiting for him to at least confirm he's going to try. When you feel him nod against your head, a small humm emanating from his throat, you continue. "Stella was eight months old when Chris died, she has no memories of him. You are the only dad she's ever known, okay? You. Do you understand me?"

"But what if..."

"No." You interrupt, tone a bit harsher than you intended. "Nope, you need to stop right there with the 'what ifs', Lan. Chris and I were friends for a very long time before we even started dating. I knew him very well and I need you to trust me when I tell you that he would be very much on board with Stella calling you dad."

Lando lifts his head before tilting your chin up so you can finally look at him in the eyes. His brows are furrowed and he's looking down at you like he can't quite believe what you're saying. Like he doesn't have the confidence in himself to believe what you're saying is true.

When he doesn't say anything further, you continue. "That little girl that I just finished tucking into bed adores you. She thinks the absolute world of you, my love. She was the one to call you dad in the first place, and if there's one thing i've learned since becoming a mom its that sometimes you have to trust that what your kid is saying is the truth. They're little humans with feelings and thoughts and beliefs of their own. Stella wouldn't call you dad if she didn't want to."

Your chest rises and falls faster at the end of your little speech, eyes searching Lando's for some kind of hint that you're getting through to him.

And you are. Lando's chest aches with the truth that he knows you're telling him. "I just don't think I could stand knowing I screwed something up with her. That I was a bad dad to her because I'm not really her parent."

You can't help but laugh at that and Lando's brow tugs together in confusion. "Baby, you're more of a parent than you realize."

"What do you mean?"

You reach down and capture Lando's hand in yours before giving it a squeeze. "You're not a true parent until you spend a majority of your time wondering if everything that comes out of your mouth or every decision you make is going to somehow screw up your kid. It's natural and it doesn't mean you're a bad parent."

You take Lando's face in your hands, pulling him towards you. When your nose is a breath away from his and you can almost feel his lips dusting over yours, you grin. "That makes you a good parent, Lando. And an even better one because you're helping raise a baby you didn't make. Stella is as much your baby as she is mine or Chris', do you understand me?"

Tears sting at the back of Lando's eyes. He hadn't realized how much seeing that picture of Chris and Stella in the hospital had bothered him. He felt guilty for ever being jealous of Chris, for being cold to you, for questioning Stella's judgement of her own feelings. All of it comes welling up in his chest, this feeling of overwhelming guilt threatening to drown him for a moment. You can see it happening, the panic attack coming on that you've witnessed before. You know how hard he is on himself, how much he wants to be perfect for everyone else because letting anyone down is akin to a waking nightmare.

"Listen to me." You beg, willing him to open his eyes so he can see how serious you are right now. "Lando, look at me."

Lando's eyes flutter open after a moment and you smile at him. "You are a good dad. The perfect dad for Stella, I swear to you. The first thing she asks me when I pick her up from school is always 'Is Lando home yet?' but since we came home from Switzerland, it's always 'is dad home yet?' Dad. That little girl sees you as her dad and that's the best gift you've ever given me. Do you remember what you told that horrendous PR girl last year?" You pause and Lando chuckles, that day last year in Miami flashing before his eyes.

"You told her Stella and I were the center of your world but you know what? You're the center of mine and Stella's world. I don't think you realize how important you are to other people, to us. Neither of us could survive without you, and that alone makes you worthy of being my husband and my little girl's father, okay?"

Tears stream down both of your faces as the words you've just said hang in the air between you, heavy and silent. You stay quiet, the reverberation of your words etching themselves into Lando's bones. He knows you're right, of course you are. But knowing you're right and beginning to believe it by himself? That was proving to be a little bit harder. But your words help him realize that he's doing a better job than he might think he is.

"Okay." He rasps out before covering your lips with yours, deperatly trying to show you just how much he loves you.

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[homunculus-argument]

My usual problem of "and then some other shit happens" is that they keep piling up on top of each other. This morning, I was just about to start work when

mail comes in. I've received a letter from the tax office.

I open the letter and get a Fuck No Way That's Right kinda bill.

time to hit up my accountant and ask what the fuck do I do now

realise that I haven't delivered my accounting stuff for like four months either, gotta apologise to her about that too

e-mail doesn't go through, double-check the address, re-type my whole apology and explanation again

four consecutive e-mails do not go through

fuck I gotta call them, where's my phone

just as I was about to make a phone call, I receive a phone call

forgot I had a phone appointment with my doctor, turns out I do not have a natural physical resistance to poison damage, and my medication resistance is something else.

confident in my ability to execute two unrelated tasks at once, I take a sip of my tea while on the phone. Naturally I fuck it up and pour the lukewarm tea on my lap instead.

figuring that since I'm unhurt and only poured enough to soak my clothes, not my chair, I'll just sit with the wet tea on my lap until the phonecall is over, and hang them to dry on the balcony later.

phonecall done, I remove my clothes and go hang them up to dry.

spot my little ficus tree cutting on the balcony, decide to water it since it's so hot and I don't want the thing to die.

coming back inside after leaving my clothes on the balcony, my boyfriend sees me undressed and wants affection.

he also wants to show me a video that he came upon.

make myself more tea

coming back to my computer, remember the phonecall I was supposed to make.

call the accounting people and tell them I can't e-mail the person I worked with, and get informed that the person I had been working with quit unexpectedly, and the one currently running the whole business on her own will look into my shit once she's personally out of the hospital. She meant to call me earlier about What The Fuck I'm Doing but unfortunately hospital.

promise her to deliver my accounting things today since it's the least I can do to not make her day any worse than it already is.

save through my paypal activities, log onto my online bank, check my account and do some math to confirm that I should more or less be alright until my next payday. Move some more money to my bank card account for groceries, and log out.

remember that the reason why I logged into my bank in the first place was the accounting, and log back in to get that data.

send my records to my new current accountant with apologies for not doing that for four months despite of being supposed to do it monthly.

finally done with that, satisfied of actually Getting Things Done, I suddenly realise I've spent the past three hours on random sidequests, haven't even touched whatever it was that I was planning to do today, and top of that I've completely forgotten what it was that I meant to do.

waste another half an hour writing a meticulous account of how I spent my morning doing everything else than what I meant to.

[darkmatilda]

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟 | 𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: spencer takes care of you after a serious accident.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: hospital, rehabilitation, neck and brain injury, nud1ty

𝐚/𝐧: this is one of the potential endings of my fanfiction "with the light off" which officialy remains open up to your own interpretation. this version written to comfort all the hearts i've broken <3

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 11k

Spencer felt embarrassed by how, just an hour after leaving the apartment, he already wanted to call her.

She had already occupied a near-constant presence in the back of his mind, slipping in like a shadow—elusive and playful—darting between his thoughts, flitting from one corner to another whenever he tried, even briefly, to forget about her. But now? After that night they had spent together?

Spencer knew a lot about obsession. He understood the weight of the word and was acutely aware of its gravity. Yet he couldn’t deny it—he was obsessed with her. Physical contact had always been a sensitive yet profoundly significant subject for him. He didn’t allow many people that close. 

For him, touch was the ultimate proof of closeness and trust. Intimacy bred attachment. This wasn’t about desire in its rawest form—it was something else… though he wasn’t entirely sure what. He couldn’t define the bond they shared.

He felt bored, detached from the world when she wasn’t in it, and the only thing keeping him tethered to some semblance of normality was the thought—the imagining—that at this very moment, they were breathing the same air.

He was starting to think he might be losing his mind.

He held off on calling her precisely to avoid coming across as a lunatic in her eyes. He managed to restrain himself only once he was at work, where the seriousness of his profession demanded it. In a way, though, he felt lighter. Throughout the day, he was buoyed by the thought of their upcoming meeting, the excitement it brought—and the nerves. That mixture of emotions was enough to make the entire team glance at him with curiosity.

Garcia was handing out case files, her hair recently dyed a vibrant shade of red. Rossi, instead of opening his folder like everyone else, was watching Spencer from across the table, leaning on his elbow.

“Did you win the lottery or something?” he asked, so unexpectedly that Spencer glanced around at the others, unsure who the question was meant for.

When he realized the question was directed at him, he swallowed hard. Morgan’s raised eyebrow seemed to challenge him to a duel.

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“Because you’re practically glowing, sweetheart,” Penelope chimed in with a sly smile. “Don’t think you’re getting away without telling me everything later. I’ll get it out of you, don’t you worry. But for now, let’s get started…”

They immersed themselves in the case, but a few hours later, during a brief moment of downtime, he realized he was looking for an excuse to call her. Was a simple desire to ask what she was up to reason enough?

He wondered if she was still at his apartment. He hoped she was. He knew she’d eventually have to leave to prepare for the shift she was starting later that afternoon, but he couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at him about the whole situation with her roommate’s ex-boyfriend.

Realizing he’d been staring at his phone for far too long and that he’d soon need to get back to work, he made a snap decision and called.

But no one answered.

Logically, he reasoned that mornings were probably her time to sleep. Afterward, he tried sending a text message. But by late evening, when he finally returned to his apartment, he was starting to feel genuinely worried.

The question nagged at him: could it have been about the previous night? Maybe he’d done or said something wrong, something that had put her off completely?

Slowly, he walked into the bedroom, pausing in the doorway as his eyes landed on the perfectly made bed. It definitely hadn’t looked like that when he left it.

Then his gaze fell on the slightly ajar safe, and he froze. The combination was incredibly complicated, so he must have left it open when he took out his gun and badge. Besides those items, there was one more thing inside.

He had once again fallen into the trap of keeping Dilaudid close, even though he wasn’t using it. Was it possible she found it, and that’s why she hadn’t reached out?

It wasn’t that he had lied to her about being clean. She had seen how much effort it took for him to talk about it, so she approached the subject with incredible subtlety, never asking directly, but watching him closely, carefully, yet without pressing.

If she had really found it in his safe, she might have felt betrayed. Or maybe she decided she didn’t want to get involved with someone who had such a problem. Perhaps she had seen the whole previous night as one big mistake and then decided to throw him out of her life. Spencer, though it pained him, couldn’t help but feel that he deserved it.

He sat on the bed, crushed by his own thoughts. Something didn’t sit right with the version of events he had imagined. First and foremost, she wasn’t the type of person who would turn him away because of this. Her heart ached to help others; she couldn’t ignore someone else’s troubles. Even if he had hurt her, her immense capacity for understanding would have remained intact. Empathy was imprinted on her, like a deep, unshakable mark.

Driven by a hunch, he reached for his phone to call her again. That’s when he noticed two missed calls from an unknown number, just fifteen minutes ago.

He pressed the phone to his ear, his brow furrowing in confusion as he heard the first sound on the other end… a sob?

The sound went on and on, and Spencer was too confused to utter a single word.

“Who am I talking to?” he finally asked. Unable to stop himself, he stood up. He didn’t even know what was going on or who he was talking to, but he sprang to his feet anyway. His body compelled him, his insides twisting with unpleasant spasms.

It could just as well have been some stupid prank. The problem was, it wasn’t.

“H-hey, it’s J-Jude,” a voice came from the other end. Female, shaky, and choked with sobs so severe that if he didn’t already know her name, he would never have guessed he was speaking to her roommate. He stopped pacing the room. “I-it was me…I called earlier. S-she doesn’t have any…any family, and I didn’t know…I didn’t know who to inform…I can’t handle this on my own…they just took her away again…”

It wasn’t as if the world suddenly came to a halt. It simply became both sharper and blurrier at the same time. Spencer could see that single, bright strand of hair on the pillow with perfect clarity, yet his own legs seemed out of reach. When he looked down, all he saw was darkness stretching below him. Somehow, he was still breathing.

“What are you talking about?” he asked. Later, he couldn’t explain how his voice—those first words—had sounded so composed. “W-who took her… where… and why…?

“I have no fucking idea!” she shouted, followed by a long silence during which Jude took a desperate gasp of air. “I mean, I do, I do know! They just brought her in, but... but suddenly they took her back because there was some kind of…bleeding…”

“...ding?” he blurted out, the first syllable swallowed entirely by his panic.

“No, I don’t want anything to calm me down, I am calm, can’t you tell?” Her voice grew distant, as if she’d pulled the phone away from her mouth. Then it came back, clear and pleading. “Please, come here…”

She hung up. The phone slipped from his hand as if it burned him. In a frenzy, he bent down to grab it, only to drop it again. Finally, he fell to his knees, managing at last to pick it up. As he stood, he felt as though some substance was spreading through his brain—black, toxic, and utterly destructive. Its effects left him barely tethered to reality. He could hear and see, but everything was overlaid with Jude’s words, looping in his mind like printed text on a screen.

The next thirty minutes were a blur.

How could it be logically explained that, in a state of complete detachment from the outside world, he somehow managed to figure out, based on the map of the area imprinted in his memory, which specific hospital she was in? How did his panicked, trembling hands manage to cover that distance by car without causing an accident?

The only thing he knew was that he ended up at the nearest hospital, wearing just a shirt with no outer layer. It was shocking that he even had shoes on. 

He should have been looking for the woman who had called him, demanding every bit of information she had. But somehow, instinctively, his eyes searched for someone else—a familiar face. He prayed it was all some sort of misunderstanding. Maybe he was fooling himself, hoping to spot her among the people passing by. A part of him simply refused to accept the possibility that anything could have happened to her.

Nothing had happened.

She was fine.

Her blue eyes were soaking in the surroundings, their gaze carrying that faint sparkle that always appeared at night. Maybe there was even a smile on her lips. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow himself to imagine what might have happened to her. It felt as though the universe itself should be ashamed for ever entertaining the thought of harming her.

"Are you family?" the man at reception asked. Spencer nodded. "I'm sorry, but I can't provide you with any information,"

"Just tell me, is she alive?"

"I can't…"

"Just fucking tell me…"

"They’re operating on her right now," a voice spoke from behind him. Spencer turned and blinked. Only then did he realize he was in a hospital. Before, he’d only had a goal—an urgent need to get there. The surroundings were just beginning to take shape in his mind. He had never seen this woman before, but he guessed it had to be Jude. Her face was swollen from crying, but she seemed less shaken than during their call. She had probably accepted the sedatives. "Again. First, they spent almost four hours working on her neck… they said she was stable, asleep, but then suddenly there was that bleeding… I watched them take her out of the room right in front of me…"

“Did you see her?”

Unexpectedly, she hid her face in her hands.

“I didn’t know who to call. She mentioned you a few times, and I had your number, and I didn’t know what to do…” she began explaining chaotically, as if it mattered at all. “It’s my fault, you know, all of this is my fucking fault…”

They were standing right in front of the receptionist, blocking his access to others who needed help. Spencer snapped back to the moment, pulling her a few steps aside.

“W-what did you say? That they operated on her for four hours?”

“Yes, the first time…”

So, she had been there for at least four hours. Longer, considering the time needed after surgery before visiting a patient. Pain spread across his chest. While he was wondering why she hadn’t answered his calls, coming to various conclusions, she had been fighting for her life?

He... had been at work, moving around, talking to others, living, while all of this was happening? He felt as if... as if he had betrayed her. It was absurd, even he knew that. Despite the state he was in—tragic, to be precise—he understood just how absurd that thought was. But he couldn’t stop the guilt and shame that washed over him every time he tried to imagine her on the operating table while he had been completely unaware of her condition.

“I need to sit down," Jude muttered, and after a moment, they found themselves on narrow chairs lined along the hospital walls. Spencer barely managed to force his knees to bend, his body to settle into the seat.

He was only beginning to adjust to the foreign gravity that was pressing down on him.

In his head, there was only one thought, one resolution, one desire. The only thing that could save him from losing his mind in this waiting room.

"I need to see her."

"We have to wait," Jude replied, pressing her hand to her forehead. More tears appeared in her eyes. She wasn’t just terrified, she was completely falling apart. "We... we once gave each other permission to access information about our health. You know, in case of an accident. The doctors told me everything. A neck sprain. A concussion. Two broken ribs and a broken forearm." Although her speech had been unclear earlier, when she listed the injuries, she sounded like a movie announcer.

Spencer quickly realized that these words must have been echoing in her head since they were first told to her. The same thing had been happening to him. Each word was like a blow delivered with full force, and his extensive medical knowledge wasn’t helping him avoid panic. He was too aware of the danger and too aware of the suffering her poor body must have endured.

They both squeezed their eyes shut tightly. Spencer felt as though his temples might explode. Waiting. Was there anything worse in the world than waiting? Being stuck in ignorance, teetering between uncertainty, relief, and utter despair? Feeling all of it at once?

"How did this even happen?" he asked the woman sitting next to him.

He was sure he already knew the answer to that question. She didn’t even need to say it. It was enough to see how she dropped her gaze, heavy with pain, and how tightly her jaw clenched.

“She... fell down the stairs.”

Spencer wanted to scoff at the understatement. The real version of events couldn’t pass Jude’s lips, but in some way, he considered that a blessing. If Jude had openly admitted that she had been pushed, he might have crumbled under the weight of the fury flooding him. But for now, his anger didn’t matter. Only the passing time did.

He felt as if he hadn’t taken a single breath since leaving his apartment. Leaning his head back in his seat, he endured what felt like two whole days, then glanced at his watch only to realize that exactly forty-seven seconds had passed.

Time—a relative concept. In physics and in human perception. Einstein had proven it, and so had that particular moment.

He started to fear that he might never leave the waiting room. Memories and emotions began to blur together. He formed a theory: that he had been trapped there for quite some time—weeks, perhaps. Back when another loved one had been on the operating table, and he’d been losing his mind in much the same way.

Could it be that, under the strain of this torturous waiting, he’d lost his sanity? That his brain, desperate for relief, had simply imagined everything that followed? The trip to the library that night, finding himself at her door, the string lights on the Christmas tree, the Venus flytrap, the bar, opening the door that night and seeing her on the stairwell—at once flushed from a night spent at the club and chilled from the December air?

And now that illusion had simply shattered, like a fragment of broken glass. He was back in the waiting room again, waiting, hurting too much—and yet feeling as though he had no right to. His pain was nothing compared to what she was going through. He should be doing something, anything, to make himself useful, to not succumb to the weight of his own helplessness.

When the doctor finally approached them, Spencer almost knocked over his chair in his haste to stand. The doctor, however, focused solely on Jude as he delivered the update, leaving Spencer questioning whether he even existed.

“We managed to stop the bleeding. That’s the good news,” he began, his dark eyes unreadable—at once cool and concerned, with the practiced composure characteristic of people in his profession.

“Thank God,” Jude whispered, rubbing her chest as if trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart.

Spencer, on the other hand, felt no relief. Not even a sliver.

"‘That’s good news,’" he repeated the doctor’s words, drawing the man’s gaze to him. ‘But… but is there something bad?’

That brief moment before the doctor answered felt longer than nearly the past two hours of waiting.

“Due to suspected brain swelling, we had to induce a coma.’

“What?’ Jude mouthed silently. “How… how could she be in a coma? Why? Was that necessary?’

“They needed to reduce the intracranial pressure,’ Spencer replied, the words spilling from his mouth without him even realizing he was speaking. ‘The coma prevents further damage and minimizes the brain’s oxygen consumption. But will she… how long will she…?’

“Only for a few days,’ the doctor assured him, understanding the question he couldn’t quite form. “As long as there are no further complications or additional bleeding. But I can reassure you for now: there’s no indication of that. Her condition seems stable. She was… incredibly lucky. It was a serious accident—a miracle, a sheer miracle—that she didn’t break her spine.’"

For a moment, he couldn’t utter a single word, his throat still tight, and the relief never came. He knew he wouldn’t feel it until he saw her, fully conscious and awake. Until that happened, he would grimace every time he heard the word miracle. 

"When will I be able to see her?" he asked, surprisingly calm and composed. The question was so important to him that his voice didn’t tremble even once. In fact, it was the only thing that mattered right now.

"You’ll need to wait a few hours before visiting. We have to make sure there’s no risk of a sudden deterioration in her condition. Also, only authorized individuals can visit her."

The last part of the doctor’s statement felt almost like a slap in the face.

"How many hours?" he pressed, impatience creeping into his voice. "Two? Four? Six?"

"Please, calm down," the doctor asked, making a gesture with his hand.

“Eight?”

His voice grew increasingly sharp, desperately demanding an answer. The doctor opened his mouth to respond, but Jude interrupted with a question.

"As an authorized person, can I, on behalf of the patient, allow him to visit?" she asked, catching Spencer’s gaze for a brief moment before quickly turning away. "She would want this, I know it."

The doctor shook his head in refusal, providing them with a few more details about the surgery before turning to leave. Spencer watched him leave, something in him wavering between a sigh and a snort. So they wouldn’t even let him visit her? He understood the hospital procedures and rules perfectly well, but when it came to his own case, he hated them with all his heart. They wouldn’t allow him to see someone who meant so much to him, simply because they weren’t bound by blood or a ring on his finger. A ring on his finger… maybe he should lie and say they were engaged?  Although, would it really make any difference in the eyes of the hospital staff?

Before the loose fragments in his mind began to form a plan, he noticed that Jude was staring at him. She had sat down again, pressing her back tightly against the chair's backrest. She hadn’t cried for a while now; a certain relief had settled on her face when she heard the surgery had been successful, but then the old devastation returned, stronger than ever before.

"I won’t be able to visit her," she said, her voice hollow. "Not even while she’s unconscious. And when she wakes up, look her in the eyes. Tell me, how could I do that after everything? After all of this was my fault?"

Spencer turned away and walked off.

He knew that if he didn’t, something inside him would break. He couldn’t stop the anger he felt toward Jude. From what he knew, she had repeatedly refused to report her ex-boyfriend to the police, perhaps more or less aware of the danger he posed. She had the right to do so, theoretically. But that didn’t change the fact that someone else had suffered because of her foolish decision.

In his eyes she deserved the guilt she felt.

Not knowing what to do with himself, he found a place far from her, far from anyone, where he spent the next few hours, hardly moving. Sometimes he observed the relatives of other patients in the hospital, also broken, but he had some selfish feeling that even they wouldn’t understand what he felt. He placed himself on some distant, elite orbit of suffering and felt almost embarrassed by it. 

Pain always makes sure that a person feels as lonely and misunderstood as possible in it. That is when it has the most power over them.

He kept away from the windows, the darkness outside, slowly losing its intensity, putting him into a state of shock and contemplation. Maybe time was a relative concept, but that didn’t change the fact that it existed. Somewhere far away, there was light beyond this waiting room.

For some time now, he had been occupied with a certain task. He was aware of the hours passing and how, with them, his desperation grew. He felt he would go mad if he didn’t see her. The designated time during which the patient should be ensured complete rest after surgery had ended, yet he knew they wouldn’t let him in to see her. But he had a brain for a reason, right?"

He found the room where everything that mattered to him at that moment was. A young doctor was just leaving.

"Excuse me, ma'am,” he approached her politely, trying to appear calm, though his appearance and trembling hands clearly suggested otherwise. “I need to visit this patient.”

“Are you a relative?”

“No, actually…” He knew this was a desperate move and resorting to a lie, but he didn’t care. What was morality in his situation? Just a word. He reached for the badge he had with him and cleared his throat. “I’m with the FBI. I’ve been assigned to see this particular patient; it’s a matter that cannot be delayed."

Believe it or not, but people often lost their minds at the mere mention of the FBI. Spencer suspected that such a young doctor might have some gaps in experience and not know what procedures were in place in such a situation.

The surprised woman took a half step back.

“But she’s in a coma…” she said uncertainly, turning toward the room. “Are you sure it’s this patient?”

“Absolutely. And as I said, there’s no time to waste.”

He didn’t put his badge away, still holding it raised, with a serious expression on his face, as if he were interrogating someone. It was clear she was torn with doubt, but fortunately for him, she decided to give in without consulting the decision.

Spencer almost ran into the room, unable to hold back his impatience any longer. At first, he felt as if in a dream, one where you achieve your greatest goal. However, it quickly turned into a nightmare, all because of what he saw.

Whatever he had imagined, he was not prepared for this sight. 

Especially because before he even noticed her face, the face he was so desperate to see, he first noticed everything else surrounding it. The hospital equipment, the machines and devices monitoring her vital signs. The wide orthopedic collar tight around her neck. The sterile whiteness of it all, obscuring her and making her almost disappear against its backdrop. It wasn’t until he approached the bed, his legs weak and unsteady, that he started to look at her, but again, not specifically at her, but at the injuries. The sight of swollen temples, the sunken eyes, pale and dry lips, skin like a sheet of paper. Every injury on her body caused him unimaginable pain, so intense it almost stopped him from breathing. He felt so much anger and injustice that she had to go through this that he almost wanted to fall to his knees and apologize to her, beg for forgiveness. For what? He couldn’t decide. It wasn’t a need driven by logic, it was something deep inside him.

And that’s what he did, even though there was a place beside the bed where he could sit. He slowly knelt down, his hands touching the edge of the bed, but not her body. After all, he wasn’t about to risk causing her any pain due to his lack of control. But he had such an overwhelming desire to take her hand, the one whose fingers shyly peeked out from under the cast.

"I should have gone with you," he said, after about five minutes spent in complete silence, undisturbed even by his breath, which he was holding back. "I should have. Walked you to the door and made sure you got inside safely. I’m sorry…"

He felt that with his pitiful apologies, he was disturbing her peace. She needed it to fully rest. So, he fell silent again, alternating between looking at her with furrowed brows in tender concern and resting his forehead against the edge of the bed whenever the sight became too painful. While before, time seemed to crawl at the slowest possible pace, now it was racing forward wildly.

In his perception, barely a minute had passed when someone’s presence appeared behind him. He turned over his shoulder, noticing the young nurse who had let him in, and it took him a long time before he even realized it. After all, he had lied to her, saying it was some professional matter, yet she had found him kneeling by the hospital bed.

He quickly got to his feet, nervously rubbing his face.

“For the patient’s well-being, no visits should last longer than twenty minutes,” the woman said surprisingly gently, leaning slightly against the door with her shoulder. An unidentified expression lingered in her eyes, making them seem...warm.

He didn’t answer, just nodded. He no longer felt the need to play that little charade that had helped him get inside. He allowed himself one last long moment, looking at her face, peaceful in sleep. He passed the doctor in the doorway, feeling her eyes turn to him, and he did the same, out of curiosity. She smiled, sadly and with compassion.

"This had nothing to do with any FBI assignment, right?”

Her understanding seemed almost touching. However, Spencer, caught in the moment, quickly withdrew, once again making his way down the hospital corridors, now completely unsure of what to do with himself. He leaned against one of the walls, slowly feeling the fatigue from the entire night spent waiting to see her. He found his phone in his pocket, realized it was already morning, and that… Hotch had called him.

It was a quick collision with the outside world. He called back, as nothing else came to mind that he could focus on.

"Reid," the serious voice of his boss came through on the other end. "Why aren’t you at work, and why aren’t you answering?"

He needed to take a breath before he could respond.

"Sorry, Hotch," he said, trying not to sound weak, but that’s exactly how he sounded. Weak, a little pitiful, and on the verge of exhaustion. "Something... something really important happened, and... I... I won’t be able to come in today..."

Spencer realized he had no idea how to explain himself in this situation.

"I can’t remember the last day you were even late. What happened?" He didn’t answer. "Where are you?" Silence. "Spencer."

"It’s... a personal matter."

There was a brief silence from his boss, and Spencer could almost imagine how he furrowed his dark brows in confusion.

"I understand." His voice was tense, but not with disapproval, which surprised Spencer. More with... concern. Had he managed to read the seriousness of the situation just from his voice? Probably, after all, he was the best profiler Spencer knew. "You’ll need to explain later, but for now... take care of yourself. Do you need any help?”

He assured him insincerely that everything was fine and found an empty chair to sit in, hunched over. A strong pressure formed in his head, amplified by the helplessness and uncertainty about what he should do next. She was in a coma, and according to the doctor, she would be in it for the next few days. And what was he supposed to do during that time? He felt that physically, he could spend another hundred hours on that specific chair. Occasionally stretching his legs. It was his plan, one that seemed more real with every passing minute. At least, until a figure cast its shadow over him.

"Reid," a familiar voice spoke.

He looked up, surprised, at Morgan. His mouth was slightly open in confusion, his forehead deeply furrowed.

"What are you doing here?"

"How... how did you know where I was?" That was the first thing that came to his mind.

"Penelope. How she knew, I have no idea, but I’m starting to suspect that her joke about having us all chipped wasn’t really a joke. But anyway, what’s going on? Hotch told me you called, and you sounded... unsettling."

His friend was watching him closely. His wrinkled clothes, his tired face.

"So... Hotch sent you to find me?"

"Reid, you’re our friend. Did you really think we wouldn’t be worried about you?"

Spencer lowered his head, listening to his words. Derek was silent for a moment, his hands resting on his hips, his tense face scanning the surroundings. After a while, he focused his gaze back on him.

"Who is the person you’re visiting?"

He hesitated before answering, not because he didn’t want to share the information, but because he wasn’t sure how to refer to her. What should he call her? After all, it wasn’t like they were in an official relationship, and the word friend seemed to leave something unsaid.

“Someone... someone very important to me. She had an accident. She has... a cervical spine injury, and the doctors, suspecting brain swelling, decided to put her into a coma for a while.”

Morgan's eyes widened.

“Damn, Reid. I’m so... I’m so sorry.”

He sat down on the empty chair beside him, his face still showing shock. Exhausted, Spencer simply rested his head on his knees, no longer able to keep his posture straight. He felt drained, yet at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to leave—couldn’t leave her…

Morgan’s hand fell onto his back, and finally, then sighed.

“Come here, man.”

With a firm pull, he drew him into an embrace.

Spencer found it hard to admit, even to himself, how much he needed this. No words left their mouths for a long while; only that brotherly, supportive embrace remained between them.

“Have you seen her?” Morgan asked after a while.

He confirmed, but didn’t reveal the circumstances. His friend paused for a moment, as if he wanted to say something but hesitated.

“Okay, listen to me. You need to get back to yourself.”

Spencer scoffed and shook his head, ready to argue.

“Let me finish. I know you don’t want to leave her right now, but with all due respect, you look like death. You need to eat and get some sleep.”

“I can’t,” Spencer replied firmly.

“You’re going to collapse soon. You said she’ll be in a coma for a few days. You won’t make it sitting here, think realistically. No one’s asking you to go back to work, you just need to rest.” He looked at him seriously, knowing how hard it would be to convince him. Finally, he sighed once more. “Do it for her, alright? Do you really think she’d want you to wear yourself out like this?”

He had no ready answer for that. Well, he did, but it sounded like no, she wouldn’t want that.

“I’ll take you home. For God’s sake, you came here without even a coat?”

It's a strange feeling to let someone take care of you. Completely. Derek not only drove him to his apartment but also came inside with him. There was no emotional discussion between them, which he found to be a relief. Silent support, he thought.

His relationship with the other team members had been tested after Emily's death—or at least, that's what he had thought up until now. He had begun isolating himself, not wanting to intrude on their grief or burden them with his own problems. But in reality—something he hadn’t seen until now—it had been the opposite. It strengthened their bond.

The next few days revolved mainly around hospital visits. Somehow, he had managed to gain visiting rights, and the time spent by her side filled him with a certain sense of calm. He could see how stable her vital signs were, and he clung to the doctors’ reassurances that she would regain consciousness in just a few days.

He once read a series of articles and interviews with people who had been in comas. Their accounts sometimes contradicted medical facts and often included embellishments, but a significant number of them mentioned remembering the voices of loved ones and certain sounds.

He didn’t want her to remember only the sounds of medical equipment from this period. But he also wasn’t sure what he could talk to her about. Would she want to hear about the overly salted carbonara that Garcia had forced an entire pot of on him? Or about the abstract mural being painted across from his apartment—something he was sure she would have liked?

In the end, he decided to read to her, though choosing what to read proved challenging. Sleeping Beauty seemed too ironic, even though she would probably laugh about it later. She had once told him Girl, Interrupted was her favorite book, but its hospital setting made him suspect she might prefer something that let her escape this place, even if only in her imagination. The Silence of the Lambs referenced one of their past conversations, but if a doctor overheard him reading it to her, he would surely be banned from visiting altogether.

“All right,” he began one day, sitting down in the chair by her bed. “I know you’re not a big fan of fantasy. And yes, you’ll have every right to call me out on this when you wake up. But still, I hope you’ll like it.”

Arabian Nights was a collection of tales and stories originating from the Middle East, India, and Persia. Somehow, he assumed that the mysterious, often nocturnal atmosphere might resonate with her, even soothe her. After all, night had always been her favorite time of day—the backdrop to so much of her life.

That day, as he was about to leave, he leaned slightly over her bed, lowering his voice to a whisper.

"Tomorrow, I'll read you a romance, how does that sound? But I’ll have to go to the bookstore because, despite your beliefs, I don’t have any in my collection. I wish I’d had more time to get to know your reading preferences better."

During none of his previous visits had he touched her, afraid it might disturb her peace in some negative way. Besides... in the state she was in, she looked so fragile and delicate that he feared even the slightest touch could hurt her. But that time, he simply couldn’t hold back. After a long internal struggle, he placed a very brief kiss on her forehead.

Spencer couldn’t keep his promise. While he did buy a romance novel recommended to him with enthusiasm by a young bookstore clerk, he never had the chance to read it to her.

The next day, he received a message. 

She had woken up. 

*

You didn’t remember much.

Only fragmented scraps. The memories began with a brief moment of complete physical helplessness, a terrible pain in your neck, and a series of flashing lights mingling with raised voices—even shouting. Then came silence, vile and terrifying.

But that wasn’t the end. Something came after the silence.

Softly spoken stories. For some reason, they were comforting. In your mind, only a few blurred images remained—no clear events or words. What you remembered most was that soothing, calm voice. It felt like an embrace, like warm bedding, the first rays of cosmic light piercing through clouds, or the gentle chill of evening air.

It was… beautiful. But it couldn’t last forever. After an indeterminate amount of time, your body decided to reject that comfort and tried to open its eyes. It was an excruciating effort. You sighed with the strain. The first colors and surreal shapes began to appear before you. Slowly, you started to become aware of your existence, yet at the same time, you felt suspended somewhere outside your body and mind—alone and terrified.

The sensations were both faint and overwhelmingly intense, making you want to hide, to somehow cut yourself off from them. Yet you were equally afraid to close your eyes again. You muttered things that made no sense. You remained in this panicked state until two tiny brown points hovered above you, widening with concern. Only then were you able to calm down—at least enough to stop straining your body with attempts to move. Attempts, because your body seemed entirely unwilling to follow your commands.

The fear buried itself deep within you, drilling into your chest. At first, it suffocated you, but eventually, it began to weaken and fade.

This was how the first hours after waking from the coma unfolded.

Weakness, disorientation, mumbling, pain, discomfort, and light sensitivity.

It took a long time before you regained awareness of being in a hospital. Even more time passed before you remembered why. And then, your own condition and state.

You were so incredibly weak that it filled you with disgust, terrified by how much effort even the smallest movement required—like the twitch of a finger or the blink of an eye. Frustrated by it all, you cried, and he cried too. But his tears were born of relief and joy.

Those two specific emotions reached you the latest—only after they transferred you to a different ward, and your thoughts began to clear. Relief and joy. Hand in hand with fear and anxiety. 

It felt so unreal, yet it was real—real like nothing else, and it held you tightly, exactly the way you needed it to.

*

Spencer was aware that her awakening was just another step in a very long journey.

His medical knowledge, modestly speaking, was fairly extensive, and he understood the gravity of the injuries she had sustained. Their first meeting after she had opened her eyes for the first time was nothing like a scene from a movie. She was confused, still drowsy, and as she slowly started to comprehend everything, she was primarily terrified. Her body, after the time spent in the coma, though brief, was extremely weak, and every little movement exhausted her as though she had just run a marathon.

The fear on her face pierced his chest.

He had the impression that none of the words he spoke, almost whispered in an attempt to calm her, were having any effect.

"I... I can't move," she stammered as one of the first things she said. Her eyes intensely focused on his face, searching for safety in it, and he feared he wouldn't be able to provide it for her.

"It's just temporary," he reassured her gently, leaning over her bed and trying to smile, but it came out uncertain, he was too worried about her condition. "The doctors say so, and that's the truth. Your body is just very weak right now."

"Will... will it be like this forever?"

"No, no, it will pass. I promise, it will pass," he nodded fervently. She hesitated and took a breath, as though discovering an entirely new action. But as soon as she did, out of fear, it became fast and irregular. He was terrified that his touch might cause her pain, but he didn't know what else he could do to help her. Gently, as gently as he could, he placed his hand on her cheek, barely grazing it with his thumb. "You'll feel better soon. Really, it won’t be long now. For now... just don’t overexert yourself, please, breathe."

At first, she flinched. He wanted to withdraw his hand as quickly as possible, but then he felt her press her face against it, almost nuzzling into it. A shy tear danced in one of her eyes, barely noticeable.

"It’s good to see you," she said after a brief silence, a soft sigh escaping her lips—almost like a laugh, though it didn’t quite make it. Her breath was still shallow and uneven, but with each passing moment, it seemed to steady as he held her close.

And in that moment, seeing her like that, feeling her presence so close, a smile spread across his face—a smile so genuine, so long-awaited—and with it came the tears he’d been holding back for what felt like forever.

"I feel the same," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how much."

*

The orthopedic collar pissed you off like nothing else.

It wasn’t even the discomfort that bothered you, it was just... the collar was such a painful reminder of your condition, a testament to what you had been through. And you were supposed to wear it for another six to eight weeks.

Two weeks after waking from the coma, preparations for leaving the hospital were beginning. The risk of brain swelling had subsided, the injuries were healing, and the concussion still made its presence known, but the pain was no longer as intense. You could even have a normal conversation, which you seized almost immediately, striking up a chat with the teenage girl in the bed next to you, her sad expression tugging at your heart.

Few people visited you; you preferred that the two most important ones could spend as much time with you as possible, rather than inviting coworkers or acquaintances you hadn’t spoken to in months. The two most important people.

Spencer had been with you since the moment you woke up, and as the doctor confessed to you with a small smile, he had also stayed by your side while you were in a coma. You were in shock. Not because he had done it—it made perfect sense, given his caring nature. The shock came from the simple fact that one person could care so deeply about another, about you.

It didn’t take long for you to realize that the moments when he visited you became your favorite part of the entire day. And not just because they revolved around checking your condition, tests, and the first, incredibly light rehabilitation exercises. You simply found yourself waiting for the moment he would appear in that doorway again, holding his coat in hand, smiling.

"Hello, handsome stranger," you greeted him one day, the first day you were starting to feel better.

 Spencer stopped at the sound of that term, tilting his head with an even wider smile.

 "How else did I used to call you?" you mused aloud. "Ah, I used to call you Mr. Mysterious. But I suppose that's no longer fitting, you smile too much to seem mysterious."

 "Because I have a reason," he replied, stopping beside your bed and glancing at the flowers placed there, the ones that had greeted you when you woke up that day. "But in that case, 'Handsome stranger' doesn’t fit either, since you know me now."

"But you are handsome. Half of it fits, so I have the right to call you that. Who... who sent me these flowers?"

"Better question would be, who didn’t send you those?" he muttered, referring to their large number. You could only admire them—the beautiful, colorful arrangements—but you hadn’t had the chance to read the notes and messages attached. Spencer glanced at one of them, his smile fading, though not in a bad way... somehow, the expression that appeared on his face was even more pleasing than his smile. "This... this one’s from my team."

You were simply speechless.

 "They... they even know I exist?"

 "Of course they do, how could they not?" Spencer paused for a moment, looking at you thoughtfully. "They... they were with me the whole time you were in a coma. They helped me keep my head together."

 "Don’t exaggerate," you tried to dispel the sudden serious mood. You didn’t want to delude yourself into thinking he had been that worried about you during that time. 

 "It’s not an exaggeration," he replied briefly and seriously, his face almost motionless.

For a moment, you fell silent, your hands resting on the blanket in front of you.

 "Sorry, Spencer. I just realized I’ve never thanked you for this..."

"What?" he asked, surprised, his brows furrowing. "This isn’t something you have to thank me for..."

"But I feel like I have to. This... this isn’t some small, silly favor. You really did so much for me... I still don’t fully understand why..."

 "You don’t understand why?"

"Yeah," you sighed uncertainly, not sure how to put it into words. "Don’t get me wrong... I’m so grateful to you, it’s just... look at it this way. We didn’t know each other that long, we saw each other rarely. We slept together once. It’s not like you were…obligated to help me."

"I didn’t have to be obligated to do it," he said after a moment of hesitation, circling your bed and sitting on the edge, just barely touching it. "And I didn’t have to know you for years. I just wanted to do it because of how much I cared about you. And if that explanation doesn’t convince you... then..." He swallowed hard. "Remember, you were there for me during one of the worst moments of my life."

“It’s not the same...”

 “Oh, but it is. For me, it is. But I don’t want you to think that I was there for you because I felt like I owed you something. Or that I had to... I don’t know... repay you in some way. That’s not it at all.”

You didn’t answer, something tight gripped your throat. You just tilted your head, overwhelmed with emotion, speechless. The only thing you truly wanted to do was stretch out your arms and drape them around his neck, resting your chin on his shoulder. Spencer sighed, surprised and tense. It wasn’t until a brief moment passed that his hands gently touched your back.

“How much longer are you going to act like I’m made of glass?” you asked.

You knew his caution was justified, but Jesus. You just really wanted to hug him properly.

“Probably forever,” he replied, to which you rolled your eyes.

He was the one to break the hug, but in compensation, he quickly kissed the top of your head. You leaned back against the bed, feeling a pleasant sensation in your stomach. Spencer returned to the flowers to tell you who had sent them all.

“So these are from my team,” he picked up the lost thread, pointing to the arrangement of white and pink carnations. He chuckled. “And I’m pretty sure Penelope picked them out, not just because her name is listed first. White represents perseverance and strength. Pink stands for admiration and respect.”

“That’s really thoughtful. And beautiful. I’ll have to thank them. And these tulips?”

Spencer took the note attached to the mentioned flowers between his fingers.

“From... Jerry.”

“What? My husband sent me flowers?”

 “What?” He jerked his head up in surprise.

You laughed so hard at the look on his face that it made you wince in your ribs.

 “I’m fucking kidding, you fool,” you replied, clutching your side with a groan. “Jerry is the librarian. You should know him. He once asked me what flowers he should buy for his wife, and I suggested yellow tulips. By the way, it's so nice of him”.

You said it affectionately, but it sounded incredibly weak. Along with the pain in your ribs, a headache joined in, and suddenly all the energy you'd had earlier evaporated.

“What's happening? Should I call a doctor?”

“No,” you shook your head in refusal. “I just need to lie down for a moment. Come here.”

Spencer followed your request and sat beside your bed, his body a little stiff, as if in guilt.

"I'm sorry I made you laugh."

"That's probably the strangest thing you could apologize for," you muttered, lying down in the position that was best for your neck, one you almost hated as much as the orthopedic collar. "Well, I guess I could come up with something stranger. Sorry I left that million dollars in your nightstand. It won't happen again."

"I'm not sure if this kind of chatter is particularly good for your condition."

"It helps me mentally, and that's what matters most. Besides, stop complaining."

"How could I possibly dare?"

He fell silent, simply watching you with quiet concern. You closed your eyes for a moment, unsure if you might accidentally drift off. After spending a week in a coma, your sleep routine had become completely erratic. You slept through the nights, mostly because there was little else to do, and you didn’t want to disturb the other patients in the ward. During the day, Spencer would visit, and you wanted to be as rested as possible when he was around.

When he wasn’t there, you sometimes napped during the day as well. According to the doctors, it was one of the best things you could do for your recovery—sleep and rest as much as your body needed.

"Is something bothering you?" he asked.

You hesitated for a long moment, because yes, something was weighing heavily on your mind. Had he guessed, or had he read it on your face?

“It’s just…” you began with a sigh. “You know Jude barely visits me? I mean, she shows up every day, but… she’s so tense and distant when she’s here. She doesn’t say much, and she won’t look me in the eyes.”

"She’s blaming herself," Spencer said softly.

“God, that’s so stupid,” you muttered.

You had a strange relationship with the accident. You thought about it as little as possible, keeping it at arm’s length. You knew Richard had been arrested, but you didn’t want to know the details of his sentencing. In no way did you see any of it as Jude’s fault, and it hurt you deeply to think that she did.

You spent a quiet moment together before Spencer leaned over you again, intending to kiss your forehead.

“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to go now,” he said, to which you nodded in understanding.

But then you shifted your head, pulling back just enough to stop him from brushing his lips against your forehead. He looked at you, puzzled, since you’d never minded it before.

This time, though, you wanted him to kiss you on the lips.

He kissed you slowly. You had almost forgotten how he tasted.

After that, you didn’t bother opening your eyes again. You let yourself imagine that he wasn’t leaving at all, and with that comforting thought, you drifted off to sleep.

*

Spencer had felt strange since the morning.

 Energized and excited. In the absolute best possible way.

That day, he could finally take her home. Well, to his apartment. She needed someone to take care of her, and he felt honored to be that person.

The day before, he had made a very important, yet difficult decision. He invited JJ over and confessed everything to her—about the past few weeks and his struggles with relapsing into addiction. He needed to rid himself of that burden. Besides, he had promised himself that as long as she was living with him, not even the smallest dose of Dilaudid would find its way inside. Never again.

In his worst moments, he imagined that his friend would react with disgust—pure, painful disgust—and push him away. Instead, her eyes filled with something strange the moment he began to speak about how he had felt after Emily's death. Over and over, she whispered apologies, as though she were the one responsible for it.

He still missed Emily, of course, and he knew he would always miss her. That was just the way of things—people left, and it was up to you to decide whether you would remember them with heartbreaking despair or with a wistful sigh. In fact, these were merely two ends of the same spectrum, and it was very easy to get stuck at the beginning, unable to move forward.

She was surprisingly quiet in the car and seemed depressed. Actually, it was hard not to blame her. She had spent a long time in the hospital, gotten used to that routine, and the change made her feel lost. Sitting in the passenger seat, she kept her gaze fixed ahead, but not on the road. She couldn’t see where they were headed, which made it difficult for Spencer to tell her something… at least important.

 When they stopped, she furrowed her brow in surprise.

 “Why are we here?”

They were parked under his apartment, and she had been under the impression they were heading to her place.

 “Sorry, I should’ve told you earlier, I really apologize,” Spencer blurted out in one breath, chaotically. “I absolutely realize that this is like putting you in a situation you didn’t expect, but… but when you were in the hospital, Jude found herself a new roommate. She didn’t really know how to tell you, but she had to do it because she couldn’t afford the rent on her own.”

For a long moment, she stared at him in silence, her face a mixture of shock, followed by understanding. She took a deep breath.

 “Okay,” she muttered. “I understand her, I just… I don’t understand why she didn’t tell me this herself.”

Their relationship still remained deeply complicated, put to the test by guilt. Spencer couldn’t say much about it. It was something between the two of them, and he hardly knew Jude at all.

 “I’m also sorry for asking you this so late,” he continued after a moment. “But… you can’t live alone, you know that. Someone… someone needs to be with you over the next few weeks and… I’m willing to be that person.”

Her lips remained slightly parted for a moment.

“You want… no, wait, you want me to move in with you?” It was clearly a rhetorical question, because before he could answer, she started shaking her head. “Spencer, I can’t. I can’t be that burden for you.”

“A burden? You’re not…”

“But I will be. In the next few weeks, I definitely will be.”

He took his hands off the steering wheel, placing them loosely on his knees.

“Can you… can you look at me for a moment?” he asked.

It took a moment before she hesitantly met his gaze. Her eyes were filled with embarrassed tears, tears full of unjust shame. Seeing this, pain spread through his chest.

“If the accident hadn’t happened, would you want to live with me?”

 Her lips remained pressed together, and she sighed.

 “It’s a big decision. Aside from the fact that if it weren’t for the accident, I wouldn’t even have to consider this option…”

“I just want to know if you would want to. Don’t think of it as an option, just as… a completely normal, life decision. Do you think you’d be able to handle having me around every day?”

She couldn’t help it, and her lips curled into a slight smile.

“We could try,” she finally replied.

Spencer straightened his arms.

“In that case, let’s go inside.”

 “No, wait, it’s not that simple! My opinion shouldn’t matter; it’s you who needs to think about whether you want this…”

 “I do.”

She snorted, resigned, not knowing what else to say.

“I can’t even tie my own shoes,” she tried one last time.

“I’ll gladly do it for you. What’s more, I know all kinds of knots. Simple, sailor’s, Chinese…”

“Spencer Reid, you’re impossible.”

For the rest of the day, she tried every possible way to talk him out of his decision. But when she finally accepted it, she struggled to accept his help with tasks she couldn’t do on her own.

 It wasn’t until later that he realized how much she had been pretending in the hospital. He had only seen her for a fraction of her day, and she seemed so positive then. But this temporary disability had really taken a toll on her mentally. He could repeat and assure her, completely sincerely, that she wasn’t a burden to him, but deep down, she still believed otherwise.

So, when two days later, she timidly appeared in the bedroom doorway with the question of whether he could help her wash her hair, Spencer felt like he had won the lottery.

“Sure,” he agreed, probably a bit too enthusiastically, jumping to his feet so quickly that he almost tripped.

She pretended not to notice.

In the bathroom, he slowly helped her pull the shirt over her head, careful not to catch it on the collar still around her neck or accidentally cause her any pain. 

“Be careful not to tilt your head too much, okay?” he asked, wetting her hair with the showerhead. She closed her eyes when a few drops of water splashed onto them. “Sorry!”

“For god's sake, Spencer, you're doing it more carefully than I would have done myself.”

It was true; he was acting as if he were performing some task at work that required absolute precision. He shrugged, massaging the strawberry shampoo into her hair. Foam quickly appeared, smelling sweet.

Suddenly, her hands tightened around the front of his shirt.

“Sorry,” she whispered, loosening her grip. “I got a little dizzy.”

Spencer immediately pressed his hands, still covered in shampoo, to her waist, afraid she might fall. He stared at her face for a long moment, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

And just then, her body suddenly went limp, falling forward.

Terrified, he let out a strangled cry.

“Hold on, please, don’t fall!” he kept repeating, doing everything he could to keep her upright.

Her hands hung limply on his shoulders, the foam and water soaking into his shirt, but he didn’t care at all.

“I’m right here, hold on to me as much as you can. C-c-can you hear me at all?”

He wondered whether it would be better to stand her up or lay her down while he could get to the phone and call an ambulance, when suddenly her weak touch grew stronger, and she let out a soft groan.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologizing. I’m still holding you, can you hear me?”

His heart was pounding incredibly fast as she gently pulled her head away from his chest. He, of course, didn’t let her stand on her own, constantly supporting her body, protecting her from a fall that could be disastrous.

Together, they left the shower cabin, her hair still covered in foam.

“Are you aware that this is how it’s going to look now?” she asked seriously.

Completely unfazed, he wiped the foam from her forehead, which was dangerously close to her eyes.

“I’d rather have you lose consciousness in my bathroom, right next to me, than risk… I don’t know, cracking your head open.”

For a moment, she was silent, the color beginning to return to her pale face, her gaze becoming more alert. He had a strange feeling that she was about to start crying, and since he really didn’t want that, he pulled her close again, in his usual protective gesture. Everything around them smelled of strawberries.

“Do you really have to be this good?”

Spencer snorted.

“I’m afraid it’s just my curse.”

*

“Are these people really arguing about whether a cucumber is a fruit or a vegetable?”

Sitting on the couch, you jumped when a voice spoke right behind you. At the last second, you caught your laptop before it slipped off your lap. You had been reading some absurd discussion on an online forum you stumbled upon completely by accident. And yes, these users were indeed arguing about whether a cucumber is a fruit or a vegetable.

“Damn it, Spencer!” you shouted, putting your hand over your heart, which was pounding in an agitated rhythm. You looked at your boyfriend with a scowl. “You almost gave me a heart attack. How is it possible I didn’t hear you come in?”

He shrugged. Leaning his elbows on the back of the couch, the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt revealed the skin of his forearms. In that position, he had a perfect view of the screen on your laptop. He had just returned from work, a rainy July evening, his hair slightly damp.

“I wasn’t sneaking around. You must’ve just been lost in thought. Want to tell me what’s occupying that beautiful mind of yours?” He leaned in to place a kiss on your temple.

“Beautiful mind, huh?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Just a few days ago, you told me that if a 19th-century priest heard even one thought from my head, he’d go into anaphylactic shock. Whatever that was supposed to mean.”

"In a big simplification, what I meant is that even though I love you, sometimes your way of thinking scares me."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"By the way, I bought land for Alexander."

Alexander was your new flycatcher, which had grown so much that it completely prevented the other flowers on the windowsill from growing. Due to its conqueror tendencies, you decided to name it after one of them.

"Do you want to repot it into a new pot now...?"

"No. Now you need to come to me."

You set the laptop aside and waited for him to take a seat on the couch. Before fully snuggling into him, you untied and removed the tie from his neck, then unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt, just the way you liked.

You sighed almost instantly; his body was more comfortable than a pillow. Warm, with your favorite scent. You rested your head on his chest as his fingers gently combed through your hair.

In the first few weeks after you were discharged from the hospital, you couldn’t even sleep in the same bed. There was a risk that, in his sleep, he might accidentally bump into your neck and cause damage. Spencer enforced that rule strictly, as he did with every precaution related to your health.

Six months had passed since the accident, and for the past four months, you hadn’t worn a neck brace or needed help with daily tasks. But that didn’t change the fact that, sometimes, when you showered together, he would wash your hair just like he used to. Anyway, you were still attending rehabilitation and would need to for a long time, but despite that, you felt like you had fully returned to normal life.

You lifted yourself slightly to look at his face.

"I was walking to the bar today," you began.

You’d been considering going back to work for a while now, and the doctors had assured you there was no reason you couldn’t. You wanted something to occupy your hands and craved the sense of purpose that came with a task. You’d mentioned it to Spencer long ago, so he didn’t seem surprised when you brought it up.

"And? Will they take you back?"

"No. I mean, it’s not that they don’t want to, I just didn’t get there. That’s why I said I was walking and not that I went to a bar. Are you following?"

"I'm trying."

"So, listen to this. I took the subway and got off at that station near the room I used to rent."

The landlord had asked for the keys back shortly after your accident. Your arrangement had been that, in exchange for using the space, you cleaned it daily. Of course, you hadn’t been able to keep up with that anymore.

"...And I don't know, I was overwhelmed by this strange feeling, like I wanted to go back to it. Helping people."

"You help people all the time," Spencer reminded you. "All our neighbors come to you to vent about everything happening in their lives."

"That's true, but I mean, you know, professional help," you said, taking a deeper breath. You couldn't decide whether you were more excited or nervous about the decision. "I've been thinking about going back to uni, Spencer."

He straightened up, almost causing you to slide off his chest. Filled with tension, you watched his reaction closely. You’d spent the entire day wondering what he might say. Would he share your enthusiasm and support your plans, or would he try to talk you out of it, reasoning that you’d dropped out of school once and might not manage it again?

These thoughts were incredibly silly. Spencer—knowledge-obsessed, ever-curious Spencer—would never say something like that.

Instead, he pulled you into a tight embrace, whispering how incredible the idea was. You melted into it completely, feeling more elated than ever and unable to stop thinking about the crazy chain of cause and effect that had led to this specific moment, this particular relationship, and above all, this exact happiness. 

do you accept this overly sweet ending as my apology? :> tagging: @nightfullofparadox @lillaberry @fortheloveofgubler @opheliahotchner @cowboy1ikereid @penelopegarciaismygf

sorry if i forgot about someone!

[satoruxx]

THE SPACE BETWEEN COMFORT AND CHAOS.

✧ PAIRING: wolf!toji fushiguro x f!reader | 5k words

✧ SUMMARY: wolfhybrid!toji, hybrid au, grumpy x sunshine, animalistic behavior, bickering, mentions of injuries, hints at past violence/abuse, societal inequality, arguments, medical equipment, toji is a little less of an asshole in this lmao !!

✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: and here's part three !! i didn't expect it to be this long but here we are lmao. pls make sure to read the previous parts before this one to understand what's going on !! anyways i hope you enjoy :33

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toji has only been with you for two days, and you can already confidently say that stubbornness is a staple for him.

the first morning, he had stayed in his room until you had gotten up, only ambling outside when he heard the sound of you moving around in the kitchen. it was only then that it dawned upon you that you hadn't given him anything to eat after his shower the previous night, and he watched you practically trip over yourself trying to apologize.

when you asked why he didn't just ask for food, he only shrugged his shoulders with an adamant scowl, and that's when you knew you'd have to be the one to suggest things for him. because if you don't say it, toji will not ask for it.

the first day had passed by rather unceremoniously. after you fed him a heavy breakfast, which he had tore into with no hesitation, he just lumbered back into the room and fell asleep again. you didn't really know what to do—perhaps he was just exhausted from all the injuries and spending time outdoors.

so you didn't bother him. he spent the rest of the day repeating this cycle, coming out for food and then going back in. only later at night, you had finally bothered him, telling him that you'd replace the bandages you tied the previous night after he showered.

so that's what you did, and he nodded at you in a silent goodnight before heading back in. you must've saw him for maybe two hours in the whole day.

but today your approach is different.

you'd be lying if you said you weren't concerned about his injuries, because you know there is only so much you can do with your first aid kit at home. besides toji is as silent as he is stubborn—you have no clue what other injuries he's hiding from you. and that's what you're trying to reason out with him now.

it's not going well.

"toji please," you beg, trying to push yourself into his line of sight. "i promise they'll help you."

"no. no way," he hisses back, baring his teeth. "they'll just send me back to that hellhole."

"no they won't! they'd want to help you get better!" you're feeling more and more desperate as his stubbornness rises. you're not nearly smart enough to know how to treat even a quarter of his wounds. besides, toji had been on the streets for at least over a month—isn't it smart to want a doctor to check it out?

"maybe they'd wanna help," he grunts, crossing his arms. there's a hint of panic coursing through his veins, but he masks it well with rapidly rising irritation. "but they will send me back. don't you get it? i'm a wild animal. they aren't gonna send me out to go roam the streets. they'll send me back to the ring because they know i'll be kept under control there."

your shoulders slump, watching as he takes a seat on your couch—he keeps himself pressed to the very corner of it, and that just makes you feel more miserable. you take a seat on the other side, keeping your distance.

"okay, no big hospitals," you acquiesce. "but i definitely don't know how to fix those kinds of injuries."

toji half-heartedly shrugs, a wry smirk tugging at his scarred lips. "who cares? i'm tough, they'll heal."

you grimace. "definitely not. they'll probably get infected."

toji holds up his bandaged arm with a canine grin. "what d'ya mean? you did a pretty good job with this."

you pout at that, oddly embarrassed, but you remain steadfast in your argument. "all i did was disinfect it and wrap it up. but that doesn't mean that's all it needs. what if you need stitches or something?"

toji sighs heavily, fingers loosely curling around his wounded arm. he won't deny that you've been spectacularly caring for him over the past two days. and it's not like he really wants to upset you or anything.

but he has gone through too much to risk even a chance at being thrown back underground.

"i'll live," he sighs. he doesn't know much about being polite, but he does know that he doesn't enjoy the idea of being mean to you. for some reason he thinks that would just make him feel shitty. he's not sure why though—he's never been interested in what humans think anyway.

your eyes narrow, aggrieved. "if i find someplace that won't turn you in, then will you come?"

your relentless pursuit makes toji want to roll his eyes. he's not sure why you don't just take no for an answer. but he wants you to drop the conversation, so he just replies with a huffed, "sure."

there's no place you could take him that wasn't going to rat him out anyway. if you wanted to give him medical care, they would always ask for his details. and when they find out that he's not yours, and that he's come from off the streets, they will no doubt send out an alert.

and then it's only a matter of time before he's being thrown in the back of a van, drugs pumping through his veins.

he'd much rather stay in your cozy little space for as long as you'll let him, drunk off the comfort of good food and a roof over his head.

but toji did not realize that he had severely underestimated your sense of determination.

and that's how he finds himself sitting in an examination room, with you nervously tapping your foot against the floor. the muscles in his face hurt from how long he's been glaring at the wall, too angry to look at you. he knows you probably mean well, but he's almost sure that he'll never see you again after this appointment.

he's prepared to be dragged out of the building by a group of guards holding heavy tranquilizer guns—like so many of his kind before him.

"you're still mad." you say it like a statement, unamused, and toji huffs in return.

"you're underestimating how strong i am." he gives you a sidelong glance, and you bristle, crossing your arms and giving him a defiant stare.

"i think you're overestimating how strong you are." you shake your head, the defiance melting into earnest. "seriously though. i don't know much about treating wounds and i really don't want it to get worse."

he throws you an indifferent glance. "what's the point if they just send me back down there? at that point, little scrapes won't fucking matter."

you purse your lips. "i'm telling you, no one will snitch here."

"how are you so sure?" toji hisses back, ears pointing upward. you don't flinch, opening your mouth to answer.

"well—"

a knock interrupts you, and you both look to the door. toji's hackles rise almost immediatley, a low growl rumbling in his throat—something is off.

he can smell it.

the doctor walks in, blonde hair neatly pushed back and large frame covered in a white coat. his smile is friendly and mature, demeanor calm, and yet all toji can focus on is that this doctor is not human.

the short and rounded brown ears sitting atop his head is a clear indication.

toji almost hops off the bed. he has half a mind to take your arm and drag you out of there because why on earth is there a predator hybrid here at the doctor's office?

but before he can make a move, you're smiling wide at the blonde, voice coming out sweet and casual. "hi kento."

toji blanches, watching this "kento" guy exchange pleasantries with you like it's the most natural thing in the world.

do you just make it your business to go out and become friendly with dangerous predator hybrids? because toji cannot understand how a little human like you knows a fucking bear hybrid so well.

"is this him?" the doctor asks, finally looking at toji perched on the examination bed. you nod mutely, eyes raking over his figure.

the blonde steps forward, reassurance rolling off of him in waves because he can probably smell toji's apprehension. you do your best to bridge the gap.

"um toji, this is kento nanami." you motion to the blonde, who is watching toji like he's a specimen under a microscope—it makes toji's skin prickle. "kento, this is toji…um…"

he realizes that you're missing information and he spits out his last name quickly. "fushiguro."

"pleasure to meet you," nanami nods courteously. "though i wish it was under better circumstances."

"you're a hybrid." toji blurts it out before he can think twice. you throw him a semi-disapproving glance, but he doesn't pay it any mind, gaze too focused on the doctor's clearly animalistic traits. he recieves a placating smile in return.

"i am," kento nods, looking down at the chart in his hands. "and it seems like you are too. wolf right?"

"yeah," toji nods absentmindedly, trying to brush past all of this. he's more curious about the bear so casually standing in front of him. a hybrid even being allowed into a position as highly respected as a doctor is already an amazing feat—that hybrid being a predator hybrid was even more shocking.

"like i said on the phone, he's got some cuts and scrapes on his stomach and arm. i didn't know how serious they were…" your voice trails off, and the blonde nods indulgently.

"it's good you brought him in. they might be infected or need further care."

he turns to toji, whose ears remain alert and upright, and picks up his stethoscope. when he approaches, toji bares his teeth, snarling.

he can see you grimace from his peripheral. "toji—"

"it's okay," nanami holds up a palm, before pinning toji with an unwavering stare. "you're worried about confidentiality right?"

"there's no way a fucking doctor can get around this," toji spits in return. his palms are sweating. all he wants to do is drag you out of there and go hide in your home, because there is no other place that is safe. "i don't trust you."

"you don't have to trust me. but…" the doctor subtly nods his head in your direction. "do you trust her?"

toji's eyes flicker over to yours, watching the tense worry swirl within them, and he grumbles incoherently. his stomach flips in on itself. nanami takes his reluctance as a go ahead, pressing the metal of the diaphragm against toji's chest.

the wolf remains silent, though he is still irritated.

"relax," nanami sighs. "i won't tell anyone. trust me, i know how hard it is to make it out of there."

toji watches with rapt attention as kento lifts his stethoscope off, and his green eyes zero in on the branded numbers burned just under the doctor's jaw—0703.

toji's skin tingles, just where his own numbers are burned. 1231.

bile rises in his throat, but he pushes it down.

"you got out," toji mumbles, not able to keep the surprise out of his tone. nanami nods, a soft smile on his face as he writes down toji's heartrate on his chart.

"about seven years ago." he nudges his glasses further up his nose. "i made a run for it and then laid low for a few months. after some time, they called off the search."

"huh," toji grunts, disbelieving. he's not quite sure how this guy has managed it, but clearly he's done something right to be standing in front of him.

"of course, i was lucky," kento laments, motioning for toji to hold out his wounded arm—he does so wordlessly. "i was not an extremely popular or sought out fighter, so they didn't put that much effort into trying to find me."

toji believes that. bears tend to be on the gentler side of the predator groups, and while he's sure nanami could easily handle himself in a fight, it is always the more aggressive hybrids that are the most popular.

he would know after all.

"after that, it was just about finding another place to build up my life again." toji barely registers that the doctor has begun numbing his arm, too focused on his anecdote. from the corner of his eye, he can see that you're listening in with rapt attention. "i decided i'd make use of my freedom and pursue my dream career."

you and toji spend the next half an hour listening to nanami talk about his experiences. all the while, the doctor skillfully stitches toji's wounds up, never once faltering in his movements. he talks about the escape plan, the relentless pursuit of soldiers, of remaining in hiding until freedom was finally found. toji feels an odd sense of camaraderie, knowing that he has gone through quite a similar process in the last few months.

nanami explains that laying low was the hardest part, always on edge while stepping into the light because you can never be sure who's hiding in the shadows.

toji will never say this out loud, but thank god he found you.

"since then i've made it my job to help others like me," kento finally finishes securing the bandages around toji's abdomen, before looking up with a half smile.

the wolf mutely stares back. he recognizes that his body has relaxed in the doctor's presence, and his gaze flickers up to meet yours. there's a look of satisfaction sitting in your eyes, probably relieved to see that his wounds have actually been taken care of.

when you notice him looking, you give him a soft smile—he expertly looks away.

"trust me. i won't tell anyone about you." nanami stands up straight, fixing his glasses, before giving you a warm smile. "besides, she's an old friend."

the doctor nods at you, and toji suddenly feels a strange streak of irritability, especially because you beam in return—so grateful and sweet. a stone sits heavy in the wolf's stomach.

"i really appreciate this, kento." you look at the blonde earnestly. "it took a lot of convincing to get him to come get checked out."

"it's good you did." nanami pins toji with a knowing stare. "conditions are rough back there. usually hybrids have more injuries than they know."

"really?" you look between the two of them meekly, and toji has half a mind to tell nanami to stop talking—worry is not a good expression on you.

"they don't usually treat their hybrids when they get injured in fights. so yes, a lot of them tend to have past injuries that don't quite heal." you nervously assess toji's body with your eyes, and the wolf can hear the soft chuckle nanami lets out. "don't worry. he's fine."

your shoulders relax, and toji watches you with rapt attention.

a few minutes later, nanami leads you both to the receptionist, who toji notices, is a dark haired mouse hybrid—ijichi kiyotaka is printed across his nametag. the doctor quietly explains something, and the mouse nods, before typing away into the computer. toji realizes that they are probably falsifying records, and he relaxes immediately. while you settle things at the counter, nanami addresses toji one last time.

"you'll need to come back in a week so i can see the wounds again. until then, just take care of it like i explained and you should heal nicely."

toji nods, ears twitching awkwardly. "right…"

"if anything else happens, don't hesitate to come in." the doctor adjusts his glasses with a friendly smile. "you're always welcome. be careful out there."

toji swallows. he is already unused to such blatant kindness, but now you've managed to surround him with it. maybe your stupidly sweet personality attracts similarly sweet people.

in that sense, maybe he shouldn't be allowed to stay around you, too dark and gloomy for someone so bright.

nanami takes the wolf's silence with a soft laugh, before he raises his hand to wave at you. you grin back, before heading for the door—toji immediately follows you out. the two of you walk in relative silence, quiet but not uncomfortable.

his body feels good now, probably because of the numbing agent and secure bandages, but regardless, he feels good. he has not felt this comfortable in a long time, but it's not completely unwelcome. as weird as it sounds, he thinks that he wouldn't mind being the silently hulking animal wandering the city at your side.

there is one thing he's itching to ask though.

"how do you know him?" toji asks casually, still staring straight ahead. he can feel your gaze land on him, but he does not reciprocate it.

"kento?" he bristles at the name, but nods. "oh well. a few years ago my friend had to leave for a two week long business trip. she has a puppy hybrid at home, and of course her hybrid knows how to take care of herself, but my friend told me to go visit her and just check if she was okay every few days."

there's a strange look of sympathy on your face as you speak, and toji reels at how easy it is for him to pick up.

"when i went over one day, i found her just passed out on the ground. i had no clue what to do. hybrids might look like us humans but their health and anatomy is a little different, and i didn't know a single thing about puppy hybrids. so i went online and looked up specific doctors and hospitals that were good for hybrids because i was too nervous to just take her to a regular hospital. that's how i found kento."

your lips quirk upward, half rueful and half fond. "i figured a doctor who was an actual hybrid would treat her better than a human doctor would."

toji listens quietly. he does not know many humans who would put this much consideration into hybrids, mostly because hybrids are kept as pets, not considered as equals. he cannot understand why you thought so deeply about a hybrid that wasn't even yours.

"anyways since then i've bothered kento with a lot of things." you chuckle to yourself. "like last year there was a stray cat in my alleyway with a broken paw, and i brought him to kento even though i could've just taken him to a vet or a shelter."

"why's that?" toji awaits your asnwer, ears twitching at the sound of your amused voice.

"kento's always been really sweet and gentle to his patients. i guess i just trust him." you turn to peer up at toji with a smile. "that's why i knew he wouldn't even think about ratting you out."

toji grunts in return, not wanting to admit that you're probably right. any other hospital or doctor would have to report that there was a wolf hybrid out there that was unaccounted for. since you are not his owner, they'd immediately throw him back where he came from—after all, predators like him are too dangerous to be left alone.

"if anything, you can visit kento for whatever. he'd keep your secret."

"you willing to bet on it?" toji asks you gruffly, and you smirk at him with a strange spark of challenge in your eyes.

"bet my life."

he grins—another feral display of animalistic behavior.

"that's a lot to bet," he comments, flashing his canines at you, and you nod back, pleased.

"i'm pretty confident in myself."

"hm." toji lips remain in their comfortably amused position. he briefly recognizes that his feet are automatically taking him back to your place, and he internally questions just how many times he has found his way back to you before.

"we have another stop to make." toji glances at you as you speak, raising a heavy brow.

"where's that?"

"clothing shopping."

he blinks, frowning. "why the fuck would we do that?"

"well since you're staying for at least a couple weeks until your wounds heal, you probably need clothes," you say matter-of-factly. "the pair of clothes i gave you are the only things i have. you need more."

he briefly wants to ask whose clothes those are, but he shuts his mouth, knowing it's none of his damn business. he can still smell them, the smell of some other man—his lip curls distastefully.

"i don't gotta stay with you for that," he mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets. he can feel his claws scrape against the fabric. "i can just go back to your precious doctor myself when i need to."

"and who's gonna pay for the visit?" you ask dryly. toji bristles, heat prickling at the back of his neck. you sigh heavily.

"look, i'm telling you i don't mind." your voice is earnest, and he can feel your unrelenting stare on the side of his face. "i would feel really uneasy if you left and i didn't know what happened to you."

"why do you care so much anyway?" toji doesn't mean to sound so accusatory. he's now realized that you are just one of those stupidly rare good people, but even then he wonders why you don't just kick him to the curb and move on with your life.

but instead you frown at him, semi offended, and then roll your eyes.

"well…" you shrug nonchalantly. "we're friends. so i care."

friends.

toji almost scoffs in disbelief.

unsurprisingly, you are utterly ridiculous. he knows that you both have shared conversation for many weeks while he waited for food in your alleyway. and he realizes that he has stupidly memorized your schedule, so much so that he found himself waiting in the rain when you didn't get home on time. and sure, you had so tenderly and idiotically invited him into your space and treated his dirtied body with the utmost care.

but friends?

you really needed better survival instincts. and to stop being so trusting. it's stupid, and dangerous, and probably not good for you in the long run.

(but the word ignites a pleasant flame deep in toji's belly—unwavering and strong. he finds himself unable to extinguish it.)

an hour later, toji finds himself awkwardly rummaging through racks and shelves of clothing. the bright lights and intense air conditioning makes his hair stand on end, body feeling oddly exposed. but then his jade eyes scan the store and find your figure, curiously peering at items without a care in the world, and he relaxes a bit.

after a while of picking out a few dark and albeit plain pieces of clothing, he finds that shopping is somewhat enjoyable. the different textured fabrics are soft under his claws, and his ears twitch pleasantly at the sounds of music playing low through the speakers.

occasionally he'll look up from the shelves and see you in the distance—a few times you look back, and give him a sweet smile and a small wave that has his throat feeling strangely dry.

(it would be easy to devour something so openly waiting there.)

he immediately looks away.

toji briefly wonders what kind of clothes you tend to prefer, mind wandering. he bites back a huff of amusement when he thinks about the fluffy pajamas you were wearing when you came outside holding that stupid umbrella.

so damn silly.

"do they seriously just let animals roam around unsupervised?"

his moment of peace is shattered by a grating voice, shrill with age and obnoxiousness. toji turns to look over his shoulder, expression sour. though he towers over her, the old lady standing about five feet away from him looks anything but scared.

"you talkin' to me?" he raises a brow, hair standing on end.

"yes you," she sniffs in his direction, eyeing him from head to toe like he's nothing more than dirt on the bottom of her ugly boots. "animals aren't allowed indoors."

toji bristles, sharp eyes narrowing. despite being used to these comments, they still make his skin flare with heat. he briefly considers reacting how he normally does when he faces this kind of attitude—baring his teeth and spitting out growls and insults until the person is scared shitless.

but then he realizes that it's not like he can just snap at her and run away. his actions will so easily be traced back to you and your pristine smiles. he finds the idea of putting you in trouble to be nauseating.

so he bites his tongue, ears tense and flicking irritably—he's making decisions on your behalf now, too.

"i don't know how on earth they let you in here." she glares at him snootily, physically unable to shut up. "letting animals wander around without any—"

"actually he's mine."

toji turns to look at you as you take your place at his side, your voice clear and steady. warm fingers curl around his bicep comfortably, but there is ice in your expression that he has never seen before. you glare at the lady, who suddenly looks bashful.

"oh? that's so impressive. you managed to tame a beast this dangerous?"

he suppresses an eye roll, ready to walk you away from the ordeal, but your expression gets colder, anger radiating off of you in waves—toji does not know why it makes him so pleased.

"actually i didn't tame him at all," you hiss back, spitting the word like it's venom. "and if you make him mad i won't stop him from attacking you."

her face pales, but indignation comes off stronger. "excuse me? you don't know how to control your own pet?!"

"he's not my pet. he's his own person," you snap irritably, gaze cold—though toji can feel your heated aggression rising. "didn't you ever learn basic respect? for all your preaching, even hybrids know that better than you do."

she gapes at you, appalled, but before she can get another word in, you're tightening your grip on toji's arm and turning him away. "fuck off, bitch."

toji's ears twitch at the sounds of her angry sputtering in the distance, but his gaze remains zeroed in on you. your brows are pinched deep, and there's a frustrated scowl sitting on your lips as you drag him over to another section. "here, let's look at some of these clothes."

toji recognizes you are trying to change the subject, but he does not deny how your anger on his behalf feels so intoxicatingly addicting. he cannot help but push further.

"thought i would attack her, did ya?" he grins cheekily, canines glinting, and you huff. suddenly, you look rather embarrassed, peering up at him bitterly.

"i was just trying to get her to shut up. if you attacked anyone we'd be in big trouble."

"didn't realize you had that in you," toji ponders. for some reason, he cannot stop analyzing your microexpressions, finding some sick joy in looking at you. "not bad for a cushy little human."

you roll your eyes—toji's stomach flips in tandem. he can feel his tail lazily moving back and forth.

"wow, a compliment from the big bad wolf," you throw him a scathing smile, but he can tell you're joking. "what an honor."

"pretty sure you're scarier than i am." toji watches you rustle through the clothes on the shelves, a wry smile now comfortably resting on his face. "think you took a few years off her life."

"i hope she trips," you mutter, and toji barks out a laugh, clear and unfiltered. your lips twitch upward at the sound.

"hurry up and pick stuff so we can home," you whine with another huff, shoving at his arm. "i'm starving here."

the word home rolls over toji's body—it's warm and velvety and comfortable in a way that scares him.

he spends the next fifteen minutes rustling through the racks. you amble away to peer at other items while he does so, trying to give him his privacy. toji both appreciates it and resents it—something about you being farther away from him makes his body tense.

after a while he calls you back, shoving a modest pile of clothing into your hands. "here, i'm done."

he's hoping you just nod and take him to the counter, but yet again, he's underestimated you. you look through each item, peering at the price tags critically, before finally sighing.

"are you trying to pick cheap stuff on purpose?" you look at him with a raised brow and he groans—caught.

"i don't wanna put you out."

"ugh toji," you say his name with so much stressed exasperation he has to fight back a grin. "don't worry about that. i barely spend money to begin with. i promise you i can afford decent clothes."

he glances to the side, stubborn. he still does not particularly enjoy the idea of being indebted to you—not that he would ever say that out loud.

"if you don't pick honestly, i'm gonna find that lady and get her to annoy you again."

he blinks, looking at you and your haughtily raised brows and crossed arms.

"oh fuck please don't," toji groans, rolling his eyes. "she was—"

"a bitch?" you finish, shaking your head with a smile. "yeah she was. so please pick things out properly and don't make me go find her."

"fine," he relents, reaching out to pick up the first semi-expensive looking thing he can find. he holds it up to his body and throws you a mocking grin. "happy now?"

and yet when he looks at you, you're giving him the most genuine smile, satisfaction glimmering in your eyes. "yeah, really happy."

his mouth goes dry, and toji spends the remainder of the trip saying yes to everything you pull off the shelves for him.

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[esouliie]

that’s when i could finally breathe.

(wandanat x reader)

summary | you didn’t know having the best surgeons in the world as girlfriends usually meant being the loneliest person.

tags | hurt/comfort, poor mental health, hospital au, wanda is so gentle with reader, fic is inspired by taylor swift!!

Summer had always been your favourite season. The heat of the sun, the taste of ice cream melting on your tongue, and the sensation of warm sand beneath your feet—it was when you felt most alive. Your wardrobe was a testament to this: light dresses, miniskirts, and shorts that flattered your sun-kissed skin. But now, it had become your favourite for a different reason. It was summer when you first moved in with Natasha and Wanda. Their beach house was like that of a dream, larger than anything you’d ever lived in before. It stood tall and proud on the beachfront, its white shell-coloured walls and soft blue accents blending seamlessly with the surrounding environment. Inside, the house was open and airy, sunlight flooding in through the large windows, which offered an unobstructed view of the shimmering ocean. The seagulls' calls echoed in the distance, a constant reminder of the peaceful life you'd found here with your girlfriends.

You remembered how that first week had been pure bliss. The three of you had spent days "christening" each room, the laughter and love you shared echoing off the walls as you tangled in each other’s embrace. During the day, you would lounge together on the beach, Natasha daring you to swim out farther into the ocean while Wanda kept a watchful eye, her smile soft and affectionate. It was everything you’d ever dreamed of—a home filled with love, a future filled with endless possibilities.

But that summer felt like a lifetime ago.

The days passed in a blur, each one blending into the next. You went through the motions, but your mind was elsewhere, lost in a fog you couldn’t seem to shake. Natasha was out more often than not, her career as a cardiologist taking her away for long hours, sometimes even multiple days at a time. Up to becoming the next Head Chief of Surgery, she was a force of nature at work, tirelessly moving from one critical case to the next. Wanda, a neonatalogist, was around more often, but recently her presence was like a ghost in the house—she was always preoccupied, her thoughts wrapped around the delicate lives she fought to save every day. Her latest case being quadruplets with their own unique life threatening disorders that required assistance from doctors all over the hospital. You could see how exhausted she was, her eyes sunken beneath her glasses for when she’s been straining her eyes too much.

And you understood the importance of their work, you really did. They were saving lives, making a difference, and that was something you had always admired about them. But lately, admiration had been replaced with a growing emptiness that gnawed at you. The house felt colder, larger, and the silence between you three had become almost unbearable. Meals together were rare, but even when they did happen, you felt like you were dining alone. You sat at the table, picking at your food, barely tasting it, while Natasha and Wanda exchanged brief conversations about work—medical jargon that you used to find fascinating, but now only served to remind you how far apart you were growing. You wanted to speak, to tell them how you were feeling, but the words never seemed to come. Instead, you would just nod, smile when appropriate, and try to pretend everything was okay.

It wasn’t.

Tonight was supposed to be different, though. It was the night before your semester started again, and they had promised to be home early for dinner, with no work talk. You had spent the afternoon preparing a meal, something simple but special—your way of bringing back a piece of normalcy, a piece of the life you missed so much. As the clock ticked on and the evening slipped away, hope slowly faded. You sat at the dinner table, the food untouched, candles flickering softly. The silence was deafening. No texts, no calls—just empty chairs where Wanda and Natasha were supposed to be. You forced yourself to eat, each bite tasting like ash in your mouth. You kept glancing at the door, hoping to hear the familiar sound of their voices, the comforting click of the door unlocking. But the only sound was the distant crash of waves and the ticking of the clock on the wall.

By the time you realised they weren’t coming, tears were already blurring your vision. You cleaned up in a haze, your movements mechanical. You packed away the uneaten food for them when they come home, put the dishes in the sink, and blew out the candles, the scent of melted vanilla wax mingling with the salt of your tears. You didn’t even bother with dessert, your appetite gone along with the last shred of your hope for the night. This was it. Your relationship slipping away from underneath you. Heading to bed, you felt like a ghost drifting through the house. You crawled under the covers, curling up into yourself, the loneliness a cold weight on your chest. Sleep didn’t come easy, and when it did, it was restless, filled with dreams of empty spaces and silent room.

Weeks passed like this, with you becoming more and more of a shell. Your thoughts spiraled downward, a mixture of poor mental health, the overwhelming work load from school, and the crushing loneliness that came from being around the people you loved who seemed to be slipping away. They didn’t notice. Or maybe they did, but there was always something more pressing—an emergency at the hospital that had them leaving in the middle of movie night, or a case that couldn’t wait as they left you lonely at the dinner table. And so, you sank further into yourself, your once vibrant spirit now dulled by the weight of it all.

One afternoon, Wanda came home early – a rare occurrence that would have made you happy, once. She walked into the house, the usual tension in her shoulders softened by a rare quiet day at the hospital. She called out for you, her voice echoing through the silent rooms, but you didn’t respond. Maybe you were still at school she initially thought, but something tugged at her, an intuition she couldn’t ignore, and she followed it outside.

The sight of you on the beach, sitting alone with your knees pulled to your chest, caught her off guard. The waves lapped at the shore gently, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside you. You didn’t hear her approach; you were too lost in your thoughts, the tears streaming down your face as you sobbed freely, salt stinging as the wind whipped at your skin.

“Hey,” she whispered, kneeling beside you, her voice gentle but laced with concern. You looked up, startled, and quickly wiped your tears, but it was too late. She had already seen them, “why are you crying?”

You tried to find the words, but they were tangled in your throat. Wanda reached out, her hand cradling the back of your neck, before wiping away a stray tear you missed. That simple touch was enough to make you crumble. “I’m sorry,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Wanda’s eyes softened, her usual composure cracking as she realised just how much she had missed. “Do what, honey?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Everything. All of it. I feel like I’m drowning, and I don’t know how to stop it. I know you and Nat are busy, I understand and I’m so proud of you both, but my head won’t stop telling me all these things, that you don’t love me anymore, and I’ve been so lonely, Wands- I miss you,” you hiccupped, “and Natty.”

You met her gaze finally, noticing the gloss of her own eyes as she holds back her tears. Her heart broke at your words, guilt washing over her like a tidal wave. She had been so consumed by her work, by the endless demands of her job, that she hadn’t seen what was happening right in front of her. She pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly as if trying to piece you back together.

“My baby,” she whispered into your hair, trembling as she kept her emotions at bay, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t notice you were hurting. I love you. So much.”

You wanted to tell her it was okay, that you understood, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you just cried harder, the weight of all the loneliness, all the pain, finally spilling out. You clung to her, the warmth of her embrace a stark contrast to the cold emptiness you had been feeling for so long. “It’s not your fault,” you choked out, “I hid it from you guys because I didn’t want to be a burden. You both have so much going on, I didn’t want to add to that.”

Wanda shook her head, pulling back enough to look you in the eyes, delicate hands cupping your cheeks. “No, sweetheart, you’re never a burden. We’ve been so focused on work that we’ve neglected the most important thing to us —you. I promise you, this stops now, okay?”

You went to reply, a rebuttal already ready at the edge of your tongue, when Wanda’s phone rang. The sound cut through the moment like a knife, and she sighed, pressing a long kiss to your forehead, before pulling away out to check who was calling. Her eyes softened as she looked at the screen, showing you a picture of the three of you together. It was one of your favorites—a candid shot of you asleep with your head on Wanda’s lap, her fingers playing with your hair, while Natasha grinned at the camera, her arm wrapped around the both of you. “It’s Nat,” Wanda said, her voice gentle. She stood up, keeping one hand on your shoulder. “Stay right here, baby. I’m just gonna tell her she needs to come home, okay?”

You nodded, watching as she stepped away to take the call, her voice low and urgent. You could hear bits and pieces of her conversation—something about coming home right now, about how you needed them both. It made your heart ache, but in a different way this time. Wanda returned a few moments later, her expression determined. “Nat’s on her way,” she said, taking your hand and pulling you up to stand with her. “Let’s go inside, alright? We’ll wait for her together.” You let her lead you back inside, the warmth of her hand in yours a small comfort. As you sat down on the couch, Wanda wrapped an arm around you, holding you close. The two of you sat in silence, the only sound the distant crash of the waves and your favourite tv show low in the background.

That evening, when Natasha returned, the three of you sat together. She listened intently as you and Wanda explained what had been happening, her eyes filled with regret as she realised how distant she had become. How she could’ve been a better girlfriend to you. She reached out, taking both your hand and Wanda’s, her grip firm and reassuring. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, my love.” Natasha said, her voice raw and broken, “I promise to do better by you. I love you. We’ll figure this out together. I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re alone in this. We’re a team, remember?” Wanda squeezed your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, before she said, “We’ll always be a team.”

And they meant it. The following weeks, they took time off from work, dedicating their days to you, to each other. It wasn’t a magic fix, the path to healing rarely is, but it was a start. You spent your days together, and when you weren’t in classes, you were rediscovering the small joys that had once been the foundation of your relationship. Walks on the beach, movie nights curled up on the couch, late-night talks that stretched into the early hours of the morning, slow kisses under the stars as you undressed each other, declaring your love to one another once again.

At night, you lay in bed between them, their arms wrapped around you, the weight on your chest finally began to lift, the crushing pressure easing as you drifted off. The path ahead was still uncertain; you knew there would be hard days, especially as they were soon to return to work, but for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again. And upon your girlfriend’s chest, you realised you didn’t have to carry the burden alone, because they were here with you.

You weren’t alone anymore, and that made all the difference.

[chrisdr3]

"Ignorant" ~ OP81

Fluff

Oscar x Introvert!Reader

Summary: Y/n gets hateful comments about her appearance and for being "ignorant", whilst Oscar tries to understand what's going on with her feelings.

You never really liked to talk much, you always were shy and tended to hide your emotions. You were more on the introverted side, like Oscar. When you were together, Oscar did most of the talking, especially when you were infront of fans, reporters and team members unknown to you.

That's the main reason the hate started. Most of it, at least. Every day, you were recieving hateful messages and comments on your social media. Everywhere you went, several fans that recognised you said things about you. Because of that, you started staying at home and you stopped posting stuff on your social. The worst part is that you distanced yourself slowly from relatives and friends.

At the last few races, you went on McLaren's hospitality from the back, avoiding fans as much as you could and avoided places of the garage that had cameras and media. You took your headset and hid in lonely corners or in Oscar's driver room, where nobody could reach you, and stayed there, sometimes crying and others just sitting and thinking. Feeling hideous and snub.

As the time passed, you started distancing yourself from Oscar slowly, thinking he hated you just like the "fans". He wasn't talking much either, so that's what you thought. You didn't really hug or cuddle him, you ate and showered alone, you spent hours locked up in your office room, reading books, and didn't sleep well at night, staring at the ceiling, trying not to cry. Long story short, you started avoiding him, too.

The fist days, Oscar thought you had to study for uni. Then a week passed and Oscar started to get worried. He wanted to help you, he wanted to talk to you, to find what's going on. He was cooking your favourite meals, bringing them to your door, tried to understand if you had a certain time of going out to shower, but you didn't.

One day, he checked your social media, just in case he found why were you acting like that. He checked them that same afternoon he came up with the idea and scrolled through your accounts, every comment he saw made him even angrier. He then posted something in response.

"I've repeatedly seen hateful actions and comments about Y/n and I want people to know that she's not ignorant or rude, she's an introverted person. So, I'm requesting from everyone to respect her. If there are still people out there, still hating on her through internet or irl, they'll stop being considered "fans" by me and will be reported. Thank you." That's what the post said.

He then waited till you got out to shower and stranded waiting in the doorframe if the closed bathroom door. When you got out, he moved infront of you and pulled you into a warm, bone crushing hug. "Why are you so distant lately, sweetheart?"

Tears escaped from your eyes, and you cried silently in Oscar's arms, staining his shirt with them. He didn't move, he rubbed your back gently. "That's it, let it out princess." You continued crying till you hadn't any more tears to shed, holding the towel around your body tightly, afraid it will fall.

Oscar cupped your face and kissed your forehead. "It's okay baby, I'm here for you." He whispered. "Talk to me, what took you away from me?" You looked at him, your face tear stained, sad. "Promise n-not to get angry?" You mumbled. "Of course, I can't get angry that easily, especially from you." He replied, caressing your hair.

You didn't leave his arms, snuggled in their warmth instead. "D-do you hate me?" You mumbled, looking at your feet. "Why would I hate you baby?" He responded, not getting his arms off you. "Because I'm"ignorant" and "rude" and "snub"." Oscar looked at you and smiled sadly. "It's the comments, huh?" You raised your head, a questioning expression in your face.

"I know about the hate you get. I saw it on your social and you don't know how many times I've heard "fans" talk to me or to other people about you when in races or downtown." He explained, ruffling yor hair. "Oh..."

"I'm here for you baby, I know you are shy and stuff but I believe in you. You can ignore them and you have the words to confront them." He smiled. "Can you try that? For me?" "I'll try..." You whispered. "Thanks, sweetheart." You kissed his cheek, adjusting your towel. Oscar noticed, he then grabbed your hand and led you to your shared bedroom. "Let's get you dressed, princess."

Taglist: @pinkswaet @dilemmaontwolegs @changetyre @thef1diary @f1driverszona

[the-californicationist]

The Window (6 of 7)

Ch 01 // Ch 02 // Ch 03 // Ch 04 // Ch 05 // Ch 06 // Ch 07

AO3 Link

TW: lactation kink

The house is lonely without your boys, especially when your breasts are so full and achy. If only there was someone home to help you…

You settled into the house almost too quickly. You each had your own space, but the main bedroom was where you all spent most of your time. The bedroom was huge — one of the reasons John had picked this house — and the en suite bathroom could more than accommodate all five of you, if need be. But, when the boys were away, the sprawling, expansive house was… lonely. 

They tried to leave you in shifts, but it wasn’t like they were logging hours at a normal job; it was war. War didn’t have a schedule. So, you padded around the house, trying to play some music or keep the television on, but it wasn’t the same. It was just you and… who? 

You’d asked the doctor not to tell you the sex of your baby at your ultrasound appointment, and none of the potential fathers had been around to go with you. So, you were in the dark. You’d thought about names, and Johnny had offered a good many family names to keep you busy for a while. But, even though you had plenty to think about and plenty to do – you were still working remote on recon and data tracking – it was just an empty sort of existence. 

To make matters worse, you’d hit a bit of a snare. Right at the sixteen week mark, you’d started leaking more than just a little milk. You’d woken up to a wet, messy situation, and you quickly scheduled an appointment. The doctor had taken some time to assure you all was well, but then, not even a week later, you had swollen, painful blockages and you were back in his office, waiting for more news. 

“Looks like you just have tiny ducts,” he shrugged, looking at your scans. His hands were dry but chilly as he peeked under your hospital robe to examine your sore nipples, “You may need to express them. I know it may put you at risk of an early labor, but we can monitor you in the meantime. Try to only pump when absolutely necessary.”

So, you’d followed his orders. Once every few days, you pumped out the heavy, engorged globes that used to be B-cups, watching as your nipples filled jar after jar. There was no use in freezing it this early, so down the drain it went. 

Now, at week twenty something, you were a walking milk nightmare. You’d never done so many loads of laundry in your life. The embarrassing thing about it though was that you liked it. Just the thought of attaching the plastic suction cup onto your breast was enough to make you slick between your legs, and the act itself was frequently pleasurable enough to send you over a climactic edge. To say that your nipples were sensitive was an understatement. But still, you tried to only do it when need be. You didn’t want to make a mistake. 

When the boys came home, you filled them in on all the updates. Johnny was a little sad he’d missed the ultrasound, but it just added fuel to his fire of picking out names. He seemed even more interested in the pain-relieving, pleasure-inducing qualities of your breast pump, though. At dinner, you caught him staring down your shirt more than once when you tried to speak with him, and when you lay together on the couch, his hand was always massaging your swollen flesh, all under the guise of keeping you from getting another painful duct. 

But, you knew the truth. His cock had never been so hard as when you started to leak through your top and had to go change, rushing to wash and find your nipple pads. Johnny stalked you into the large bedroom, thumb crooked in the waistband of his pants, 

“You alright, bonnie? Need me to help you?”

“No, yeah. I’m okay. Just… dealing with the dairy farm over here,” you said, exasperated. 

He sat down next to you on the edge of the bed, watching you pull out the tubes and machine with all of its parts and cords. His hand fell to your thigh, squeezing you gently,

“Think I could do it instead?”

“You…” You turned to face him, hands still tangled in the pump, making sure you heard him correctly, “You want to try it?”

Johnny adjusted himself in his jeans, his eyes pinned to your cleavage, unable to look away even for decorum’s sake, 

“Aye, lass. More than anythin’.”

“Um, sure. I think it’s fine. It all gets thrown out anyway. I’ll get you a towel,” you moved to get up, your belly now at a round enough size to be a hindrance, but he stopped you, pulling you back down roughly. 

“Hey —” You protested, but he interrupted you.

“Sit down,” his voice was gravelly and heavily accented, almost like when he was drunk, “Let me…” 

“Johnny, wait,” you tried to twist away from his grip, but he was too strong, “It’ll be such a mess. They’re so full right now. Just wait for me to—”

His eyes shot up to yours, pinning you in place, his full lips set in a hungry snarl, 

“I dinnae need a towel, bonnie. I’m gonna taste you, messy or not.”

He let his vow sink in, and you could feel yourself melting, literally and figuratively, at his words. You didn’t fight him as he began to kiss you, smearing his mouth all over you, doing his best to shove down your tank top, stuffing the neckline under your tits, fumbling around the back to unhook the clasp of your bra. 

“Johnny,” you breathed, your voice giving away the wet rush that was flooding straight to your core, “The laundry…”

“Fuck the laundry. I need to drain you fuckin’ dry. Right now.”  

Your whole body responded to that comment. Your skin flushed hot and your sore nipples hardened, eager to experience the way his mouth would feel as he drank from you. You weren’t even sure if he’d know how to draw out your milk. 

All of your concerns were cast aside as he settled you in his lap, pulling off your clothes like a much-desired present, tossing your clothes aside like wrapping paper to get to the good part. He fumbled with his jeans, freeing his thick, curved cock from his pants, pumping it roughly to spread his precome over the heavy head. 

You helped him, angling your body over his dick and lowering yourself down onto him, as carefully as you could, spearing your pussy with his rod, inch by trembling inch, listening to him try to catch his breath. Once you reached the middle, at the deepest part of his curve, you struggled to fit him the rest of the way in, grinding forward and back, looking for that sweet spot. 

Then, impatient and hungry, he finished the job, pulling you down by your hips and forcing himself the rest of the way. It made you cry out from the shock of it. It wasn’t necessarily painful, but his roughness was a stark change from how he had been treating you. When he knew about the baby, he spent a lot of time preparing you, using his mouth to lap at your pussy and prying you apart with his fingers. Always gentle and mindful of your comfort. But, not now. Now, he had his sights set on devouring you in the literal sense of the word.

“Johnny…” You gasped, rocking against his shape tentatively.

“C’mere, lass,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice sharp and commanding. 

His eyes were fixated on your dark, round nipples, and as you rode him, grinding yourself down onto his lap, he latched onto your left breast, taking the meat of your peak all the way into his mouth. Then, he began to suck. 

You thought it would be gentle and sensual, expecting it to be largely for his pleasure and not effective enough to get the thick, creamy milk out of your poor swollen ducts, but you were wrong. Johnny began to suck and swallow, suck and swallow, suck and swallow; a terrifying, rhythmic feeding, drinking from you like his life depended on it. You peered down at him as he delivered this unknown pleasure to you. 

Johnny’s eyes were fluttering closed, the whites of them rolling back into his head, and he began to let out these long, deep, guttural moans. You could feel the relief in your breast the moment he began, and with each suck, you could tell that his mouth was filling with squirt after squirt of warm, sweet milk. 

Your hips humped against him involuntarily at this point, too horny to think straight, and you realized that your right nipple had begun to let down, full as it was. You tried to catch it from dripping onto him, swiping away the white rivulets with your palm, but he caught you, realizing you were trying to take what was his. 

He moved his mouth from your left nipple to your right, letting his score drip down his chin and neck, caring nothing for the mess. Then, he latched onto your right nipple just as he had the left, sucking and swallowing until his cock throbbed inside of you. 

You cradled his head as he drank from you, using his neck and shoulders to keep you steady as you rode him, feeling him suckle against you over and over, your hot milk filling his belly. 

“Havin’ fun without us, Johnny?” Price’s voice rumbled from the doorway, startling you. You tried to turn around, but Johnny had you in a vice grip, and all you could do was ride and whimper from his fucking and his feeding. 

“John…” You moaned, and he stepped around to sit next to his sergeant on the bed, smiling at the two of you, admiring the mess you were making. 

“Can I try, love?” Price asked, leaning forward to drink from you without waiting for your permission. 

All you could do was moan, high and helpless, your pussy so wet that it was practically gushing over Johnny’s thick cock. As soon as you felt John’s mouth on you, suckling from you just as intently as Soap’s, you started to come. You felt yourself clenching around your hungry lover, flooding him with your orgasm, wrecked by their insistent mouths.

“Tha’s it, bonnie,” Johnny pulled away, white streams of cream falling from his lips, looking like he was drunk, “Come for me.”

Price was greedier than Soap, even though you weren’t sure how that could be possible, and he used his strong hand to knead and squeeze your tits, forcing your body to drop even more milk for him to drink. His mustache tickled your sensitive flesh, and you couldn’t see it but you could hear the twisting, slapping wetness of him jerking his fat cock as he drank from you. 

“Fuck, she tastes so good, hm?” Prince crooned. 

“Hngh, Johnny… I can’t…” You whined, feeling yourself start to become overstimulated, “I can’t…”

“You can, lass. And you fuckin’ will,” Johnny grabbed your face in his hand, squishing your cheeks, forcing you to kiss him. You could taste your own milk on his tongue. It was warm and a little sugary, like the dregs of a bowl of cereal, thick and creamy. 

He released your jaw and went back to work, suckling from you with a relentless vacuum, making your head spin. You didn’t know how you were able to make so much milk, but it seemed endless. You were hypnotized by the way his throat bulged as he swallowed gulp after gulp of your body’s gift, sucking you down. 

Price seemed just as hungry, and you saw how, from the corners of his mouth, tiny droplets of milk would escape and wet his beard, the white cream staining his dark hair. He teased you with his hand, leaving his cock to fend for itself as he smeared his precome all over your asshole. Then, as you rode Soap back and forth, thrusting against him with abandon, John put his finger against your puckered hole and let you push yourself onto it. As you canted your hips back, your hole would let your captain’s huge fingertip slide inside it. As you thrust forward, you would pull away, losing the feeling of fullness that he was giving you. 

It was agony. You wanted him to fuck you on his hand, or to take you with his cock — as painful as it may be without prep — anything to make you feel filled up. But he didn’t; he kept his finger right where he wanted it, letting you fuck yourself with just the tip until you felt stinging tears in the corners of your eyes. 

“Please, John… please…” You barely had any words left, but he knew what you wanted. 

He met your eyes with his own as he took a particularly long suck from your sore breast, making you watch as he coaxed your nectar into his mouth. Then, he pulled away with a swift pop, licking across your swollen nipple to soothe the pain he had caused. He smiled at you, patronizingly, teasing you still with his finger,

“Does our girl need me to fuck her tight little arse?”

You nodded, barely able to keep your eyes open, overwhelmed by the pleasure, 

“Yes, please… I need it. Need to come again. Please…”

“Fuck, bonnie. If you come again, you’ll take me with you,” Soap murmured, unwilling to take his mouth away from your tits too far, talking with his mouth half-full.

Price bent his head, returning to his rough suckling, filling his cheeks with more of your milk. But, this time, as you thrust yourself against Johnny, you felt two, curled fingers shove themselves deep inside of your asshole. Your whole body convulsed, your pussy clenching and gushing with wetness, twisting its muscles around Soap’s dick, trying to get him to fill you with his load. Your legs shuddered, unable to keep from shaking as you rode him, feeling numb as the tantalizing sensation of your stretched holes washed over you. 

John fucked you without mercy, pulling his fingers all the way out and stuffing them all the way back into your ass everytime you thrust forward and back. You were screaming, and your poor, well-used cunt was pumping itself against Soap’s rod, making heinous slick noises as you rode him. Beyond any sort of politeness or gentility, your men were noisy in their feasting as well, slurping and sucking loudly, grunting every time you clenched yourself around them. 

When Price added a third finger, you came again, your pussy quickly running out of room to accommodate them both. Soap’s hot seed burst inside of you just as he’d promised, burning your core and painting your walls with his come. 

“Oh, fuck! Johnny, fill me up. Fill me…” You slurred, letting your head hang back limply, basking in the feeling of his orgasm. 

Price took the opportunity to haul you off of Johnny’s lap and onto his own, replacing the emptiness in your pussy with his fat cock, sliding through his sergeant’s come and keeping his fingers in your ass as you rode him. 

Even though he was spent, Johnny didn’t let up on his feeding. He’d ripped a page out of Price’s playbook and was massaging your breast with both hands, squeezing out every last drop from your body. When he finally stopped suckling from your bruised nipple, he licked you, over and over, running the warm flat of his tongue across your nipple to swipe up any stray drops, chasing your peaks as you bounced on your captain’s dick. 

Price squeezed your tits in his hands, letting the one that was still full squirt all over his mouth and nose, covering himself in your cream. When he noticed Soap’s desperation, he switched positions. The sergeant fell onto his back, resting against the mattress, and the captain threw you on all fours, letting your tits dangle over Johnny’s open mouth. Then, he climbed up behind you, feeding himself back into your pussy. 

As Price fucked himself into you, your breasts swayed back and forth, your nipples rubbing across Soap’s mouth as he moved from one to the other. You felt him latch onto the left one, drinking from you in thirsty slurping gulps, his puckered lips pressing onto your flesh with as much suction as he could muster. Meanwhile, your stretched cunt was being stuffed with Price’s shaft, his head invading your deepest parts, filling up your hole over and over and over. 

Finally, when you were out of milk and practically sobbing from the brain-breaking orgasms you’d been given, he pulled out, flipping you onto your back and laying you right beside Soap, aiming his load at your bruised tits. His teeth were clenched as he grunted out his climax, painting long, white ropes of come all over your nipples. 

You looked down, unable to tell what was his and what was yours, your breasts messy and covered in cream of all kinds. John’s hands came down and rubbed his spend all over your nipples, smearing it around them like a salve. Johnny leaned over you, licking up Price’s come just as greedily as he had your milk, latching and suckling from you over and over, even if you were empty, like a greedy puppy. 

Exhausted, and with a belly full of breast milk, Price crashed to the mattress beside you and Soap. 

Standing in the doorway, Gaz and Ghost looked down at you with smug, satisfied expressions, and Garrick chuckled, 

“Better recover quick, babes. Got me workin’ up an appetite.”

[you-have-a-metal-arm]

'Til The End of The Line pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Mentions of hospitals

Summary: You get injured in a mission, and Bucky cannot bear to see you in such state.

Author's Note: Please do not copy or translate my work. English is not my first language, so please understand grammar or spelling mistakes.

Thank you for those who enjoyed the first part, and thank you again for waiting.

Part 2 is now yours.

The world around Bucky seemed to blur as he followed the medical team through the corridor. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears like a drum. The sight of you lying so still, bloodied and broken, was something he never thought he’d see—not like this, not when he hadn’t even told you how much he loved you that morning.

As Dr. Cho and her team wheeled you into the surgical room, Bucky’s steps faltered. He felt like he was wading through quicksand, every movement heavy and slow. He wanted to be with you, to hold your hand, to tell you that everything would be okay. But he was kept out of the room, forced to watch through the glass as the doors closed behind you.

Tony, standing beside him, placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “She’s strong, Bucky. She’ll pull through.”

But Tony’s words felt hollow to Bucky. He had seen too much death, too much loss. The fear of losing you was like a knife twisting in his gut. He couldn’t lose you—not when you were his reason to keep fighting, his anchor in the storm.

His mind raced back to the last few months—the mornings spent in quiet domesticity, the late-night talks about the future, the way you laughed at his terrible jokes. How could it all be ripped away in a single moment?

Bucky pressed his hand against the glass, his breath fogging up the cold surface. His other hand clenched into a fist, the tension coiled tight in his chest. The image of you, fragile and bleeding, burned into his mind.

Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours—he couldn’t tell. Time had no meaning as he stood there, waiting, praying, hoping for a miracle.

Tony stayed by his side, silent. Steve joined them, his face drawn and pale. The guilt weighed heavily on Steve’s shoulders, and Bucky could see it. But Bucky had no room for blame—only a desperate need for you to come back to him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Dr. Cho emerged from the operating room. Her face was tired, but there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “She’s stable, but it was touch and go for a while.”

Bucky’s knees almost buckled with relief, but he held himself upright by sheer will. “Can I see her?”

Dr. Cho nodded. “She’s still unconscious, but you can sit with her. It’s important she has someone she loves nearby when she wakes up.”

Bucky didn’t wait for further permission. He pushed past the others and entered the room where you lay. The sight of you hooked up to monitors, IVs, and machines tore at his heart, but at least you were alive. Your chest rose and fell steadily, and the color was slowly returning to your cheeks.

He pulled up a chair beside your bed, taking your hand in his. The warmth of your skin, even faint, was enough to give him hope. He brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his thumb tracing the lines of your face as if memorizing every detail.

“I’m here, doll,” he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. “I’m right here. Please, come back to me.”

The room was quiet, save for the beeping of the machines that tracked your vital signs. Bucky stayed by your side, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. He didn’t sleep, didn’t eat—he just watched you, waiting for any sign that you were waking up.

Hours passed, and the rest of the team came and went, offering support, but Bucky barely registered them. His world had narrowed down to just you, lying so still in that hospital bed.

At some point, he must have dozed off because he was startled awake by a faint pressure on his hand. His eyes flew open, and he looked down to see your fingers twitching slightly in his grasp.

“Y/N?” His voice was barely a whisper as he leaned closer, his heart pounding in his chest.

You stirred, your eyelids fluttering weakly. It took you a moment to orient yourself, but when your eyes finally opened, they were full of confusion and pain. “B-Buck?” Your voice was hoarse, barely audible.

“I’m here, doll, I’m right here.” Bucky’s relief was palpable as he squeezed your hand gently, his eyes misting over. “You’re okay. You made it.”

A weak smile tugged at your lips, though the effort seemed to exhaust you. “I… I thought… I wasn’t going to make it.”

“You did, though,” Bucky whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re safe now. We’re together.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, your hand trembling slightly in his grasp. “I… I heard you… on the comms. I was so scared… that I’d never see you again.”

“It’s quite a miracle that she woke up. But we still must keep an eye out for any damage to her brain,” the doctor said.

“I’ll call Dr. Cho for further checkups. My job’s done for now.” The doctor left, and Bucky’s gaze returned to you.

Bucky sat back down beside you, his eyes brimming with unshed tears as he clutched your hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. He couldn't believe you were awake, breathing, speaking to him. The terror of almost losing you hadn’t yet faded from his mind.

You looked at him, your voice barely a whisper but full of the love you had for him. “Hey, I told you I’m not going anywhere, didn’t I?”

Bucky let out a shaky laugh, a mix of relief and disbelief. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours, feeling the warmth of your skin that he thought he’d never feel again. “You scared the hell out of me, doll. I thought—”

His voice cracked, and he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I know, I know,” you whispered, your free hand weakly brushing the tears from his cheeks. “But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, Buck.”

He pulled back to look at you, his blue eyes swimming with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he admitted, his voice barely holding together.

“I can’t lose you. I won’t.”

“You won’t,” you reassured him, squeezing his hand with as much strength as you could muster. “We’re going to get through this. Together.”

For a long moment, Bucky just stared at you, memorizing every line of your face as if afraid it might vanish if he looked away. The weight of everything he had almost lost hung heavily in the air between you, but so did the promise of the future you still had together.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice trembling with the intensity of the words.

“More than anything in this world.”

“I love you too, Buck,” you replied softly, your eyes shining with the same intensity. “And I’m sorry for putting you through this. For making you worry so much.”

“Don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t apologize. None of this is your fault. You’re the strongest person I know, and you’re going to get better. We’re going to get through this, and then we’ll live that life we talked about.”

A small, hopeful smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah, with the house, the backyard, and maybe… maybe even those babies.”

Bucky’s heart swelled with emotion at the thought. The future seemed so far away, but with you here, with your hand in his, it felt possible again. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice choked with emotion. “We’ll have that. I promise you, we’ll have that.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, exhaustion weighing heavily on you, but you fought to stay awake, to stay with him. “I’m going to hold you to that, Barnes.”

He chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You better. I’m not going anywhere either, doll. You’re stuck with me.”

“Good,” you whispered, finally allowing yourself to drift off to sleep, knowing that Bucky would be right there when you woke up again.

As you slept, Bucky stayed by your side, his hand still holding yours tightly. He didn’t move, didn’t even blink, afraid that if he did, this fragile moment of peace would shatter. But as he watched the steady rise and fall of your chest, he let himself believe that everything was going to be okay. That the darkness had passed, and the light of a new day would bring the life you both deserved.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Bucky allowed himself to hope.

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Tag list @baw1066 @hzdhrtss @mrsnikstan

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Thank you for reading and enjoy your weekend :)

[thezombieprostitute]

Your small town has been invaded by a biker club. They want a peaceful takeover but they can twist your arm if needed.

Holy shnikes, I spent so much time working on this! I almost had to make it a two part story! I've barely been able to work on anything else because I needed to get this story written up instead. I honestly think I've never written anything like this before.

Word Count: ~3.6k

Warnings: Choking, Dub/non consent, Implied violence, Knife play (mild). Please let me know if I missed any!

Next Part

Sheriff Lee Bodecker and Mayor John Walker caved to the bikers pretty quickly. Part of you could understand why; only a handful of officers in the entire county compared to a full biker gang? They'd never stand a chance. Better to be allowed to live without having to worry about ending up in the hospital. The Mayor didn't care so long as he got to keep his job, which now meant making the bikers happy.

Which meant paying the bikers with money from the city budget. Your library's budget in particular.

When you'd tried to argue about it, Mayor Walker hit back with "well we can't take any more from the school! Besides, no one needs the library anymore. They've all got their home computers and Internet. You'll be fine with the new budget."

In the end you'd had to let go all but one very part-time employee, relying on two or three volunteers instead. You were already working long hours but now they felt endless. With the budget cut, you had to reduce the purchases of new books in favor of maintaining the Internet connection several of older patrons relied on. Almost half of your day was spent working on applying for grants for additional funding for after-school programs and free-lunch programs for during the summer breaks.

Looking over everything, you were certain you'd have to dip into your own meager savings if you were going to meet the needs of your community. Mayor Walker really didn't seem to understand what the people of his city actually needed, but he didn't seem to care so long as he was in charge.

During an after-school reading time with the Kindergartners you're surprised by the entrance of one of the bikers. You think he's the second-in-command, but you're not sure. He's definitely not the blond in charge; "Cap" you think they call their leader. Still, you have kids to take care of, and this newcomer is a grown man. He can take care of himself.

When the story is done it's time for a nap for the kids. This is very likely the longest they've ever been away from home, away from family, and the sleep helps keep them from getting overstimulated. It was another thing Mayor Walker just didn't understand. All of these kids had parents that worked full time and couldn't afford a babysitter. There were no daycare options, either. Decades ago the kids could be left with a grandparent or a cousin, but they're all working as well or moved out of town. That left the library as a haven for the kids who didn't have access to the limited after-school activities as an option.

If there's anything good about working in such a tiny library it's that you can keep an eye on the kids and the biker while going about your other duties. Thankfully you'd gotten some WD-40 for the book carts so they wouldn't squeak and wake anyone up while you re-shelve books.

You also get a better look at the biker. He's sitting in one of the chairs reading The Hobbit. You hate to admit it but he does look handsome. Longish dark hair, steely blue eyes. For some reason he's still wearing his gloves. If only his arrival hadn't heralded such troubles for you. Well, at least he wasn't causing trouble.

Shelving the books gets you a bit of stretching and some impromptu squat exercises. You spend so much of your time at a desk that this is the closest thing you get to a workout. Given how your body continually snaps, crackles and pops, you could probably use more.

Your exercise is cut short by Ruth's entry and you have to fight the urge to let out a groan. Ruth is one of the older ladies in town who refused to get a computer for her home. Unfortunately that means each time she visits, you have to walk her through even the most basic elements of using a computer so she can send an email to her granddaughter. The entire time she complains to you about how much she hates computers and how much she wishes her daughter would've raised her own daughter correctly and been happy to just accept a phone call, and on, and on, and on.

"Hello Ruth," you quietly say, customer service smile on. "Let me go ahead and log you in to one of our computers?"

"I'm not an invalid!" she loudly complains. You try to quiet her, pointing to the sleeping children but she isn't having it. "All you youngsters thinking an old lady can't do anything for herself! How dare you imply I can't log on to a computer? I'll do it my own self."

You take a breath to steady yourself before looking over at the little ones. They seem largely undisturbed but, knowing Ruth, they'll be awake sooner rather than later. Sighing you go ahead and get their after nap snacks ready. Just another hour or so until their parents start coming by to pick them up. It doesn't take long before Ruth is yelling at the computer, complaining to you that "it's clearly broken" and "why can't we just write letters" along with her forever complaint of "wouldn't have to do this if she'd just pick up the damn phone!"

The kids start waking up and you quickly have to balance keeping them from being upset by the angry lady while also knowing any attempts to placate the angry lady will be met with more anger. Thankfully the snacks are a good distraction for most.

"Would you like some help on a different computer, Ruth?" you ask through gritted teeth, knowing the answer.

"Oh stop treating me like one of those brats," she snaps back. "What kind of library is this where computers are more important than books? Shouldn't even have these monstrosities here!"

"Excuse me, Ruth, is it? I'm Bucky." You'd been so distracted going between Ruth and the kids you didn't notice the biker had put down his book and walked over.

"Oh don't get me started on you and yours!" Ruth retorts. "Town was so much better before you hooligans came along! Now I can't even call the police to help me out when then those teenagers are loitering in my yard!"

"Well Ruth, let me give you my number so the next time you can call me instead of the police," he offers. You're surprised at how calm he's sounding despite being yelled at.

Ruth huffs, "you no-good-beatniks! How dare you insult me! You should get out of our town and leave us good folk alone!"

The biker, Bucky, smiles, "seems to me 'good folk' don't go harassing people who are just trying to do their job." You have to bite back a laugh at that comment. It's no good riling her up even more.

Ruth storms out, letting you focus on the kids who are looking unsure if they should be upset or not. You give the biker a quick "thank you" before giving the little ones all of your attention. He nods and goes back to his reading.

Soon enough the parents start coming in and picking up their kids. Several of them stick around long enough to check out a book or movie and you have to balance taking care of the remaining children with getting the families out on their way. It's always such an ado that makes you really wish you could hire some extra help. A few parents complain about the snacks you gave their kids and you remind them, yet again, that they are free to donate snacks they consider appropriate. All the while you keep your customer service smile up, despite how much you're internally screaming and crying.

Things finally calm down and you're able to sit and take a breather. You desperately want to quit but this community needs a library, even if the Mayor doesn't think so. And goodness knows they'd never be able to hire anyone else to work these conditions. You look over to where the biker is sitting, still reading. If his gang hadn't shown up, you'd be in a much better position. Maybe even able to take a vacation.

Checking the time you decide to keep your professionalism and head over to the man. "Sir, excuse me?" He looks up at you, bright blue eyes momentarily startled. "Sir, we're going to be closing in about a half hour."

"Oh, yeah, sure thing," he nods as he closes the book. "Also, please call me Bucky."

"Sure thing, Bucky," you nod, too tired to argue.

"Gotta say, you do a lot of work for a librarian."

"What do you mean by that?" You don't hold back the bite in your tone and cross your arms.

He chuckles, "I didn't mean to offend. Just, I thought librarians were just supposed to check out the books, y'know? Maybe answer questions? Didn't expect you to also be a daycare, IT person and all that."

"And that's just the work that you saw," you snap at him.

"Don't you have anyone helping you out?"

"I did, before your gang came along!" You're unable to hold back any longer. "Because of you the Mayor cut my budget! I had to fire pretty much all my staff! I can't get the half the books the people of this community want! I have to beg the state government for funds to make sure kids have food when they don't school meals! Do you know how much cleaning I have to do because there's no room in the budget for professionals?! Do you have any idea how many of the things around here I have to pay for out of my own pocket?! You bikers demanded protection money and it came out of my budget!"

Bucky's gloved hand grabs neck, stopping you from talking. You try to fight but his arm is stronger than expected. Surprisingly he doesn't look angry so much as amused. "You know, I never thought I could go for the librarian type but this fire of yours does something to me." Your nostrils flare and he chuckles. "I've been yelled at twice today, Doll. A man can only take so much."

"I'm sorry," you grumble as best you can.

His hand loosens, "what was that, Doll?"

"I'm sorry," you repeat. "While you are the reason my budget was cut, you're not the one who made the decision. I'm sorry I took my anger and frustration out on you."

"That's more like it," he snickers. He pulls you uncomfortably close to himself. "And I'm more than happy to reward that better behavior." You look at him, confusion written all over your face, as the leather of his glove caresses your cheek. "Like I said, I never thought a librarian would rouse my interest, but you're something else." You roll your eyes and try to pull away, but he isn't having it. His grip tightens around your throat again, even as his smile widens, baring his teeth. "I can be very good to you, Doll, so long as you're good for me."

His implication is clear and you really don't have any options.

"I need to close the library," you grumble.

Bucky removes his hand from around your throat, "good idea. Don't want to get caught now, do we?"

Your body is shaking as you go about the routine for closing the library. Your brain is working overtime to try to figure out some kind of way out of this. Running isn't an option. Even if you made it to your car, where could you go? Calling for help definitely wouldn't do anything. You seriously doubt he would hesitate to make an example of you if you ran.

With the last of the doors locked and the blinds closed you return the biker and almost whimper, "my office?"

"Oh Doll," he cups your chin. "You don't need to be scared of me. I'll be good to you."

"Do...do you...do you have a condom?"

He chuckles, "don't worry, we're not going that far tonight. But I love that you're ready for it."

Without warning he grabs you and pulls you in for a suffocating, forceful kiss. His tongue quickly pushing its way past your lips. Mentally reminding yourself to do what he wants, you open your mouth to give him access and he moans. One of his hands moves down to your breast and you have to will yourself to not flinch away from the touch.

"Take off the cardigan. And the top," he orders.

You back up just a bit so you can oblige. "The bra as well?"

"Nah, that'll be for me to remove." His voice sounds rougher than before and his eyes are definitely darker. He seems amused by the fact that you maintain eye contact while removing your clothes. "You're so pretty when you're defiant," he teases. "But I'm sure I'll have you pleading for more in no time."

Willing your eyes not to roll you instead snipe back, "don't make promises you can't keep. Wouldn't be the first disappointment I've had."

He has the nerve to laugh at that. "I'll make a believer out of you, Doll."

Walking to your office, he sits in your chair, gesturing for you to get on his lap. "Make me think you want this," he commands.

Taking a deep breath, eyes never leaving his, you move to straddle him. He's surprised when you grab the back of his head and turn his face up before shoving your tongue down his throat. He moans in appreciation and his arms wrap around you as he returns your fervor. You bite his lower lip and start grinding against his crotch.

He removes his right glove before undoing your bra faster than you expected. You pull apart from him just long enough to remove the bra and he takes the opportunity to latch himself to your breast. His ungloved hand moves to fondle your other breast while his surprisingly strong left arm holds you up. His ministrations have you gasping as your body instinctively continues to grind against him. His slow, languid movements are in direct contrast to the speed your hips have set and the difference is affecting you.

Suddenly you're on your back on the desk. Bucky had managed to move his left hand to prevent your head from banging on the desk. Your eyes widened from more than just surprise at the realization of how fast and strong he was.

"Sorry, Doll, you were getting me too worked up already," he smirks at you. He moves his hands so they're on each side of your head, hovering over you. "It really is the quiet ones, huh?" You can't help roll your eyes and he chuckles. "Let's see how loud you can get."

He quickly unbuttons your pants and pulls them off of you before getting out a knife. Your breath hitches and he chuckles as he takes the blade to your panties, cutting them off of you. He puts the panties to his nose, "you smell so good. How long's it been, Doll? Months? Can't imagine you get a lotta action in this town."

"It's been a while," you confess, heat burning your cheeks at how turned on you are. You can't bring yourself to look at him.

He stuffs your panties into his pocket and taps your thighs with the knife so you spread them open. "You look so pretty like this," he snickers, clearly amused by your discomfort.

He slams the knife into the desk by your head, making you yelp in surprise. Using his left arm to hover over you, he whispers into your ear, "such a pretty scream," as his fingers start playing with your pussy. He groans at how wet you are, "fuck, Doll, I should'a known you'd be into the rough play."

You squeal as he mercilessly jams two of his fingers into you, all the way to the knuckle. As you involuntarily arch your back he alternates licking, sucking and nibbling your nipples. He adds a third finger and mercilessly drives his hand in and out of your soaked pussy. He pushes himself up and uses his now free arm to start choking you. You try to push his arm away, but it's impossibly strong. You're shocked to feel your orgasm building as your gasping for air.

He must sense it too because he grins and starts ordering you to "give me what I want, Doll. Cum around my fingers. I can feel how close you are." He gives your nipple a sharp bite that pushes you over the edge and cum with a hoarse scream, his fingers never slowing down, his grip never letting up.

It's only after you've stopped cumming that he eases up. "That was fucking gorgeous," he taunts before pulling his fingers out of you and licking them. He closes his eyes and moans at your flavor, making you burn with embarrassment. You start to get up but his left hand keeps you pressed to the desk. "I'm not done, Doll."

"I'm sorry," you murmur. "I shouldn't have assumed."

"God you're a good, smart girl. Keep those legs spread for me." You do as he says while trying to look anywhere but him. He pulls the knife out of your desk and flips it so that the hilt is pointed towards you. "Look at me, Doll. I want you to watch." You struggle to look and he rubs the hilt of the knife against your oversensitive clit, making you jump. "I said, look. At. Me. Doll." You're quick to follow his orders this time.

He puts the knife away before undoing his belt and pants. As much as you could feel when you were grinding against him, as much as you could see the his bulge, you weren't expecting his cock to be so big. Your eyes widen and he chuckles, "like I said, we're not going that far tonight. Now be good and don't move unless I tell you."

Grabbing your legs he pulls you so your ass is a little off the desk and runs his cock over your pussy, gathering up your slick and rubbing over your clit, making you whimper. He starts groaning in pleasure, "god you're so wet from just one orgasm. Can't wait to see how soaked you get after a full night with me." He positions your thighs so that you're squeezing his cock between them and he gives a few thrusts, spreading your own juices all your thighs.

"Gonna mark you up with my cum," he growls as he picks up his pace, squeezing your thighs even tighter. His hands are hurting you but his cock keeps rubbing against your clit and it's feeling so damn good you don't register his words. You moan and whine as you barrel towards your next orgasm. "That's it, Doll. You make the prettiest faces. Can't wait to see you covered in my cum. Gonna look so damn pretty with my seed all over you."

He squeezes your thighs impossibly tight and you cum so hard from the pain and pleasure combination you don't notice him ejaculating all over your stomach and chest.

When he finally catches his breath he reaches into his jacket and pulls out his phone to take a photo. You try to protest but he gives you a warning look. You drop your face, trying to not cry from how dirty you feel. He puts the phone away and lifts your chin, "don't worry, Doll. That photo is just for me." He kisses the top of your head and you try not to wince. "And because you were so good to me, made me feel so good, I'll be good to you. Now get your clothes back on and I'll escort you home."

"Can I clean up?"

"Not until you get home," he growls. "You don't get rid of my marks until I give you permission."

"Yes, Bucky," you sniffle.

"Aw, don't be like that, Doll," he gently chides. "I take care of what's mine."

The next morning you wake up from a nightmare riddled sleep, feeling more tired than ever. After your morning routine you step outside to head to the library but stop short when you see Bucky on his motorcycle, waiting for you. Wordlessly he hands you a helmet and you don't even try to question or talk him out of whatever he has planned, you just put the helmet on and get on the bike behind him, holding him incredibly tight so you don't fall off.

He stops in front of City Hall and helps you off the bike before walking you in. He doesn't stop until he's led you to the Mayor's office. Your shocked to see Cap, the leader of the biker gang, sitting next to Mayor Walker, whose nose has recently been broken. You gasp and try to turn away but Bucky grabs you and keeps you facing the Mayor.

Cap pats Walker's shoulder, "now what did I tell you?"

Walker shudders a little before looking at you and shakily saying, "I'm so sorry for cutting your budget so much. I will amend that today, making sure to take the money out of my own salary."

Your shaking, unable to respond. Bucky whispers into your ear, "what do you say, Doll?"

"Th-thank you, Mayor Walker," you stutter. "I...I really appreciate that you've ch-changed your mind."

"That's my girl," Bucky whispers before guiding you out of the office.

Next Part

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly

[linoxpudding]

Breakup Pt. 2 - Lee Know

summary: three years after the break up, you meet him in a life threatening situation

pairing: lee know x reader

word count: 3018 words

genre: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: mentions of accident, injury, unconsciousness, broken ribs, blood, emotional distress

a/n: wow my longest fic till date, based on the poll results, here is the second instalment of the breakup series

PART ONE

Masterlist

*images are taken from pinterest*

~°~

Three years ago, you had no choice.

The threats, the hate messages, the constant barrage of cruel words—it had become unbearable. You had tried to endure it, for him, for yourself. But every day, you saw the pain in Minho’s eyes as he watched you crumble under the weight of their words.

He begged you to stay.

"I’ll leave the band. Just stay with me. I don’t care about anything else."

His words still haunted you.

But you knew he cared. You knew he loved his members, his career, his dream. He would have resented you one day. So you made the choice for both of you. You couldn’t let him do that. You couldn't be the reason he gave up his dream.

So, you walked away. And Minho let you go, even though it shattered him.

*******

Now, three years later. Your life had finally settled into something normal. No cameras following your every step. No hate comments flooding your notifications. No sleepless nights wondering how much longer you could take it before you finally broke.

But normal didn’t mean happy. Not when you still felt the emptiness he left behind. Not when your heart still ached for something—someone—you told yourself you had to let go. You had spent the last three years convincing yourself that leaving Lee Minho had been the right decision. That the loneliness was better than the suffocating pressure of being his.

That you had done what was best for both of you.

Then, you saw the news. And everything shattered.

"Breaking: Stray Kids’ Lee Know involved in a car accident—"

Your heart stopped.

Your chest caved in.

Your lungs forgot how to breathe.

Your stomach is twisting with nausea. 

No, no, no. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

You fumble to open Twitter, your breath coming in short gasps as you type in his name. And then you see it.

#GetWellSoonLeeKnow

#PrayForLeeKnow

#StayStrongMinho

Thousands—millions—of tweets flood your screen.

Videos of the accident scene. Reports of his injury. Photos of the ambulance.

Your vision blurs. Your hands go numb.

Hands trembling, you begin to open your contacts to type a message to a number you hadn’t texted in three years. As you opened the contact, your last conversation with Bang Chan appeared on the screen—

You: Tell Minho I’m sorry.

The last reply you had received from Chan was him pleading for you to reconsider, to give Minho another chance.

Now, with your heart pounding, you tapped on his contact and typed a desperate message.

You: Chan, please tell me he’s okay.

Seconds felt like hours before your phone vibrated.

Chan: Y/N… it’s bad. Really bad.

The blood in your veins turns ice cold. Your fingers shake as you type.

You: Is he—?

You can’t even finish the sentence. Your mind refuses to go there.

Chan: He’s alive.

You nearly collapse from relief. But then—

Chan: But it’s serious. Chan: He hasn’t woken up yet. You: Where is he? Chan: Seoul General Hospital.

And then you’re moving—grabbing your coat, your keys, your phone—your body acting on instinct, fueled by nothing but pure, suffocating terror.

You don’t remember getting in the car. You don’t remember the drive. All you know is that you need to get to him. Now. Before it’s too late.

*******

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and dread.

Your legs carried you through the hallways on autopilot, your heart hammering so loudly you could barely hear anything else.

“Y/N.” Chan softly called out.

You turned to see him standing near the waiting area, his face pale, eyes heavy with exhaustion. Your eyes skimmed over the familiar faces of people who had once been like family.

Stray Kids, his brothers, they were all there. Silent. Huddled together in quiet devastation.

“How—” Your voice cracked. “How bad is it?”

Chan exhaled slowly.

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” he took a shaky breath, “he has a head injury, a broken rib… a lot of bruises.”

Your knees nearly gave out.

Chan reached out instinctively, steadying you. You collapsed against him, sobbing into his shoulder.

“I c-can’t—” Your voice cracked. “Is he—”

“He’s a little stable,” Chan murmured, his hand soothing over your back. “But he hasn’t woken up.”

A fresh wave of grief crashed over you.

“Take me to him,” you whispered.

Chan pulled away, nodding, taking your hand gently.

“This way.”

And then you saw him.

Minho. The love of your life.

Lying in that hospital bed. Unmoving. Pale. His face was covered in cuts, a bandage wrapped around his head, wires and IVs connected to his body. Your breath hitched in your throat.

This wasn’t the Minho you remembered.

The Minho you knew was strong. Untouchable.

But this Minho?

This Minho was breaking you.

A sob escaped before you could stop it. And suddenly, you were at his bedside, reaching for his hand, clutching it tightly.

“Minho,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I’m here.”

No response. His fingers were cold. Too cold.

“Please,” you choked out, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Please wake up.”

Nothing. And the weight of everything—three years of distance, of heartbreak, of trying to live without him—crashed down on you all at once. You bowed your head, pressing your forehead against his hand.

Tears blurred your vision as you gently laced your fingers with his.

Chan exhaled softly behind you.

“I’ll give you some time.”

You barely registered him leaving, too focused on the unconscious man before you. Your thumb brushed over his knuckles, voice breaking, “I never stopped loving you.”

The words fell from your lips before you could stop them. You swallowed, the lump in your throat growing.

“I thought leaving was the right thing,” you whispered. “I thought I was protecting myself. But I was just running.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, “I should’ve fought for you.”

Silence. Only the soft hum of machines and the distant chatter of nurses. You closed your eyes, pressing a trembling kiss to the back of his hand. 

“Please wake up, Minho,” you pleaded, “I can’t—” your voice cracked. “I can’t lose you.”

“I was wrong,” you whispered. “I thought leaving was the only way to protect you.” A shuddering breath. “I thought I could live without you.”

You let out a broken sob. “But I can’t.” 

“So please,” your grip tightened. “come back to me.”

Silence.

*******

It has been almost three days.

You never left his side. Chan brought you food, Hyunjin made you go home to shower, but every time you returned, Minho was still unconscious.

You met Minho’s parents for the first time after the breakup. His mother gasped when she saw you, her eyes widening in shock before softening into something warm.

"Oh, Y/N…" she whispered. And then she hugged you.

You stiffened for a moment, unsure if you even deserved this, but the warmth of her embrace overwhelmed you.

"We never blamed you," she murmured. "We understood. We knew how hard it must have been for you." She pulled back slightly, brushing a tear from your cheek with a mother’s tenderness. "But we always loved you."

Your heart twisted. "I’m so sorry," you choked out.

She gave you a small, sad smile. "Don’t be."

Then, Minho’s father stepped forward, giving you a firm, fatherly side hug, a strong hand resting on your shoulder. "It’s good to see you again," he said simply.

You swallowed thickly.

You had expected resentment. Anger. But instead, all you found was understanding.

And for the first time in years, you wished—God, you wished—you had met them again under different circumstances.

Chan found you beside Minho on the second night, curled up in one of the chairs, staring at the floor and holding Minho’s hand. He sat beside you with a sigh, handing you a bottle of water.

“You look awful,” he muttered.

You let out a weak laugh. “Thanks.”

Chan leaned back, studying you. “You still love him.”

Your fingers tightened around the bottle.

“…I never stopped,” you admitted.

Chan exhaled through his nose, nodding slowly. “Then why did you leave?”

Your throat burned. “Because I thought it was the only way to keep him safe.”

Chan scoffed. “Safe from what? Loving you?”

You blinked up at him.

“You leaving didn’t protect him, Y/N. It destroyed him.” His voice was quiet but firm. “I’ve never seen Minho so broken. He never moved on. He never even tried.”

Chan continued, “Minho... he was wrecked when you left. He was angry, hurt, devastated—every possible thing. And the worst part? He never let himself hate you for it.”

You shut your eyes, a sharp pain twisting in your chest.

“He told me once,” Chan continued, his voice quieter now, “that he realized he was being selfish. That even though he wanted to chase after you, he knew he had to let you go. Because you needed peace. And he loved you too much to take that away.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes.

Chan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe it’s time you stop running.”

You swallowed hard, your heart beating faster.

Maybe it was.

*******

The next day, you were dozing off when it happened.

A soft shift. The rustle of sheets. A weak inhale.

Then—

“…Y/N?”

Your eyes flew open.

Minho’s gaze was hazy, unfocused, but he was awake. He was awake.

A sob escaped your lips as relief flooded through you. With trembling hands, you quickly pressed the call button, your voice shaky as you called out, “H-He’s awake!”

Within seconds, the door burst open, and a nurse rushed in, followed closely by a doctor.

“You’re awake, Mr. Lee,” the doctor said, his voice calm but urgent. He quickly moved to Minho’s side, shining a small light into his eyes, “Can you hear me?”

Minho blinked sluggishly. “…Yeah,” his voice was hoarse.

The doctor nodded in approval before checking his vitals. “Do you remember what happened?”

Minho was silent for a moment, his brows furrowing as he tried to recall. “Car accident…?”

“That’s right. You suffered a concussion and a fractured arm. Do you feel any dizziness or nausea?”

“A little,” Minho admitted, shifting slightly, only to wince when pain flared up in his side.

“Careful,” the doctor warned. “Your ribs are bruised, so try not to move too much.”

Minho exhaled slowly, nodding. “How long…?”

“You’ve been unconscious for three days,” the doctor answered, adjusting the IV drip. “Your condition has been stable, and waking up is a great sign. We’ll continue to monitor you, but for now, try to rest.”

The nurse made him drink some water.

Minho gave a weak nod, his gaze still sluggish. The doctor turned to you then, offering a small, knowing smile. “He’s lucky to have someone watching over him.” 

Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to nod. “Thank you, doctor.”

With a final check of the monitors, the doctor stepped out, leaving you and Minho alone again. 

Silence hung between you.

“…Why are you here?” His voice was rough, barely above a whisper. But it wasn’t just exhaustion that made it sound weak. It was hurt.

Your heart clenched.

“I—” You swallowed hard. “I saw the news. I had to come.”

His eyes scanned your face, searching. But this time, they weren’t hazy at all. They were filled with heartbreak.

“Three years,” he murmured. “It took three years and an accident for you to come back.”

Tears welled up in your eyes. “I thought I was doing what was best for you.”

Minho exhaled shakily, looking away. “And did it work?”

Your breath hitched.

“No,” you admitted. “It was hell.”

Silence stretched between you. Then you softly said, "I still love you."

His head snapped towards you. Tears slipped down your cheeks. “I never stopped, Minho.”

His chest rose and fell unevenly. His eyes glistened, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something—but then, with a broken breath, he reached for you.

You barely had time to react before he pulled you into him. His grip was desperate—arms shaking as they wrapped around you, holding you so tight you could feel his heartbeat against yours. 

“Be careful,” you worriedly said, he still has body aches after all.

He buried his face into your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.

“…I thought I lost you forever,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

You clung to him, sobbing into his hospital gown. “I’m so sorry, Minho. I should have never left.”

His fingers curled into the fabric of your sweater, his body trembling against yours.

“You broke me,” he murmured, voice raw. “But I still love you.”

A choked sound escaped you. “Minho—”

He pulled back just enough to cup your face, his thumb brushing away your tears. His own eyes were wet now, his expression open, vulnerable.

Then, before you could say another word, he kissed you.

It was desperate, shaky—filled with three years of pain, longing, and love that never faded.

You melted into him, your hands fisting the front of his gown, as if letting go would break them all over again.

When you two finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing hard.

“You’re staying this time,” he murmured, more a plea than a demand.

You nodded, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“I’m staying.”

*******

The hospital room felt smaller now with everyone surrounding Minho. After three days of restless waiting, Minho was finally awake.

His parents had been sobbing hard when they saw their son’s eyes open finally, his mother gently brushing his hair back while his father squeezed his hand in quiet relief.

The boys all shared a group hug after a mixture of teasing and scolding, masking their overwhelming concern. They had spent sleepless nights here, waiting, hoping.

And then, one by one, they left.

Now, it was just you.

Just you and him.

The door clicked shut behind Seungmin, leaving a comfortable silence between you. 

The hospital room is quiet now, save for the faint beeping of monitors and the distant hum of voices outside. You’re curled up in the small space of Minho’s hospital bed, your head resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

His arms are wrapped around you, holding you as if you might disappear if he lets go. His fingers draw absentminded circles on your back, his warmth seeping into your skin, grounding you in a way you hadn’t felt in years.

“I really thought I lost you,” you whisper against his hospital gown, voice thick with lingering emotion. “I thought I’d never get to do this again.”

Minho exhales softly, his chin resting on top of your head. “You almost did.” His voice is quieter than usual, raspy from exhaustion, but the underlying pain is there. “You left, Y/N. You just... disappeared.”

You shut your eyes tightly. “I know. And I regret it every single day.”

Minho lets out a shaky breath. “Three years.” His grip tightens slightly. “Do you have any idea how many times I reached for my phone to text you? How many times I saw something and thought, ‘Y/N would love this’?”

Tears prick your eyes again. “I thought about you every day,” you confess. “But I was scared.”

Minho shifts slightly, tilting your chin up so you’re looking at him. His gaze is softer now, but there’s still something raw in his eyes. “Scared of what?”

You swallow. “That I’d hurt you more by staying than by leaving. That I’d ruin your career, your life.”

Minho stares at you for a long moment, then exhales deeply. “I was so angry when you left,” he admits, voice thick with unspoken emotions. “Angry, hurt, upset—every possible emotions. I wanted to hate you, but I couldn’t. And after a while, I realized I was just being selfish.”

Your breath catches. “Selfish?”

Minho nods. “I wanted to keep you, even when you were struggling. I wanted you by my side, no matter what. But if being with me meant losing your peace, then... I had to let you go.” He pauses, swallowing hard before continuing. “But even then, I never stopped loving you.”

Tears slip down your cheeks. “Minho...”

“I’ve been single all this time,” he confesses, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “Not because I couldn’t move on—but because I didn’t want to. I kept telling myself that maybe, if the band contract ever ended, I could find you again, and we’d have a chance.” He gives you a weak, self-deprecating smile. “Realistically, I knew you might’ve moved on by then. But I let myself live in this fantasy world where you were still mine.”

A soft sob escapes you, and you shake your head, gripping his shirt tightly. “I never moved on, Minho. I never dated anyone either.”

His eyes widen slightly, surprise flickering across his features. “You didn’t?”

You shake your head again. “No. I couldn’t. No one could ever be you.”

Minho lets out a shaky breath, his expression crumbling before he pulls you into a crushing embrace. “God, I love you,” he whispers into your hair.

You cling to him just as tightly. “I love you too.”

For a while, you just lay there, wrapped up in each other. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, his fingers stroking through your hair, lulling you into a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in so long.

Then, after a few moments of silence, you murmur, “You know, your arms will go numb if you keep holding me that tightly.”

He huffed out a soft laugh. “Let them. I’m not letting you go.”

Minho’s arms wrapped around you, holding you even more tightly, grounding you. His fingers tangled into your hair, his breaths uneven against your shoulder.

"Don’t leave me again," he whispered, his voice raw.

You clung to him. "I won’t."

A shuddered exhale. A soft, lingering press of his lips against your hair.

"You’re mine, right?"

You buried your face against his chest, whispering, "I’ve always been yours."

Minho exhaled, his body genuinely relaxing for the first time in three years.

And this time, you weren’t letting go.

[chishiyaisasnack]

It’s under my skirt, Doctor

Hello everyone! It’s been a while. I finally got this little thing together, and I hope you all like it.

Disclaimer! This is smut. Stay away if you aren’t of agw or if you’re uncomfortable with the topic. Remember to use protection in real life!

Written and posted on mobile, I apologize for any wierd formatting.

Chishiyas life was work. Long hours, sometimes so long that he didn’t leave the hospital before his next shift. The couch in his office had become soft from where he slept, countless days and nights spent there alone. Not that it mattered, not to him. He liked his job. Kind of. There was nothing else he wanted to do anyway, so filling his life with something that kept his brain occupied and evolving was good enough. Once he stopped caring about all the injustice he focused solely on performing surgeries. The heart was an interresting thing, so small, so powerful. One wrong move and a life could end. Sometimes he wondered what that would feel like. He would never play with a life like that, he wasn’t completely insane, but the thought had showed up once or twice.

This particular shift got his mood turning all over the place. Everyone was whiny, rude and just hard to deal with. Twelve hours of pretending to be respectful was hard enough on the good days.

When he got back to his office he sank down into the couch, contemplating buying new cushions soon because they were starting to get uncomfortable. He needed to get his mind cleared out, to stop thinking about work and kids and parents who he wanted to toss in the trashcan.

A vibration went off in his pocket, making his head hurt just thinking about what they would need him for now. He just wanted to rest. So, when he picked it up and saw the notification on his screen he got pleasently suprised.

Y/N: Hey, sorry to disturb your work but I have a medical issue that I wondered if you could take a look at? I can come over in 10 minutes if that works for you.

He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. Normal people didn’t use the words ”medical issue” as a synonym for ”I want to fuck” but it worked very well for the two of them. Chishiya had met her at a work gathering and that turned out to be the best stress reliever he could wish for, and he knew that she used him for that exact same reason. Some might say that they were dating, but the only times they really met in person was just for sex and maybe some lunch afterwards. Chishiya did spend occasional nights at her place since she lived closer to the hospital than he did, and getting his dick wet then sleep in a bed instead of his office couch was a nice change.

Ten minutes later the telltale three knocks on his office door woke him up from his thoughts. Trying not to run to the door in excitement, he stood up, took a deep breath and changed into his normal ’I don’t care about anything’-face before opening it. The ’not caring about anything’-face changed as soon as he saw what was on the other end of the doorframe. He was not prepared for her standing there, panties hanging from slender fingers on one of her hands and her head cocked to the side. The skirt she was wearing was short and flowy, almost revealing what was, or rather what wasn’t underneath it.

”Eager are we?” Chishiya welcomed her in a smug voice, trying to hide the mess his head was already in. She winked at him in response.

”You usually don’t have very long so I thought I’d be prepared.” She walked straight to him, put the underwear in the chest pocket of his white doctors coat and kicked the door closed behind her. Chishiya could hear the click from the lock but was more interrested in the cleavage that her ”too tight to be comfortable”-top was showing. He didn’t even try to hide that he liked what he saw. He knew she liked it. A finger under his chin woke him up from his thoughts and when he looked up he was met with sparkling eyes full of excitement when she gazed back into his.

”Hmm.. I like how professional you look in this outfit” she purred as she smoothed her hands up his chest until she reached his neck, hands tangling in the blonde strands in the back until his hair tie fell to the floor, one thumb tracing his ear. ”I’d let you examine me any day.”

Chishiya rolled his eyes at her attempt at flirting, but rather than giving her a comeback he reached in and put his hands on her bare thighs, inching further up while he kissed that lovely space between her neck and shoulder that made her whimper every time.

”So, what did you want me to take a look at?” Chishiya murmered teasingly into her ear. She hummed and moved her hands back down to his shoulders, gripping onto the neck of his coat.

”It’s under my skirt, Doctor.”

In one swift move she grabbed the stethoscope still hanging around his neck and pulled him with her until they both hit the wall behind her, before crashing her lips into his with urgency, and Chishiya returned it with just as much desire as he was given. It was intoxicating, her soft lips, the sweet smell of her perfume, her hands tugging at his hair trying to coax him closer.

His hands went from her thighs to her waist, with just a quick squeeze at her ass first, clenching his fingers in the fabric of her shirt, pulling her even closer so that she could feel that this was affecting him too. His cock was already getting hard, pushing uncomfortably against his pants, but her soft stomach gave great friction whenever she moaned and rubbed herself against him.

Trying to deepen the kiss, she slid her tounge against his lips, making him smile against her whine when he didn’t answer her attempt. He was the one calling the shots and he wanted her to remember that. Instead of giving her what she wanted he pried his lips away from hers and targeted her neck.

The sweet sounds she made whenever his lips caressed her made his head spin. He couldn’t keep his hands still any longer and torturously slow started to inch them up the skin under her top, feeling the way she moved under them, how she was shivering against his touch and how her lungs moved with every heated breath that left her. He knew that undressing her probably wasn’t the best idea in case someone managed to interrupt them, but when he felt her breast under his palms, so soft and squeazable and utterly wonderful to nibble at, his desire to put his face between them took over his rationality. So, after he sucked down on the skin on her shoulder - and grinned at the sour moan she made - he pulled her top off and started his descent down her body. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard the thump that her head made when she threw it back against the wall but he was far more interrested in the goosebumps that spread under the line he licked down her collarbone. When he finally moved his mouth over her nipple he felt a hand grip his shoulder with a strenght that was sure to leave a mark.

The noises she made went straight to Chishiyas cock. His mind was so clouded by the need to be inside her that he was having trouble keeping his teasing facade in check. Nestling his face in her chest did ground him a bit though, it was the whines that followed it that made him throb in his pants.

”Fuck, Chishiya… lower please” she begged, shivering when he swept his tounge over her other nipple. The gentle squeeze from his other hand earned him another whimper - and a fist in his hair trying to push him further down. He complied with a quiet laugh, loving how aroused she was from just this. Not that he had anything to say about that, he was aching just as bad as she was.

He didn’t bother to take her skirt off, he just held it up with one hand while running the other up her inner thigh, slow and steady so that he could hear her quiet complaints that he took too long.

”Hold it” he commanded, looking at her and then the skirt, nodding towards it to make his point. A shaky hand took a hold of the hem of the skirt and he shifted his focus back to her soft thighs, leading up to her glistening center that he couldn’t wait to be inside. He couldn’t help himself and squeezed the inside of her thigh, thinking about how great it would feel to have them wrapped around him - then laughed at her impatient grunt before giving in and giving her what she asked for.

With one hand he hiked her leg over his shoulder and then he dove in and let his tounge spread her open, loving the wetness he was met with. A cascade of ’yes’-es fell from her mouth as she rolled her hips in time with his tounges movements. A long lick between the folds, flicking over the clit, sucking, kissing, circling… he knew exactly what she liked and he gave it to her. Every time her moans got a little louder he slowed down, dragging out the sensation (and pissing her off just a little just because he could). It was his favourite leisure activity and he could go for hours if he had the time. Unfortunately he didn’t and with a last lick he stopped, her disappointed groan chiming like music in his ears.

He rose to his feet, one hand still lingering on her thigh, the other moving a strand of hair from her face that was so lovely and flushed from desire. There was a hint of irritation from the way her eyebrows scrunched together, but it disappeared when he used the same hand that he just caressed her cheek with to draw a line along her pussy, wet and warm, and so inviting, making her squirm under his touch.

”I want to take my time with you but we’re in a bit of a hurry,” he reminded her. ”Come here.”

Chishiya started walking towards the couch, sat down and patted his lap as an invitation for her to sit.

”I’m tired and have been working all day,” Chishiya playfully told her, watching her eyes roll as she walked towards him, which made him chuckle. He enjoyed how obvious she was with everything and that she didn’t take any of his shit. She was strong and powerful and he wouldn’t have a chance against her wits if she wanted to ruin him. And he didn’t want it any other way.

”You need a new couch” she complained while straddling his lap, knees sinking down too far and throwing off her balance before she put her hands on his shoulder and shuffled her way forward to hover over his length.

”But I really like my couch” he lied, lazily putting his hands on her waist to pretend to help her.

”Sure you do. Take off your pants, or are you too tired to do that to, Doctor?”

For once he hurried, mostly because his dick was aching and he couldn’t wait for it to be inside her. So he moved his pants and boxers out of the way, enough to release his cock. She didn’t waste a second and sank down onto it right away.

Both of them moaned, her from finally being filled and him from finally being hugged by her warm, wet walls. When she started to move, riding him nice and deep, he couldn’t help himself and let his head fall back so he could watch her face as she fucked herself on him.

”Fuck, I’ve been needing this” he groaned as she took him in, Chishiya pushing as far in as he could to savour that warm and tight feeling that her insides gave him. ”You feel so good.”

”Fuck…” was the only answer he got, but it sounded perfect. Breathless and broken, turning into another moan when his cock hit her sweet spot again.

She rode him deep and fast, her wet walls stroking his cock in rhythm with her movements. Desperate to feel more of it, he bucked up into her to bury himself as deep as he could. Her hands was on his shoulders, nails digging deep into his white coat.

Chishiyas hands were everywhere, grabbing her ass hard as she bounced on his lap, sliding up her waist when he went back to rolling her hips, cupping her breasts when he took over and fucked her from below. The bliss on her face drove him on, making him thrust harder and angling his hips so that he hit that spongy spot inside her with every thrust. He could feel her getting close, her insides tightening and clamping down around his cock, stroking the life out of him with it. He wouldn’t last much longer either - he needed her to come so that he could join her. So he slid a hand down to her center, putting two fingers on her clit and started to circle it in time with his thrusts. The loud groan she let out at the sensation made the fire in his stomach grow even more and, fuck, he needed her to orgasm.

”Y/N, come for me,” he hissed and pressed down harder on her clit. ”Fuck, come on my cock.”

And so she did. With a rough moan into his neck he felt her walls clamping down on his cock, so fucking tight, before convulsing around him. Maybe he should have stopped and let her catch her breath but his hips moved at their own will now. He fucked her with desperation, each thrust bringing him closer, until he emptied himself deep inside her. She moaned as he did, rocking her hips to stimulate him more until his cock had stopped twitching.

Chishiyas hands landed on her waist again, this time drawing soft circles on her skin, making her shiver under his touch. Her breath was warm against his neck when she nuzzled her face there. He let her rest on him, he was too satisfied to move anyway. They sat like that until both their breathing had calmed down, and until he had gone soft enough to slip out of - although he didn’t want to. She felt too good. But even he wasn’t able to control his body that much. He had tried.

When she moved it was with shaky legs, tired from overworking them on that dumb couch. He smirked as he helped her up onto her feet, casting a glance on the clock hanging on the wall above his desk. There were still time to have some more fun, and even if his dick was tired, his tounge wasn’t. Standing up next to her he bent in, moved a strand of her hair away from her face, and softly spoke into her ear.

”So, is there anything else you want me to examine?”

[lizzy019]

𝒲𝑒'𝓇𝑒 𝒰𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓈.

Sub!Johnny Cade x Soft Dom!Fem!Reader

cw -> best friends to lovers trope lol, masturbation, underweight mentioning (Johnny), panty smelling :((, voice kink?, dub-con, cunnilingus, THIS GIRL STROKES HIS COCK! (yes pls on my knees)

Word Count -> 3.9K

I LOVE THIS WHAT

Consider your friendship to be a little too closely knit together. 

Johnny spent long, consecutive hours at your place, often being the reason why your food and snacks were gone. You couldn’t blame the poor teenager, his family wasn’t ideal, but at least yours could afford food.

By the time you two were done hanging out in your living room, watching some random show that you two eventually got bored of, you found yourself serving him whatever leftovers you had in the fridge. It wasn’t much, but you knew damn well that Johnny was the most un-picky dude ever to exist. He’d eat rat poisoning if he didn’t know it was rat poisoning. 

But you couldn’t help but feed him whatever he wanted because you knew he’d like himself with more meat on his bones and less bruises on his back. You couldn’t control what his parents did, but you sure could offer him the pleasure of eating a proper, healthier meal than takeout.

So now it was just you and Johnny sitting at your dining room table under the dim but soft light from over your head with two ceramic dishes filled with warm food in front of your torsos. It had a slightly concerned but slightly adorning expression as you watched Johnny eat with such vigour. You were concerned because it seemed like he hadn't eaten since the dawn of time, but it warmed your heart knowing you were giving him something he couldn’t access often.

“Slow down, you’ll choke yourself and I don’t have room to finish your meal.” You chided softly, smiling when you saw the tiniest pink flush engender onto his cheeks. 

Those shy brown eyes that could make anyone like him, he just seemed so sweet on the outside. “Hey, I’m hungry and I’m gonna eat! Plus, it’s not like I haven’t been to the hospital before, they’ll know me for sure.” Johnny muttered, slowing his eating pace to a reasonable speed. 

Ah right, the church incident.

Johnny probably hated how his back and shoulders looked now too, and with all that physio? You felt a little sympathy for him.

Your plates were soon empty after a decent chunk of time, and you pushed him a napkin to clean the mess from around his mouth with a kind smile. It wasn’t to be rude, as you’ve learned that being rude towards Johnny chips away at your friendship.

He takes it graciously while you scoop the dirtied dishes into your hands for cleaning. But after a second or two, you left the dishes in the sink. They could be cleaned later, and it was already somewhat late. So the ceramic plates coated in a sheen of leftover food residue were left in the sink while you tidied up the kitchen to appease your parents’ expectations. 

Johnny just watched you, eyes soft and the lovely brown irises being held by the sockets trailing your movements to exact perfection. Why did you have to be so elegant with how you moved, so effortless and perfectly postured? Poor boy was swooning.

“Alright, do you wanna go get ready for bed? We don’t really have a guest room or anywhere for you to rest, but you can take my bed while I take my parents’ bed?” You offered politely, that sweet benevolence lingering in your tone while you led him down the corridors of your home.

Pictures and paintings littering the walls of the hall, the occasional piece of work that caught Johnny’s attention until you opened a door leading to your bedroom. It reeked of your scent, something that had his insides tingling out of joy. He got to sleep in your room? Fuck yeah!

“Y-yeah, I can stay here for the night. Sorry for.. bargin’ into your home so quick, I just needed somewhere to stay and Dal was drunk outta his mind.” Johnny muttered softly, walking into your room with caution while he looked around.

Clothes scattered all over the floor, the countertops somewhat messy except for the desk you seem to barely use. Your bed, unkempt but oh so cozy looking, even the curtains which were halfway closed from rushing. Shoes just chucked about anywhere there was room, a bra littered near your hamper which he could only assume was you trying to take it off late at night before heading to bed.

But he could smell you everywhere in this room, and it sent his senses ablaze.

“That’s alright, Dally does tend to have some poor habits. Anyway, I’ll be in the shower tidying myself up, you holler if you need anythin’, y’hear?” You smiled wide, toothy grin making him smile too.

Johnny nodded, watching you leave and close the door behind you. Your soft pitter-pattering footsteps that trailed down the halls until you closed another door which he presumed was the bathroom door.

The hardening sensation being squeezed within the confines of his denim pants was getting hard to ignore, but he felt so wrong for it. But good lord, he could smell it. Smell you. The redolent, fragrant smell of you that seemed to linger no matter where he stuck his nose just drove him up the wall to pure heaven.

Meanwhile, you were just having yourself a warm shower, washing off the grime from today as well as the bit of grease you used to slick your hair out. That took the most time, you had to scrub with such authority that you were sure you had lost enough hair to re-fur a hairless cat.

The soft soap you used was being lathered onto your skin, cleansing it and replenishing what it had lost during the day. You couldn’t lie, night showers were some of the best showers after a long day.

It didn’t take long for you to finish washing your body before you hopped out of the shower to dry off. The towel now warm from the steamy, hot shower was practically a cherry on top when you patted yourself dry with it. All the little uneven droplets being soaked up by the towel’s fabric to leave you dry and soft afterward.

Johnny was hiding away in your room, stripped down only with his boxers while his hand greedily pumped at his cock, a hand grasping at the pair of panties he managed to snag from your room and stuffing them at his face to get a whiff of what your pretty cunny smelled like. He felt so wrong for doing this, he was your best friend!

Johnny instantly stopped when he heard the soft tip-taps of your feet trudging towards your room, and he used the blankets to half cover himself so his boner wouldn’t be too prominent or easy to see. He also stuffed the underwear beside his thigh away from view before muttering a medium decibel, “Come in.”

You did just that, scurrying yourself into your room you found Johnny relaxing in while you scavenged your closet for proper night clothes such as a pyjama or even an oversized shirt with some shorts. Poor Johnny was just about to go insane when he saw you bend over, the sweet sight of your ass peeking through to his line of sight.

You had to have been tempting him, right? Right?

Once you had selected what you planned on wearing for the night, you looked back over in his direction to properly wish him a good night and good dreams until you paused to look at him further.

His ribcage was in full view, the bones prominent but you couldn’t find it in you to be disgusted or revolted by the sight. The soft brown skin of his, perfect in its glory asides the bruising and scarring which you’d come to understand was his insecurity. But he seemed tense, almost fearful and you couldn’t quite pinpoint why.

“Johnnycakes? Are you okay? You look stiff, is something wrong?” You asked sweetly, innocently.

How was he not supposed to nut to just that benevolent tone you held?

Johnny gave a hesitant nod, shooting one of his sweet grins that displayed his teeth to you. You could only smile back, finding his little radiant expression to mirror onto yourself and make you do the same. But it was late, you shouldn’t stay up for chit-chatting.

“Alright, you know where I am if you need me, right? Down the hall, last room. Knock if something’s wrong.” You hummed, scampering off with your clothes in hand.

The soft click of the door when it closed rang through the silence, emitting a pitch that resonated and lingered far longer than it had to, followed by the tippy-taps of your feet against the floorboards as you rushed to your parents’ room. 

Finally!

He dug his hand back under the blanket, finding his hardened cock growing a bit flaccid, and he frowned. Poor Johnny had a good rhythm going too! He fisted his cock once again, pumping mercilessly as the echoes of your voice from that simple moment when you waltzed your way in.

It wasn’t long until he was fighting himself to not make any sounds, but he began to lose his control as soon as he gained it when the muscles surrounding the base of his cock began to twitch and tighten to signal his release was upcoming. 

The dim lights from the midnight blue sky shone through your half open bedroom curtains, pushing past the glass to shine into the room Johnny sat in. This was all the light he needed to see the pair of panties in his hand, and that dirty, filthy mind of his began to simply picture you in them and nothing more.

The lovely shape of your body, its colour and form, the little markings that made you so individual and unique. Perfect set of tits, nicest ass that looked just about sculpted by angels. You were just so perfect, how could he not want you? How could he not want to have you?

Meanwhile, you were sitting with a disgusted look on your face as you heard the soft but audible noises Johnny was making from down the hall, but once you heard your name tumble from his lips, everything seemed to fade into a realization which led to hope. Did he like you like that too?

Soon enough, your own hand drifted to the soft pair of lips being freed from the confines of your panties, rubbing your unhardened clit with vigour. The tingling sensation burned in between your thighs, and you too found it hard to remain silent, but you managed. Johnny’s sounds from your room simply added fire to the ever growing flame building within your lower stomach.

Poor Johnny was clawing at the fabrics of your bed’s sheets, gasping and heaving while soft whimpers and groans seemed to slip his closed, pursed lips. It aggravated him, but he still thought you were asleep and he didn’t wish to wake you.

Boy, was he wrong.

By the time Johnny had set off his load onto whatever fabric you had around —which you couldn’t bear to think was now stained by his cum—, you hobbled your uneasy legs out of bed and down the long corridors of your home. Your steps were as silent as you could make them, but the skin on the soles of your feet now warm from staying under the blanket made the softest sticky sound that alerted Johnny.

He sat upright in a flurry of panic, inevitably settling on stuffing himself under your blankets when he heard the door slowly creak open. Maybe you’d leave?

“Johnny?” Your whispery tone got his focus, even though he tried hard not to shuffle or move around to alert you. “Johnny, are you awake?” You tried again.

When you finally thought that he was asleep and wouldn’t be waking up any time soon, you hobbled yourself beside him under the blankets and tenderly rubbed at his back. Your nimble fingers grazed the skin of the burn scars and bruises oh so gently, his heart filling with warmth that made blood pump down in between his thighs.

You were oblivious to it, moving yourself to use his thigh as something to grind against for purchase and friction. It was selfish, it was improper, but you needed it. Lord, you could feel yourself soaking his boxers from some simple grinding against him.

Poor Johnny didn’t know how to tell you he was awake, and in all honesty, maybe he shouldn’t. If he told you, or moved even a bit, you’d become startled and embarrassed to the point where you couldn’t speak and you both knew of this well. You weren’t great at handling your embarrassment.

Those soft moans tumbling freely from your lips were like a tease, something to tempt him to see if he would break. His cock was chubbing up at your dulcet noises, and he didn’t know whether they were somewhat soothing or a bit too erotic for his liking. Regardless, he tried to subtly move his hand to that aching spot between his legs for release.

You assumed his movement was involuntary like any person would do in their sleep. Adjustments to get comfortable weren’t uncommon, so you paid no mind to it and just kept at it. Surely you had stained the hem of his boxers with your arousal juices. But you weren’t focused on that!

But it wasn’t until the movements became consistent and they weren’t your own that you began to grow nervous. Had you made him uncomfortable? Was something hurting him? Maybe he had woken up? Oh, that thought sent a sharp shiver down your spine. You were scared that he had woken up and had gotten all flustered, maybe even trying to move away with the inability to wriggle you off.

So tentatively, you moved your weight off of his body, using what little arm strength you had in you at the moment to see what was happening below you. Johnny stopped almost instantly, trying to play it off like he wasn’t just jacking off to the way you were using his body. Would this be considered non-consensual? No, he liked it very much, so why were you hesitating on continuing?

“Johnny, I know you’re awake. Did I bother you? ‘M sorry, Johnnycakes, jus’ needed you..” You hummed, nuzzling your cheek to his boney shoulder to feel the little bit of warmth radiating off of his tanned skin. “Oh, but what’ll the others think?”

When you jostled him to show you knew he wasn’t asleep, Johnny allowed himself to turn over to face you and sighed happily. There you were, all pretty with your embarrassed pink cheeks and your pouty expression. Did you even understand how gorgeous you were to him? Even when he first met you, he swore you were sent from the heavens.

“Sugar, don’t worry ‘bout the others. Dal’s secretly been tellin’ Two that we were a thing anyway. I don’t mind it, would your family be okay with it?” His serene voice that wafted tobacco to your nose had confirmed just about everything you were thinking. So he liked you back, and the glances at your breasts during visits wasn’t just because he couldn’t make eye contact with you.

“I don’t care what my parents say, but your parents.. what’ll they do to you if they find out? You know that keepin’ it a secret won’t do us any good.” You murmured, a hand of yours gently holding his hip and caressing the skin while tracing the outline of protruding bone.

That had Johnny’s eyes forming hearts. Did you really think ahead of everything just to make sure he was gonna be alright? Good lord, he knew he was making the right choice.

“Ah, what’s a couple more bruises? I’ll be able to ditch them eventually, maybe move somewhere with you. How ‘bout that? We’d move far away from Tulsa, maybe somewhere warmer. No more Socs, no more fights, hell, I’d love to get rid of my cigs. I hate my teeth all yellow.” Johnny hummed at the thought of doing everything he listed off before pressing his lips to yours in a soft kiss.

It started intimately, just two idiots mindlessly kissing with smiles mashed together while fingers entangled into each other’s hair. Soft and meaningful, purposeful movements that were well thought out and calculated until Johnny moved his hips to show you what you had started. That hardening length slick with some pre-cum, and you moved your hand down to grip it and stroke it while adjusting.

Your body was now hovering over his, lips still intertwined while you wriggled off whatever clothes acted as a burden to what you were seeking. The hindrances you considered fabric to sheath your body were off of you in mere seconds, your body pulling away from his to throw your shirt off. Soon, your mouth found purchase against the soft muscle of his neck, desperately suckling some little hickeys into his flesh.

Painless bruises that expressed your affection. What was more beautiful than that? 

The soft little squeaks of moans that tumbled freely from Johnny’s pretty mouth just egged you on. Your hand fisting his cock mercilessly, milking him for all he’s got while showering him in soft praises. He deserved this kind of love, soft and sweet with just enough roughness to have you craving more.

“Yeah, baby? Feels good? You can take it, you got it.” You lulled him, pressing innocent kisses to wherever you could reach your lips, listening to the sheets rustle beneath you as Johnny wiggled around.

Sprawled out while desperately grasping the blankets and sheets below him, he found himself teetering off of that perfect ledge of ecstasy that was exposed to him. He was so close to that pleasurable place of heaven on Earth, and he was worried you wouldn’t let him cum. He hated edging.

But you didn’t. Your expression seemed to anticipate his climax, and that further had the coil connecting his lower stomach and the base of his cock to tighten and tighten until he simply couldn’t take it.

A cry that was so obviously forced to be squeezed quiet had alerted you just a few seconds before his climax that he was cumming. Sure enough, his pretty, pearly cum trickled down from his urethra and onto your soft skin, the liquid creating a thin sheen over your flesh.

The aftershocks of his body instantly made you become more sweet, hands resting on either side of his waist while gently caressing the warmed brown skin of his. Poor Johnny was rattling more than a damn Mexican maraca. Shudders made him all electric, but he soon found your hands gently holding his hips, and that grounded him.

“W-wait, I don’t think I can go again, sugar. Maybe.. get on toppa me?” He asked so sweetly, so pleasantly as if you’d say no.

You were practically stunned speechless at his words, pondering for a moment before inevitably answering his plea. Johnny adjusted instantly when he saw the soft nod of your head, and you could only giggle at his ecstatic expression. Happy, just like how he deserved to feel.

Your legs were quickly situated over his head, and with nervous hands, you combed through the soft locks on his scalp. Ungreased and silky, it soothed you enough.

“What if I’m heavy? I don’t wanna crush you.” You smiled shyly, and Johnny simply shrugged while caressing your hamstrings with tender fingers. For a greaser, you still questioned how his fingers were delicate and smooth. 

“Then I’d die happy. C’mon, it’ll be okay. How ‘bout this? If you hurt me at all, I’ll swat your legs lightly.” He offered, charming you with that devilishly sweet glint in his doe brown eyes.

You could only nod after he spoke, and you hesitantly lowered yourself onto his awaiting mouth. Nervousness caused your fingers to jitter sporadically, but you pushed through before sitting yourself onto his face. The warmth of his tongue caused a rattle to zoom up your spine like a racecar on a speedway, electrifying you.

The moans that were pulled from you just made Johnny all the more eager to please you, and he began to greedily feed off of your sweet nectar. The tangy taste of your juices were simply too addictive, could you even blame him? He didn’t know which he preferred, nicotine or your delicious wetness.

You were beginning to grind on his face, his nose nudging your clit every time you missed or got too careless. The mess of your arousal was smudging onto his chin and upper lip, but you were too dazed out to really notice anyway. Poor Johnny was about to bust again from your desperation to get a climax, but he knew cumming twice was enough for him.

His tongue slurped up any drops your cunny managed to spurt out for him, the overstimulation of your labia and clit being teased had your toes curling. You were becoming sheen with sweat, but you didn’t cease being quiet. Johnny was simply slurping you up like a snack, and you took it.

The coil within your lower abdomen threatened to snap, but you couldn’t sum up the strength to get off of his mouth to save him from mess. His hands groping your ass or caressing your hammies didn’t seem to let up either, in fact encouraging you to continue.

Johnny’s tongue kept hitting all the ooey gooey spots inside of you that set all the nerves in your body ablaze, and it wasn’t long until you were teetering over the thin line of release.

“Johnny! Johnny- I’m gonna cum..! Baby, I-” Your orgasm had cut you off, your legs seizing and stopping all their movements while you thrashed about from the sheer intensity of whatever pleasure Johnny gave you.

Poor boy’s face was squished to mush, but he was so happy.

Soon, you found yourself coming back to reality, your control over your legs and you used this newfound control to get off of his face. The last thing you wanted was to crush him or suffocate him!

When you got yourself seated beside him, legs still a bit shaky, Johnny licked off whatever fluid you managed to spunk onto his face with a gleeful smile. How gross! But.. somewhat hot too. Johnny grinned at you, his teeth all crooked but so sweet on his face.

“Feel good, sugar?” He asked you, smiling all happy and pridefully. Making you cum was a big deal for him!

You chuckled softly to yourself at his words, they were suave in how he spoke. You couldn’t admit to him that it was probably the best head you’ve ever received, his ego would get too overinflated and the gang already had an overconfident Dally.

“Yes, it felt good. Thank you.” You smiled, tucking yourself under the warm blankets of your own mattress. The duvet covers felt nice on your burning skin, even if it was a bit too hot for them.

Johnny beamed, getting under the blankets with you as well before throwing his lanky arms around you. It scared you for a second as it was unexpected, but you laughed and wholeheartedly accepted his hug. Warm arms encased you, and yours wrapped around him in return.

Giggles were shared and kisses were peppered all around, even some tickles to make everything seem more lively. Johnny also wanted you to feel like you weren’t just there for some sex and nothing more.

God, you were so fucking in love.

Shoutouts to:

@outsidersstuff16 @raycravens116 @johnnycadesslut @johnnycadesmuse @johnnycakesswitch